Page 53 of A Dash of Scot
They’d just arrived at the front yard of the cottage when the colonel rushed out, and screeching from inside filled the air.
“What’s happened?” Poppy asked, though she thought she might know the answer.
Colonel Austen blanched and looked full of regret, though Sir John’s situation was not his fault. “Your sister is distraught. Rather sad news, I’m afraid, about?—”
“Sir John,” Poppy finished.
“Aye.” He cast his eyes toward Dougal, who nodded.
“How did she find out?” Poppy asked.
“I regret that it was wagging tongues. I’d hoped to inform her more gently.”
“Not a newspaper?”
Austen shook his head. “Just town gossip at the creamery,” he said with a grimace and turned back toward the house at the sound of a crash.
Both men started to run for the door, but Poppy rushed in front of them, stopping them with a hand on both their chests. It’d been years since her sister threw a tantrum that resulted in breaking items, but it appeared Anise’s disagreeable habit was returning, and she was not about to let it be witnessed.
“Just a little bout of…upset,” Poppy said with a forced smile. “Best you leave this to my mother and me. And perhaps come by tomorrow for tea?”
Both men looked stricken, neither wanting to leave for different reasons, she was sure, but witnessing her sister have an epic tantrum was not exactly the memory she wanted them to have. Already, the screeching and crashing were embarrassing enough.
Dougal nodded first, followed by the colonel.
“Tomorrow,” Dougal said. “We’ll come for tea.”
“Aye,” Colonel Austen agreed, his eyes on a window to the left, where Poppy hoped the shades were drawn.
“Have a good evening,” Poppy said, giving them the tiniest nudge with her fingers to go.
They doffed their hats, retreating to their horses, and she didn’t wait to see them go before she whirled around and entered the house. Anise was shouting and sobbing in the drawing room, and their mother’s words were drowned out by the noise.
Poppy opened the drawing room door to see that several precious books had been thrown—the crashes they’d heard—along with a vase of flowers.
Anise rounded on her sister. “Oh, Poppy, the worst has come to pass.”
Poppy did not believe this was the worst. She could name several other more terrible things that had happened to them in the past few months, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she picked up the mess as she asked, “What’s happened?”
“Sir John has gone! Fled the country, and I’ll likely never see him again!” she wailed.
That was the worst? She didn’t care that he carried a disease that killed a woman? That he’d been spreading himself over all of Britain and leaving a wake of illness behind him?
But perhaps Anise didn’t know that part. It was a rather delicate subject.
Before Poppy could try and explain what had happened with Sir John, Anise fled the room, leaving her with their mother to stare after the space she’d occupied.
“Mama,” Poppy said, “there’s more to the story.”
Mama sighed. “I know. When Anise and the colonel were getting into the curricle, I pretended to have left my gloves in the creamery. I went back inside and asked the gossiping crowd what had happened.”
“Then you know he wasn’t honorable.”
“I do.” Her mother’s nod was resigned. “But how did you?”
“Dougal told me while we were on our walk.”
“Ah. A shame, but I’m glad we found out before it was too late. Could you imagine?” Mama’s fan popped out of her sleeve and opened to fan off her reddening cheeks. It wasn’t a question so much as an invitation to view the horrors of what could have come to pass.
