Part 50: Penelope scribbled on thousands of pages…

Penelope had scribbled on thousands of pages with Penelope’s small, finicky hand.

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“There isn’t any Penelope!” Her foot stomped on the floor, highlighting her frustration. “There isn’t! There isn’t!”

“I’d believe it more easily if I hadn’t met you before Olive vanished.”

“Give me a piece of paper. You know my writing—“

Penelope seized a sheet of stationery with her claws and tried to write in Olive’s round script. During the last half-year, she had scribbled on thousands of pages with Penelope’s small, finicky hand. After she traced two or three words in large but shaky letters, despite her efforts, the writing became smaller, pinched, and less legible.

Even while Penelope wrote, Styles looked at her struggles and said easily: “Afraid it’s no use. That isn’t Olive’s hand. Listen to me; I want you to get away from The Stables. Take a holiday, go to France, stop this fuming and fussing, get some fresh air in your lungs and sunshine on your face.” Styles rose and purred: “Now, I’m afraid I have some work to do.” He paused, waiting for Penelope to go.

Penelope crumpled the sheet and hurled it into a corner of the room. Tears were in her weary eyes. She wailed: “Is there nothing I can do to prove I am Olive?”

“Yes, of course! You can return what’s left of the one hundred and eighty-seven thousand pounds!”

Penelope reached into her ragged handbag and produced a five-dollar bill and some change. “Here’s all there is. Someone stole the rest from my house last night.”
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Sorry though he was for the madwoman, Styles could not help laughing. Then he tried to look sympathetic, and he comforted her. “Well, that’s hard luck, old girl. Uh, what else? You could bring some parents, relatives, or an official to prove that Olive never had a twin sister.”
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
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Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay