Page 96 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
After a moment, she said, “Why should I trust you, Mr Powell? After all, aren’t you—” She stopped herself.
“A sinner?” he said, a wry smile on his face. “Yes, I am. I cannot help it, but I will be judged just the same. I am prepared to answer for it by pleading innocence. But that is no matter to anyone but me. I am forced to love in secret, Madeline. And those of us who love in secret know that love is not something to be thrown about like a piece of oil cloth. It is something that can break all too easily. The rough and tumble play of a callous romance will break it for sure. Do not love without meaning. And do not love without recognising that there are faults to be had in both parties. Grow with your husband, whoever he may be. Grow towards a shared peace in your hearts that you are both frail, fragile, exquisite creatures bound to break at the slightest jarring. But for heaven’s sake, child, take your time in finding that person.”
She stared at him a long while. His face was old. But there was a fire there for sure. She herself had once spoken of fire. How young she was, and blind to what true fire was. It was something that kept burning inside you regardless of who was there to fuel it. She was the fire itself, not the fuel; she’d been right about that. But she needed something to keep it going, and that was a simple thing in nature: she needed to love on her own terms. That would keep it going for certain.
Hot tears ran down her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands.
Lisbelle ran to her side. “Poor child! What on earth did you say to her?”
“Nothing,” Madeline said between a pair of sobs. “He said absolutely nothing, Lizzy. It’s alright.”
Lisbelle eyed Ethan Powell. “I don’t trust you.”
Powell rose and bowed his head. “You, my dear, I’m afraid, must take your place at the end of a very long and winding queue.”
Madeline laughed at this, and both Ethan and Lisbelle looked at her, startled.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and laughed heartily all the more, “but you, Mr Powell, are a very funny man indeed!”
Chapter 68
She awoke the next day with a shocking headache. Lisbelle tended to her with cold cloths and toast and glasses of water.
A footman arrived at noon, bearing a letter on a tray.
“Well,” said Lisbelle, “what do you want? Can’t you see she’s in dire straits as it is?”
The footman cleared his throat and said shakily, “I have a letter for Lady Madeline.”
“Well, hand it over. Don’t just stand there like someone shot your horse and is expecting you to drag it home.” She snatched the letter off the tray and gestured towards the door. “Terribly sorry, M’Lady.”
“Lizzy, I wish you’d been a bit more charitable with that boy.”
“I can’t stand interlopers. I’m trying to nurse you back from the brink and here I have to contend with a pigheaded footman who wouldn’t know to dive into a pond if his breeches were on fire.”
“Lizzy!” said Madeline, genuinely shocked at the statement.
“What? It’s true, you know.”
“May I have my letter, please?”
“You may,” she said, handing it over.
Madeline tore the envelope open and extracted a small note.
Dear Madeline,
Father passed peacefully in the night evening before last. There is still much work to be done, but I would be grateful to see you in the coming days. I have given much thought to our parting and am torn with grief over it during this new darkness in my life. If I could have some solace, let it be due to the simple fact that we are friends.
I beg to remain,
Your most humble servant,
Peter
She let the note drop onto her lap.
“Child?” said Lisbelle. Then louder. “Child?”
