It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for . . . Emily’s after-supper conversation with her mother.
Emily followed her mother into her private sitting room. “Sit down, dear, her mother said, easing herself into one of the fireside armchairs. Emily sat down warily in the the matching chair.
“Samantha, dear, you’re probably wondering what’s going on. Or should I call you Jane? Or Emily? Which one are you using nowadays?” Emily quailed under her mother’s sharp gaze.
“Really, Mother, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, Samantha, do you take me for a fool? I know all about what you’ve been up to.” And she proceeded to detail all of Emily’s criminal escapades since leaving home ten years before.
The only thing she didn’t seem to know was where Emily had been immediately before coming home. Emily sighed in relief that her mother didn’t know all her business and hidey-holes, then sat up in outrage as her mother’s words sank in. How did Mother know so much of her private business?
“Mother, tell me. How do you know so much of what I’ve been doing?”
Lady Pultney frowned. “I suppose I have to tell you now. The truth is, dear, that I keep this household going not on the residual money from your father’s Indian holdings. In fact, there are no lands or estates in India. The money comes from my criminal empire.
“All the contacts you made over the years, from fences to corrupt policemen, they were either my people or approved by my people.”
“But Mother, you were so angry when I left home.”
“I did feel, darling, that fifteen was a little young to begin a life of crime. And besides, how could I find out if you have what it takes if you knew Mummy would rescue you?”
Emily stared at her mother, her universe shaken to its core.
Lady Pultney shook her head briskly. “No matter, darling. Now you know, and there are urgent matters facing us. My arch-rivals have finally figured out who you are, and they want to capture you, force you to join them, and take over the world. We must stop them.”
“So all the weird things that have been happening lately . . . that’s their doing?”
“They got Chris, you know.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t know, but he’s the father of this one,” Emily said, gesturing at her belly.
“Then we’d better get him back, too, hadn’t we?”
“Isn’t he . . . dead?”
“Your young man is far more resourceful than even I had imagined, dear. He’s safe, but we can’t reach him just yet. There are . . . complicating factors.”
- Emily: Supper #fiction (lizbethsgarden.wordpress.com)