The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 11

M.

He didn't even answer my questions. A rake of the first order, I fumed, stomping into the townhouse and passing a startled Buxley.

"Margaret?" Rose glided up to me with Aunt Emily trailing behind. "You better have a good explanation for mother, about where you've been."

Aunt Emily ushered me into the back parlor and slammed the door behind us. With my eyes closed, I took a deep breath and emptied my thoughts.

"We didn't take you in, allow you into our esteemed family, for you to play loose like, like a common prostitute," Aunt Emily rained down on me as she had for the past thirty minutes.

"Aunt Emily, I didn't do anything outside the bounds of proper behavior," I whispered for what must have been the one-hundredth time as my cheek throbbed and a slight buzzing sound filled my ears.

"No one asked you to speak." Rose pushed me and walked to Aunt Emily's side.

"You must think of your cousin's reputation. What has she done to deserve this cruel behavior?" Aunt Emily fell onto the settee, and Rose handed her a fan.

Rose shook her head at me, a gleam in her eyes. "What are we to do with you? Mama, what do you think? We can't let Margaret fall into moral shambles, now can we? Our good Christian duty just won't allow it."

"You're right as always, my cherub," Aunt Emily beat her fan at a furious pace, her cheeks flushing.

Rose, impatient of my beratement, and most likely hoping for more, spoke, "We could always send her away—."

But, Aunt Emily stood. "No, no that does not suit the plan. Buxley, Buxley, come here," Aunt Emily called out the door. "Bring the rod, immediately."

#

Days later, dressed in black from head to toe and wearing bonnets with black crepe veils covering their faces, Aunt Emily and Rose entered the foyer. Whenever Aunt Emily returned from an outing, she went to her parlor for a smoke on her elegant glass pipe. I counted on getting Rose alone.

"Maggie, little dear. Why ever are you skulking about in the hallway, like a common thief?" Rose stopped near the door to her room, pulling at her black lace gloves.

"Where were you today?"

"Not that it's any concern of yours," Rose glared at me, "but, we were at grandpapa's funeral."

"Did I hear you correctly, godfather?"

"No, I said grandpapa, you dolt." Rose rolled her eyes and tapped her foot. "Sometimes I think you have wool in your ears."

I gritted my teeth. "Rose both of our grandfathers are dead and have been dead for many years."

Rose covered a small smile with her hands. "You really don't know? Well, isn't this grand."

"What?" I regretted the word the moment it slipped from my lips.

"It was Mama's father, Grandpapa Claxton. He passed away a few days ago."

"You're lying."

Her hand extended out catching the soft flesh of my cheek in an abrupt slap.

"Don't raise your voice at your betters, you brat. He could not bear to look at your dark face. He told Mama he never wanted to see you again and that you were a disgrace. Especially, after your father's shameful gambling ruined the family's reputation," Rose hurled at me, stalking me until my back pressed up against the opposite wall. "The polite thing to say would be, 'I'm sorry for your loss.' Really, where are your manners?"