CHAPTER FOUR #4
Constance was fairly certain there was more to it than that – Nelly's smile had seemed to her more than just the friendliness of a passing acquaintance – but she let the matter rest. She had wondered, from time to time, if her and Jack's unusual inclinations ran in the family, and if they might have been passed on to Margery.
But there was no diplomatic way of asking the question, and a great potential for disaster if it went wrong.
It would explain, at least partially, why Margery was so stubbornly opposed to marriage – but then again, it could be as simple as the desire for adventure she'd already elaborated on to Constance.
So far as Matilda was concerned, the point was moot anyway: neither argument was going to sway her.
Constance was already steeling herself against the reaction she knew they would meet when they arrived home.
It may have been that Margery felt the same, though she didn't say so; she certainly seemed pleased to linger in the square for most of the afternoon, long past the time they had exhausted their store of things to look at.
The sun was lowering in the sky when they finally did make their way back to Matilda's house, and when they arrived, the younger children had vanished from the street – called inside for supper, most likely.
Constance did note, with some amusement, that Margery made sure to take her cloak off before she went in.
The children were, as she'd expected, arrayed around the supper table.
Seated near the head was Matilda's husband Richard – a man Constance had known for most of her life, and who she didn't think she'd ever exchanged more than ten words with – and Simon, his head bent down over his plate.
She watched Margery out of the corner of her eye, wondering if she might catch sight of some animosity, but none was apparent: Margery seemed unperturbed by his presence, merely hanging her cloak up on the peg and going to wedge herself into a space on the bench between Nicholas and Tom.
"Good, you're back," Matilda said, briskly but without rancour. "Take Sarah on your lap, she'll spill pottage down her front if you don't help her with the spoon, and I've got Sam to manage. Constance, are you staying? We've enough to feed you."
"I wish I could," she said, and meant it. "But Jack's been with Peter all day, and I had better get back to make sure they haven't quarreled – you know how they are. Besides, I've a dress to finish by the end of the month."
"You've new custom, then?" Matilda said, briskly ladling stew into her bowl with one hand while feeding Sam with the other. "Good, we were beginning to worry. Perhaps Margery might come and visit to help with the shop. I hope your conversation was fruitful?"
Margery made a huffing sound, but said nothing. Constance winced. "After a fashion. May I speak with you privately?"
Matilda set Sam's spoon down and handed him to Richard, rising from the table and smoothing out her skirts.
She stepped around the table, took Constance's arm, and steered her out the door, so that they were both standing under the eaves.
Constance managed to wave good-bye to Margery as she went, but it was of little use: her niece was scowling down at her bowl, and took no notice.
"Well?" Matilda said, once they were out of earshot of the children. "What did she say to you?"
"Not much, at first," Constance said, leaning against the wall. "More once the dam broke. She's not easy in her mind about any of this."
"No more so am I," Matilda retorted, "so it's all the better to see her wed without delay, so she doesn't worry herself about it any longer. Did she agree?"
"Of course she didn't." Constance saw her sister's mouth purse, and held up a hand to forestall the outburst she knew was coming.
"And she'll not be convinced by me, no matter what I say to her.
This matter is between you and her, and she's digging her heels in as much for spite as she is for principle. Give her time and don't badger her."
Matilda crossed her arms. "And why is it you can't reach her?"
Sometimes Constance thought her sister must have been born with some miraculous form of deafness: she only heard what she wished to.
"Because she doesn't care what I think. She knows her own mind - at least, she believes she does, which is as good as - and she wants you to know it, too.
A little understanding would go a long way with her. "
"I understand her perfectly," Matilda snapped.
"She is behaving like a petulant child, and she's far too old for it.
She will marry Simon, like it or not, so she had better accustom herself to the idea.
And I'd best not have any word of you encouraging her to think otherwise.
" Without giving Constance a chance to respond, she spun on her heel and went back in, fairly slamming the door behind her.
Constance rubbed her hands over her face with a bone-deep sigh.
More than once, in her childhood, she had been commended for her level head: she had been the one called on to settle disputes between her siblings and smooth over ruffled feathers and injured pride when fights turned bitter.
With Matilda and Jack the way they were, she'd had no real choice in the matter.
She had hoped that adulthood would bring with it a little peace, but God evidently had other plans.
She would be mediating between her siblings and their children until she was ninety.
At least I've nobody to fight with myself, she reflected. Somehow, the thought brought her little comfort.