Page 98 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Ah yes,” Peter said, his tone brightening a shade, “the sweets. Granny, having Norse heritage somewhere deep in the line, had inherited the tradition of rewarding children for their first tooth lost. This caused a rift in the family, as you might imagine, because Grandad was of the old English tradition of burning the first tooth lost to ensure freedom from hardship. Well, Father desired the sweets but also desired to be free of hardship, and as such had a devil of a time deciding which was the proper course for a child to take.”
Madeline put the back of her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. The spark in Peter’s eyes was so full of love that she thought she might burst from witnessing it.
“In the end,” said Peter, “his sweet tooth, as it were, ruled the day. Therein lay the dilemma regarding what to do about Grandad. And so, he came up with a most devious plan. Scouring the countryside, he came across the carcass of a wild hog. I shall spare a lady’s sensibilities of what came next, but Father was able to procure, by such gruff means not suitable for a lady’s ear, a tooth from this carcass. He pocketed the thing and trod home triumphantly.
“He met Grandad in his study, showed him the tooth, and proceeded to toss it into the fire in full view of his father. Satisfied with the job well-done, Grandad stooped down to Father’s level and said, ‘Dear boy, I realise that this was a most difficult task. You have honoured your father this day without expectation of reward, and thus, you shall have a reward nonetheless. Take this slice of candied orange, and be not proud of your action, but take it as a lesson for life. You must never expect reward, and in doing so, your Father in heaven shall reward you nonetheless for self-sacrifice and gallantry and attention to the spirit with which He hath endowed you that shall ever overcome man’s sinful nature.’
“Well, at this, Father burst into a most pitiful display of tears such as he’d never done in his entire short life up to that point. He handed the sweet back to Grandad, and it was several minutes before he could explain why. At last, he did, and confessed his deception in full, capping the revelation by throwing his authentic tooth into the fire and watching it burn. ‘You have learned a great lesson today,’ said Grandad. And with that, he turned and went back to his work. Father had learned a great deal. It wasn’t until Grandad was on his sick bed that he confessed to Father that he had indeed seen him scouring the countryside, had seen him come upon that pig, and extract the tooth. And Grandad, not being a man of any small intellect, put two and two together and concocted the entire scheme then and there—and executed it after procuring a sweet from Granny for the occasion.”
“My heavens,” said Madeline. “That is quite a story.”
“It is not finished,” said Peter. “Father then confessed the rest of the story. He told Grandad that Granny had come upon him in his room. He was forlorn and deep in prayer, begging the Almighty for forgiveness for his wicked nature. He heard her heavy footfall on the carpet and did not look up for fear of turning his attention away from prayer in that most grave moment. The footsteps came to his side and paused. Then Granny’s wonderful lilting voice was in his ear. ‘You are a dear child,’ it said, ‘and deserving of all that life has to offer without exception. May you choose to accept goodness when it is offered.’ Father had not the slightest notion of what this meant, and from that point on, found it impossible to concentrate on his prayers what with trying to decipher Granny’s riddle. At last, the footfalls receded, and the mystery was soon cleared up as Father lifted his head and opened his eyes to see a candied orange slice on his pillow.Accept goodness when it is offered. He took the sweet and savoured it as if it were a gift from heaven itself. I believe it was, for the record. He told Grandad this on the old man’s bed, to which Grandad shed tears of great love in memory of his departed wife, with whom he’d be reunited shortly.”
Lord Peter’s voice trailed off like smoke. His thoughts were now very far away. Madeline looked over at the maid in the corner, sitting stoically as she had been the entire time, and she went to Peter and took his hand. It was warm to the touch— no doubt made so by his love for his father—and it was smooth with bits of roughness here and there from rigorous horsemanship. He turned his eyes to her. They were moist and pleading.
“Peter,” she said softly, “you must heal in your own time. I cannot tell you how long it will take. But I can tell you that when you are through with your healing, you will be ready to love again. And I will be there, called or not, waiting for you to love me.”
The pleading look was gone now, replaced by something else—an odd sort of contentment that relaxed his features.
He seemed to take this in slowly, and soon, he nodded his head in acquiescence. He let go of her hand and left the room without another word.
Madeline, content with what had transpired, left Robincher House on solemn feet and let herself out like a ghost.
Chapter 70
The Hartwell family manor lacked the opulence of an Aspendale or a Robincher, but nevertheless was a testament to the great family’s pride in their status. Oliver’s family was well-regarded throughout the town, and he himself was not unaccustomed to strangers bidding him glad tidings on the street, so he told Madeline. And it was not long after they began to court that she herself had witnessed it, and on more than one occasion. It made her proud to be with him.
These were the thoughts she had as she approached the house. It was the last dying gasp of her intention towards him. One more breath. She felt obligated to grant it, but the very act of doing so, of giving these thoughts of him free rein, had weighed her steps as if the soles of her feet were comprised. And these thoughts then began to pull her back from the house until she felt herself stop in the middle of the pathway leading to the door. She thought of Our Lord in the garden, beseeching His Father to allow the cup to pass from his lips, and she felt ashamed of herself. No, she would not—indeed, could not—ask for this cup to pass.
She swung the heavy knocker on the door, hearing the resounding echo throughout the rooms within. Presently, Reese the butler appeared, bowing his head reverently to her.
“Lady Madeline, welcome.”
“Hello, Reese. I’ve come to call on Lord Oliver, if I may.”
“Surely, M’Lady. He is in the library at the moment. If you would wait in the parlour, I will tell him you are here.”
The heavy door closed behind her and sent a shiver down her spine. She was immediately put in mind of her terrible ordeal trapped in Lady Elizabeth’s awful home in the woods, and the sound of that deadbolt—oh, what an apt name for it!—sliding into place. How completely desolate she had felt, how helpless. And now here she was, trapped by means of her own volition.
She followed the butler into the parlour, taking the same heavy-laden steps she had taken outside.
“May I offer you some tea, M’Lady?”
“Thank you, no.”
The butler bowed his head and closed the double doors.
Another enclosure. Would they never end?
She took in the decor of the parlour. It was sparse and simple, and yet, there was not a hint of austerity about it. A small pianoforte sat regally in the corner of the room. It was a core principle of these smaller houses to combine several rooms into one as a matter of economic efficiency. And so, the pianoforte lived here rather than a music room. Across the way was a shelf of books, no doubt relegated to this room and several others in order to make way for their more favoured brothers in the library.
For a moment, or perhaps two, she felt like she belonged to this sort of simplicity. In a way, her time in captivity had taught her to live with less and be grateful for any additions, which she then would consider abundance. She could get used to a life of this simplicity and be glad for it.
But no. ’Twas the Devil himself whispering such thoughts in her ear and planting such desires in her heart. What next? To tempt her to turn the books to bread so she not starve?
Get thee behind me, she thought, eyes shut, fear and doubt coursing through her veins.
The double doors opened, and Lord Oliver entered, a maid on his heels who took a seat in the corner of the room and all but disappeared.
