To say that I was perturbed by this turn of events would be an understatement of the most extreme nature. Deeply rattled wouldn't even come close. I'm not so sure there is a word or phrase that would adequately describe how I felt as I stumbled back to my room and fell into a chair to sit staring at my shoes in a dazed manner.
"Twenty minutes until the dinner-gong, my lord," Pond came in a few minutes later, no doubt wondering what had become of me.
"Alright," I said but didn't move.
"Are you unwell, my lord?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Can I help?" he asked, coming around in front of me to look into my face, I suppose something in my voice alarmed him.
"I don't see how," I looked up at him.
"You can tell me about it while we're getting dressed," he put out his hand to get me out of the chair.
"I don't think I can," I said, taking his hand and standing up, "I don't think I can say it aloud."
"Shall I send word that your lordship is too ill to come down to dinner?"
"No, I guess I'll get dressed," I went into the dressing-room and started shucking out of my tweeds like a sleepwalker. I was so shocked I couldn't even think about how shocked I was, my mind was humming like an engine, the thoughts like pistons going up and down so fast that I couldn't hear one separately from another.
I went down to the drawing-room and get a couple of cocktails in me, which seemed to slow things down enough that I was able to talk and walk around like a normal person--or so I assume, since nobody asked me if there was something wrong or if I was feeling ill, as Pond had done. But I had no memory of walking or talking, nor of going in to dinner and eating a meal, but I must have done.
Oh, fuck it all. Why won't people let me alone?
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