Lord Fredrick tells a most
unbelievable tale!
Penelope’s notion that the children ought to be
brought inside at once and settled in the nursery met
with some resistance from her walking companion, at
least at first.
“Lady Constance will have to”—huff, puff—“give
her permission,” said Mrs. Clarke, who, if anyone had
asked her, would have sworn that the journey both to
and from the barn was decidedly uphill.
“Permission? For children to live indoors? I should
think she will!” Penelope exclaimed. “What other
answer could she give?”
To that, Mrs. Clarke gave no reply. The brisk walk
back to the house was making her too winded to con-
verse intelligently. “All this trotting to and fro will be
the”—huff!—“death of me!” she wheezed, although,
as you already know, regular aerobic exercise was far
more likely to improve her cardiovascular fitness than
cause her demise.
Penelope, meanwhile, could not erase the leering,
pocked face of Mr. Alpo—for that is how she imagined
him to look—from her mind’s eye, and it simply made
her desire to protect the children all the more urgent.
“In that case,” she said firmly, “Lady Constance will
have to come out to the barn and view the situation
for herself.”
When they arrived at the house, Mrs. Clarke had
to sit down and drink a glass of blackberry cordial to
settle her nerves, so young Margaret was instructed
to deliver the message to Lady Constance. She soon
returned, and even the comically squeaky tone of
Margaret’s voice could not conceal the sternness of
her mistress’s reply: Under no circumstances would
Lady Constance venture outside that evening. She had
retired to her private rooms until further notice and
would take supper alone due to a severe headache.
No comments:
Post a Comment