Part 6 (2/2)
”I let her go.”
”Aah. Like fis.h.i.+ng, then? You took the hook from her mouth, so to speak, and put her back in the water.” North couldn't help but laugh at Harcourt's miming skills.
”Can she swim, do you suppose?” Monty was ever concerned with details. In exact opposition to his given name, he was obsessed with remaining sober and somber. But no longer. He dissolved into laughter at his own jest, as did they all.
Stanley stood straighter, if possible. ”You know perfectly well what I mean. I ended our affair. I told her she was free to do as she pleases.”
North nodded and composed himself. ”And you paid her a nice settlement, of course.”
”Actually, she wouldn't take it. She wasn't at all pleased that I offered it.”
Harcourt bent over, giggling, and dove onto the davenport.
”So, you have slighted Ursula.” Monty sobered. ”That has to be it! Ursula found the Scarlet Plumiere and had you punished. Severely punished, it appears; if night follows day, and things play out the way the SP has predicted, you, my dear Viscount of F, are about to be released from your engagement.”
”But that's why I let her go, you see? It would be poor form to keep one's mistress while one is preparing for marriage, and honeymoon, and fatherhood, and...”
”And death.” Having solved the mystery, Monty's nose was back in the book.
”Yes, that too. If Irene Goodfellow breaks it off, Mother will have me fed to the fish, and even though she's doddering, she'll find a way to bear another son to replace me.”
”It's unsettling the way that woman tosses that threat about,” North admitted. ”It fairly gives me nightmares thinking about it.”
”Well, thinking about it has put me off seeing Ursula.”
”Quite so. Quite so.” But what to do about it?
”It would be best to have her put down, Stanley. For your own good,” Harcourt mumbled against the cus.h.i.+on.
”Who? The Scarlet Plumiere? I can't have a woman murdered, even if she's essentially ruined my life with her blasted article. I can't believe you'd suggest such a thing.”
”Oh, not her, man. Your mother.” Harcourt rolled onto his back and spoke to the ceiling. ”Have your mother put down like the old horse that she is and enjoy the reprieve. Marry in another ten years.”
”Put down my mo...you're mad!”
”No. Actually, it wasn't a bad idea a'tall.” Monty closed his book again and tossed it onto the table.
”All right. You're both mad. I won't be having my mother...put down, for G.o.d's sake.”
”Oh, Stanley. Do keep up.” Monty folded his hands and grinned. He must have had a grand idea. ”I mean the SP, of course, not your dear saintly horse-of-a-mother.”
”You mean it? You can stand here in front of G.o.d and good whisky and talk of having a woman murdered? Because all of London knows it's a woman writing those articles. Good lord, man. Perhaps I don't know you at all. Perhaps you could actually do the deed yourself!”
”Oh, I would rather not do the deed myself, of course. But I suppose if I must...”
North couldn't take it anymore. He tossed up his hands.
”I surrender as well, Monty. What are you thinking? You can't be talking about having a woman murdered.”
”Not murdered. Put down. Taken out of the picture-or the Capital Journal at least.” Monty leaned in and lowered his voice. ”The only way to control a woman these days, gentlemen, is to marry her off.”
Harcourt rolled back onto his face and mumbled, ”I was afraid you would say that.”
Callister stepped into the library with a small box tied with string. North nodded his butler over and reached for the package, but the old man shook his head.
”I beg your pardon, my lord, but this just arrived for Viscount Forsgreen.”
Something yawned and stretched inside North's breast, something that had been sleeping for years. Usually, when it woke, he drugged it with Brandy until it slept again. He wasn't sure, but it might have been his soul. And with some sort of premonition which he'd never been known to possess, he suspected that thing within him would somehow be affected by Stanley's box.
He watched, as did they all, as Stanley slowly pulled the tails of the string, as if they expected a cat to jump out of it any second.
The string fell away. Nothing happened. Stanley sat the box upon the table, lifted the lid, and set it aside. He frowned, looked at North, then reached inside. He pulled out a pair of spectacles and a bubble burst in North's chest.
He laughed. Stanley didn't seem to understand.
”Who did you tell about this meeting, Viscount F?” Monty had to raise his voice to be heard.
North laughed harder. Watching Stanley's face as realization dawned, struck him as particularly amusing. Or maybe it was the joke played by the Scarlet Plumiere.
”Poor eyesight.” Harcourt laughed. ”I say, she's a clever minx.”
North agreed. The woman was clever. And she might have just won over his heart, if not his very soul.
CHAPTER TWO.
Capital Journal, Fiction Section, February the Third A wild tale is spreading like the black plague through ladies' parlors at this very hour. Supposedly, the men of Londonberry, or at least those allegedly eligible for marriage, have held a meeting in the honor of a particularly talented writer and drawn lots to see who among them is the lucky so-and-so who must not only ferret out the ident.i.ty of said writer, but must marry her in order to control her...uh, plume...thereby removing the threat to his fellows' reputations that might very well be the last resort for some women to find justice in this world.
Bravo, Mr.Lott! Did you think of this scheme by yourself? I cannot imagine a sweeter justice than for the man who imagined such a lottery to be its first selected victim. I say ”first” because after you fail at your task, sir, undoubtedly there will be a few boisterous fools who think they can succeed where you are about to fail.
And you've boasted you can find me by Valentine's Day? Bon chance!
If you'd like to read more about North and his search for the Scarlet Plumiere, visit my websiteand you'll find Blood for Ink on the Regency Book page.
SOMEWHERE OVER THE FREAKING RAINBOW.
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