Josephine's Lists

Chapter 22- The Mask Behind the Man

The Rivingdale's ball was the final soirée, signaling nearly all Loewick's guests impending departure. Servants bustled the halls having begun preparations for the mass exodus.

What Josephine longed for yesterday morning, now loomed dark over her head, approaching at a rapid pace. No longer did she want to leave, but knew there was little choice. Tomorrow, Josephine would return to London. She suspected Constance was also unenthusiastic about their journey back, if her friend's frequent reminders of how dearly she would miss Sir Cartwright were any indication.

Although excited for the ball, Josephine found it hard to focus on evening affairs with so many matters yet unsettled. Her father's financial situation was still a mystery. She wondered if news would arrive once she was back in London. Whether good or bad.

Yesterday, Tennyson had soothed Josephine the best he could under the circumstances. If he secured the inheritance from his grandfather, which Tennyson appeared optimistic over, then he would happily support her father and sister to the greatest of his ability. She delighted at the prospect. But, the sad reality were the inheritance not to come to fruition was a source of constant distress.

She needed to clear her head, deciding a walk with Red would do just the trick. But rather than her dog as a sole companion, Josephine sought out Tennyson. Enthusiastically knocking on the study door, a muffled voice sounded from within, "Come in."

Josephine pushed open the door, startled to behold an unfamiliar gentleman sitting behind the desk. He wore spectacles low upon his nose, giving him a contemplative appearance. Holding a quill in one hand along with parchment beneath the other, he eyed her with curiosity. Josephine felt guilty for interrupting the stranger, immediately apologizing, "Pardon Sir, I was looking for Mr. Tennyson. Please forgive the intrusion."

Josephine turned to leave when his words halted her. "You look just like your mother. It is almost uncanny."

She faced the gentleman, a bit confused, but feeling comforted by his smile. This man knew her mother?

"You said you were searching for Tennyson?" the man continued. "Well Miss Yorke, you have found him. Mr. Horace Tennyson, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

With that admission she didn't know whether to run or bravely face the person Charles had warned her against. 'My father is not a good man' echoed within. But, this pleasant sounding man hardly resembled the monster Tennyson had described. And her curiosity trumped any thoughts of fleeing. Not to mention, she was a guest in his house.

"A pleasure to meet you Sir," Josephine politely responded, cautiously stepping forward. She knew she would need to tread carefully with her words. Josephine had no way of knowing exactly what information Horace was privy to. "Did you know my mother well?"

"Well enough. It is hard to forget eyes as hauntingly blue as yours. I believe she bested you in height, however. Quite a small thing you are," he remarked, still poised with quill and parchment. "And who do we have here?" Horace whistled and Red wagged his tail while slowly sauntering forward. Horace abandoned his spectacles and turned sideways in the chair, grabbing Red's collar and roughly patting the hound's back. Horace Tennyson seemed normal, kind even. She wondered if he reserved all supposed misbehavior for members of his immediate family. Just as her own father generally did.

"His name is Red," Josephine informed, smiling down at her favorite four-legged friend. "He has neither bark nor bite."

"All creatures have a measure of fight in them, do not mistake laziness for docility. The hippopotamus lazes around nearly twenty hours each day, but is hailed to be more dangerous than a lion." He took Red's snout between his large hands, "Yes, I believe you have more bite than anyone shall give you credit for...So, Miss Yorke, have you enjoyed your stay at Loewick?"