Death and the Cyprian Society Read Online Free PDF Page B

did?”
    “Oh, Henry, of course not! That was thirty-four years ago!”
    “Was it?” he asked mildly.
    Their eyes briefly met in a moment of naked comprehension.
    “Anyway,” he said briskly, “you had my library torched. All my books whatsoever: the illustrated French fairy tales, the studies of insects, the books full of puzzles and brain teasers . . . everything.”
    “I don’t remember that,” said Lady Ribbonhat, dabbing her lips with a napkin and dropping her eyes to the tabletop. But at the word “torched,” two hot red spots had appeared on her sallow cheeks.
    “No?” he pursued. “You don’t remember the big bonfire you had made beneath my nursery window, and how the gardeners had to scramble to keep it from consuming the house when the wind changed?”
    Lady Ribbonhat said nothing, and the duke returned his attention to his letter and his toast, to which he had now added a third complication: coffee.
    After a few moments, she said, “That was a terrible thing, Henry, and I am sorry it happened to you.”
    “Hmm? Oh, don’t give it another thought, Mama; I only mention it because you asked.” After a moment, he added, “I never had much use for books anyhow, and was only reading The Governess, or The Little Female Academy because I thought the title suggestive. I was disappointed. But, hang it all, I’m no expert in these matters; why not ask that new rector chap? Whatshisname? Appaloosa? Percheron?”
    “I can’t trust Reverend Clydesdale! He has indiscreet eyes!” she said, and sighed. “You know, Henry, things have come to a pretty pass when a member of the peerage is not even permitted the solace of religion!”
    But Henry’s mind had turned to other matters. Rising from the table with a carefully cultivated air of distraction, he bent to kiss his mother on the cheek and quitted the house. Glen deen was famous for his complacency. He held a rank of considerable distinction in His Majesty’s Navy because of it, and it would scarcely have done to have a row with his mother. People would blame him, as the man.
    And so they should! Men are the sensible sex. They excel at problem solving, are magnanimous to a fault, and scorn to nitpick. At least, most of the time they are and do. Well, perhaps we had better amend that to “some of the time.” Because when a man is focused upon a certain subject, all his common sense flies out through the window. Or, more accurately, out through his flies.
     
    “That one, also,” said Belinda, indicating a particularly pretty branch of apple blossom.
    The gardener severed it for her with his long-handled secateurs.
    “There be some pretty lilac bloomin’ by the footbridge, miss. Mayhap ’ee might like some a thay’m, as weel?”
    “No, thank you, Searle. These are all I want. They’re for the little wall vases in the landau, you know, and my sister holds that lilac cloys in confined spaces.”
    Belinda was leaving for Scotland today, and the sisters, soothed by the scent of apple blossom, were to travel together as far as St. Albans. There they would stay the night at Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, an inn of which they were fond, that looked like nothing so much as a cake that has collapsed on one side. This trip would be a way of prolonging their time together, because Scotland was so far away, and the date of Bunny’s return as yet indefinite.
    On the morrow, Arabella would see her sister safely off in a post chaise, an expedient that was not only desirable, but necessary. Thieves would often lurk in the inn yards, offering to carry one’s luggage from doorway to carriage. Then they would steal it, generally after their unsuspecting victim had paid them.
    A lady traveling alone, especially a tender innocent like Belinda, would be an easy mark. Once she was settled in the post chaise, though, she would be safe enough, for the driver would look after her. Besides, at Coventry, she would be joined by Peter Gentry, a gentleman of her acquaintance who was