A Monstrous Regiment of Women - Laurie R. King [86]
“Good, thanks Marie, see you later… No, I’ll not take time for a cup of tea… Yes, yes, I’ll telephone if I’m going to be late, but I won’t be.”
Marie held my coat for me, and even her disapproving hands could not take away the pleasure I felt in the luscious soft grey-blue vicuna with black sealskin collar and lining, new that very afternoon. It set off the richer blue of my dress, as if it had been made for it, as indeed it had. Margery looked at it closely.
“That’s lovely, Mary. It’s not a Chanel?”
I assured her it was not, then told her briefly about the elves.
“Ask them if they would consider doing some things for me, could you please? That hat is perfect on you, too, just the right shape for your face. My,” she noted as we walked up the corridor to the front windows of the building, “it is rather thick, isn’t it?”
It was full dark, but the lights from overhead and from the slow-moving vehicles illuminated the swirling yellow mist like a scene from a Wilkie Collins novel. Actually, it was not yet too bad, as London fogs went, and when our eyes had adjusted, we found we could see a good ten feet before the curtain thickened. At least we did not need to worry about tripping over kerbstones or walking into walls.
We walked slowly. The streets, as always in London, seemed to alternate between bustling thoroughfares and narrow pavements empty but for the occasional bobby; with the fog, the main streets were quieter than normal, and the mews and alleys echoed their desolation. Margery’s heels clacked on the paving stones and my softer soles scrunched imperceptibly. The occasional horse and cart passed; cars and lorries eased by, their drivers leaning out over their doors and squinting through the windscreens. I consulted my inner map, turned us in the right direction, and decided it couldn’t hurt to reveal my curiosity about Marie.
“You said Marie doesn’t like you to go out at night. Is there any reason for that?”
“Not really. Just being protective. You’re wondering why I put up with being bullied by my maid.”
I laughed. “Well…”
“She has a good heart, underneath the prickles. She’s a distant cousin; she came to me six years ago when the rest of her family was killed and her village taken by the Germans. It’s important to her, feeling that I need her to care for me, and there’s no doubt she makes life easier at times.”
“Except when you wish to go out at night.”
“As you say.” She laughed.
“Do you get called out very often?”
“Not really, not anymore, although the Circle knows it can call on me whenever it needs to consult, like tonight. With so many others to—”
I never heard the end of her answer. As we walked, I had taken automatic note of our surroundings, more perhaps than usual because of the potential hazards contained in the all-concealing fog. When the quiet footsteps behind us broke into a run in the middle of a deserted patch of residences, I did not pause to think, just reacted. I shoved Margery hard from me and pivoted to meet the owner of these footsteps, who proved to be a slick young man with a narrow black moustache, dark eyes, and the gleam of a wicked sliver of steel in his bare right hand.
My unexpected response stopped him dead, and he eyed me uncertainly for signs of a weapon. When none appeared, he relaxed and took a step to one side, looking for Margery. She began to scramble to her feet.
“Don’t move, Margery,” I ordered. “Stay right where you are.”
His eyes snapped back to me, and even in that light, I could see the evil smile of warm anticipation that crawled onto his face. For an instant, I froze, but when the knife came for me, my body moved of its own accord. The knife slid past my ribs, but he was fast, too, and recovered his balance in an instant, bouncing back out of my reach to reconsider while the tip of his blade flickered back and forth like the tongue of a serpent.
Had I been alone, it would have been simple, merely a matter of dodging out of his reach and not tripping over my