Secrets of a Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

worry.”
    “Mummy!” Jessica’s voice carried across the landing. Laura came down the corridor, Jessica in her arms. Jessica’s hair was tousled and her face sleep-flushed, but she stared about her with eyes that were all too alert.
    Laura gave a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “I’m afraid all the excitement woke someone up.”
    “It’s all right, querida .” Mélanie took her daughter from Laura and stroked Jessica’s golden brown hair. “Colin’s just being silly.”
    Jessica twisted her fingers in the blue satin ribbon at the neck of Mélanie’s dressing gown. “I didn’t want him to go ’way. He didn’t hit me that hard.”
    “No, of course you didn’t.” Mélanie’s voice was bright. Charles suspected only he could see the effort it cost her. “And Colin hasn’t gone away. He’s just…hiding.”
    Charles cupped his hand round his daughter’s head. “I’ll have a look at Colin’s room, Mel. See if we missed anything.”
    The night-light was still burning in Colin’s bedchamber. Charles lit the lamp on the chest of drawers as well. The light spilled over the green-sprigged curtains, the wallpaper border painted with scenes from Robin Hood, the green and blue quilt. Charles looked under the pillows, smoothed out the covers, picked up the quilt and shook it, so hard the fabric snapped like a banner in the wind.
    “What are you looking for?” Mélanie appeared in the doorway behind him.
    “A note. If he did run away, I thought he might have left one. Is Jessica all right?”
    “Laura’s telling her a story in our room.” Mélanie crossed to the bed and picked up Colin’s stuffed bear. “I can’t believe he’d run away without taking Figaro.” She hugged the bear to her chest, smoothing its fur. “Charles—”
    He looked into her eyes. “No.” The word came out more harshly than he intended. “There’s a simple explanation, Mel. There has to be.”
    Mélanie moved to the writing desk they had given Colin just last year, picked up his Latin primer, glanced in the drawers, riffled through the sheets of drawing paper.
    Charles was looking through the wardrobe. “None of his clothes seem to be missing.”
    “That’s not surprising. Colin’s far less interested in his clothes than he is in his bear.”
    The door creaked softly. Berowne, the cat, pushed his way into the room and wound against Mélanie’s legs. Mélanie scooped him into her arms. “Did you see anything, Berowne?” She pressed her face against the cat’s fur and moved to the window. “It’s started to rain.”
    Charles closed the wardrobe. He realized he had been aware of the patter on the roof and the creak of branches for some time, without registering what they meant.
    Mélanie pushed up the sash with her left hand, while she held Berowne against her shoulder with her right. A blast of wind blew the hair back from her face and ruffled the papers on the desk. Berowne yowled. Mélanie started to close the window, then went still. “Charles.”
    He was at her side in an instant. “What?”
    She plucked something from the ivory-painted sash and held it out to him. It was a scrap of linen, almost indistinguishable against the paint. “It looks like a bit of Colin’s nightshirt,” she said.
    Charles let out a low whistle. “Christ, I am going to wring his neck. He must have climbed down the side of the house.” Yet he was relieved to have found tangible proof of Colin’s flight. Surely Colin himself could not be far behind.
    Mélanie stared at him. “Why, for heaven’s sake? He can unbolt the doors. If he wanted to slip out, he had his choice of the hall or the garden or the kitchen—Oh, of course, I’m being silly. Going out tamely through the door wouldn’t be nearly as much of an adventure.”
    “Precisely. This explains why he didn’t take Figaro. Edgar and I climbed out the nursery window more than once. Only our nursery was in the attic, so it was a longer way down.” He didn’t