Post by Lorpius Prime on Jun 3, 2007 23:34:10 GMT -5
Margaret Joyce Blake wandered among the clusters of people in the large hall of her family’s house, pretending to sip at the glass of wine in her right hand. Her feet were beginning to hurt, even though she hadn’t been standing in these shoes for very long. Still, she tried not to let the discomfort show on her face as she made her way to one of the tables that had been set out with small bits of food, picking up snippets of conversation as she went.
“…near lost his leg for good afterwards,” the old colonel with thick mutton-chops was saying to some similarly old men. “But he got the rest of us out all right. Bloody hero, he was.”
There was murmured agreement, and Margaret watched them all raise glasses to their lips. She wondered what the story was, but not so much that Margaret wanted to ask any of those fossils about it. Her father would probably know. She kept walking.
She had nearly made it within reach of the various assorted cheeses she sought when her father, as if summoned by thought, broke off from another clump of men in dark suits to stop her.
“Margaret,” he held up a hand with a raised finger to stop her.
“Yes, father?”
“I wanted to—“ he was interrupted by another man peeling off to join them.
“Ah, Edward! This must be your daughter.” He bowed slightly to Margaret, showing off a bowl of gray hair with a few wisps of sandy blonde still hanging on.
Baron Blake smiled, “Yes, ah, Harold this is my daughter Margaret. Margaret, this is Harold Fairchild. He’s an instructor at Cranwell.”
Margaret affected a smile, “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Harold sounded just a little tipsy, “Yes, your father was of invaluable assistance to my own education, but he’s never taken the time to introduce me to his family. Except for Lily, of course.”
Margaret’s father coughed into his fist, “Harold taught Perry in his engineering and physics courses at the college.”
Harold Fairchild blinked and seemed to remember where he was, “Yes, it’s a terrible shame,” he hung his head. “Morgan was one of my best students, even without you trying to bribe me, Edward. I daresay he may have been smarter than either of us, even.”
A moment of silence passed between the three of them before Margaret felt comfortable in breaking it, “What was it you wanted to tell me, Father?”
“Oh, yes! Excuse us, will you, Harold?”
“Of course, of course,” the professor wandered off, seeming as if he was not quite sure of his balance.
The Baron turned back to his daughter, “I seem to have lost your mother. But if you see her, would you tell her that Lady Morgan will be returning to London. Colonel Magnus and Gretchen are going to look after her.”
Margaret nodded, “What did Mum think was going to happen to her?”
Her father coughed again, and turned slightly red, “Well… well she thought Catherine might be staying with us.”
Margaret tried not to laugh, “If I see her, Father, I will tell her.”
She let him get back to mingling and completed her journey to the little table adorned with snacks. She exchanged nods with the servant making sure it stayed well stocked, then hovered a hand above the cheeses, pondering which she should choose.
“Try the little white ones here,” said a woman’s voice, “I think they’re the best.”
“Hmm?” asked Margaret, as she plucked a bit of cheddar from its tray.
She turned to her left to find the woman she’d seen earlier at the burial, seated in her wheelchair at the end of the table. The woman held out one of her small hands, smiling, “Mary Stonewell.”
Margaret popped the little cube of cheese into her mouth and took the offered hand. After swallowing, “Margaret Blake. How do you do?”
Mary’s face lit up, “Oh! Miss Blake! I’m so glad to meet you.” She shook Margaret’s hand enthusiastically. “I had hoped I would have a chance to speak with you.”
“Me?” Margaret furrowed her brow. The woman’s face wasn’t familiar, nor did the name ring any bells.
Mary Stonewell flushed slightly, and she cleared her throat with a little noise, “Well, your family.”
“Well I think you will find we Blakes can be quite friendly,” Margaret inclined her head. “How do you know us?”
“Oh, forgive me!” Mary raised an apologetic hand to her chin, “I met your, um, brother I suppose, Mr. Jay.” She sat up a little in her chair and glanced around the hall, “But I haven’t seen him today. I suppose his newspaper must have kept him in Germany even after all that.”
Margaret blinked and shook her head a couple times, “Wait you know Jay Thomson?” And you don’t know that he’s gone? she didn’t ask.
“Yes, we met… we met on the Rover.” She looked down towards the floor. “Mr. Blake helped me get out.”
Speechless, Margaret couldn’t even move for a moment, her mouth hanging half-open in a stupid stare. With great effort, she at last managed the necessary control to set her glass down on the table beside her. The servant surreptitiously snatched it away for the kitchen.
“You were on the airship with Jay Thomson?” Margaret’s voice was barely audible above the buzz in the hall.
