Chapter 27- Margaret
“It’s well and good that you don’t have plans for us this morning,” Rachel said the next day. “For I do.”
“Obviously.” Margaret nodded toward the basket resting at Rachel’s feet.
They were in the parlor, which seemed much larger and more cavernous when hordes of Lily’s admirers weren’t filling it. Margaret could even hear the ticking of the clock—a novelty, since all such evidence of silence was usually disrupted by gentlemen’s laughter and fawning compliments.
“I heard the most interesting lecture and discussion yesterday evening,” Rachel said. “I tossed and turned all night thinking of the possibilities.”
“How fascinating.” Margaret leaned forward. “Please, tell me.”
“While it’s impossible to adequately relay the entirety of a lively debate that lasted nearly two hours, I’ll do my best to summarize the point that I found most fascinating.” Rachel straightened and her brow wrinkled. “Have you heard of metaphysics?”
“I haven’t,” she admitted. “Though I assume this has something to do with the basket at your feet?”
“All in good time. Metaphysics is the study of the nature of reality itself.”
“Pardon?” Margaret’s nose wrinkled. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not so consumed with pride that I’ll claim to have understood everything. But from the parts I did understand, metaphysics seeks to understand the reality of reality. Or rather, how reality is shaped by each individual’s experience of it.”
Margaret pressed her lips together in consternation. Most of the time, she felt she was Rachel’s equal, but every once in a while, it became very clear—to Margaret, at least—that her friend outstripped her in intellect.
She finally shook her head and said, “Pardon, but where did you attend this lecture?”
“Attended might be the incorrect word.” Rachel cocked her head and gave an enigmatic smile.
“But you said—”
“I said I heard it, not that I attended.”
Margaret’s nose wrinkled. “How did you hear it, if you didn’t attend?”
“There’s a decorative grate in one of the salons at the Royal Institution that allows anyone in the neighboring closet to hear whatever transpires.”
“What?” Margaret’s eyes were wide.
Rachel flapped her hand dismissively. “That’s hardly the point.
Unless you’re upset that I didn’t invite you to accompany me?
” She leaned forward and studied Margaret.
“I only didn’t because I didn’t think such a topic would interest you.
Besides, it’s standing room only in the closet, and I’m one of only two ladies who attend.
With all of us exhaling, it gets quite hot in there.
Besides, Mr. Selma always eats kippers before he arrives, as he read that they increase the capacity of the mind. Rubbish, if you ask me.”
Margaret shook her head, rather overwhelmed with the picture her friend had just painted. “No,” she said faintly. “I shouldn’t have liked that at all.”
“Right.” Rachel gave a sharp nod. “Back to the central point, then.”
She launched into a long explanation, complete with bright eyes and hand gestures.
Margaret found she could barely pay attention.
She kept imagining Rachel standing shoulder to shoulder in a broom closet with a group of people who hadn’t been invited to attend the lecture at the Royal Institution in the first place.
How on earth did they get in without being spotted? And how had Rachel heard about such a thing to begin with?
Margaret silently berated herself—this was just further proof that she was destined to be on the periphery of things.
She hadn’t even been invited to stand in a broom closet and breathe someone’s fishy exhales.
What hope was there for her to receive a coveted invitation to an exclusive dinner party if she was excluded from things she didn’t even care to attend?
“Which naturally leads to this,” Rachel concluded, gesturing at the basket at her feet.
Margaret blinked. Her thoughts had wandered so far and freely that she hadn’t heard a word that Rachel had said. But she could hardly admit as much without hurting her friend’s feelings.
On a sudden burst of inspiration, Margaret said, “Would you please summarize the idea in a single sentence?”
“It will be a challenge, but I’ll attempt it.” She grinned at Margaret. “This is one of the reasons I so value our friendship—you’re always pushing me to reach higher limits of self.”
Margaret smiled and tried her best not to fidget, though her guilt poked and prodded her. Would Rachel still have such devotion to this friendship if she knew it wasn’t scientific excellence that had occupied Margaret’s mind?
Rachel took a deep breath. “The most interesting part of the debate last night was when it was suggested that a person might alter reality if they believed something strongly enough.”
Margaret eyed the basket warily. She couldn’t imagine what it might contain, especially in the face of such a ridiculous statement.
