Page 57 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
What was the look on his face? Confusion? No, it wasn't that. It was focused.
Recognition?
He was staring at Lady Elizabeth ...
Chapter 42
There arose in the woods a distinct clatter that grew steadily in intensity. A flood of fear came over Madeline, even in such safety as this. Lord Peter must have seen the look on her face, for he approached her with a reassuring smile that showed a row of straight, white teeth.
“Have no fear. It is only your good Constable Herrick. I didn’t want him rattling that wagon out here and revealing our position, so I bade him wait some time before proceeding.” Lord Peter turned to Lady Elizabeth and Garret. “He’s brought his irons.”
The look on the couple’s faces revealed their understanding of the situation. They were going to be arrested and tried to the full extent of the law. Madeline’s father would see to it. She almost felt sorry for them. In the wavering light of the fire and standing there in the shadow of such import, Lady Elizabeth looked now to be twice her years in feebleness. She was bent, withered like a dried root, and her face was as wan as any beggar’s.
As for Garret, he looked diminished as well, but in a different way. He panted like a bull, and there was a look of intense fear in his eyes. All at once, the exactness of the situation came to Madeline: He had been in prison before and was loathe to return. He had no doubt caught a glimpse of his future when Lord Peter informed him of the irons and now looked to be on the verge of severe lamentation.
Papa had gone out to meet Herrick and his deputy. They exchanged pleasantries and then returned.
That look on Papa’s face. What was it about that look?
No matter how many times Madeline tried to follow his gaze, it always wound up at the same place. He was staring at Lady Elizabeth.
Constable Herrick and his man placed Garret in irons, a most pitiful sight. They did the same to Lady Elizabeth, whose face was about to crack with sorrow.
“Right,” said Herrick, “let’s take this lot down to the station.”
Madeline’s gaze shifted from Lady Elizabeth to Papa. She watched him, never taking his eyes off the woman. He approached her slowly. Madeline feared what he was about to do. He looked like a man about to strike.
“Papa,” she said, “for the love of your family, don't do anything rash.”
He ignored her entreaty and instead continued to the woman. When he arrived at a spot mere inches from her, he spoke slowly and softly and full of pleading.
“Why?” he said.
“Money,” came the response, cold as frost. “And revenge, of course,” she added.
Papa reeled back his head, and then stopped. He was going to spit at her, thought Madeline, and then he restrained himself, gentleman that he was at his core.
“Lord Stamford,” said Peter, “with your kind permission, I should like to take your daughter on the back of my steed.”
Papa nodded, a look of intensity still burned into his features.
Peter turned to Madeline. “Lady Madeline,I hope you don’t mind riding with me.”
“On that glorious beast? I shall be honoured. What is his name?”
“Mercury.”
She smiled at him. “’Tis a fine name.”
She felt a rush of something. Was it elation? Terror? Joy? Relief? Or was it an incongruous blending of all of these, with each one competing for dominance?
She felt this strange surge within draining her. Her mind became a blank. Spoken words made no sense. Sounds were merely interruptions, and jarring in their nature.
It became too much for her. She gave a small cry, feeling the air escape from her in a whisper, and fell to the floor in a swoon.
Chapter 43
Countess Abigail had two choices: wait or sleep. She’d chosen the former by default. She rolled over and looked at her timepiece. It was three hours past midnight. How long had she laid here, her thoughts ricocheting off the walls of her skull?
