A Certain Want of Reason (13 page)

Eugenie shrugged. “A famous thief, I suppose. I don’t keep up with these things.”

“No, he’s not famous.” Lucia stared at the floral pattern on the china plate until the tiny leaves blurred into a continuous chain, like a snake winding its way through her toast.

“Well his name would have been in the papers.” Eugenie started to gesture with her spoon, then set it down hurriedly. “You told Geoffrey he’d been arrested and hanged.”

“Well, he was not.” Lucia pushed her toast until it covered most of the leaf-snake. “And his name was never in the papers.”

“Why not?”

Lucia looked up. “Because I invented him.”

“This gets stranger by the moment.” Sophie licked her fingers. “Why did you invent a thief?”

“It was a story I told to entertain Geoffrey and Helen. We often take turns telling one another stories in the evenings.”

“I see.” Eugenie nodded. “And Geoffrey thought Lord Rutherford was this Redcloak person. Did he not realize such a person does not actually exist?”

Lucia looked down again. “I-I think he does not.”

“Why was Lord Rutherford wearing a red cloak? Only grandmothers wear red cloaks,” Sophie asked.

“I do not believe he was, in fact, wearing any article of clothing that was red. But that did not deter Geoffrey,” Lucia answered.

Sophie leaned forward. “So, Geoffrey confronted ‘Redcloak’, and then…?”

“He did not merely confront Lord Rutherford. He attacked him.”

“Attacked him?” Sophie’s features contracted into an expression of disbelief.

“Attacked him.” Lucia sighed. “Jumped on him. Then, later, stabbed him.”

“With a dagger,” Helen added for clarification.

Sophie’s hands dropped motionless to the table. “Oh my. Then it is he who is…was he almost killed?”

“I don’t know. At the time, they—all the gentlemen—said it was merely a flesh wound But…he was unconscious when they carried him away.” Lucia felt a lump rising in her throat and she realized her sadness was by no means on Geoffrey’s account alone.

“There was a lot of blood on that stage,” Helen noted. “A big mess for someone to clean up.”

Sophie waited for them to continue, then prompted, “So then Geoffrey…?”

“The men seemed uncertain what should be done. Since his behavior had become so violent, they felt the need to detain him. We left before it was fully resolved.” Traversing the length of the theater and out to the street was the longest walk Lucia could ever remember.

“But we did hear one more thing,” Eugenie added. “We were almost out of the theater, so we did not see it happen. But I believe Lady Rutherford—the crazy gentleman’s mother—suffered an attack of apoplexy after he was carried out.”

“Oh, that is too awful.” Sophie smashed the larger of the toast crumbs on her plate, then brushed them together in a pile of toasted powder. “But I suppose seeing someone so close in your family act that way in front of all those people…” She stopped. “I am sorry, Lucia. I did not think—”

“Do not worry about offending me, Sophie. You cannot possibly say anything I have not already heard in my mind countless times over.”

“What an evening.” Sophie sighed. “That poor lady. And Geoffrey…and Lord Rutherford, and…” She cringed.

“All that mess, remember.” Helen twirled her fork in an intricate pattern in the egg yolk. “I do hope someone has cleaned it up by now.”

“Helen, I do believe we’ve heard enough about that aspect of the evening,” Lucia said sharply.

“I believe we’ve heard enough about all of it.” Helen pushed her plate forward and herself away from the table. “I’m going for a walk now.”

Lucia then had a pretty good idea of how the rest of her morning would proceed.

* * * * *

Why was he still in his own house? Edmund swatted at his bedpost with disgust. After last night’s escapades, he should have been sent to a discreet private madhouse somewhere far in the country. Or even to Bedlam. It did not matter, really. He could survive anything for three months if it would buy him a lifetime of freedom.

Edmund sat up in bed, wishing it were not so dark, and then wishing he had not sat up so quickly, since the movement had left him a little lightheaded. He felt at the bandages on his left leg, which pulsed with a constant, throbbing ache. He was no better off than before. Worse, even. Still at home, still engaged to that insufferable girl, and now with a wound that would leave him unable to walk or ride properly for months.

It was time to take drastic measures. Feign an insanity so intolerable they would be forced to send him somewhere. That would scare Jeanne off for good.

The injury to his leg made it pretty impossible to leap around the room or scamper about on all fours. In any case, he had to garner attention first.

He started to sing, but quickly decided the sound of a few bloodcurdling howls would send the servants running in faster.

In fact, he barely had time to count to ten before the door burst open.

“Lord Rutherford. It is good to see you…up.” Franklin eyed him warily from the doorway. “Shall I open the shutters?”

“Shutters, clutters, dutters hutters jutters,” Edmund sang. Then he dropped into flat prose. “Do what pleases you.”

“Very good, sir.” Franklin moved to the window closest to the bed.

“
Ahhh
!” Edmund screamed as he buried his face in the pillows. “It burns my eyes! Curse the sun! Close the shutters at once, you beast!”

“V-very good, sir.” Franklin slammed the shutters closed.

Edmund sat up and began singing once more. “Shutters, clutters, plutters flutters, flutters flutters flutters.” He lowered his voice to a growl. “How do you expect me to see anything with those shutters closed? Open them at once!”

“Are you quite certain, sir?”

“No, I’m not quite certain. I’m quite Edmund. Now, refresh my memory, if you please. Do I pay you and give the orders or is it the other way around?”

“Very good, sir. I’ll open them, sir.” Franklin stepped toward the shutters as if approaching the gallows. He reached one hand tentatively toward the opening and glanced at his master.

Edmund said nothing.

