The Last Philosopher

Ms Skvosip's, um, help

First thing next morning, Charlie went to see Ms Skvosip. Since she wasn't coming as the washing-girl, she decided to try the front-door. So far, she'd been unable to get anywhere near it, or its terrifying knocker.

Her approach started from the south-west corner of the square. Going past the abandoned store-front, and the fancy pub no one liked. But as she walked along the mansion's wall her doubt hit her hard with the certainty that she wouldn't be let in. Just seeing the black door from the gate sent her stepping all the way back to the corner.

"Deep breaths," she said at last forcing her feet all the way to door.

She reached up to the metal ring attached to the nose of some monstrous figure. She was already knackered, and the figures forked tongue was baiting her to run away again. Exhaling, she lifted it and knocked three times. The door opened exactly on the third knock. Patrick had an amazing ability to always be where the ladyship needed him.

"Hi... um, I'd like ta speak ta Ms Skvosip please?"

Patrick looked at her like a tramp asking to marry the princess. "What may I say it is regarding?

Except for his butler's uniform — crisp and tidy, with the white gloves — this was nothing like meeting him at the backdoor.

"I'd like ta talk ta her about Herschel."

"Who?"

"Yeah, um, the man that mi Da jailed last week?"

"I will ask Madame if she will consent to see you." He politely shut the door in her face, at least that part was familiar.

Charlie fretted as the minutes away, expecting to be shooed off like a stray dog. But when the door opened, Patrick's demeanour was much changed.

"Madame will see you in the tea parlour, one thing, please do not 'um' Madame despises it." He bowed as he stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter, "if you would kindly come this way."

They walked down an immaculately clean hallway, with severe black doors that for all she knew might to hide the meaning of life. At the end, light streamed in from an open arch on the left. Charlie assumed it must lead to this tea parlour. She'd never been this deep inside the mansion before.

The striking woman, in her usual strict dress with the half-sleeves, was seated in a wicker chair. Two seats, and a little wicker table were facing the beautiful flower garden. On the table's glass top stood two cups, a plate with posh little cakes, and a pot with steam dancing out of the spout into the sunlight. It was fine Kelleeb porcelain. The edges of the cups were almost see-through. Each one worth more than Charlie earned in a month. The whole scene was overwhelming.

"Well, sit down my dear."

"Um... okay?" The ladyship's neck tensed up, she'd forgotten about not um-ing.

"It's nice of you to come visit an old lady for tea."

Patrick pulled out a chair for her, but Charlie was frozen with shock. The woman wouldn't give her a pat on the back to save her life. Underhanded compliments was as close as she got to praise. But now she was being nice!

"You wanted to talk to me about that brute in your father's jail?"

"Yeah!" Charlie recovered and plopped down ungracefully, "ba I don't think he is a brute."

"From what I hear, he's a man who attacks old women in the middle of the night?"

"No, Da thinks that thin' with Geraldine was jus' an accident."

"Ah, so there's a less interesting version of events as well?"

That's when it dawned on Charlie. She was only let in because the story of the p-word was the most ear-erecting gossip in a decade. Since Earl hadn't let anyone talk to Herschel but her and Rascal, this was Ms Skvosip's best chance at a second hand tale. The realisation sent some tea down the wrong way and she started coughing.

"Are you alright dear? You seem flushed?"

"Oh, I'm very well Ms Skvosip, thank you so much for asking. I was just surprised that tea was already served, you're such a gracious host."

Now that she knew the game they were playing, she plastered on her own fake smile. She even changed her accent to match.

"I always have tea at this time, routine is important, don't you think?"

"Yes, I'm sure your right, but the thing is, I'm just a silly girl and no one really cares what I think. That's why I came to you, everyone respects your opinion."

The ladyship's satisfied grin made no response as she took the tiniest bite of her little cake. At that moment, Charlie could almost believe the old woman had some royal ancestry.

"I was hoping that you'd come and speak to Herschel? He might be tricking me, but I'm sure he couldn't trick someone like you." Charlie's heart skipped a beat as she waited for the old she-hag to take the bait.

"If I did, what would be in it for me?"

"I'm not sure what I could do for you, but I would surely consider it a favour."

"Then of course I'll come, as a favour to you my dear. I assume you can arrange this meeting?"

"I think I could swing that!"

"Swing? I don't know what you mean my dear, you said nothing about swinging?"

"No!" Charlie almost dropped her cup. "I meant I can arrange it, how about this evening?"

Getting up with most of the tea not drunk, the women both smiled like used horse salesmen who finally sold that toothless nag.

"That would be fine, but so we're clear, this would mean you owe me a favour."

Afraid to break the spell, Charlie only nodded in agreement. Patrick finally broke the silence with a polite cough.

"Yes Patrick, I believe we're done here, the man will see you out." Ms Skvosip's gloved hand gave her a dismissive little wave.

He pulled out her chair, and before Charlie had time to think much of anything he was ushering her outside. Like a fly getting kicked out of the spider's web.

Updated: 20.11.2023