by Wylde, Anya
He waved the feather boa at his audience and grinned showing off his two blackened front teeth.
The room froze.
Lord Elmer looked like a cross between an old spinster and a toothless pirate.
Penelope made a strangled sound and finally lost complete control. She dissolved into hysterical laughter, until she was sobbing and thanking Lord Elmer for being the duke’s best second cousin.
After that dinner was considered well and truly over and everyone at the table realised that Sir Henry was blinder than he let on. He had not noticed a thing.
Chapter 14
“Why did you do that?” Celine asked the moment Lord Elmer met her in the library.
He did not reply immediately. He first took a seat and then pulled out a cigar. After clipping it and lighting it, he took a puff. He spoke softly watching the smoke twist and curl in the air. “It is a tragic story. It happened when—”
“I was asking about your little trick with the moustaches. You know the duke is not too keen on your presence, then why did you take such a risk?” Celine interrupted.
He frowned, “I am trying to explain. The story needs to be told with a certain amount of sensitivity. It is an important story. I am sharing a piece of my life with you.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Now,” he began, “when I was sixteen years old, I had invited some gentlemen friends to my house.”
“To meet your crazed stepmother and the drooling dog?”
He ignored her and continued, “And we had a bit of gin like men of my age are wont to do. When the brandy was over—”
“You said you were drinking gin.”
“Yes, we began with gin and ended up with brandy. A lot came in between. At sixteen it all tastes the same. Once the brandy was over, we were astonishingly still awake. We thought we were sober, and most likely we were not, for we immediately decided to raid my father’s basement for something more to drink. Now, I was chosen to visit the basement for two reasons. Firstly, no one knew about my gentlemen friends, since they had arrived for the party by climbing the oak tree that grew right outside my bedroom window. Secondly, it was my house and therefore I was the only one who knew the way. It took us awfully long to figure it all out. Finally I went to rummage in the basement with a candle. My friends thought it would be funny to lock me in. They did. They locked me in the dark dungeon with a flickering candle which soon went out. Then the rats, ghosts and the rats who were now ghosts came out to play. It was frightening. I decided that night to never be trapped again in my life.”
“How long were you trapped for?”
“Ten whole minutes. I made such a racket that the cook woke up and let me out.”
She scowled, “What has that got to do with what happened at dinner tonight.”
He sprang out of the chair and knelt in front of her. His eyes blazed as he gripped her hand and said, “Don’t you understand? Those rats could have slowly and painfully chewed me to death. I learned the biggest lesson of my life at that tender young age of sixteen. I learned to live. To live fully and completely. Those starved, murderous rats taught me to take risks, Amy, risks that have led me on some strange and wonderful adventures.”
“I don’t—”
“The duchess, I like her. Her spirits are low and I took that risk to see her smile. For a moment, at least, she was happy.”
“You are a very confusing man.”
“Confusing and wonderful. Have you fallen in love with me yet?”
“Don’t be absurd. I love—” she stopped, catching the teasing light in his eyes.
“The fat poet,” he finished for her with a dramatic sigh. “Then let’s get to work and give you a happy ending. Give me his poems. Perhaps we can get a clue as to his nature. What he likes and dislikes. It will help broaden our search.”
“Why?”
“Nithercott did not find your Blob.”
“Woodbead, not Blob.”
“Blob,” he repeated firmly, “was not found. And while we are mulling over the meaning of this artistic mess,” he waved a hand at the painting, “we should also examine the poems. It may give us a clue as to his whereabouts.”
She nodded and undid the string from the bundle.
He picked up the first poem.
“This,” she said blushing, “was the first poem I ever received from him.”
He cleared his throat, “This sort of thing is personal. I will understand if you would rather …”
She shook her head, “I don’t mind. If not now, you would have read them at a later date.” She noted his expression and clarified, “He was going to try to get them printed in The Monthly Magazine.”
“I doubt,” he said skimming the sheet, “that I would have ever read them. Poets and their work only become known after they are dead, but this,” he poked the sheet, “will never be printed. Not when he is dead, not after I am dead. Not even after my great grandchildren are dead. Mark my words, my dear, The Monthly Magazine or any other journal of repute will never print this. Ever.”
“Are you going to continue insulting Philly because—”
“Is this the letter which accompanied this poem?” he spoke over her.
She scowled and nodded.
“My dearest Celine,” he read, “I have finally managed to pen a love sonnet for you. It came to me all of a sudden last night like a madman’s fit. Do not be alarmed, my dear, poets often get these sorts of fits, and the result is always beautiful words spewed onto crisp white sheets. It came to me, the fit I mean, right after I dreamt of your lovely face bathed in the grey English light.”
He put the letter down and eyed her in concern, “I am starting to see where you got the idea that the hill he painted was a kidney.”
She snatched the letter from his hand, “I thought we were reading the poems not the letters. The letters are personal.”
He touched the sheet with the poem with trembling hands. “I am afraid to read another one of his works … but I shall be brave. I shall be your knight my distressed damsel and read this,” he squinted at the title, this ‘Love Song Sonnet’.”
