Page 4 of Earl Crazy
Lucifer gave a disdainful sniff, and turned his wet little doggy nose up at her. “Woof!”
“Same to you, you horrid little goblin, er, I mean, that’s a good, sweet, lovely little doggy.” She crouched low, inching closer, ready to snatch him up at the first opportunity. Close, closer, she nearly had him… “Ah ha! Got you, you menace!”
And shedidhave him, for precisely half a second, but before she had a chance to draw a breath he’d squirmed free, wriggled between the bars of the iron fence that surrounded the garden, and vanished around a corner in a blur of fluffy white fur. “Noooo!”
Why, in the name of all that was just and good, did she always find herself in such absurd scrapes? Because goodness knew charging down the dark streets of Hampstead Heath in her night rail with her unlaced half boots flapping around her ankles certainly qualified as a scrape.
Someone might see her, and then they’d tell Lady Fosberry, and Lady Fosberry would tell Phee, and poor Phee…well, Phee wouldn’t scold. She never scolded. No, it would be much worse than that. She’d wouldn’t utter a single cross word, but she’d fret herself into a fit over the scandal of it all.
Anotherscandal, and this one right on the heels of the…er, unfortunate Incident that had taken place just before they’d left for London. There couldnotbe another Incident. That was, above all, her first consideration.
Indeed, her very first.
Right afternotlosing Lucius— or Lucifer the Wicked, as she preferred to think of him —Lady Fosberry’s precious, beloved dog, who’d run off just now as if he’d had a destination in mind. He was already well ahead of her, and against all reason, his white fur melted seamlessly into the darkness.
She let out a groan and charged after him, her feet sliding about inside her boots, the hem of her night rail dragging behind her. At least she’d had the sense to don her cloak before venturing out, though a cloak wasn’t likely to diffuse the scandal that would erupt if anyone happened to see her.
Fortunately, the darkness hid many a wicked deed, and it was as dark as Hades tonight, the moon hiding behind a bank of thick clouds. She could only just make out the hulking presence of Prestwick House looming ahead. It was a pretty place in the daylight, with its rows of airy windows and warm red brick façade, but it appeared rather monstrous tonight, with its shuttered windows and cold chimney stacks. It had stood empty for over a year now, since the last Earl of Prestwick’s death, and Lady Fosberry had said she thought it would remain so for some time to come.
The garden gate hadn’t been tended to in ages. It was hanging by one hinge, and it let out a high-pitched squeal when she pushed it open, the sound loud enough to wake the dead. She glanced behind her, but Lady Fosberry’s house remained still and quiet, the windows dark.
The garden was drowning in shadows. It would be a miracle if she managed to find Lucifer, but she stumbled along in the direction he’d gone, alternating between prayers and curses as she hurried past a long row of tall hedges, peering into the darkness around her for a glimpse of white fur.
But it was no use. There wasn’t a strand of fur to be seen, and her heart sank as she wandered from tree to shrub to plants crisp with frost, hissing under her breath with every step. “Lucifer? Do come out, won’t you? I beg your pardon for lying about the treat.”
Lucifer, alas, wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Silence was her only answer, so she crept on, peeking under bushes and rifling through the shrubbery until her hands were covered with long, red scratches from the branches, and her toes were frozen.
A quarter hour passed, then another, and still Lucifer didn’t appear. What was the point in going on, under the circumstances? Unless he chose to reveal himself, she had about as much likelihood of finding him as she would a dropped hairpin.
There was nothing for it, but to return to the house, and confess the whole of the debacle to Lady Fosberry, which was sure to be perfectly dreadful. Lucifer was a devious little rascal, but Lady Fosberry quite doted on him. She was going to be horrified when she discovered he’d gone miss—
“Woof!”
“Lucifer?” She jerked toward the sound, her heart jumping into her throat. Oh, please, let it be him! If only she could find him, she’d be ever so careful for the remainder of her time in London. She wouldn’t set so much as a single toe out of line—
“Woof!”
“Yes, I’m coming, you beast.” She skirted around the corner and darted across a narrow, grassy lane, following the barking until she came to another iron gate. Just beyond it was a small, rather shabby cottage.
She came around the side of it, poking through the underbrush as she went, searching for any sign of Lucifer, but she paused when she reached the entrance of the cottage, blinking.
A narrow shaft of light spilled from the entryway, illuminating the steps beyond.
The front door was cracked open.
An open door, after midnight? How odd.
There didn’t seem to be anyone about. Only Lucifer, who was perched on the top step leading up to the door as if he’d done so dozens of times before. Very strange, indeed. So strange, in fact, even a sensible lady like herself might suspect foul play to be involved.
“Woof!” Lucifer was watching her expectantly, as if waiting for her to do something.
“Don’t you dare scold me, Lucifer. This is all your fault.” Still, Lucifer did have a point. The open door was suspicious, indeed. What if someone inside was ill, or injured? She crept up the stairs, and poked her head through the gap. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”
Silence. The sconces had been lit, but the entryway was deserted.
Lucifer, who’d evidently reached the end of his patience, let out another insistent, “Woof!”
“Hush, you insufferable creature,” she hissed, glaring down at him. “If you’re so brave, then why don’t you go first?”
