Page 42 of Much Ado About Margaret
Ruby smacked her lips at Maggie’s nonresponse. “Say something, won’t you? You simply don’t understand, Margaret—they won’t share the attention; they won’t share anything with me! Not even ribbons. If I want something to read, I have to steal it from Emilia, and then they chide me and call me silly. Just stupid, silly Ruby, that’s what they think, below everyone’s notice. Why shouldn’t I have something all to myself? Something nice.”
“Of course, you deserve something nice,” Maggie quickly said. “Someonenice. But that someone isn’t Paul Darrow. You must see it, Ruby. He’s a disastrous drunk and a brute.”
“Hmph. He’s nice enough to me, and that’s what matters.”
“Ruby, be serious. He was flirting with half the ladies at Pressmore. You were simply the first to take the bait.”
Ruby stood and looked away, but Maggie could see her words were having an effect. “It’s too late. I’ve made a mess of things, maybe, but I’ve come this far.” Her words trailed off as she stuck her knuckle between her teeth and nibbled it. “It’s the first time I’ve done something for myself. And anyway, you’re here now, and Foster…”
She heard the doubt creeping into Ruby’s tone. Brushing off her ruined gown, Maggie stood, clinging to the wall, not encroaching on the girl, but using a gentler tone. “Oh, Ruby. You should tell Ann and Emilia how you feel, how much their disregard has wounded you. I’m certain Ann will forgive you if you put a stop to this now.”
Ruby scoffed. “Indeed! Saint Ann—”
“And what is Paul Darrow? Not a saint, believe me, and not your knight in shining armor. He just wants your dowry so he can drink it all away!”
Ruby switched to a different knuckle, then seemed to realize it was a dirty habit and stuck her hands at her sides. Ruby paced, glancing through the archway as the venerable vicar arrived, perhaps, like the church, from the medieval period, an aged tree knot of a man hobbling up the nave toward the last of the pews. “Tell me, Miss Arden, what is it like to be beautiful? To have men hang on your every word and gesture?”
“Is that a serious question?” She couldn’t help but laugh. Hearing her, Paul Darrow swiveled and fixed her with a glare. She lowered her voice to a whisper, wary. “You must have mistaken me for Violet or Ann, for one man actually told my aunt that I made him feel like a caged lion, and that was one of the kinder criticisms.”
Ruby shied away. “You’re making that up.”
“I’m not, I assure you.” Maggie pushed off from the cold wall, joining Ruby. Even if she was outraged at being a forced witness to this farcical marriage, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the girl. Carefully, she took Ruby’s hands in hers. “You’re young, Ruby, so young, and there are people out there who will love you for your sweetness and your determination. They won’t care a fig for Emilia or Ann, and when they look at you, the world and all its cares will melt away.” Her voice shook. For a beautiful, shining moment she had felt that in the temple with Bridger. His gaze had banished every doubt, even every thought, only filling her with warmth and need. Maggie sighed, patting the top of Ruby’s hand.
“Come along, ladies, it’s time,” Paul was calling to them and gesturing. When they didn’t immediately move, he patted his pocket where Maggie knew the knife was hidden.
Ruby stared at him, then yanked her hands away. “I don’t care if he wants me for my dowry. He wants me, and that’s enough.”
“There’s more,” Maggie promised her in a whisper. “So much more.”
But Ruby had already started drifting away. She paused under the worn arch long enough to give a quick, distant glance over her shoulder. “Is there? How would you know? Where is your husband? What gives you the right to judge me?”
They were taking too long for Paul Darrow’s liking. He charged into the transept like a bull, shoving Ruby out toward the pews before turning to glower at Maggie. The knife appeared, the bulk of his body hiding it from those behind him.
“Trying to turn her against me?” he sneered, tilting his head to one side. There was a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. Maggie tried to step backward, but Paul snatched her wrist and gathered her closer. His mouth lowered to her ear as he bitout his next words. “You’ll stand beside Ruby and keep your mouth shut. Say nothing to the vicar, say nothing at all, and we’ll part ways with no bloodshed.”
“You’re despicable,” Maggie hissed, watching him slip the knife back into his coat.
“Ha. I’ve been called worse.”
“Ruby is an innocent. You won’t get away with this,” she added. “Your brother will find us. Bridger will come and put a stop to it.”
Paul Darrow flinched and recoiled at the sound of his brother’s name. Then he smiled, teeth streaked with brown, his eyes no longer filled with malice but a strange emptiness. He patted the other side of his coat, then opened it, revealing a pistol. “If he does, Miss Arden, I have the perfect wedding surprise in mind.”
18
It is held
That valor is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver.
Coriolanus, Act 2, Scene 2
The storm had made a swollen mire of the road outside the church. The mud sucked at Bridger’s boots with such intensity he felt sure he would be dragged between two cobbles and down to hell. He shoved the comparisons to France aside, for he couldn’t risk the intrusion; his brother was out of control, tying women up, now stealing them in the night, and he no longer knew to what lengths the bastard would go. Drinking, dicing, and whoring were not cheap, and a desperate man backed into a corner was always the most unpredictable.
Still. Bridger had no proof Pimm had taken Margaret to the church. The tracks he had found outside the inn stable had disappeared long ago, and the muck outside the church doors was so frenzied, trod, and re-trod that there was no point in trying to make sense of it. He came equipped only with this gut instinct, and his foreknowledge of Pimm’s ways; the Darrows were on the precipice of total destitution, and Pimm,without employment, skill, or sense, had perilously few options available to him. A dowry, ill-gotten or otherwise, was an obvious choice. He didn’t know Ann’s family well enough to discern whether this was likely to be coerced or voluntary; he just knew what his heart told him.
Margaret is within. I need to get to her.
