Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Natalie Brianne (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

it all? She watched the letters smolder for a few moments before perusing the spines in her bookshelf. Alice in Wonderland, Little Women, Around the World in 80 Days were all ways to escape her reality. Her eyes drifted to her collection of Dickens and Austen. Her fingers lingered over a particularly old, leather-bound book. With consideration for the delicate cover, she pulled the tome from the shelf and brought it over to her armchair. Nero hopped up in her lap, and she stroked his fur.

Her father brought the book back as a gift for her mother just before they were married. If she remembered right, it had come from Arabia or India. Granted, this information came from her uncle. She was young enough when her parents died that she didn’t remember anything directly from them. The book was small in her hands as she fondled the intricate patterns decorating the cover. She perused the novel, knowing she wouldn’t be able to read it. The symbols on the page were foreign to her, but every so often she came to a word circled in red. Next to each circled word or phrase was a written translation, presumably in her father’s handwriting. Her name was written in the margin on page 79 next to one of the red circles. The page was wrinkled and water splotched, but it was hers just the same. Sufficiently calmed, she set it on her side table.

It had been foolish to hope the newspaper would have any further information. She checked every diary of her parents, every stray note, asked her uncle as many questions as she had deemed reasonable. Still the same story. No. If she wanted to find any new information about what happened to her parents, she needed to find it herself. She could make the trek back to St. James’ park in the afternoon, but she had already wandered in that direction and didn’t fancy making the journey again.

She attempted to read, but the man in the grey suit kept entering her mind. She smiled to herself as Nero fell asleep. He might have information too. She likely wouldn’t be seeing the man again, but perhaps she could give him the opportunity. Tomorrow, she would go back to the same cafe and see if he was a frequent visitor. And then, as it was convenient, she would go to the library at St. James’ park. Her plan laid out in her head, she retrieved a new book from the shelf and settled into the armchair again, content to envelop herself in the world of Elizabeth Bennett for the afternoon.

The sun rose in the sky over London, attempting to beat down through the clouds and fog. Several airships swept through the mist. Mira Blayse sat at the cafe, drinking tea and sketching buildings. She had an excuse ready, just in case the same waiter attended her. Luckily, he didn’t.

She finished shading the ivy that trailed up the building opposite, and then flipped through the rest of her sketchbook, examining her drawings. Most were portraits, but there were some full figures, some animals, and a few buildings. She came to a stop, looking at the face and chiseled jaw of the man in the grey coat. She looked over the notes she had retrieved the previous day. No scenario made sense in her head for why these notes would be there. She examined his face again. Serious? Yes. Determined? Definitely. Certainly a gentleman, from how he dressed and carried himself. Was there a hint of kindness? Perhaps. She smiled as her eyes roved over the sketch. His eyes looked a bit like her father’s. Piercing and full of life. She looked up at where he was the day before. And there he stood. Wearing a black suit with silver buttons and a red waistcoat. His steady gaze focused on her.

No. He was looking at the bush behind her again. She looked down at her sketch of him. Dangerous? Maybe. She closed her sketchbook and swallowed. Maybe he was looking at both the bush and her. She bit her lip. He knew she had been following him. It might have not been such a good idea to come back to the cafe after all. She chanced a glance up at him. He was moving towards her. He stopped in front of the table and she held her breath, waiting for him to confront her. She should have just gone to the library. He slipped around the table and started looking through the bush. She furrowed her brow in confusion. Hadn’t he already read the note? This confusion grew more and more as she realized the intensity of his anxiety. He was looking for the note, and the note was in her sketchbook.

He almost seemed frantic, searching the shrub from one end to the other. He ran his hand through his hair and looked again. When he had retrieved the note the day before, he was so calm and collected, it had seemed normal for him to be preening a bush. No one besides her had paid him any attention. Today he was at the center of it.

“No. No, no, no! It said it was here,” he murmured, as he checked beneath the planter. He was bound to see her soon and blame her. She decided to beat him to it.

Clearing her throat, she attempted her best effort at confidence.

“Um…good morning, sir. I wanted to apologize for yesterday.” She sounded a bit more hesitant than she would like, but it did get his attention. He stopped looking in the bush and turned around to face her, hiding his anxiety behind a facade of composure.

“Sorry?”

“First and foremost, I didn’t realize you still needed these.” She extended the three notes to him.

He released a breath and plucked the notes from her hand, drooping into the seat across from her.

“Thank you. Apology accepted young lady.”

He read over each, placing the first note back into the bush