The Painted Lady by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page B

could attract the attention of a decent man. In one year Lilyanne could set out to give her own Fate a gentle nudge. No, she’d give it a kick in the shins.
    Meanwhile, Lilyanne had encouraged Lisbet to accept a friend’s invitation to spend the winter holidays with her family in the Lake Country. Lilyanne would miss her sister dreadfully, but recognized a golden opportunity for Lisbet not only to meet people who might prove invaluable connections, but to enjoy herself far more than she would here in Upper Lytchfield.
    Here, they would have a goose and a few —very few—carols, with perhaps a sip of punch if Catherine whined loudly enough. Then they would have an additional Bible reading, in Uncle’s monotone voice that could steal the joy even out of the Christmas story. There would be no festive decorations, no anticipation of gifts, no elevation of spirits, for that, according to Uncle Osgood, led to Turbulence.
    Alone in her bedroom Lilyanne pounded her fist onto the window frame. A plague on Turbulence and the rest of her uncle’s theories. And a plague on the gentleman caller, too. Not only was he not carting Catherine off, he was likely handing Lilyanne a new headache.
     

Chapter Six
     
    “I have this friend, you see...” Kasey began.
    Sir Osgood Bannister adjusted his spectacles on his boney nose and steepled his fingers. “Ah, don’t we all.”
    “Pardon?”
    “You were telling me about your ... friend, Your Grace.”
    “Yes, well, that is, my friend has a slight problem with seeing things.”
    “Seeing? I am afraid I cannot help you with that, Your Grace. I am certain any competent lens-grinder can be of more assistance. In fact, I can only wonder why you were directed toward me in this matter. If this is by nature of a prank, I must say—”
    “Things that do not exist.”
    “Ah. That sheds a new light.”
    A pale, muted light, Kasey noted. Everything in the room was of a neutral tonal value, nothing to jar the eye or capture attention, not even the brown-haired, brown-suited gentleman behind the desk. The only hangings on the beige wall were a sampler and a pastoral scene. Neither of them seemed remotely inclined to offer Kasey good day. He liked the place already.
    “What kinds of things does your friend see?” the physician asked, holding a pen poised over a fresh sheet of paper.
    “You are certain we are private here, sir? I mean, I would not wish word of my friend’s trifling problem to be broadcast about, you know.”
    “Quite certain, Your Grace. Words spoken in this room never leave this room. My staff is sworn to uphold our, ah, guests’ privacy upon threat of instant dismissal. We seldom have congress with the local residents, over whom, naturally, I have no control, so that should not be of concern. At this moment, we have but one other guest in residence, and she is not permitted communication with the world outside Maidstone, so no one need ever know Your Grace came to visit. On your friend’s behalf, of course. Now about those ... visions?”
    So Kasey told the doctor about the lady in the painting. In his friend’s painting.
    Sir Osgood looked up from his pen-scratching. “I see. Does your friend imbibe in alcoholic spirits?”
    “Only moderately.”
    “Has he suffered a wound to the head? Concussion? Does he practice boxing as I understand some of the gentlemen of the ton do?”
    “Not to the point of injury.”
    “Has he traveled recently, perhaps with the army, where he might have contracted malaria or some other plague?”
    Kasey shook his head.
    “Fevers? Chills? Numb fingers or toes?”
    “No.”
    “I realize this is rather an indelicate question, but is anything else ... numb?”
    “You mean of a sexual nature? Hell, no.”
    The doctor’s pale cheeks were awash with color. “No insult intended, it is merely in my studies I have found that frustrated desires can often lead to irrational behaviors. Let us continue.” Sir Osgood did, quickly. “Does your