Penelope by Anya Wylde Page B

it
was used to scare of annoying guests, Lady Radclyff’s unsuitable
suitors and the occasional trespasser. Now Penelope held it and
aimed it at the impersonator, the man who had dared to enter the
duke’s home dressed in an exquisite silk aubergine gown.
    “Don’t worry,
your grace. I have it all in hand. Lady Radclyff, would you be kind
enough to call a few burly footmen? We will tie this imposter up
and keep him in the dungeon until the Runners arrive.” Penelope was
proud that her voice came out strong and loud. The run in with the
highwayman had done wonders to her courage. She had always assumed
that she was as bold as a mouse. London, it seemed, had turned her
into a tomcat.
    “Err, Miss
Fairweather … we do not have a dungeon and—” Lady Radclyff started
to say.
    “Well, we could
always lock him in a room or a dingy attic. The important thing is
to tie the man up. Stop dawdling and hurry, Lady Radclyff. Don’t
worry, I know I have to press the trigger, and if he attempts to
escape, he will be awfully sorry. I have seen my father do it. I
have it all in hand.”
    “Pull the
trigger, my dear,” the man spoke up.
    Penelope gaped
at him. She focused on his expression and was disconcerted to note
that the man looked confident and serene, irrespective of the fact
that he was facing a loaded gun and wearing yards of silk. Was it
false bravado, she wondered, her courage rapidly faltering at his
smile.
    “I will pull it
… I am warning you …”
    “Please, by all
means, go ahead.”
    “No, Miss
Fairweather, you do not understand. You are mistaken,” the dowager
interrupted urgently.
    But Penelope
had already raised the gun to her shoulder and was taking aim.
    The room froze,
their throats constricted by giant lumps of fear.
    Penelope shut
one eye and squinted. She couldn’t see a blasted thing. How did one
see through a hunting rifle? She tried again, desperately peering,
her arms already aching from holding the heavy rifle. She gave up
and aimed with both her eyes open. She had intended to aim and keep
it aimed until help arrived. Unfortunately, that was when the
weight of the rifle became too much for her and her back bowed and
hand slipped.
    She had pulled
the trigger…
    … and
thankfully shot the ceiling.
    Lady Radclyff
screamed, the maids screeched and Madame Bellafraunde tsked.
    A few bits of
the mortar fell to the ground and with it the tomcat fled. Penelope
was back to being as brave as a mouse. The rifle now lay on the
ground and she did not dare pick it up again.
    “My dear, we
have been trying to explain. This is the real Madame Bellafraunde.
She is not an imposter,” the dowager said, staring at the roof
aghast.
    “But … But this
she … is a he!”
    “I am a man,
yes. No need to look so horrified, girl. I am a man with the soul
of a female and a brain that can potentially change your life.”
    “I … I am sure
you can … I was … I was just surprised. Even in my country village
we have heard of your talent, sir … I mean, Madame,” Penelope
stammered.
    The dowager and
Lady Radclyff were looking horrified, while Madame … Madame looked
content and slightly sleepy, like a well fed cat that would soon
lick her paws and purr.
     She hoped
that Madame would not refuse to help her now. Good lord, she had
almost shot her… and she had shot the duke’s ceiling. No man or
women in Madame’s place would take such an imbecile on. It was all
over before it even began.
    Distressed,
Penelope said to all that were present, “I am sorry for shooting
Madame. I mean the roof. I was only going to shoot her foot, but
with my aim, I could have shot her in the head instead. I am truly
sorry for almost killing you, Madame. The roof is not so important.
That is, the roof is important, Lady Radclyff. It is after all your
home, but I think Madame is more important—”
    Madame
Bellafraunde lifted a hand and halted her babbling.
    Penelope rubbed
her sweaty palms together. Her heart was in her throat.