Page 20 of Otters and Obstacles
“Good evening, Mrs. Clarke,” Lord Peter said.
“Good evening, Lord Peter, Mr. Morley. My, it has been an age since I was in this room. You have certainly changed it for the better, Lord Peter.”
Mrs. Clarke turned to Georgie with a smile. “It really was quite dreadful. Dead animals under glass everywhere, posed into the most unnatural tableaux. It made for a most gloomy atmosphere.”
“Of course,” Georgie murmured. She pushed down the image that tried to flash into her mind of her otters being turned into a mere display.
Lumley had already crossed the room to look at the watercolors. “I say, are these your work, Mr. Morley?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Splendid.” Lumley moved from one to the other, nodding as he went. “I have not seen the creatures myself, of course, but your illustrations of them are quite vivid.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Clarke cast a cursory glance over the paintings before saying, “Shall we all sit down?”
Her brother rushed to help her into a comfortable armchair before sitting with Georgie on the settee across from his sister. Lord Peter stood at the fireplace, observing the group with an indulgent smile.
“I am so glad to have an opportunity to get to know you better, Mr. Morley,” Mrs. Clarke said. “Where is it you are from, again?”
“S—Shropshire,” Georgie said, hoping she did not sound as guilty as she felt.
“I do not think I know of any Morleys from Shropshire.”
“We kept to ourselves. My father was very interested in natural philosophy.”
“Of course. And when was he in India?”
Georgie realized she ought to have known that would be a question, given that her Indian ancestry was written on her face. “He was with the Company for about a decade. He and my mother married there, and again upon reaching England.”
She could not allow Mrs. Clarke to continue asking about India. Her father marrying a Hindu woman would have been unusual enough to be remembered within the small English community in Surat, especially since Georgie’s mother had converted to Christianity before their marriage. “And what of you, Mrs. Clarke? Have you been to India?”
“Oh, dear me, no.” Mrs. Clarke looked at her brother, and they both laughed. “No, I can scarcely ride across an ornamental lake in a rowboat without becoming quite ill. But my dear Mr.Clarke was in India. Perhaps he and your father knew each other.”
“Perhaps,” Georgie echoed.
“He was Colonel Clarke then. Ah, the stories he would tell me…”
With encouraging noises and a fascinated expression, Georgie steered Mrs. Clarke into drifting off on reminisces of her own late husband, who did seem to have led quite an adventurous life before their marriage. Georgie found herself unexpectedly spellbound by this second-hand view of her mother’s homeland.
The stories continued over supper, a simple but filling repast served by two village girls Mrs. Barwick had hired to assist her for the evening. Georgie caught each of them staring at her curiously more than once, and supposed she must be quite the subject of gossip in the village.
Yet another reason she must move on as quickly as she was able.
“Oh, dear, I do seem to have rambled on,” Mrs. Clarke said. “Where in Shropshire did you say your family lived?”
“Oh… the east. It was a small village. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”
Mrs. Clarke bent a surprisingly shrewd smile on her. “You might be surprised, my dear.”
Georgie smiled weakly, her mind racing, and Mr. Lumley set his glass of wine down with a thump.
“That’s quite enough, Lizzie,” he said, his voice stronger than Georgie had ever heard it and slightly slurred. “You’ve talked everyone’s ear off all night. Leave the poor man be.”
Georgie was not surprised to see Mrs. Clarke glare at him, but she did not expect Lord Peter to shoot him a look as well.
Had Lord Peter put Mrs. Clarke up to this? She hated to think he could be so devious, but she could not quite blame him.He deserved better answers than the ones she was willing to provide.
