Grey Skies

Gone

Chapter 2

Sophie

After dinner, we relax in the sitting room, I'm drinking tea, and my parents are drinking coffee. The room is very quiet, silent. And I want to break it. I look around the room, at the tapestry, and the paintings of past dukes and duchesses, with the same expression on their faces, smiling what I call the British half smile. And I want to break it.

"So, mum, why did you have the letter from the Queen?"

"Actually, the letter isn't exactly mine." As she says that, my face falls.

"Don't be disappointed, Sophie. I still..." She stops, and hear the click of heels on the wooden floor, and I see why she stopped. Ellie, one of our servants, has come in to clear away the drinks.

Ellie's nice, but she's very nosy, and she's a live-in, so we have to be careful about what we say around her. Once, when I was a toddler, it was Ellie's first year, and my mother was getting ready go to London (surprising, isn't it) and I had watched her put on her jewelry, and I was babbling, as toddlers do, and started talking about "pretty, pretty, pearls", and Ellie took a big interest in mum's pearls. The next day, mum was looking for her pearls, and couldn't find them anywhere. We don't want to accuse her, and mum and dad don't want to fire her, so when she's around, we make casual small talk.

"Are you finished, M'Lady?"

"Yes, Ellie, we are good for the night, thank you."

Ellie nods and leaves the room, and when she's gone, mum continues what she was saying before.

"Anyway, grandmama and Grandfather had an invitation to Buckingham Palace, and it was for Prince... I forget now. But they went, and met Lord and Lady Lighton, so the letter probably is more sentimental than anything."

"Ohh." I reply, realizing why she wanted the letter and the journal so much. "I have the journal upstairs, I'm going to go get it."

I jump out of my chair, and race back up to my room, panting by the time I get there. I flip the lights on, and walk over to my oak vanity, where I had left the small book. But it's not there. I turn around, and almost go to my mother for help, but decide I should look for it myself, instead of worrying her. So I look on my bed, my dresser, even in the closet, but the outcome is clear; the journal is not there.