Barbara Metzger Read Online Free Page A

death of both parents was too much for her, such a fragile little thing. Her mind must have snapped.”
    He gravely accepted the condolences of Lord Harrington, the biggest rattle in Town. “Sad fate for a noble family to end that way. Nothing to be done, eh?”
    Findley shook his head. “Unfortunately not. She lives in a fantasy world, dabbling in herbalism and woodlore so she doesn’t have to face the harsh reality of her loss. It’s all harmless, you understand, but not the thing for a proper young female. She simply cannot be taught any of the usual accomplishments.”
    “You’ve had her to the sawbones, of course. Don’t suppose they did her any good. Can’t cure the king, after all.”
    Another sigh. “The professionals have given up. It’s a hopeless case. Besides, all they advised was to bleed her or put her in restraints, or drill holes in her head. We couldn’t put the dear child through that.”
    Harrington shuddered. “Nothing left but to send her to Bethlehem Hospital.”
    “What, declare my own sister’s child a bedlamite? I couldn’t betray the baron’s trust in me that way. No, we’ll keep her safe at home.” Alfred put his hand over where his heart would be, if he had one. “Her loving family will stand by her.”
    Of course they would.
    *
    “Pa, I don’t see why you can’t make Annie show me the way through Sevrin Woods. It ain’t as if it’s hers or anything.”
    Nigel had been sent down from school again. This was the last time, for Sir Alfred knew better than to send good money after bad. They were at the breakfast table on a gloomy, rainy day. The eggs were runny and the rashers were greasy. Sir Alfred had the newspaper propped in front of him in hopes of avoiding the morning brangling between his children and the carping demands of his wife. He looked over the newspaper and said, “Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s sitting across the table from you.”
    Lisanne was taking one of her infrequent meals with the family because it was raining too hard to venture out, and the current cook refused to permit any hell-born babe in her kitchens lest her bread stop rising. As usual, the family ignored Lisanne’s presence in their midst, except for Aunt Cherise’s calling for her sal volatile when she saw her niece’s apparel. Tired of Esmé’s billowy castoffs that snagged on every bush and briar, Lisanne had taken to wearing Nigel’s.
    “Tell her she must not appear in the public rooms in such attire, Alfred. I have a hard enough time holding my head up in this neighborhood as is.”
    Alfred pointedly nodded to where Lisanne was placidly nibbling at a sweet roll, and went back to his paper.
    Esmé took up the complaint: “Well, I don’t see why I have to have lessons anymore when Annie doesn’t. She’s only a year older than me, and she’s been out of the classroom forever.”
    “Than I, Esmé,” Sir Alfred wearily corrected without looking up. “And if you knew that, perhaps you wouldn’t need schooling any longer, either.”
    Nigel reached across the table for the jam pot. “But, Pa, I have to hunt in Sevrin Woods. You know the bailiff won’t let me shoot on Neville grounds.”
    “That’s because you shot two goats and a chicken last time.” Esmé snickered before returning to her claims of injustice. “I think you should make Annie practice the pianoforte at least, Papa. It’s not fair that I have to play when the church ladies come visit and Annie doesn’t.”
    “What, have her in the parlor when company comes?” Lady Cherise screeched before falling back in her seat, clutching her chest. “Tell her she cannot, Alfred.”
    Sir Alfred tossed down his papers. He couldn’t recall the last occasion he’d been able to tell his niece anything but the time of day.
    Lessons? Hah! Even Mrs. Graybow had confessed years ago that there wasn’t a blessed thing she could teach the chit, and a lot she could learn from her. Trust that fusty old Neville to spawn a