The Hanged Man by P. N. Elrod Page A

circumnavigation of the globe, which put her ahead of all the adults in the Pendlebury clan, most of whom had never stirred from England unless one counted occasional trips to Balmoral Castle in Scotland.
    It certainly put Alex ahead of the cousins of a like age to herself. She had nothing in common with them. What was normal to her was to them strange and worthy of ridicule. They teased her as a liar when the adults weren’t around and otherwise treated her like an exotic and not terribly safe zoo specimen. Cousin Andrina (who had often been to Balmoral as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Alice and her daughter, Princess Charlotte) informed her that Alex’s hiatus abroad was a disagreeable family scandal. It was on a level with Gerard marrying that unstable Fonteyn creature. Alex was told to keep both shames to herself and never mention her sordid history again.
    Alex considered Andrina to be a great fool, but this was cruel and unnecessary. Cousin Andrina was wonderfully resentful and unreasonably jealous that she and Alex shared the same name and royal godmother. It didn’t matter that the girls were two out of the hundreds of Alexandrina Victorias named after the queen, Andrina was always putting about that the honor was wasted on her odd cousin.
    Revenge for Alex, if not prudent, was imperative. Circumstances suggested a suitable retaliation. She poured out her cousin’s perfume and filled the bottle with gin. Andrina had no sense of smell, owing to a childhood illness, and the next day departed for a lengthy visit to Balmoral reeking like a drunkard.
    There had been no repercussions since the prank could as easily been carried out by any of the other cousins—who were not talking. The only thing they abhorred more than Alex was a tattletale (and none them liked Andrina), so they closed ranks. Andrina, though, knew who was behind it, and from that point on ignored her cousin completely, thinking that a snub from a person of her social standing would completely crush her foe.
    Nothing could have had less impact on Alex, who was unaware that she was supposed to be miserable. It proved to be an imperfect but workable resolution to both girls. They found ways to avoid each other and not speak at the dinner table.
    Family disputes aside, Alex had written her father nearly every day, the first letters addressed to him in Hong Kong with “please forward” printed neatly on the envelope in English, French, and Chinese. She did not ask why she’d been sent away, reserving that question for the next time she would see him. She did inquire where he was and when he expected to be in England, then went on to describe the happenings of that particular day, certain that he would be interested as he’d always been.
    Her certainty wavered as the months crawled on without a reply, puzzlement gradually giving way to hurt, and then anger. No one knew where he was, not even Uncle Leo, and no one seemed inclined to find him, though Leo made inquiries. Nothing had come of them.
    A year after her return to England, a battered packet of unopened letters turned up, half a dozen out of the more than three hundred she’d sent. Someone had scrawled “return to sender” on the front in pencil and by some miracle it had found its way to her. It was not, so far as she could tell, her father’s handwriting. They were some of the earliest, on stationery acquired in San Francisco. She’d opened each, reading the events within, recalling forgotten details, but not relishing them as treasured memories. They mocked her then-belief that being sent away was only a temporary thing.
    Five years with Father, a total of twenty years without him, and now he was gone forever.
    *   *   *
    â€œIt must have been quite an adventure,” stated Lord Richard.
    â€œIndeed, sir. The adventure of a lifetime.” She’d left out much from her account, and everything to do with her family.