“Yes, I was a stewardess. The fall broke my leg,” she rapped her knuckles against her right leg, and Margaret could hear the knocking sound of the plaster beneath her dress. “Mr. Blake and Mr. Duggan carried me out. Just us…” Mary’s gaze sort of drifted out past Margaret.
Margaret’s head was spinning, she tried to steady it with a hand, “You’re… you must be the other survivor then.”
“Excuse me?”
“The one who—the other survivors, my brother and this Mr. Duggan, I guess, they both disappeared the day after the crash. The Security Service is investigating it; you’re the only one who’s come back.” She was talking so fast she was nearly babbling.
Mary shook her head in disbelief, “What?”
She covered her mouth with her hand when the word rang out louder than she seemed to expect, a few faces turned to look at them. “Excuse me.” She swallowed and looked up to Margaret again, “Perhaps we should go somewhere else?”
Margaret nodded slowly, “Perhaps.” She looked at Mary’s wheelchair, “Do you have, um, an assistant?” She gestured at the contraption.
“My brother, Joseph,” she looked about again, “oh, where’s he gotten off to?”
“It’s all right,” Margaret hurried to say, “I can get it.” She moved around to grasp the handles at the back of the moving chair.
Margaret pushed the other woman out of the crowded hallway and onto the covered back porch of the manor. The conversation died down to a mutter as the screen door closed behind them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Stonewell beat her to it.
“What do you mean they haven’t come back?”
Margaret shut her mouth and pondered on how to respond for a moment. “I—I haven’t spoken with my brother since he left for Munich. When we got the news of the crash, we thought he had… well we thought he was dead.”
The woman in the wheelchair looked rather incredulous as Margaret went on.
“Then on Tuesday, my Father heard from the Security Service that Jay Thomson had survived, but had disappeared with one of the other survivors. They think he’s kidnapped, we’ve had officers here daily in case they’re trying to hurt Father.”
Mary’s eyes were wide, “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know.”
Margaret nodded a little, recounting the story had brought back a little of the shock with which it had all come to her at the time. She sat down on one of the white painted porch benches. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Margaret forcefully shook her head to clear it.
“But you saw him, how was he?”
Mary flushed a little, “Well, Mr. Blake was, ahh…” she bit her lip and seemed unsure of what to say. Margaret just blinked in uncolored curiosity. Miss Stonewell sighed, “He seemed rather flustered by the whole thing, honestly. But who wouldn’t be, after a tragedy like that? But he was in something of a daze, poor dear.”
She paused again, as if hoping Margaret would speak. When she didn’t, Mary went on in a hurry.
“Oh, but he was very brave! He wanted to help the others. Mr. Duggan had to stop him from going back in. There was nothing we could do… with the fire…” her eyes were watering.
Margaret blinked herself out of her stupor and put out a hopefully reassuring hand, “I’m sorry, I’ve been callous. It must have been awful for you, and with your leg broken.”
She shook her head, “I made it through all right.” And she forced a smile, but her eyes slid beyond Margaret to the green expanse of the Blake estate.
Margaret grimaced, but didn’t say anything. After a little while, Mary spoke again.
“You know, he was going to retire that winter. Said it would just be a vacation, but he was going to retire.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed, “Who?”
Another unpleasant looking half-smile, “Perry was.”
Something went click inside Margaret’s mind as the little cogs of understanding came to rest at the obvious conclusion. “Oh.” Her frown deepened, with true pity this time.
The moment turned into an awkward silence. Margaret simply couldn’t think of the proper thing to say, even as she could see tears forming in Mary’s eyes. She bit her lip against the idea of trying to stop the woman from mourning.
But she didn’t have to, the screen door flew open with something of a crash, and Harold Fairchild stumbled through. A little wine spilled from the glass he was holding and onto the porch.
“Woops,” he carefully stepped around the little red puddle.
Margaret stood up, wondering if she was going to have to help keep Fairchild standing. She hoped not.
He managed to stay on his feet, and noticed the two women, staring at them through hazy eyes.
“Oh, pardon me, I hope I’m not intruding, ah… Miss Blake. Was just coming out for some fresh air.” He wobbled a little, but kept his footing.
“Oh, no trouble, Mister Fairchild,” Margaret said hurriedly, “Miss Stonewell and I were about to, eh, take a stroll in the gardens.”
Mary, looking as if she might laugh, put a hand to her mouth, but nodded. Harold didn’t seem to notice anything about it.
“Splendid idea! Just splendid. I think I’ll just have a seat myself,” he plopped down rather hard onto a bench, this time spilling a few drops of wine on his trousers. Margaret didn’t think he noticed this either.
