The Discreet Charm of Lady Mary (A Howertys Novella)

Chapter 5: Dull

John breathed a sigh of relief when the next door he tried opened up into a library, which also looked as if it served as a study. Ushering Mary inside, he closed the door behind them and moved further into the room.

Floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered the walls, except for a large fireplace on one side, and the furthest one which was bare other than a window. Beneath it stood a writing desk. It would be too easy if evidence of Hayes' activities were in plain sight, but something could hide in the room.

With no lights lit, the library was left in relative darkness, lit only by the moonlight seeping through the window. It was just enough to see the shapes of furniture and books, but to read anything, one would have to bring it to the window.

"Check the desk for letters from your sister," he suggested to Mary, while he inspected random pieces of paper found on other surfaces or stuffed between books.

They worked in silence. Him bringing anything that looked promising over to the window while Mary rifled through correspondence on the desk before opening and closing drawers in search of anything hidden away. He focused on the task at hand, but it was difficult to ignore the sounds of Mary muttering under her breath as she worked. Was the woman never quiet?

"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" she suddenly asked.

Thinking she might have found something, he turned to her, but she was pointing to a wooden statue decorating the desk. It was carved from dark wood into the shape of a man with an incredibly large, incredibly erect manhood.

"Is he holding a stick?" Mary poked it with a finger.

"That..." He cleared his throat. "No."

She frowned and tilted her head to the side as she inspected the effigy.

"Then what is..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes widened. "Ooh! I have never seen one before. Are they truly this big?"

Glancing at the figure, which looked as if it was essentially a tripod, he shook his head. "No."

"I've only read about them before," she said, her eyes still trailing the shape of the statue. "It's difficult to imagine what one would actually look like from words alone."

Why wouldn't she stop talking about it? He groaned inwardly. "Can we please return to the task at hand?" he suggested sharply. "And one might question what type of literature you are consuming. It hardly sounds like something fit for a young lady."

She scoffed. "If men were to decide, nothing would be fit for a young lady other than needlework and playing the pianoforte. Maybe a splash of watercolour."

"I'm not sure anyone should read that sort of book," he muttered, turning her back to her.

"I'm not surprised," she returned. "Of course, Mr Dull Osborne would not approve of something so scandalous."

Dull? He frowned. While he had always considered himself to be of a calm and sensible disposition, he had never thought of himself as dull.

"I suppose you're a little less dull than I imagined, considering that you work for the Rose Agency," she continued, opening and closing drawers a little louder than necessary.

"I'm not dull." He wasn't sure why he debated with her. It hardly mattered what she thought of him. Would she still consider him dull if she knew he was a spy working for the War Office? A thought struck him, and he abandoned his search for a moment to look at her. "Does Olivia consider me dull?"

Mary glanced up from the pile of papers she was rifling through. "Olivia? Oh. I don't know."

Something about her tone rankled him. "You never cared to spare my feelings before," he said. "Do not begin now."