The butler grasped the bottom of the shutter with shaking fingers, his gaze shifting back and forth between the window and the bed.

Edmund said nothing.

Franklin turned his full attention to the window for a split second, pulling the shutter open the merest sliver of an inch.

Edmund howled, “You beast! You
are
trying to kill me. I know it.”

“No, sir! Of course not, sir!”

“You opened the shutters after I told you the sun burns my eyes.”

“But sir…”

Edmund waved away his objection. “So you’re not trying to kill me, then, but merely to blind me. It would be just as bad. Trapped as I am in this bed by my war wounds, unable to move, unable to see…a horrid life you have left me to.”

“Sir, please,” the butler was fighting back tears now, “you must believe me. I have the deepest respect for your family. I would never try to hurt you. But you told me to open the shutters…”

“So you always follow my orders, do you? Even when you know it will be harmful to me? Does that show respect for my family?”

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

“Ha, of course you don’t. Bring me some breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” Franklin wasted no time but made straight for the door.

“And hurry! I am quite hungry this morning.”

“Yes, sir!” The door closed scarcely before he was all the way through it.

Edmund wished he had thrown a fit about too much dark, rather than too much light. It was rather gloomy sitting in the shuttered room, knowing the full light of day shown outside. What would Franklin think if he came in and found Edmund contentedly sitting in a sunlit room after insisting on darkness?

He smiled at the thought. Admittedly, it was a wicked smile, because his behavior obviously put the man to some distress. But it would still be funny to see the look on his face.

Edmund eased himself to the edge of the bed. He placed all his weight on his good leg, then took a tentative step on the other. For a brief second, all seemed well and Edmund had almost moved the right leg forward to take his next step when the throbbing ache flashed into an explosion of pain. Both legs buckled, sending him to the floor. His elbow smacked the bedframe.

“Damn!” He felt around in the dark for the bedpost, gritting his teeth to keep from whimpering at the tearing sensation in his thigh. Finally grasping the bedpost with both hands, he dragged himself along the floor until he was right next to the bed, pulled himself up to sitting position, then shifted all his weight to the right side and heaved himself upright, clinging to the post in desperation. He made it all the way up so quickly that he swung around the bedpost and smashed his backside against the wall.

“Ouch.” He’d hit his elbow again, in much the same place as before.

The searing pain in his left leg receded to its former throbbing but tolerable torrent, however, so long as he put no weight upon it. So he would be fine as long as he propped himself against the wall.

And didn’t move.

But that was none too comfortable, either. So Edmund gritted his teeth again and hopped on his right foot until he was in position to slide back onto the bed.

It was a great deal of exertion to have accomplished nothing.

So when the door opened and Franklin stepped forward with a heavily laden breakfast tray, it took little effort for Edmund to turn his frustration into a feigned indignation directed at the unfortunate servant.

“What is this? Do you see this?” he demanded, holding up a piece of meat.

“What, sir? No, sir. I-I don’t—”

“Someone’s taken a bite of my breakfast.
You’ve
taken a bite of my breakfast!” Edmund felt himself building up to a full-fledged rant.

“No, sir, I would never—”

“I am the sultan. I can have you killed for this!” Edward waved the offensive bit of meat under the butler’s nose.

“No, oh no. It’s true,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s all true.” He backed toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Edmund demanded. He threw a muffin at the retreating servant. “Come back here this instant!”

“I-I’ve forgotten something.”

“I said to come back here.”

“I’ve got to…to get you another piece of beef.”

“I
ordered
you to come back here.”

“I will be right back.” He grasped the doorknob as a drowning man might reach for a line. “Sir.”

“I can have you killed if you disobey me!” Edmund considered throwing the butter knife but decided on a spoon instead. “My subjects must obey me!” He aimed the spoon at Franklin’s backside. “And where is my turban? Bring me my turban!”

The door slammed shut.

Edmund smiled and set about trying to eat what remained of his breakfast in the dark.

Chapter Twelve

Lucia cried when she saw Mr. Bayles step out of the carriage alone. Tears of worry and frustration had threatened to spill all day. Now the tears of outright fear and failure poured out in an unrestrained torrent.

Eugenie joined her at the window. “Come, now, Lucia.” She produced another in a seemingly endless supply of lace-edged handkerchiefs. “We’ve not heard what he has to say yet. I’m sure Geoffrey will be home very soon.”

“W-why did he not bring him back now?”

“I do not know, of course. But he will be up to tell us in a few minutes. We shall simply wait here for him.”

But the wait turned out to be more than the mere matter of minutes Eugenie anticipated. Allen announced dinner, and still they had not had word from Mr. Bayles or anyone else in the family.

They descended the stairs in silence.

Silence continued as they entered the dining room, where Mr. and Mrs. Bayles sat with downcast eyes. Lucia and Eugenie took their seats, Sophie soon followed and they all sat quietly, studiously ignoring the empty chair occupied by Geoffrey only yesterday. Lucia focused her attention on Helen’s empty chair. After what seemed an eternity, she decided to excuse herself to see to her sister’s whereabouts.

At that moment, however, Allen opened the door and a somewhat disheveled Helen scurried into her seat.

“Where were you, Helen?”

“I was reading.”

“What is that in your hair?”

“Hay?” Helen felt around on her head, then detached the offending matter. “Straw,” she corrected herself after examining the article closely.

“How on earth did you…” Lucia stopped as she realized it was better to keep Helen’s exploits as private as possible. “I want to talk to you right after dinner, Helen. Right after dinner.”

“Very well. You usually talk to me right after dinner, do you not?”

Lucia refused to reply.

Mr. Bayles blessed the food, but said nothing else for the remainder of the meal.