She decided not to trouble him over it, but instead took hold of Mary’s wheelchair to take the woman to the garden, or at least somewhere out of sight of Harold Fairchild. He hiccuped, Mary giggled, and Margaret merely rolled her eyes.
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
“…near lost his leg for good afterwards,” the old colonel with thick mutton-chops was saying to some similarly old men. “But he got the rest of us out all right. Bloody hero, he was.”
There was murmured agreement, and Margaret watched them all raise glasses to their lips. She wondered what the story was, but not so much that Margaret wanted to ask any of those fossils about it. Her father would probably know. She kept walking.
She had nearly made it within reach of the various assorted cheeses she sought when her father, as if summoned by thought, broke off from another clump of men in dark suits to stop her.
“Margaret,” he held up a hand with a raised finger to stop her.
“Yes, father?”
“I wanted to—“ he was interrupted by another man peeling off to join them.
“Ah, Edward! This must be your daughter.” He bowed slightly to Margaret, showing off a bowl of gray hair with a few wisps of sandy blonde still hanging on.
Baron Blake smiled, “Yes, ah, Harold this is my daughter Margaret. Margaret, this is Harold Fairchild. He’s an instructor at Cranwell.”
Margaret affected a smile, “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Harold sounded just a little tipsy, “Yes, your father was of invaluable assistance to my own education, but he’s never taken the time to introduce me to his family. Except for Lily, of course.”
Margaret’s father coughed into his fist, “Harold taught Perry in his engineering and physics courses at the college.”
Harold Fairchild blinked and seemed to remember where he was, “Yes, it’s a terrible shame,” he hung his head. “Morgan was one of my best students, even without you trying to bribe me, Edward. I daresay he may have been smarter than either of us, even.”
A moment of silence passed between the three of them before Margaret felt comfortable in breaking it, “What was it you wanted to tell me, Father?”
“Oh, yes! Excuse us, will you, Harold?”
“Of course, of course,” the professor wandered off, seeming as if he was not quite sure of his balance.
The Baron turned back to his daughter, “I seem to have lost your mother. But if you see her, would you tell her that Lady Morgan will be returning to London. Colonel Magnus and Gretchen are going to look after her.”
Margaret nodded, “What did Mum think was going to happen to her?”
Her father coughed again, and turned slightly red, “Well… well she thought Catherine might be staying with us.”
Margaret tried not to laugh, “If I see her, Father, I will tell her.”
She let him get back to mingling and completed her journey to the little table adorned with snacks. She exchanged nods with the servant making sure it stayed well stocked, then hovered a hand above the cheeses, pondering which she should choose.
“Try the little white ones here,” said a woman’s voice, “I think they’re the best.”
“Hmm?” asked Margaret, as she plucked a bit of cheddar from its tray.
She turned to her left to find the woman she’d seen earlier at the burial, seated in her wheelchair at the end of the table. The woman held out one of her small hands, smiling, “Mary Stonewell.”
Margaret popped the little cube of cheese into her mouth and took the offered hand. After swallowing, “Margaret Blake. How do you do?”
Mary’s face lit up, “Oh! Miss Blake! I’m so glad to meet you.” She shook Margaret’s hand enthusiastically. “I had hoped I would have a chance to speak with you.”
“Me?” Margaret furrowed her brow. The woman’s face wasn’t familiar, nor did the name ring any bells.
Mary Stonewell flushed slightly, and she cleared her throat with a little noise, “Well, your family.”
“Well I think you will find we Blakes can be quite friendly,” Margaret inclined her head. “How do you know us?”
“Oh, forgive me!” Mary raised an apologetic hand to her chin, “I met your, um, brother I suppose, Mr. Jay.” She sat up a little in her chair and glanced around the hall, “But I haven’t seen him today. I suppose his newspaper must have kept him in Germany even after all that.”
Margaret blinked and shook her head a couple times, “Wait you know Jay Thomson?” And you don’t know that he’s gone? she didn’t ask.
“Yes, we met… we met on the Rover.” She looked down towards the floor. “Mr. Blake helped me get out.”
Speechless, Margaret couldn’t even move for a moment, her mouth hanging half-open in a stupid stare. With great effort, she at last managed the necessary control to set her glass down on the table beside her. The servant surreptitiously snatched it away for the kitchen.
“You were on the airship with Jay Thomson?” Margaret’s voice was barely audible above the buzz in the hall.
“Yes, I was a stewardess. The fall broke my leg,” she rapped her knuckles against her right leg, and Margaret could hear the knocking sound of the plaster beneath her dress. “Mr. Blake and Mr. Duggan carried me out. Just us…” Mary’s gaze sort of drifted out past Margaret.
