Page 32 of Much Ado About Margaret
“What? Am I wrong?”
“Not at all wrong,” Maggie admitted with a tense shrug.
“But it is easy for me to say such things, for I have gotten everything I wanted, or at least, I did have everything. Now that is imperiled because of one couple’s public mischief, and the readiness of others to turn on a foreigner. Nothing is constant, Maggie, nothing is certain, except perhaps what ultimate desire burns in your heart.” Ann gestured toward her own bed, where Winny and Violet had curled up side by side, napping like kittens in a basket. “Your sisters adore you, Maggie. They will forgive. They will understand. You are not your mother, and they are not your aunts.”
Maggie said nothing, her heart too big for her chest. There was too much to consider, and foremost in her mind was how selfish it would be to never think of her sisters’ happiness and only prioritize her own. Society would not change just to please her, and the weight of such things tended to crush the person, not the rules.
“Now,” said Ann, leaning into her. “You and Mr. Darrow were alone in the library? For how long exactly?”
It was Maggie’s turn to laugh, this time incredulously. “Is that all you can think about at a time like this?”
Ann drifted away from the window to rejoin the others on the bed. “My mother prepared me for such things long before I ever touched English soil. She warned me that my first mistake would be my last, that if I could make myself into the image of a perfect English gentlewoman then I would be tolerated, that I must not be just accomplished, but the most accomplished, that I must not be beautiful, but the most beautiful. That I must not be agreeable, but the most agreeable. These were not suggestions, Margaret, they were rules governing my survival.”
“It sounds impossible,” Maggie murmured, following. Fanny had returned carrying a tray of light refreshments. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until her eyes landed on the food.
“It’s meant to be, and the frustrating part is that your aunts know it,” Ann told her simply. Then her golden eyes brightened as Fanny brought around the food, and she picked out a small pastry studded with glistening dates. All the girls scampered close to find something to eat. Ann reclined on the bed, studying Maggie with keen interest. “Nothing would distract me better than a story, Maggie. Perhaps you could start with what transpired this evening between you and Mr. Darrow.”
“You’re relentless,” Maggie muttered, perusing the tray of treats. But the women had gathered round, and it was clear there was no escaping this interrogation. Curiously, she found it easy, even exciting, to discuss the perplexing Bridger Darrow.
Later, she slept fitfully. Violet snored and Winny’s feet were pressed against hers, ice-cold. Lapsing in and out of consciousness, her dreams were filled with stormy eyes and a looming presence, not sinister, not imposing, just there andwatchful. It was not long until a disturbance outside the doors roused them all, for the physician from town had finally come and he was eager to see Ann. The ladies composed themselves in a panicked flurry, with Ann pretending to be at death’s door while everyone else sniffled into handkerchiefs and blotted their eyes. Fanny left them to welcome the doctor, Madigan. He was known to the family, dined with them often, and was, according to Ann, a well-meaning but nervous person.
Ann called Maggie to her side with an urgent waving of her hand, turned onto her side, and whispered, “You mustn’t linger here with us. Did you not have suspicions that the kissing couple might meet at the Grecian temple?”
“I can’t imagine they would risk meeting there in broad daylight,” said Maggie, hearing the doctor shuffle inside.
“No, but there could be some trace of their coming and going, and…oh, Maggie, I don’t know, but we mustn’t give up looking,” Ann cried, rubbing her eyes to make them redder. She didn’t have to try very hard; it was obvious she had not slept and had spent most of the night crying silently. “I don’t know how much longer I can bear to lie about being ill!”
“Then, of course I will go,” Maggie replied, squeezing her friend’s hand with a heartening smile. That seemed to soothe Ann. And Maggie was grateful for an excuse to leave, for it was becoming stifling to sit in the bedchamber with so many anxious ladies.
“See that Ruby and Emilia leave with you,” Ann added, then closed her eyes, pretending to breathe heavily. “They are terrible liars.”
“Very well. You must be our wretched Lavinia awhile longer, Ann, but only until you are triumphant Hero.”
Ann managed a weak smile. “It is not so hard to act like death has come for me. The pain of losing Lane’s love and trust—”
“It is not lost. Soon he will regret ever doubting yourloyalty and throw himself at your feet begging for forgiveness, and when he does, I sincerely hope you hesitate, if only to teach him a lesson.”
Madigan peered into the room, arriving on soft tiptoe steps, his wig crooked and his face sweaty. At his approach, Violet tossed herself across the bed, whimpering and wailing. Fanny, eager to curry favor with Ann again and do her part, had unearthed a porcelain basin and a cloth, and came flying through the archway, flinging Maggie aside to press the wet rag to Ann’s forehead.
It was clear to her that the women present had the situation in hand, props included. Madigan stammered out a greeting that was immediately eclipsed by Violet demanding that he cure Ann at once.
“A new bride! And to die so young of a broken heart, one cannot bear it!” she shrieked.
“Ladies, p-please—”
“God bless you, sir,” Maggie said somberly as she passed him. “Thank God you are here, and just in time, too. I fear Ann has taken a turn for the worse.”
“H-heavens…” He trundled over to the bed with a leather case tucked under one arm. Judging by his pink, flustered face, Violet would soon have him believing the sun rose in the west and set in the east. Or at the very least, that their friend was ill enough to require his immediate and sustained attention.
“Emilia? Ruby? Why don’t you come along with me, now, give the doctor room to work his miracles,” said Maggie, summoning them to her side with a quick pat on her hip. Emilia hesitated, glancing haltingly at Ann, but Ruby seemed ready for a change of scenery. The chamber was hot, the curtains drawn, the set for their drama giving the perfect, dreary impression.
Winny followed them a few steps, taking her leave at the door. She leaned in close to Maggie to embrace her. “Becareful, sister. I know your feelings toward Mr. Darrow have changed, but his brother is still a menace, and it makes me shudder to think he is out there somewhere, prowling the grounds.”
“I promise not to visit the temple alone,” said Maggie.
But she would not be going with Emilia and Ruby, apparently, for Ruby had already trotted off down the hall, and Emilia had attached herself to Lane and Mrs. Richmond, who had come to oversee the doctor’s arrival. Poor Lane looked wretched, though her aunt, freshly dressed for the day and draped in a lace shawl, kept her expression a tight mask. There was fury and outrage boiling under there, Maggie just knew it, but she greeted her cousin and aunt politely, then excused herself. She was eager to change out of her ball gown and into something more appropriate for snooping around; a quick look toward any of the windows revealed a dark ceiling of clouds. It would likely rain, and she would need a sturdier frock.
“There is a small party having a picnic later,” Lane told her in passing. “Mother thought it would be a clever way to distract the remaining guests.”
