Maggie MacKeever Read Online Free PDF Page A

sentiment that she heartily endorsed. “But I don’t think she will receive bad news,” Mab responded, nudging Nell, who was staring murderously at an intricately carved bedpost. “I’ve the oddest notion that Marriot will turn up any day.”
    Had she heard Eleanor laugh? wondered Henrietta, eyeing the four-poster. Surely not! “I hope we may not have Marriot brought to us with his toes turned up! You do not perceive the evils that await the unwary, Lady Amabel. There are ugly customers in the world, and devilry afoot. Look at Bonaparte—I mean, I hope we shall not have to look at him, but I wouldn’t count on it! I have heard that he has under construction a monstrous bridge by which his troops will pass from Calais to Dover, directed by officers in air balloons; and also that a Channel tunnel is being engineered by a mining expert. Mark my words, we shall all awaken one morning to find we have been murdered in our beds!”
    The bed upon which Lady Amabel currently reclined was very comfortable, even though its owner was in possession of all the blankets and was trying so hard to contain an untimely onslaught of giggles that the whole structure shook, not to mention the lavish lace that trimmed her huge, absurdly flattering nightcap. “I am not certain who you expect to murder us,” Lady Amabel remarked. “Marriot or Bonaparte? This is a very foolish conversation. Marriot has come to no harm.” She nudged the giggling Nell. “I feel it in my bones!”
    All that Cousin Henrietta felt in her bones was a continuous dull aching, the result of being confined during inclement weather in this drafty old mansion. Henrietta was not among the numerous admirers of Marcham Towers. Those individuals with a passion for antique architecture and furnishings might alter their opinions, she thought sourly, if obliged to winter in the house. Not that Henrietta was obliged to do so, save by her sense of duty, which was almost as strong as her fondness for prying into the intimate details of other people’s lives. Henrietta was not a prattle-bag precisely, but more a parasite. She was positively agog to learn why Lord March had deserted his lady. Now Lady Amabel had appeared on the scene to distract Eleanor just when Henrietta had been in momentary expectation of becoming her confidante. It was very bad. “You cannot be certain to what lengths Marriot may have been drawn,” she ominously remarked.
    Having wrested from her hostess a fair share of the blankets and accepted from her a cup of rapidly cooling chocolate, Mab was very luxuriously disposed. “That is very true,” she responded solemnly. “I have already considered that Marriot might have run afoul of Bonaparte’s agents—perhaps even the Mad Corsican himself! I have heard it said that Bonaparte has disguised himself as a British sailor and is patrolling English shores at night aboard a fishing smack! Women should be allowed to join the militia, I think. We would not fire the beacons by mistake. But if not by Bonaparte’s agents, perhaps Marriot has been abducted by some other fiendish sort. Perhaps even tinkers! Although I do not know why they should abduct a grown man in the heart of London—but one never knows with that low, vulgar sort!”
    Henrietta primmed her lips. “You mock me, miss, and you should not; age is the best advisor of youth. Moreover, horrid things do happen in London, as you would know if you read the newssheets. Just the other day Lady Nelson was set upon by footpads, and relieved of her jewels and purse, in broad daylight!” Her expression grew suspicious. “In truth, I am surprised that your father took no better precautions for your safety. You were not here yesterday and yet are here this morning, and therefore must have arrived in the middle of the night.”
    Though Mab could not see Henrietta due to the intricate carvings and enveloping draperies of the bed, she heard the curiosity in her voice. “I was in no danger,” Mab responded