Coupled Betrayal

Chapter 15

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August 30, 1879

Outrage. The Earl of Stonehurst, Lady Irvington and Mr. Fergusson involved in atrocities.

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My mother still sat in the chair when I awoke but with a book in her hands.

"Good morning," she said while closing the book.

I allowed my brain a couple of seconds to fully wake up before replying accordingly.

"What time is it?"

"Four in the afternoon."

I wondered how long I'd been asleep and apparently I wondered out loud.

"You've been asleep for around eight hours."

"And Claude?" I asked while still under the sheets.

"He's still asleep."

"And Emily?"

"She's in the kitchen."

I rubbed my eyes and stood up, flinching at the cold floors. My mother put the slippers near me, and I slipped them on.

"Thank you."

"I'll send for a maid to help get you ready. Then we'll talk."

"Again?" I asked, "we already talked yesterday."

"Correction. I let both of you go to sleep because you were tired, but our conversation is far from over. Go down to the dining room, I'll have your father's valet wake him up."

Her dress exited last as she closed the door. Minutes later, a maid knocked to get me ready in less than an hour. She was silent but efficient, much different to Emily who I thoroughly enjoyed having conversations with. I headed to the dining room where my mother conversed with Claude. His plate remained untouched but his glass of wine was long gone.

I made my steps louder as to gather their attention. He stood up as English etiquette demanded until I sat down. No servants were around the table and I supposed my mother wanted utmost privacy.

Picking up my fork and knife, I asked, "What did I miss?"

"Not much, dear," my mother began, "we were just discussing how we are supposed to deal with the fact that both your fathers are now escaped convicts."

The sarcasm was not lost on her voice.

From then on began a long conversation on what to do now. What was next?

My mother offered a variety of ideas. Fake their deaths? Prolong the business trip and then fake their deaths? Watching my mother as she helped herself to a second plate felt like a slap to the face. A proper lady would never eat more than one serving, according to my mother.

The stress was really getting to her.

"Perhaps, my lady, it'd be wise to simply tell the truth. It always finds a way of getting out," Claude reasoned.

"And get ostracized? Are you mad?" She took another big bite of her food.

"Mama," I scolded.

The rest of the strange lunch and dinner time went similarly the rest of the hour; simply stressful. Poor Claude tried to help my mother, but she only grew angrier and rude. However, after much arguing, we managed to convince her to tell the truth, my father be damned. Mr. Fergusson and Lady Irvington, too. Our plates were now empty, which my mother saw as a cue to kick Claude out.