She rolled her eyes.
He proceeded to read the poem aloud,
Is that a man? Is that a moon?
Or is that a man on a balloon?
I know you did not expect a love song to start thus,
But I am just learning how to rhyme, hence here I add the words ‘yellow puss’.
I see you scrunch up your face in displeasure,
Let me begin anew, my dear, with a love song for your leisure.
Shall I speak of your funeral complexion?
Or perhaps your pink lips or the small brown hairs on your arms on closer inspection?
I am sorry, my love, the last line I wrote ran away with me,
Pardon me, my dear, for I am just learning poetry.
Shall I liken you to my favourite things?
Pies and pigs and cooked birds with wings?
Or shall I compare your willowy form,
To flowers and trees and insects warm?
I saw you smile, my love, and this time,
I truly think I am getting better at creating a rhyme.
The moment he finished reading it, George Irvin, known in polite society as Lord Elmer and in impolite society as Lord Wicked, turned a deathly grey.
When he had recovered somewhat, he stroked his brow with trembling fingers and said, “I don’t know what to say.”
Celine fidgeted in her seat, “I know he said it is a love sonnet and a love sonnet contains fourteen lines, while this has sixteen, but—”
“That is not all that is wrong with it, my dear.”
“But,” she continued loudly, “I am certain that between the lines, the poem means something.”
“What does it mean?”
”The meaning is well hidden. Alas, I am not creative enough to untangle it.”
He watched her trace the untidy black scrawl with the looped l’s and the swirly p
’s. After a moment he said, “The words are engrained in your soul, the meaning remains elusive.”
“You understand.” she said brightening.
“I understand that you are an idiot,” he said flatly. “Here,” he took some poems and handed them to her, “go and sit in that corner and note down your observations. I will do the same here with this lot.”
“You cannot order me about like this.”
“I have to not only read these poems but also try and understand them. I am willing to undergo this torture to help you. Surely my surly mood can be excused?”
She meekly went and did as he had bid.
After an hour George threw the pencil down. “Right, what have you got?”
Celine cleared her throat. “He is kind and loves animals. You can see the references to various animals in the poems titled ‘Hamsters in love’, ‘Oh oyster open thy shell and do not be shy’, ‘The sad tale of the chicken who was eaten by the king.’”
“Go on,” George said looking pained.
“He appreciates honesty. Hence, the poem titled ‘Tell me the truth’.”
George covered his face with his hands and moaned. “Celine, we have to look for clues on how to find him and not analyse his unstable nature through his poems.”
“Well, what did you write?” she asked crossing her arms.
He silently handed over the sheet.
Celine read aloud, “Fellow might be at the zoo, seems to have taken a fancy to porcupines. Seems to like his drink for no sober man would write a poem titled, ‘The redhead who kissed me’ and send it to his lover who clearly has a mop of lovely brown hair. Nor would a sober man write ‘The depressed cat who forgot how to meow.”
George remained silent waiting to hear her thoughts.
“He was learning how to write,” she finally grumbled.
“And he could not change the redhead to brown haired? The fellow is also insensitive.”
“I thought we were not analysing his character?”
He rolled his eyes, “Fine, let us move on. Here is a poem titled ‘A penny for your thoughts’. This one ‘I wager you ten whole pounds my horse shall win’, and this ‘I wager thee now’. They all point to the fact that Waterbeetle is a gambler. He can be found at a gaming house.”
“Not Waterbeetle, Woodbeetle … I mean Woodbead,” Celine corrected. “Now what?”
“Very simple, I will put the word out and search the main gaming houses in the city and the gentlemen clubs. Someone must have heard of him or his family. And you and I will have to come up with an excuse to meet more often during the day. Perhaps go for walks together and on that pretext explore London inns. Most likely he will be at the poet’s corner or some such place.”
“I cannot go travelling around London. I have to take care of Penny. Besides, it is not seemly. I will be ruined.”
“Shall we agree from now on to not mention the words seemly and ruined? I understand that you are a lady, but you are also a lady supposedly in love. You will have to think of an excuse if you want to continue this undying love story. We will have to sneak out—”
“I cannot.”
“Don’t you love the fellow? Won’t you do it for love? I know Amy wouldn’t, but surely Celine would.”
She glared at him. This was happening too fast. She had wanted to find Philly but not like this, whatever this was. It seemed worse than what she had been planning.
She frowned. But wasn’t this what she had been planning, albeit at a slower pace. Her hands went to her head and she moaned.
“Is that a yes?” Lord Elmer asked impatiently.
She looked up, her eyes dark and wide, “I don’t know ….”
“Then it is decided. You will meet me tomorrow afternoon at four. We will go explore an inn or two. Good night.” He left her still scrambling to collect her thoughts. By the time denial came to her lips he was no longer in the room.
Chapter 15
“Are you awake?”
Celine’s eyes snapped open.
A man was in her room hovering over her head.
She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped down on her mouth.
“It’s me George. Don’t scream,” he whispered.