Margaret’s head was spinning, she tried to steady it with a hand, “You’re… you must be the other survivor then.”
“Excuse me?”
“The one who—the other survivors, my brother and this Mr. Duggan, I guess, they both disappeared the day after the crash. The Security Service is investigating it; you’re the only one who’s come back.” She was talking so fast she was nearly babbling.
Mary shook her head in disbelief, “What?”
She covered her mouth with her hand when the word rang out louder than she seemed to expect, a few faces turned to look at them. “Excuse me.” She swallowed and looked up to Margaret again, “Perhaps we should go somewhere else?”
Margaret nodded slowly, “Perhaps.” She looked at Mary’s wheelchair, “Do you have, um, an assistant?” She gestured at the contraption.
“My brother, Joseph,” she looked about again, “oh, where’s he gotten off to?”
“It’s all right,” Margaret hurried to say, “I can get it.” She moved around to grasp the handles at the back of the moving chair.
Margaret pushed the other woman out of the crowded hallway and onto the covered back porch of the manor. The conversation died down to a mutter as the screen door closed behind them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Stonewell beat her to it.
“What do you mean they haven’t come back?”
Margaret shut her mouth and pondered on how to respond for a moment. “I—I haven’t spoken with my brother since he left for Munich. When we got the news of the crash, we thought he had… well we thought he was dead.”
The woman in the wheelchair looked rather incredulous as Margaret went on.
“Then on Tuesday, my Father heard from the Security Service that Jay Thomson had survived, but had disappeared with one of the other survivors. They think he’s kidnapped, we’ve had officers here daily in case they’re trying to hurt Father.”
Mary’s eyes were wide, “I’m so sorry… I didn’t know.”
Margaret nodded a little, recounting the story had brought back a little of the shock with which it had all come to her at the time. She sat down on one of the white painted porch benches. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Margaret forcefully shook her head to clear it.
“But you saw him, how was he?”
Mary flushed a little, “Well, Mr. Blake was, ahh…” she bit her lip and seemed unsure of what to say. Margaret just blinked in uncolored curiosity. Miss Stonewell sighed, “He seemed rather flustered by the whole thing, honestly. But who wouldn’t be, after a tragedy like that? But he was in something of a daze, poor dear.”
She paused again, as if hoping Margaret would speak. When she didn’t, Mary went on in a hurry.
“Oh, but he was very brave! He wanted to help the others. Mr. Duggan had to stop him from going back in. There was nothing we could do… with the fire…” her eyes were watering.
Margaret blinked herself out of her stupor and put out a hopefully reassuring hand, “I’m sorry, I’ve been callous. It must have been awful for you, and with your leg broken.”
She shook her head, “I made it through all right.” And she forced a smile, but her eyes slid beyond Margaret to the green expanse of the Blake estate.
Margaret grimaced, but didn’t say anything. After a little while, Mary spoke again.
“You know, he was going to retire that winter. Said it would just be a vacation, but he was going to retire.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed, “Who?”
Another unpleasant looking half-smile, “Perry was.”
Something went click inside Margaret’s mind as the little cogs of understanding came to rest at the obvious conclusion. “Oh.” Her frown deepened, with true pity this time.
The moment turned into an awkward silence. Margaret simply couldn’t think of the proper thing to say, even as she could see tears forming in Mary’s eyes. She bit her lip against the idea of trying to stop the woman from mourning.
But she didn’t have to, the screen door flew open with something of a crash, and Harold Fairchild stumbled through. A little wine spilled from the glass he was holding and onto the porch.
“Woops,” he carefully stepped around the little red puddle.
Margaret stood up, wondering if she was going to have to help keep Fairchild standing. She hoped not.
He managed to stay on his feet, and noticed the two women, staring at them through hazy eyes.
“Oh, pardon me, I hope I’m not intruding, ah… Miss Blake. Was just coming out for some fresh air.” He wobbled a little, but kept his footing.
“Oh, no trouble, Mister Fairchild,” Margaret said hurriedly, “Miss Stonewell and I were about to, eh, take a stroll in the gardens.”
Mary, looking as if she might laugh, put a hand to her mouth, but nodded. Harold didn’t seem to notice anything about it.
“Splendid idea! Just splendid. I think I’ll just have a seat myself,” he plopped down rather hard onto a bench, this time spilling a few drops of wine on his trousers. Margaret didn’t think he noticed this either.
She decided not to trouble him over it, but instead took hold of Mary’s wheelchair to take the woman to the garden, or at least somewhere out of sight of Harold Fairchild. He hiccuped, Mary giggled, and Margaret merely rolled her eyes.
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-