Page 95 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“That’ll be quite enough, Madeline,” said Mama.
“Just what are you implying, child?” said Papa.
“I am only saying that everyone knows the story, Papa, and you should not hide it. I understand this woman’s heart, which is something you men will never understand. It was broken. You broke it, Papa. Oh, I am heartily glad that you did, for I and my sister are the eventual results of it. But let us not pretend that this woman did not have some tiny justification for doing what she did.”
Papa threw his napkin on his plate.
“Madeline!” said Oliver. “What on earth are you doing?”
“What am I doing? Here you are ingratiating yourself to him. You don’t care. None of you care.”
“Don’t speak to him like that,” said Emily, who looked just as hurt as Oliver, perhaps more so.
“Oh, are you his solicitor?”
“Madeline, you are being insolent as the day is long.”
“Tosh,” said Madeline. “I speak the truth.”
“Excuse me,” said Papa, rising, his face reddened with anger. “I will not have this kind of talk any more tonight!”
“Then you shall not,” said Madeline, rising from the table.
“Where are you going, child?” said Mama.
“To my room,” said Madeline. “Good evening, all.”
When she got there, she closed the door and flung herself upon her bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
Chapter 67
She had finally stopped crying, and a delightful numbing sensation had descended over her. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, seeing visions of their faces in the plaster.
There was a knock on the door. It opened, and Lisbelle’s face peered around it.
“Pardon me, M’Lady, but Mr Powell is here and wants to have a word.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
Lisbelle’s face disappeared, and Madeline heard a man’s voice whispering. Again, Lisbelle’s face peered around.
“He says his life is on the line.” She leaned back, listening to the man's muffled voice again, and then said, “And he’s got two weeks to live ...” She leaned back, listening. “And his one dying wish is to have a conversation ... however fleeting ... with the prettiest girl whatever ... sorry,whoevercondescended ... to be his friend.”
“Show him in, then,” said Madeline.
Lisbelle entered and took her seat in the corner. Ethan Powell entered after her.
“May I sit, Lady Madeline?”
“You may.”
He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down with a groan. “I am getting old. It’s not a bad thing in itself. Rude old men are a treasured class, you know. But there is one aspect to getting old that no one ever tells you. Would you like me to tell it to you? You would be the first to hear it at such a tender age.”
“You may tell it,” she said flatly.
“It is this. There are some on this earth who feel it is necessary to live life as if it was going to end tomorrow. Those who dreamt up that philosophy were very young men when they did it, and by the time they got old, they felt as though they would be hunted down for changing their opinion on the subject. For you see, many people thought it was a great idea. But we who are old know the truth. You should live your life as if you had a thousand years left. Take your time, child. Find out who it is that is seeing the world through your eyes.”
He fell silent, watching her.
