Page 49 of Much Ado About Margaret
She knew everything Lane said was true; for now, Ruby absorbed the negative feelings that would soon fall upon Maggie. For she had promised Aunt Eliza she would behave and not make a nuisance of herself, and she had done neither. Yet she held her head high; love, for that was indeed what she felt for Bridger, was like a little hand cradling her chin, keeping her from losing hope and giving in to shame.
Poor Ann sat in shocked silence as the tale of Ruby’s betrayal was retold. Ruby herself was not there, but Maggie knew it would not be long before apologies must be made and accepted or rejected. Ann’s response was not for her to anticipate or influence. And, more happily, Madigan could at last be dismissed, Ann making a swift and miraculous recovery, strong enough to meet with her husband in private. Maggie left them in Ann’s chambers, leaving alongside Emilia.
“I can’t believe Ruby sank so low,” whispered Emilia, stricken. “Perhaps we did treat her badly.”
“We can all be kinder,” said Maggie. “If this leads to greater isolation, I fear what it will mean for her.”
Emilia pressed her lips together. Her thick black hair was curled tightly, woven with pale pink ribbons, and bunched over her ears. She hugged herself, swaying, visibly distressed by what she had heard in Ann’s chamber. “Whatever the colonel decides, I will not let her slip through our fingers again.” Fanny, Ann’s dark-haired maid, slipped out of the double chamber doors behind them. Emilia nodded to her. “Fanny, have some food and clean linens brought to Miss Arden’s room. She has earned her rest.”
After all the excitement and disruption, Maggie slept deeply, almost the moment her head met the pillow. She rose hours later to eat, then fell back asleep until evening, when her sisters arrived. They found Maggie sitting at the window, feettucked up onto the bench, a shawl drifting from her shoulders, her mind soaring across the fields of Warwickshire to Fletcher, where she tried to imagine Bridger—what he was doing, what he was feeling.
“Now it is our turn to hear the full and sordid tale,” shrieked Violet, running to where Maggie sat and kneeling, pressing her head of black curls into her hip. Winny stood behind her, rising up and down, tiptoes to heels, forefingers and thumbs pinched together.
“Only if you are well enough to share,” said Winny. “You must be dreadfully tired.”
“But you didn’t leave us to become a pirate, did you? You can tell us if you did, I would not tattle to Aunt Eliza about it. In fact, I will never tell her anything again. She said the most horrid things about you while you were gone! Acting as if you had abandoned us, as if you were the most selfish girl in the county. Mother marrying Papa poached her brains, for she thinks everyone is out to insult her personally.”
Maggie flinched, tearing her gaze away from the window and her soft thoughts of Bridger. Real life, as ever, encroached. “I would never leave my sisters,” said Maggie, and Winny hurried over to join their pile, squealing. “Not even to become a pirate.”
“But where is Mr. Darrow?” asked Winny.
“Your one, not the terrible one.”
“He has taken Mr. Darrow—the terrible one—home. But he has promised to return in three days, for Fletcher is not far and he is…” Maggie trailed off, blushing.He is eager to be with me once more.But there was no hiding it from her dear sisters, who sniffed out the missing words immediately.
“I knew it!” cried Violet. “Look at her face, Winny! She’s like a freshly dug beet. Have you ever seen anything redder? Confess, sister! What is between you and Mr. Darrow? Omit not a single detail.”
Maggie relented and told them all. Well, almost all. She left out the part about their lovemaking, though admitted to sharing a bed with him. The lovemaking she wanted just for herself. Just for them. The temple, the walk, the rain, the cart, their conversation and subsequent argument at the inn, then Mr. Darrow (the bad one) appearing to carry her away to the church, Bridger’s daring appearance, the gun, the bandaging, and so on…
“You are disgusting in love.” Violet sighed, crushing Winny to her chest with wistful…something. Not jealousy, but a sudden sisterly overcoming, the act of feeling far too much and not knowing where to put it. “And very sunburned.”
“Love suits you,” Winny had added, fending off Violet’s crushing embrace. Maggie fled their teasing, racing to the bed, but she was soon captured in their arms again.
“It suits her very well,” Violet agreed.
“And what luck!” cried Winny. “A man of learning with a love of books and a handsome face! I will accept him as a brother, dearest, as long as he is always gentle with you. And he must listen, of course. And he must never endanger your aspirations, but rather celebrate them! Oh, but he could publish your book himself, which makes it all wonderful and like a fairy tale. But if he is ever cruel to you, he will regret it!”
“What will you do?” Violet had teased. “Compliment him to death?”
They dissolved into giggles. There was washing up and rearranging, but Maggie was once again happy to find herself tucked up with her sisters, even if Violet snored and took up too much of the bed. But once her sisters were asleep, Maggie found herself listless. Her heart kept beating too fast and intrusive meanderings plagued her. Violet had once declared that no thought had after nine o’clock could be trusted, but even with that rule in mind, Maggie’s mind wouldn’t settle. At last, she wiggled her way out from between Violet and Winnyand went to sit at the window again, shifting the curtains aside to gaze out at the moon.
She was apparently not the sole person at Pressmore for whom sleep seemed impossible, for there soon came a soft rapping at the door. Maggie stood, wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders, and went to see who had come.
It was Ann, who whispered, hunched, protecting a candle. “Are you not abed?”
“Obviously not.” Maggie smiled. “And neither are you.”
Ann shared her grin, though it soon faded. “My brain is a husk, I think. I am more leech than lady now after all of Madigan’s bleedings.”
“You do look peaky. Come in,” Maggie beckoned, closing the door behind them both. “Is something amiss? Something more, I mean. I know it is not all well with Ruby.”
Ann drifted inside, noticed Violet’s snoring, and continued to the window. Propped against the sill, she set the candle down on the writing desk and gazed outside. “Only that you will leave us soon, now that this farce is all coming to an end.”
“Your wedding was not a farce!”
“I am tired, Maggie, not ignorant.” She did indeed look drawn, her sadness no doubt transferring from herself to the precarious situation of her cousin. A significant number of people—people inclined to gossip—had witnessed Ruby kissing and caressing a man publicly. Even if they never learned of the botched marriage, the social consequences would be severe. “This would all be much easier to resolve if my father were in the country.” Her expression hardened. “Sometimes I wonder if he will return at all. Sometimes I…I wonder if he has abandoned us.”
Maggie drew closer, mindful of her sleeping sisters and lowering her voice. “Would he really do that?”
