A Monstrous Regiment of Women - Laurie R. King [85]
I went a few minutes early to Margery and told her about my happy experience with my beginning reader. She was genuinely pleased and interested, and again, as so often, I wondered what had actually happened that night two weeks before.
The topic I had set for the evening was the diatribe in Jeremiah against “baking cakes for the Queen of Heaven.” We were twenty minutes into the session, deeply engrossed, when it came to an end with a brisk knock at the door and Marie’s entrance. She held out a piece of paper to her mistress.
“Telephone call, madame. I thought you would wish that I bring this quickly.” She ignored me completely, other than a scornful glance at the books on the table between us. Margery scanned the message, and it made her smooth forehead pucker slightly in consternation.
“Yes, thank you, Marie, you were quite right. Would you bring my things, please, and ask Thomas to get out the car?”
The maid nodded, and as she turned to go, she shot me a look of satisfaction and open dislike. Margery saw nothing, but I reflected on the woman’s retreating back, thinking that if she was that jealous of her mistress’s attentions, she must spend most of her time in a state of seething resentment. Unless, of course, it was merely me whom she disliked—or feared.
“I’m sorry, Mary,” Margery was saying, “I’m going to have to excuse myself. That was an urgent message—but here, see for yourself.”
I took the note and read, in Marie’s French schoolgirl script, the following:
Mlle Goddart has telephoned to say that she is embroiled in a severely unpleasant family affair and wishes most intently for your personal presence at your earliest convenience. The house is at 16, Norwood Place, number 3.
Marie returned with an armful of clothing and an uneasy expression on her face. “Madame, I regret to inform you that we are without an automobile. Mademoiselle Archer has not returned from her trip to Cambridge Shire, although she specifically informed me that she was to return by four o’clock. I have telephoned for a taxi, but they said it would take some time. There is a fog.”
“Norwood Place is only a twenty-minute walk from here,” I interrupted. “Probably faster than a car, given the fog.”
Marie looked more sour than ever, but Margery seemed pleased.
“You know where it is?”
“I go right past it,” I said, exaggerating slightly.
“Just give me the directions; there’s no reason for you to go. Stay and have some dinner, or at least a drink.”
“No, I’ll go.” Norwood Place was not in one of the more desirable neighbourhoods, hardly suitable after dark for a small woman in an expensive coat. The least I could do was to escort her safely to the door. “Could you find my coat, Marie?”
Caught between the desire to prise me away from Margery and her awareness that Margery would be safer with me than alone, Marie hesitated, then turned to Margery and began to protest vehemently. Margery held her ground.
“No, I won’t let you go. Miss Russell is going that way in any case, and we’ll be perfectly safe. It’s not even five-thirty yet; I’m sure to be back by seven-thirty… Very well, Marie, I promise not to walk back alone. When the taxi arrives pay him and, if Thomas is not back yet, have the driver continue to Norwood Place; he can fetch me back… Yes, I shall ring if he’s not there when I wish to leave… No, there’s sure to be a telephone nearby; Miss Goddart used one to ring here… Well, whoever it was then. Marie, stop fussing me and get Miss Russell’s coat. Sorry,” she said to