A Pair of Brown Eyes: Chapter 26 and...

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*WARNING: No, no warning, really. Just BE WARNED! ;-)

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Geoffrey kept staring at the void in the room, not quite believing his eyes. He felt the anger building up inside his chest. "How could you let this happen?", he shouted at his butler, but only received a blank glance in response. The fool of a man! His wife had disappeared, and he didn't even had an inkling about the affair? Even that old nitwit she kept for a maid had gone, for heaven's sake! This was intolerable! Servants were not people to be trusted. "You're presently dismissed." The butler muttered some apologies and was gone.

Upon being left alone, Geoffrey's mind began to work at ease. He sunk unceremoniously into the nearest chair, and he just sat there, staring into space, until his eyes fixed upon that empty area again. She had dared to abandon him, and by means of such cunning trick, no less! Selling her piano, silly girl! Why had she left him, why? Was his love not good enough? Damn her!

After a while, his furious dejection gave way, and was replaced by a bitter melancholy, which he found much more difficult to bear. What if marrying such a young girl had been a mistake, after all? What if he had not yielded to the irresistible temptation she posed? Oh no, that had never been an option for him; ever since he first set eyes on her, he knew she had to be his.

And his she would be again! He was determined to find her...

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Well, well, so Eliza's son had a farm, huh? Who would have thought that she had someone to provide for her in her old age. And conveniently easy to trace, too.

"Ah, you're there. I've found you at last," Geoffrey said the minute he saw her. She, in turn, dropped dead in her tracks, the shock depicted in her countenance.

Not giving her time to react, he approached her in one swift movement, and began to study her, in case he could infer some valuable intelligence from her reaction: the respectful curtsy he offered, however, gave nothing away.

"Where is she?" Geoffrey finally asked her, not willing to waste any more time in guessing. She failed to utter a word. "Come on. Don't keep staring at me like that. You know who I'm talking about: your mistress, Mrs. Richardson! Where is she? Surely you know where she is. Speak, woman."

"I don't know nothin', sir," she said, looking away.

Geoffrey sneered. Stubborn old woman! "We both know you do. And you— are going— to tell me."

"No, sir." Her tone was firmer. "If you please, sir, I don't work for you no more, that I don't. I ain't got nothin' to say to you."

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Geoffrey was running out of ideas. This had seemed like a good place to search for her; but, no, all had come up to nothing! Her name was nowhere to be found in any of the passengers' lists he had perused. Apparently, she hadn't left the country, then.

Unless...

A sudden recollection entered his mind. All his attention being naturally focused on first-class passengers, he had but skimmed through the names of those travelling by second, but now he realised that one of them sounded familiar. Parker, Parker..., he had heard that name before. He went back into the customs office to gather more information.

If only it was really her! He let himself be overjoyed with happiness at the prospect of having found his wife, and did his best effort to forget the humiliation of imagining her travelling so far beneath her position.

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If the directions he had received were correct, this was the house he was looking for. And, hard as it was for him to own that, it looked decent enough: not at all a bad dwelling for a mere physician.

His heart began beating faster. He had the uncanny feeling that she was near him, somehow. Oh, Claire! His Claire! Geoffrey took a deep breath as he approached the entrance, and made an inward promise to treat her gentler in the future.

He knocked on the door, and the bearded man who answered his call received him with anything but politeness. Couldn't the men of this country show any proper manners, even to hide their ill humour? This doctor had yet much to learn in that field, unlike himself, who didn't give anything away as to the instant dislike he felt for him.

"Good morning, sir. Are you Dr. Andrew Stuart?" The man nodded, and they exchanged a handshake. The vigorous appeal in his appearance only served to turn Geoffrey's dislike into hatred. "My name is Geoffrey Richardson. I'm under the impression my wife works here."

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Author's note.- I'd better find a sofa or something to hide behind, right? Well, now you know: Claire's husband is still very much ALIVE :-(. It's been a year and a half of reading all your hypotheses –mostly rather accurate, I must say–, and feeling for you, and wondering how you'd take it..., knowing all along *sighs* it would all come to this... So, tell me, how have you taken it? Feel free to share your opinions about this turn of events or the story at large in the comments section :-).

Anyway, let's not be sad. It is Christmas time after all, and this post needs to end in a lighter tone. Below you'll find the special treat I've prepared for you all, and in case anyone feels inclined to take a look at last year's, here's the link.

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Here's a Christmas song I'm sure you'll know ;-), here in a cover by a local a cappella group that I love ♥. Sorry for the sound quality, it's an amateur recording I found somewhere on the web...

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Now for the seasonal card. Claire, Andrew, Ethel, Jack, Caroline and Becky wish you...

A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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And of course, lots of hugs and kisses from
Marta :-).