Page 37 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
Madeline caught sight of Lady Elizabeth’s mouth as it twisted in disgust.
Lord Peter entered and greeted Lady Elizabeth. “And Lady Elizabeth. You’re looking well this fine afternoon.”
Lady Elizabeth gave a small curtsey. “Thank you, Lord Peter.”
Lord Peter took another step, and his nose wrinkled. “Huh, it does smell ... very appetising.”
“Madeline will fetch the scones at once,” said Elizabeth. “Won’t you, Madeline?”
“Yes, M’Lady.” She curtseyed to Lord Peter. “M’Lord.”
“She made them herself,” said Lady Elizabeth. “She’s not the best cook in the world.”
Madeline felt her face flush. While there was some truth in the statement—she couldn’t cook a single crumb if she tried—this was most insulting.
She looked at Lord Peter and swallowed hard. “’Tis a new oven, M’Lord.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lord Peter, “of course.”
She turned back to the stove and immediately realised her blunder. The oven was at least twenty years old by the make of it and at least ten years older than that by its condition.
“Won’t you sit down, Lord Peter, please?” said Lady Elizabeth, gesturing to the table.
“I’d be most glad to. And I’m pleased to announce that I bring you good news regarding that Scottish land you’re interested in.”
Lady Madeline turned to the stove and picked up the tea kettle. She filled the teapot with boiling water, dumped it, placed a generous helping of tea within, and filled the pot. She poured one cup of tea for Lord Peter and set it aside keeping it just out of Lady Elizabeth’s sight.
Mortified by her position as a maid and bearing the blame for the kitchen calamity, she tucked her head into her chest as she served the burnt scones along with a jar of clotted cream.
“Oh,” said Lord Peter, “why ... thank you.” He took a moment to survey the plate of scones for the least charred option, choosing a specimen that rivaled India ink for its depth of hue.
“Not at all, My Lord,” said Madeline.
“Now then,” said Lord Peter, helping himself to a generous amount of clotted cream, which he slathered onto the scone as if protecting it for transit, “procuring the land I have in mind would entail your having to put up collateral. Do ... you ...” He waited for Garret to finish his sentence for him, which he did when Lady Elizabeth nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.
“Oh,” said Garret, “yes, M’Lord, I have a ... a collateral upstairs in my coat pocket.”
Lord Peter cast a glance from Garret to Lady Elizabeth. “Ah, yes,” he said, “I, uh, yes, I see ...” As if to pause to collect his thoughts on the matter, he picked up the scone and bit into it. His eyes widened as he did so, and the room came alive with the sound of an avalanche.
Lady Madeline felt herself flush. She prepared cups of tea for Elizabeth and Garret and prepared to take them to the table.
It was a good minute before Lord Peter was able to continue. He placed the scone back on his plate and covered it with his napkin as if concealing a crime. “As I was saying, the land I have in mind will require a considerable amount of money as c—, in advance of purchase.”
“We shall have it for you in no time,” said Lady Elizabeth.
At this point, Madeline groped her apron pocket for the snippet of the book page. It wasn’t there. A surge of panic rose in her.
“That is all well and good,” Lord Peter was saying, “but we will need it as soon as possible.”
Madeline frantically fumbled through the pockets of her apron. There was a tiny ball of something lodged in the corner. She picked at it with her nail and withdrew the note covered in lint. She let go a sigh of relief and blew away the lint. Tucking the note within her palm, she picked up the tray of tea, and brought it to table, keeping Lord Peter’s criminally cold cup farthest from her.
She was trembling. She was now in the realm of her worry-ridden dreams. Suppose she should falter? What then?
She picked up Lord Peter’s cup in the hand with the note and carried it towards him.
“My Lord,” she said, then dropped the cup before him, soaking the napkin, its hidden scone, and sending a pool of cold, weak tea spreading along the length of the table.
“You blundering wretch!” cried Elizabeth.
