Page 50 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Well, let’s have at it.” She knelt on the floor, next to the table, gesturing for him to join her. “I don’t want to pick it up, so I’ll just undo the string and wrapping paper.” Once she’d decided to open the thing, her fingers worked quickly, as if she were afraid she would change her mind and run back upstairs.
She drew away the paper, lifted the lid, fell back on her rump, and screamed.
* * *
Two large brown spiders,the size of a man’s palm, rested in the bottom of the box. Their dark bodies were marked with creamy stripes. They began to move once the lid was removed.
Charlotte scrambled to her feet and backed up. “What is that?”
Elliot grabbed the box and stood. “I am not a spider expert, but they resemble a picture I saw once of a fen raft spider.” He quickly left the room, the container in hand.
Once the weakness passed, her last meal began to rise from the back of her throat. Not being anywhere near a chamber pot, she swallowed profusely, attempting to get her stomach under control.
“I asked Bridget to have a tisane made up for you,” Elliot said as he entered the room. “I think it is best if you lie down for a while. I will remain here so we can speak once you have recovered.”
She wiped her eyes, trying desperately to remove the sight of the nasty creatures crawling around in the box. “Spiders! Whatever is wrong with this man? Why spiders? Were they poisonous?”
“I don’t believe so.”
She shuddered as Elliot led her to a comfortable chair. Once settled, he tucked a lap robe over her just as Bridget entered, still white-faced herself, and handed Charlotte a glass of liquid.
“Drink, Charlotte,” Elliot said.
Like a toddler with her nurse, Charlotte took the glass from Bridget’s hand and gulped the liquid down, hoping the tisane would help her disappear for a while. Perhaps for months. At least until the nightmare her life had become ended.
She could move from her house, or possibly London, altogether. But she would not do that. Whoever this horrible person was, she would not allow him to drive her from her home. “Perhaps I should get a pistol.”
Elliot had the nerve to grin. “I don’t think that is a good idea.”
“Why not? I could obtain a derringer and keep it by my side for protection.”
“Against spiders? Would you shoot the entire box of them? Or perhaps the dead animals left here?” He leaned forward, a frown on his face. “The biggest danger from an unskilled person owning a gun is shooting oneself, or a servant. A person must be well-trained in firearms to own a gun.”
“I know of several ladies who carry guns in their reticules.”
Elliot groaned and shook his head. “Please do not even think of doing such a thing. It is too bad the government has not taken steps to ascertain that those individuals who are purchasing pistols have the proper set of mind and the ability to own such a dangerous weapon.”
Charlotte’s eyes grew heavy as he continued to speak on the ills of uninformed and untrained owners of guns. The tisane was working. As if from a distance, she heard Elliot’s voice, now close to her ear. “I will carry you upstairs and tuck you in. We will discuss the ridiculous idea of you running about London with the pistol in your reticule another time.”
She nodded, and was soon lifted, carried, and tucked in as promised. It was the last thing she remembered until she awoke the next morning.
* * *
Three daysafter the spider debacle, Elliot held out Miss Garvey’s chair as she sat at the dining table. She was to be his partner at the dinner party hosted by Mrs. Alice Banberry, a friend of Charlotte’s who he had met at a few social events. Charlotte took her seat several guests down, on the same side of the table which made it near impossible for them to communicate. It also made it hard for him to study the men who spoke with her. But, nevertheless, it gave him the opportunity to possibly gain more information about Mr. Talbot, since the man and Miss Garvey seemed quite fond of each other.
Tonight, the woman was dressed in a gray gown, with no adornments, almost to the point of plainness. The sleeves came almost to her fingers, the neckline hugged her chin. Elliot did not pretend to be a master of fashion, but it was obvious to him Miss Garvey’s outfit, while exceedingly unflattering to her, was still well-made, and of an expensive fabric.
Her silver-streaked black hair had been pulled into a severe bun. He felt pain in his head just looking at her. “How are you this evening, Miss Garvey?”
“I am well, thank you.” She gave her attention to her soup.
Well, then. So much for pleasant social chatter. But then, he’d never found her to be very affable.
Mrs. Tilton, on his other side, drew his attention with lively repartee about her three grandsons who, apparently, kept her daughter either brimming with love and laughter, or in the bowels of parental hell.
Mr. Nelson, on Mrs. Tilton’s other side asked her a question, and Elliot used that opportunity to address Miss Garvey once more. “I see Mr. Talbot is not with us this evening, he is not ill, I hope.”
“No.” She took care to cut her well-cooked lamb into small pieces and chewed each piece long enough to keep her stomach from having to do any work in digestion. “He will be joining us later for the musicale. He had matters to see to that needed his attention.”
