Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I am about to offer some reassurance of some kind when she moves towards me, eyeing me in a way I do not like. With suspicion. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Forget about that. It is not important.’ I go to Mama. ‘It is not the end of the world if you do not get elected as a patroness, Mama. And be assured, our family name and business will not be ruined.’
‘Perhaps it is not the end of the world,’ she shrugs. ‘But it is something to do, you see, Frank. Papa is so busy, as are you. I need something to fill my time, and since I enjoy the company of Lady Blythe and Lady Tillsbury, and they, apparently, are rather fond of me, it seems like an obvious pursuit.’
I flinch. Papa is busy. ‘If it makes you happy,’ I say, kissing her forehead.
‘Clara!’
I flinch and Mama jumps from my arms.
‘Where could she be, Frank? We must find her before Papa rises and Governess arrives.’
‘I will find her,’ I assure Mama. ‘She is probably sulking somewhere.’
‘Whatever is she sulking about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Francis, are you hiding something from me?’
‘Of course not.’ I had planned on writing my next piece this morning about our lovely Lady Rose, since I was otherwise engaged yesterday evening, but it shall have to wait. I grab a jacket and leave my panicked mother behind. I’m hiding far too much, I think to myself as I descend the stairs. And what of Taya’s ill temper? What changed so suddenly? Is she regretful? Is her rebelliousness all a front and she’s somehow between yesterday eve and this morn realised the gravity of the repercussions? ‘God knows,’ I sigh as I make it outside and gaze around the square, wondering where to start in my search for Clara. I am distracted by a commotion across the road outside the former residence of the Lymingtons. I see two men negotiating an impressive, dark wooden cabinet up the steps to the front door.
‘Good morn to you, Mr Melrose.’ Lizzy Fallow appears, smiling coyly.
‘What is happening there?’ I ask her.
‘New residents.’
‘Oh?’
‘The Earl of Pembrokeshire, Lord Gayton, the Countess, and their son, Eric.’ She rounds the back of me and comes to a stop beside me, looking across the square with me.
‘You’re rather well versed in the details,’ I reply, taking one step away from her.
‘Owners of the London Chronicle.’
‘What?’ I ask, thinking the name rings a bell, and then a man emerges from the house. ‘Oh bloody hell.’ The same man whose curricle I borrowed last night. ‘I have to go,’ I say, slipping away rather hastily, rounding the corner and heading in the direction of the stables where I left the horse and curricle, but much to my dismay, there is no curricle, and the horse I put safely in the stable is nowhere to be seen. ‘Kip,’ I call.
‘Yes, sir?’ He appears with arms full of hay, his orange hair long and scruffy, the freckles splattering his cheeks prominent.
‘Where is the horse that was in this stable?’
He frowns. ‘Sir?’ he questions, looking at me as if I may be going mad. ‘That stable is reserved for hay.’
We have been robbed! And I cannot tell a soul. ‘Of course.’ God damn it. ‘How long will it take you to prepare my horse?’
‘Not long at all, sir.’ The hay is released from his hold and he’s getting to it immediately.
‘Thank you, Kip.’ I start to wander, wondering how I handle this additional problem. Another problem of my own making, but, regrettably, me stealing my business rival’s mode of transportation is not my biggest problem in this moment. Where the hell has Clara got to, I ask myself? The answer comes to me like a bolt of lightning. ‘Bugger it all,’ I mutter, raking a hand through my hair and looking up, coming face-to-face with––
‘You’re the footman who relieved me of my curricle yesterday eve at the palace.’
‘Ah,’ I back up, my brain not working nearly fast enough to tell me what to do. And there was me thinking he paid not attention to me. ‘I can explain.’
‘Who are you?’ he asks, anger breaking his expression.
I will not be telling him that, for a feud between us would add to my already growing stress. ‘Mr Melrose,’ Kip calls, and I shrink.
‘Melrose?’ Gayton asks. ‘Part of The London Times Melroses?’
‘The one and only,’ I say, my ego getting the better of me. ‘Would love to stay and chat.’ I quickly jump on my horse and gallop away, hearing Gayton yelling after me, demanding to know where his curricle is. God damn it, I will surely be required to compensate him, and not only for the curricle. It will cost an arm and a leg! I break out of Belmore Square and canter towards the edge of London. It has been twelve hours since I last saw my wayward little sister. It is a head start, but she is on foot, and I am on horseback. I expect I will catch up with her within a few hours.