Page 47 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Thethreshold?”
“Yes, you see there was quite a breeze ...”
“Yes?”
“And the dust ...”
“I see,” said Lady Elizabeth, narrowing her eyes.
“I will go back in and finish His Lordship’s furniture now, M’Lady.”
“I think you’d better.”
#
The morning passed with not so much as a further word uttered in her direction from Lady Elizabeth or her guest. There was not even a request for tea, as Lord Peter made it clear that he could not stay long.
Soon, the noon shadows shrunk, and Lord Peter bid farewell to Elizabeth, saying that he would not be back for quite some time.
Upon hearing this, Lady Madeline slunk up the stairs to her tiny attic room, shut the door softly, and fell on her cot with such despair she thought her chest would cave from it.
Chapter 34
That night, she fell asleep in the throes of anguish, but her sleep was not safe.
In her dream, she languished for many years in the attic, locked in the tiny space that was now all but overtaken by cobwebs and choking dust. She decided enough was enough and headed towards the bolted door.
To her surprise, it opened without a hitch. Relief and sorrow took turns possessing her, for though she was overjoyed to be free, she couldn’t help asking,How long has it been so?
She made her way downstairs. The floorboards, now ancient, creaked beneath her feet. There was the smell of decay all around her. The walls were bearded with dark mould. She called out for Lady Elizabeth. No one answered. Same with Mr Garret.
She went to the mirror in Lady Elizabeth’s room, preparing herself for the greatest of shocks, as she’d not seen herself in such a long, long time.
She could not have prepared herself for the vision. Her hair had grown in great weedy tangles, gray as ash, and like old straw. Her face was indeed wretched—folded and pinched, mottled, moles with hair, and a crooked nose. Her clothes were torn and ragged like a moth-eaten sack.
She turned away from the mirror, a frightful, ill feeling filling her stomach. She steadied herself and went out into the woods. It was morning on this day, but gray and dark with thick clouds looming low above her head. A whippoorwill sounded gleefully in the distance, filling her heart with dread. She knew the Irish legend of the whippoorwills, how they’d gather in preparation to catch a soul flying from its recently deceased body. And she began to run feverishly into the dark woods.
Presently, she came upon a steed. Where had she seen this beast? It was magnificent, sturdy, and strong. It was drinking from a small stream that snaked along the forest floor. At her approach, it lifted its head and reared up in fright.
“No! she cried. “I am a friend!”
It was to no avail. The horse turned and galloped away.
She trudged on through the woods until she came upon a hole in the ground. Fearing that she would never find her way out, she thought with the incongruous logic of dreams that this hole would somehow lead her to true freedom. She jumped in and landed on her feet about ten feet below ground.
She was in a spacious cavern that smelled of very old earth. Strange rustlings in the shadows filled her with horror. She called out for help.
An answer came from above.
It was him. It was Lord Peter Lytton. She could not see him, but she knew that voice. It was a wonder to behold, and she began to weep with joy at the idea of his being up there.
“Come,” he said, “I’ll throw you a rope.”
A long rope of hemp dropped down into the hole, and she began to climb. The light from above hurt her eyes. Perhaps she’d been in this hole for a very long time. She had no idea. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she left the house.
When she got to the top, she saw no one.
“Lord Peter!” she called.
