Page 5 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
Thinking ahead to tomorrow’s poetry reading and being accompanied, of all people, by a private investigator, she let herself into her house and headed straight for the kitchen. Another cup of tea would be just the thing to settle her nerves and decide what to wear. Not that it made a whit of difference, this was just another social event.
* * *
Ensconced in a safe place,it was easy for The Master to watch her climb out of the rented equipage and hurry into her snug little house. Why was she not using her own carriage? Had she found it necessary to let the coachman go? To sell the carriage and pair? That would never do for sweet Anne.
Anne. Now going by the name of Charlotte. The Master sighed at her trickery.
Perhaps the next gift should be one of value, so she could sell it if she needed the funds. How comforting it would be to take care of her again. To watch her lovely face light up with pleasure at the little gifts. To remind her to wear her pelisse when it was chilly outside, and to be sure to eat her breakfast since she tended to start her day with only a cup of chocolate.
Anne was such a delicate little thing and had brought great happiness to their life together. Except when she hadn’t. Frowning, memories returned of when it had been necessary to punish her. That was why other, more unpleasant gifts, had been left on her doorstep. The bloodied rose, and dead bird wouldnothave made her face light up with joy. Things that would make her sweet breath catch, and her delicate hand tremble. Reminders that she was being watched.
Sighing, and turning away, the fog swirled around, enshrouding The Master on the short walk home. The wind had picked up, and the fall weather with the abundance of colorful leaves, that Anne loved so much, took some of the heaviness at her absence away.
Tomorrow night would be another chance to gaze upon her, would even, perhaps, present the opportunity to speak with her. A smile burst forth on how Anne had failed to recognize her lover. The Master knew her, and would always know her, no matter where she ran and hid.
Upon arrival home, Mrs. Gearing, the neighbor next door, attempted to begin a conversation. There was no time for Mrs. Gearing. Preparations had to be made for tomorrow night’s poetry reading and seeing beloved Anne once more.
