Page 9 of Much Ado About Margaret
And poor Howard. Poor, poor Howard. Fallon forced himself to look, look and remember, as the surgeon’s blade came down, bringing with it the neat crunch of bone and yet another spurt of hot blood.
Bridger lowered the crinkled page, realizing he had been holding in a breath.Where did this come from?he wondered, and then:I must have more.
4
What fates impose, that men must needs abide;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.
Henry VI, Part 3, Act 4, Scene 3
Maggie watched her life’s work fly out the window in mute horror.
“Don’t just stand there!” Violet was shouting, climbing over the desk in front of the window with her skirts held in one fist. “Help me catch the blighters!”
“Get down from there at once, Violet.” Aunt Eliza stood apart from the girls, rigid as a statue. She stammered her next words, perhaps betraying her indifferent nature, perhaps hinting that she did feel guilty for what was transpiring. “If you tumble out of that window, your mother will never forgive me! Violet! I demand you get down from there; someone could see you!”
“Oh, but it is hopeless!” Winny hopped up and down near the table, then reached over and yanked Violet’s hem. “We should hurry to the garden, I think—it looks like most of the pages have fallen there.”
“Got one!” cried Violet, shutting the window, and victoriously crawling back inside, holding up exactly one of the hundreds of escapees.
Winny made a soft, sad sound, tucking her knuckles under her chin. With her bonnet removed, her tumble of dark ginger curls sat heavily around her neck. “It’s…Well, it’s a start.”
Violet glanced between Eliza and Maggie, then cried, “To the gardens!”
Her sisters erupted into playful giggles, chasing each other out the grand, tall door and into the corridor. Aunt Eliza swiveled toward them, lifting a graceful hand, but then decided against following. She had not given up on molding Maggie into an elegant lady, but apparently Violet and Winny were a problem for another day. Maggie stared after her sisters. It wouldn’t do to hurl accusations at her aunt, even if she wanted terribly to do just that.
The good mood granted to her by getting a little jab in at Mr. Darrow had lasted until she reached their guest quarters, where she discovered her sisters at the far window, watching and whispering as the carriages arrived and off-loaded their passengers, and her aunt Eliza going to the opposite window. It had felt like time slowed down as Aunt Eliza reached across the unpacked, unsupervised copy of her manuscript, the many pages stacked neatly on the desk, beautiful and undisturbed, innocent as the gangly fledgling bird before a gust of wind shoots it out of the nest. And then, with that same strange slowness to time, her aunt jerked up the casement, remarking mildly, “The room could do with some air.” The room was stuffy, but that was hardly an excuse!
Maggie felt cold all over. There was another copy ofThe Killbrideat her home, but it did not contain her most recent changes and rewrites. Not only that, she had just created a mess for the staff to address while also preparing for Lane and Ann’s elaborate celebrations and masquerade.
No,shehadn’t done it, Aunt Eliza had. If an apology hadever escaped her aunt’s lips, Maggie had not been present to hear it.
When their eyes met, her aunt had the grace to blanch with embarrassment. “Oh, Margaret. I assure you it was an accident.”
“Of course.” Colder, colder, she was turning to ice. She was already on Aunt Eliza’s bad side; she didn’t dare accuse her of scattering the manuscript on purpose. But still. Maggie felt her skin hardening into a shell; her hands ached, remembering the cramps from copying out hundreds of pages.
“The staff here are competent, I’m sure the pages will be found in no time at all.” Her aunt’s voice had the tremulous pitch of someone trying to soothe themselves. Maggie heard a quiet sound out in the hall, and then things got worse. Her other aunt, and the great lady of Pressmore, Mildred Richmond, entered the chamber, leaving her lady’s maid out in the corridor. Her aunts both moved with the deliberate slowness of a person picking their way across hazardous ice. Mrs. Richmond—Aunt Mildred—swanny and beautiful like Aunt Eliza, announced herself with a withering huff.
“I’m told this is the origin of our little issue,” said Aunt Mildred. An intricate lace was draped over her shoulders. She had the tight, pinched face of a woman who had spent most of her life disapproving of one thing or another. She and Maggie shared the same deep-golden hair and bright blue eyes, though Aunt Mildred’s were more prone to narrowing.
Maggie glanced nervously between her two aunts. Did she mean the exploding manuscript or Maggie herself?
“And to enter my house without so much as a greeting,” continued Aunt Mildred, aghast. Maggie shied at that; itwasrather rude. “I had heard you were somewhat changed since our last encounter, Margaret, but this is excessive.”
“Oh, sister,” said Eliza, going to Mildred and all but collapsing against her with relief. “It is encouraging to have yoursupport in this matter, for try as I might, Margaret seems determined to stretch my patience to its breaking point.”
Aunt Mildred observed Maggie, the window, and what was left of her book piled messily by the sill. “The staff is in an uproar, my dears. Explain yourselves!”
“A regrettable accident,” Eliza answered, withdrawing and folding her hands. She had also neatly sidestepped responsibility. “A window, a breeze…Well, you see, I was just about to scold our niece for bringing her book with her. But we must try to find the best in the situation—after all, now she will not be consumed by distractions better put aside.”
Maggie said nothing. How could she set aside the one thing that made her feel like herself? Evidently perturbed by her silence, Eliza’s gaze settled on her, glossy with emotion. “I sometimes wonder if I should resent your father. He encouraged this in you, he prepared you for a world that does not exist.”
“That’s not fair,” Maggie replied, starting forward.
Aunt Mildred heaved a tremendous sigh. “And yet, her mother.”
“No, you’re right, sister, you’re too right. Some blame must go to the mother, too. You have no inkling of what it was like watching your mother put love before duty, her own heart before the happiness of our entire family. There were wealthy men who wanted her, and we watched her spurn them and wait and wait, not knowing if all of us would be on the streets due to her selfishness.” She crossed toward Maggie, carefully taking her hands. “And she was not also pursuing, to her detriment, employment! Dear niece, your reputation is all you have in this world, and that reputation will determine your future. I merely wish to protect you.” And here she glanced at Aunt Mildred, who seemed frozen. “We both wish to protect you, protect your happiness.”
