Chapter Fifty-four
“What if we fail?” said Sylvie nervously, her hand shaking as she absent-mindedly reached towards the teapot. “What if we’re wrong… and Angus finds out? He’ll never forgive me. Forgive us!”
Leaning forward from the worn armchair opposite, Southerby gently pushed her hand back down onto the table. “At present, I think we’re in more danger of you scalding us both. Here, allow me.”
Lifting the heavy pot, he poured two cups of strong, black tea. Dropping in two sugar cubes apiece, he added a splash of milk, stirred, and pushed one cup towards her.
Still distracted, Sylvie picked it up and took a sip. Her brows shot up as she pulled the cup from her lips and peered at the burnt-umber liquid. “Golly… is this tea?”
Hiding his smile, Southerby settled back into the chair with his own cup in hand. “Indeed. A good, honest cup of tea.”
“Mm.” She peeped over the rim. “Rather more robust than I am used to… yet I rather like it.”
“I’m pleased,” he murmured, lifting a newspaper from the table.
“Valentine?”
“Sylvie?” he replied without lowering the paper.
“Do you not think our time would have been better spent if you had travelled with me in the coach rather than on horseback?”
“No.”
“I only mean it would have afforded us more time to discuss everything… better prepare. I still have so many questions. Do you think we should delay our visit by a day and go through everything again? I’m sure the innkeeper would allow us this private room for the day.”
“I’m sure he would… if we needed it.”
“Yes, but… I’m starting to wonder if I actually should know all that you do? It’s just, now the time has come, I am a little…”
Valentine lowered the paper slightly and looked over the top at her. “Nervous? Yes, I gathered. But is that not how one might normally feel… when one is about to meet a significant figure in their husband’s life.”
“Yes, but what if I say the wrong thing? What if I blurt out something I shouldn’t and ruin everything?”
Slowly placing his paper down, he sat up further, his expression and tone one of parental patience.
“Sylvie, if I were to burden you with my thoughts, or what I think I know, it may influence the way you conduct yourself — your manner, your tone, even your expression. As I have said before, in my experience, the less you think you know, the better. If you stick to what you do know, keep as close to your truth as possible, you’ll be less likely to stumble.
If you are concentrating on your next lie, trying to remember the preceding ones, your mind will be too distracted to comprehend what is actually the truth between the lies. ”
“So, we should just stick to the plan?”
“Indeed.”
“And we definitely don’t think I should go in and confront her?”
“No. Definitely not. If Lady McDonald has indeed been hiding secrets for all these years, she will not give them up easily. If they are there… we need to draw them out carefully, let her expose herself in her own lies. If she senses the true purpose of your visit, we fail before we begin.”
“Right. Yes. Indeed,” said Sylvie, enthusiastically nodding her agreement, though the faint crease in her brow betrayed her nerves. “So… simply act naturally?”
“Um, hum.”
“So, we shouldn’t practise what I’m going to say? Oh… but what if she asks me questions?”
“She will…” he said with a faint smile, “… which is precisely why you shouldn’t go in with any preconceived ideas of how the conversation will unfold.
The key is to listen carefully and consider what is being said, rather than anticipating what you will say next and waiting to speak.
You’ll know when the time is right to ask your questions.
Just stay as close to the truth as possible. ”
“Yes. Right. Listen carefully…” murmured Sylvie, half to herself, “… and act like a ditzy, ninnyhead who believes in curses and fears for her life.”
“Act?” His brow arched with amusement. “Mm. Interesting.”
Shooting him a stern look, she opened her mouth to protest, then shook her head. “Pha, you are teasing again.”
“Indeed. I know you do not believe in curses.”
“And tease further to distract me!”
“Is it working?”
With a roll of her eyes and a reluctant chuckle, she nodded. “Yes. But I should, shouldn’t I? Act… a little?”
“To an extent, yes… but don’t overplay the dramatics.”
“And you’ll be…”
“Yes, I will.”
“Right,” she breathed.
He smiled, indulgent but reassuring. “Stop worrying. I wouldn’t send you in if I didn’t think you could do it. Truly, Sylvie… you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. And you’ll be wonderful, I promise.”
Receiving a slightly apprehensive smile, Southerby glanced at the clock on the mantle, then rose from his chair. “It’s time.”