26 October, 2006 by katelaity
“Our king?” Alice demanded breathlessly as Lizzie colored significantly.
“No, you–you misunderstand me,” her cousin stammered. “King, King — I only meant…Mr. King. In Harlow. The collector of…spindly-legged insects. You know my interest in insects of all kinds, Alice.” Lizzie seemed to have quite recovered herself, but for the slight pink flush at her neck. However, Alice did notice that she had also tucked the letter in question into the recesses of her sleeve. Hmmm, thought Alice, she had never considered the uses of sleeves. It would render pockets obsolete, although it would require one to wear unfashionably billowing sleeves.
“Insects,” Alice repeated with some suspicion still lurking in the shadows of her vocal tones.
“Insects!” Lizzie repeated with some of her former venom. “That will be all, Mrs. Perkins.” Lizzie waved off the hearty domestic. “My cousin and I have much to do.” The housekeeper looked distinctly disappointed as she curtseyed perfunctorily and slipped silently away, closing the library door with some evident reluctance. “I hope she’s not going to go gossiping,” Lizzie muttered once the door had whispered shut.
“I doubt Mrs. Perkins has much time for gossiping. There’s the laundry to manage, dishes to wash, dinner to direct — she has rather a lot to do,” Alice said, suddenly realizing what a trying life poor Mrs. Perkins must have. I shall not complain about the lumpy darns in my stockings ever again, she thought with a surge of pity that would be forgotten within a fortnight.
“I can only hope so,” Lizzie continued, oblivious to Alice’s ruminations. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to read the King’s letter.”
“You mean Mr. King’s letter,” Alice corrected.
“Alice,” Lizzie said, softly stealing a glance at the door, “I have a secret to share with you.”
“Oh, I love secrets!” Alice crowed. “Tell me! Is it about that handsome young man we spotted talking to Mr. Bennett at the Assembly Ball last month?!”
Lizzie regarded her cousin with obvious puzzlement. “Why on earth should it be about him? No, no, it is about this letter.”
“Oh.” Alice had entertained many pleasing thoughts about that still nameless young man in the idle weeks since. “Oh, it’s not from Arthur Boylett,” she continued with dismay. She knew her father had leaned in his direction as far as her suitors went and was very cross to imagine that she may indeed have to marry that dull young man.
“Alice,” her cousin said, rousing her from a growing despondency, “Not everything is about you. This letter is actually from –” and she paused again to ascertain that they were alone in the library, then whispered, “From the King of Naples!”
Alice paused thoughtfully. “Africa?”
“We paid Miss Travers far too well,” Lizzie said, frowning as Alice’s father was also apt to do when speaking of the recently sacked tutor. “No, Alice. Naples is in Italy.”
“The King. Of Naples.” Lizzie cocked an eyebrow at her younger cousin.
“Why is a king writing to you?” Alice asked at last.
Lizzie smiled. Alice had long ago noticed that when that happened, Lizzie looked very cunning indeed. It was most unbecoming in a lady. “We have worked out a plan to –“
Just then the door of the library flew open and very flustered Mrs. Perkins shot into the room again. “Oh, Miss Alice!” she sobbed, “Come quick, your mother needs you!”
“What is it, Mrs. Perkins,” Lizzie said, somewhat cross at having her own revelation upstaged.
Mrs. Perkins was wringing her hands as she blurted, “It’s your father, Miss Alice — he — he’s dead!”