Josephine's Lists

Chapter 24- Brazen Threat

Tennyson was greeted by a stoic Lampers overseeing the main hall. The butler took his hat and proffered gloves before addressing, "Sir, there has been an incident."

"An incident?"

"Yes, in Miss Yorke's room, Sir," the butler informed, warily offering the information. "There was..." Before Lampers could explain, Tennyson bolted up the stairs taking two at a time. He hadn't needed an explanation, being keenly aware of his father's current annoyance. His mother had warned of retaliation, and he had every reason to believe this 'incident' was of his father's doing. Tennyson knew that Horace did not so easily relent on his choice of a bride, but he had mistakenly assumed the subsequent punishment would be directed toward himself, not toward Josephine. Heaven only knew what disaster awaited him upstairs.

A small crowd had formed outside her door and Tennyson felt his stomach drop to the floor. Disregarding the few people gathered and their offerings of information, Tennyson flung open her bedroom door. On the brief jaunt up the stairs, he had conjured several possibilities. Perhaps his father had her clothes thrown into the fire, or stolen all her jewels as partial payment for the fortune lost. But, ruined gowns and stolen goods paled to the actual lengths his father had gone. What Tennyson beheld behind her door knocked the wind straight out of him.

His beautiful Josephine was curled up on the floor beside the hearth. Smears of crimson stained the white lace of her ball gown. An hour ago, she was beaming in a ballroom, yet now, Miss Yorke was cradling the lifeless body of her beloved pet. Henry was bent down beside her, affectionately stroking Josephine's back.

Josephine startled, looking up to see Tennyson's sudden appearance in the doorway. The tears brimming in her eyes were his undoing, and the mere sight of Tennyson created fresh sobs in her throat. Red. Her most loyal companion was dead. Bloodied and discarded on the bedroom floor.

Henry graciously stood, allowing Tennyson to replace him as her comforter. He was confused and angry but only one thought came to mind as Tennyson grabbed both sides of her face. "You are not hurt are you?"

She shook her head no as he pressed his forehead to hers, disregarding propriety. "I am so sorry. So deeply sorry."

Tennyson stroked an unbloodied strip of fur on Red's neck, guilt swarming him. He should have know his father would retaliate in a horrific manner. He should have protected Josephine from the harsh reality of his family. But he hadn't. He had failed her.

The next hour was a flutter of commotion. Somehow Tennyson managed to console Josephine while simultaneously barking orders at a pair of frightened housemaids and an overwrought Lampers. He made sure the crowd outside her door had dispersed and the scene within righted.

"I already spoke with your father," Lampers informed, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Tennyson looked beyond the butler's shoulder to where Josephine was nestled in a chair beside the fire, Constance and Henry at either side. Her face was puffy and blotched with pink. Tennyson squeezed his hand into a fist at his side. A rage roiled within, blocking out reason and sanity. Then came a feeling of sickness at how similar he was to his father. Like Horace, Charles had a seething fury buried within. Only, Tennyson had kept his locked away. But, as he thought of Josephine's tear stained cheeks, repressing the violent person within became near to impossible.

"Your father said that he will do all in his power to find the culprit and bring them swiftly to justice," the butler continued, and Tennyson had to suppress a sinister laugh. "He was outraged that someone would dare do such a thing beneath his roof."

"Oh, I am sure father was," Tennyson dryly replied. His father was outraged alright! Outraged at him for daring to disobey his orders. In order for Horace to find the culprit, he need look no further than a mirror.