“I don’t think that’s true,” Margaret finally said. “After all, Daisy Knope is quite convinced that everyone has forgotten about her failed engagement. Yet the opposite is true—I heard some of the older ladies discussing it at the Elderwicks’ ball.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t believe enough yet,” Rachel said, tapping her chin. “For you can’t deny that her outlook hasn’t changed some people’s opinions on the matter.”
“What do you mean?”
Rachel shrugged. “She’s acting as if it never happened, and many people are following her lead. If Daisy were going around acting embarrassed—as many of us would, under such circumstances—everyone would avoid her.”
“Perhaps.” Margaret frowned.
In her opinion, the young lady deserved every censure pointed in her direction. Not for the failed engagement, perhaps—such things were an unfortunate part of life.
“So what experiment do you propose?” Margaret asked, nervously. “Regardless of Daisy’s debatable success, I don’t wish for anything we try to play out in front of society as a whole.”
“Neither of us wants that. At least, not until we’ve proven the theory on a smaller scale.”
“I feel like a fool,” Margaret said, her voice muffled by the fabric. “And I can’t see anything.”
Rachel tutted and tugged on Margaret’s sheet until her eyes lined up with the holes in the fabric. “There.”
Margaret faced her bedroom mirror and examined her reflection. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. Though at least it smells nice and clean under here.”
“Don’t be a ninny,” Rachel said. “This is for science, remember?”
“If you say so.”
“Just think of how jealous your sisters will be when your name is printed in a scientific study or journal.”
Margaret winced at the thought. She hardly thought such a thing would impress her sisters.
Claire would undoubtedly make some cutting remark about Margaret’s great contribution to society.
Lily would smile and say it was wonderful, but since she said such things about the feeblest attempt, her praise meant little at all.
And Beatrice would be incensed that she’d been left out of it and would demand her own ghost costume.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Margaret asked.
“Of course not. That’s why it’s called an experiment.”
Margaret didn’t know whether she wished for it to work or not.
She suspected the entire thing was balderdash.
After all, she had felt invisible most of her life, but the actual ability to disappear had eluded her, even when she was eight and Daisy had pushed her into a mud puddle and called her piggy.
Or when some strange force of static had caused her outer dress to ride up, exposing her underskirt in front of them two weeks later. Margaret wasn’t sure which nickname she abhorred more from that summer—“piggy” or “drawers.”
“Come on, then,” Rachel said, dragging Margaret out into the hall. “Let’s go test the theory.”
Margaret hurried to keep up on the stairs, but her sheet was more ill-fitting than Rachel’s. It kept tripping her, and she had to pause and tug the eye holes back into place. She could only imagine what her hair would look like after this escapade.
Still, she reasoned this was for science, as Rachel said. And when that failed to motivate her, she consoled herself by telling herself that she was being a good friend.
“Where is everyone?” Rachel muttered when they reached the first floor and no one was in sight.
“Claire’s probably off with Lord Rutheridge, though she doesn’t want us to know it. And Beatrice is at that bookstore of hers again.”
“What about Lily?”
Margaret shrugged and caught motion out of the corner of her eye. It was their reflection in a mirror across the hall. Margaret huffed a laugh. Even as a ghost, Rachel was far prettier than she was.
Rachel fumbled and patted Margaret’s sheet until she found her wrist. “Never mind about your sisters. We’ll just have to find one of the servants.”
“We shouldn’t disturb them,” Margaret said.
“They won’t even see us. That’s the entire point.”
Margaret begrudgingly trailed after Rachel into the parlor.
Two maids were present. One watered the potted plants with a diminutive brass watering can while the other attacked the tiled fireplace threshold with a horsehair brush.
Rachel pulled Margaret to the center of the room and they stood there silently.
Margaret couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was fairly certain that the maid watering the plants had turned and started when she’d seen them, then whipped her head back around toward the palm.
“I think we’ve been spotted,” Margaret said under her breath.
Rachel peered around at the two maids, who now appeared deeply focused on their work. “Nonsense,” she whispered. “They don’t see us at all.”
“They’re only pretending not to see us,” Margaret hissed. “They’re busy and they don’t want to be dragged into whatever nonsense this is. Remember the other day when you pressed the entire staff into a game of blindman’s buff?
“Ridiculous,” Rachel said primly. “Everyone had a wonderful time.”
Margaret rolled her eyes again.