Wyrde and Wondrous by Charlotte E. English

Author:Charlotte E. English [Charlotte E. English]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Frouse Books
Published: 2022-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

April 30th

Poor Theo. With all the advantages of glamorous Mummery to entertain him, and yet, to be so easily seen through! What can he mean by talking to Miss Jendring of rabbits, when he might have talked to her of any other subject in the world? How like him. Mind you, I observed a great quantity of spilled blood marring that lady’s neck and gown; I venture to hope that her gentle charms might have lured him away from the blood of herbivores, and tempted him to sample better game. If so, I will take my hat off to the enterprising Antonia (for enterprising I do believe her to be: she has set her cap at Theo, I make no doubt. As a sister-in-law I believe I would prefer her to Clarissa, however, so I shall hold my peace on the subject).

Speaking of Clarissa: the most maddening thing! Fully an hour did I spend with her brother at my elbow, searching high and low for the fiendish disguise I had no doubt she would be hiding under. And then! To encounter her at dinner! Up to her eyebrows in Dutch cream pudding and flummery, absolutely herself in face and feature, and revoltingly composed! She was exploring, she informed me, and ignored the Mummer’s Dance entirely. I have not yet forgiven her.

I grow weary at last, I confess, for we have spent most of the night in high revelry. Many of us, anyway. I have not seen my aunt or uncle in some hours; perhaps they retired to bed. If so, they missed dinner, and what a dinner it was! If this is to be the pattern of our days here – they are to be nights, rather, entertainments beginning at midnight, and dinner served much later – I shall be well pleased. I never saw so much of the night-hours before.

I have not seen Mr. Ballantine since before dinner, either, and as such have not had any opportunity to tell him of the infuriating woman with the Tudor garb and the aggravating attitude. Not to mention the loss of my pearls. I have not yet decided how I shall tell him. It is lowering; instead of discovering a thief, I have become a victim of robbery myself. Perhaps I will not tell him, at least until I have apprehended the culprit. That would set all to rights, would not it?

Gussie sat at the desk in her own chamber, wrapped in a thick shawl, and with a cup of wine (nearly empty) before her. She had returned to find Frosty fast asleep in an armchair in Gussie’s own room, and had not disturbed her, save to cover her with a blanket: the night was cold indeed, high up in the mountains as they were. Great-Uncle Silvester dozed atop the mantelpiece, resembling a repellent statue, still as death, and as silent. Frosty, she thought, may well have chosen to remain above-stairs, rather than join in the games; she would find so large and noisy a gathering trying for her nerves.

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