As Pru turned away from the window, something caught her eye: a flash of white. A chill shot through her body. The white was from a man’s shirt.
After fumbling about for a pair of moccasins, Pru slipped on her shoes and tramped out across the yard, a coat wrapped tightly around her nightclothes. Pajamas in public were apparently de rigueur at the Grange. Birds of a feather, she thought with a smirk.
Suddenly, across the yard, the white flashed a second time.
Only the boy hoodlums, Pru told herself as her heart drummed. But not even she could buy her own lies.
To start, this person was inside the property, undeterred by the stone wall and its blanket of thorns. The figure was also taller and far better dressed than the neighborhood scallywags. Plus it was clearly a man, a grown adult. And he was walking straight toward her, his mouth stretched into a determined scowl.
Nineteen
THE GEORGE & DRAGON
BANBURY, OXFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND
NOVEMBER 2001
Because of her mother’s transgressions, Gladys’s first taste of being the subject of gossips worldwide came at the tender age of eleven. One could speculate that this early introduction to the vagaries of public life made her the woman she became. Dramatic. Attention-seeking. Forever paranoid she was being watched.
—J. Casper Augustine Seton,
The Missing Duchess: A Biography “So that was Tom, right?” Annie asked. “That Pru saw in the garden?”
“You’re under the assumption Tom was a real person, then.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Spencer was nearly as crazy as she pretended to be. It was all part of her act.”
Gus smiled.
“That’s a bold theory,” he said, rising to his feet. “This early into the story. Well, Miss Annie. As always, it’s been a pleasure.”
He reached out a hand.
“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done!”
“Sorry, my captivating new friend. As engaging as I find your company, I have an appointment to keep.”
“An appointment? What appointment? I don’t believe you.”
“You might find this astounding but old men have obligations too, even ones that do not involve the swapping out of bandages and colostomy bags.”
“Sorry, Gus,” she said. “But I call BS.”
He chuckled and wound a plaid scarf around his neck.
“I’m sure it seems preposterous that another person would voluntarily meet with an old plonker like me,” he said. “Truly, what else do I need to accomplish other than to sit in a bar all day getting semipissed?”
“I didn’t say that…”
“Oh, but it’s true! Most of the time. But every once in a great long while I have a specific engagement to keep. You think I can hurtle this gracefully toward the grave on my own? No, there are doctors, dentists, and financial planners involved.”
Gus reached out his hand again. This time Annie reluctantly took it, but not before letting out a few grumbles.
“I’ve enjoyed our conversation,” he said. “I do hope to run into you again.”
Annie shook his hand, deliberating how she might manufacture another meet-up. She wanted more of his tale, something beyond the pages of transcript she had in her bag.
“Yeah, it’s been swell,” she muttered. “But before you leave, tell me who Pru saw in the garden.”
“You’ve decided it’s Tom. Let’s leave it at that. It’s probably better than the real story.”
“But the real story is what I want!”
“Tell me, Annie. Why do you care so much about the duchess? Or Pru? They’re just a bunch of unknowns, most of them dead.”
“I told you. I’m a researcher.”
The lie was now so thoroughly absorbed Annie might as well have been taking it intravenously. She believed it with every part of her.
“Right,” Gus said. “But researching what, exactly?”
“Er, um, literature!”
“Literature,” he said with a small grunt. “As in all the literature?” He made a sweeping motion with his hands. “The full canon of written works? That seems like an awfully big theme from which to bite.”
“No, no. Ha, ha, ha.” God, her forced laughter sounded way too much like a donkey braying. “It’s, er, um…” She thought of Eric. “War. The effect of war on cultures as revealed through prose.”
Annie smiled, feeling mildly pleased with herself. It sounded reasonable. She didn’t know much about thesis statements but probably would’ve accepted the story if someone tried to hawk it to her.
“War through prose, huh?” he said.
“Yup.” Annie bobbed her head.
“And how does The Missing Duchess fit in?”
“Well, you see, it’s an interesting study as it was written at the tail end of the Vietnam War.”
“By a Brit. And it wasn’t published until several years after the war ended.”
“But its protagonist lived through two world wars. Also, the shooting of her mother’s lover by her father. Love is war, right?”
“Hmm,” Gus said. “Interesting. Very interesting topic. Especially when one considers the background of Pru, who is not in the book but part of the story all the same.”