“Lord Elmer? What in the world are you doing here?” Celine spluttered, yanking up the quilt to cover her nightdress.
“Your nightdress covers more than your evening dress. Besides, you have nothing to fear from me. You love Gilbert.”
“Philbert.”
“Yes, him. And I love Rosy, Daisy, Mary, Liz—”
“Why are you here?”
He moved towards the desk and started rummaging around. “I am here for the painting. Unlike you I don’t have the splotches engrained in my mind. I need to look at it.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I sleep as little as possible. Sleeping is a waste of time. Too many things to do.”
“Is that the clock? It is past two in the morning. You cannot come into my room like this. It is not done and—”
“Right, I found it. I am leaving now. Sorry for offending your modesty.” He paused near the entrance, “Tomorrow at four, we will go on our first investigation. Be ready with an excuse for the duchess.”
And with that he was gone.
Celine sat staring into the sudden darkness, blinking in confusion. Was she dreaming? Had Lord Elmer really come to her room? No, that was impossible. Closing her eyes she fell asleep.
Next morning she woke up to find the painting gone. It had not been a dream. Lord Elmer was an amoral villainous creature, a scoundrel and a blackguard … and she was off on her very first adventure that evening at four.
Secretly she was thrilled.
***
Lord Elmer had been gone since the sun rose that morning. It was half past three in the afternoon and he still wasn’t back. Celine eyed the door for what felt like the tenth time. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to leave a note for her. Even his valet Nithercott was missing.
“Are you falling in love with him?” Penelope asked dreamily.
“Eh?” Celine’s head whipped around.
“Your eyes are trained to the door. I can only guess that you are anticipating Lord Elmer’s arrival. Tell me, how is your romance progressing?”
“I … It is nothing of the sort. I mean, I thought he was handsome, but now I think he is too fickle. He would never settle for a girl like me.”
Penelope’s eyes brightened. She balanced a tea cup on her protruding belly. “I think I can help you. Make him fall in love with you.”
“Didn’t you try your hand at matchmaking with the duke’s sister? I heard it was an utter disaster.”
“Precisely. I made so many mistakes that it is not possible that I haven’t learnt from them and become an expert. I also know more about marriages.” She waggled her eyebrows, “Do you want to know how babies are made?”
Celine turned hot. After a moment, she said, “I know the details.”
“You found the book in father’s library?”
“You too?”
Penelope nodded looking disappointed. “I suppose Dorothy is too young to know the details. Would you like to hear them again? Refresh your memory perhaps?”
“No, thank you, Penny,” Celine said hurriedly.
“I have forgotten what I was talking about,” Penelope said frowning.
Celine did not help remind her. The last thing she wanted was her nosy sister playing matchmaker.
“Ah, how to make Lord Elmer fall in love with you.”
“Penny,” Celine said firmly, “It will happen if it is meant to happen. I don’t want to worry you in your condition.”
“But I want to repay you somehow,” Penelope sniffed. “You have come all the way from Finnshire to help me and see to my needs. You forget not so long ago I too had come to Blackthorne as a young untutored country bumpkin. You are better prepared than I was, but surely goober, goober.”
“What did you say?” Celine aske
d, shoving a finger in her ear and wriggling it around.
“Goober, goober,” Penelope sobbed. The combination of tears, running nose and a mouth full of cake had turned her words unintelligible.
Celine leaped off her seat and ran to her, “Penny, don’t cry. I am alright. The housekeeper is excellent and so many servants means hardly any work for me. All I do is order them about, and I am learning as I go along. It will help me when I marry and have my own home to run.”
Penelope snorted and blew her nose. “I know running the Blackthorne estate is not fun. And you don’t think it is either, so do not lie to me.”
“You love being a duchess,” Celine hedged.
“I do, but only because I am married to the duke. I appreciate your help, Celine, I truly do, but I wish you could have some fun as well. You should be visiting the famous London shops, gardens and theatres. If the duke was not so busy, I would have insisted that he take you out.”
Celine paused, “Well,” she began slowly, “perhaps I will take a long walk today. You will be resting at four and I can use that time to stroll through the orchards. The grounds here are lovely, and I haven’t had a chance to discover them yet.”
“Not just today. You should go walking every single day. Get some fresh air. It will do you good. Knowing you are getting a few hours just to yourself will make me happy.”
Celine nodded surprised at how things had neatly fallen into place. She could go hunting for her poet with Lord Elmer every evening, and her naughty maid could easily be bribed to say she had accompanied her on long walks instead. Now all she needed was for Lord Elmer to appear and keep his promise.
The moment Penelope waddled back to her room for her nap, Celine leaped off the chair and raced outside. “Perkins, have your seen Lord Elmer anywhere?”
“I am here,” George said from behind her.
She whirled around, and the sight of him killed the question on her lips, “You are drenched. Perkins, get some hot tea and something to eat for Lord Elmer.” She turned to George, “I think you should go change, Lord Elmer. I will wait for you here,” she said indicating the Blue Room.