Chapter 27- Margaret #2
“Now be quiet or they’ll hear you and it will ruin the entire experiment.”
Margaret sighed, the sheet fluttering in front of her lips, but she did as she was told.
For several minutes, there was no sound but the ticking of the ormolu clocks on the mantles and the rhythmic rasp of the horsehair brush against the hearth tiles. Margaret shifted from foot to foot periodically, her mind wandering.
“I do believe that the first phase of our experiment is complete.” The ghost next to Margaret nodded her head stoutly. “It’s time for the second phase.”
“The second phase?” Margaret said, alarmed. “What on earth do you mean, the second phase?”
Rachel simply grasped her arm and tugged her back out into the hall. “We must see if our displacement of reality also works with those who are closer to us.”
“My sisters are not at home.”
“What about your brother?”
“He’s in his study and shouldn’t like to be disturbed.”
“We won’t disturb him—he won’t even know we’re there.” She strode down the hallway with Margaret hurrying to keep up.
Thankfully, the door to William’s study was standing wide open, or Margaret never would have had the courage to enter without knocking. Despite her misgivings, Margaret crept in first, then froze in the doorway when she saw that William wasn’t alone.
A very handsome gentleman with broad shoulders and dark hair sat in one of the chairs facing the desk. Margaret recognized him as Lord Shaw, who’d visited Lily once very early in the Season but never returned.
Rachel jabbed Margaret in the back until she had little choice but to step forward, her sheet fluttering. Surprisingly, neither Lord Shaw nor William glanced their direction. Margaret shuffled slowly to the back of the room near the fireplace, her eyes wide. Rachel followed.
“I care deeply for both the enterprise itself and the people involved,” William was saying. “I’ll not bring anyone on board who isn’t as committed as I am to both.”
“I understand completely. Though my holdings aren’t nearly as impressive as yours, I feel a great responsibility for them.”
William arched a brow. “If we’re to work together, you must know I’m so suspicious of flattery that it often has quite the opposite effect as intended.”
“I’ll make a note of it.” Lord Shaw nodded.
William snapped a pile of parchment against his desktop, putting it in line. “I’ll do my due diligence on your references. You may expect to hear something within the month.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Lord Shaw stood, buttoned his jacket, and gave a nod before heading to the door.
Margaret and Rachel still stood in full view upon the rug.
The room was comfortably sized, but not exceedingly large.
William preferred to keep his personal spaces rather bare—Margaret suspected it was some residual habit from spending so much time aboard a ship where space was at a premium.
She thought William had simply grown tired of too much furniture in too small a room, and his current taste was the pendulum swinging the opposite direction.
In any case, there was no discernable reason why her brother hadn’t addressed them yet. Margaret thought he would have after Lord Shaw left. Instead, he stood from his desk, pulled a ledger off his bookcase, and set to work.
Margaret and Rachel stood very still, only turning their heads to look at each other once in a while as if to confirm that the other saw what was happening.
Perhaps a quarter hour passed with no other sounds but the scratching of a pen, the turning of pages, and the interminable tick of the clock on the mantel behind them.
“I think it’s working,” Rachel finally whispered.
Margaret blinked. She hadn’t thought such a thing possible, but maybe Rachel was right.
After all, an idea couldn’t be too ridiculous if it was being discussed at the Royal Institution.
Still, the entire theory depended upon someone truly believing something, and Margaret hadn’t believed that she was invisible, not for a single moment.
“How long do you think we have to remain here to prove the theory?” Margaret whispered. Her stomach rumbled; she could smell the faint, delicious aroma of some baked good from the kitchens.
“I think that a half an hour should suffice,” Rachel murmured.
Beneath her sheet, Margaret grimaced.
“What on earth are you ladies doing?” William said, not raising his head from his ledger.
“You can see us?” Margaret said, aghast.
William finally lifted his head, frowning. “Was that ever in question?”
“Why did you let us stand there like this? Why didn’t you say anything?” Margaret demanded.
“Why would I have? You weren’t interfering with my work. You were being remarkably silent for once—it was a delightful treat. Why on earth would I have put an end to that?”
Margaret propped a hand upon her hip. “Because our dress was abnormal?”
“Who am I to question the whims of ladies’ fashion?” He flicked his wrist; a page turned in his ledger.
“Then perhaps you should have intervened because our behavior was odd?”
William finally glanced up, a smile dusting his lips. “It was odd that you were being so respectful, that you kept the volume below a dull roar. But again, why would I stop you? You obviously were engaged with your own pursuits that kept you amused—and silent—for over a quarter of an hour.”
Margaret scowled, though he probably couldn’t see that because of the sheet.
“Now that you’ve inevitably interrupted me and I’ve been required to speak,” William said, “may I ask what, precisely, you ladies were doing?”
“We were testing a theory,” Rachel said.
“Which one?”
“The idea that belief can create reality.”
“That experiment is already well in progress at Bedlam,” he said, turning another page.
“I suppose we didn’t truly believe.” Rachel shrugged.
“Could that be because it’s not real?” William suggested in a droll tone.
“Then why on earth didn’t Lord Shaw say anything?” Margaret asked, propping her ghostly arms on her hips.
“I’ll admit your timing was quite fortuitous. I had just told the man that the first rule of the silk trade is to be prepared for the unexpected, that one never knows what’s just around the corner.” William grinned. “You two walked in precisely after that.”
“Well, we’re happy that at least we made an excellent object lesson, at the very least,” Margaret grumbled. “Come, let’s see if Cook had better luck with her brand of magic than we did.”
“It’s not magic,” Rachel insisted. “It’s science.”
“I confess it’s difficult to take you seriously when we’re both dressed in old sheets.”
“Very well—let’s test a different theory—”
William arched an eyebrow and interrupted, “How about whether a closed door will silence inane conversations?”
Margaret rolled her eyes and hurried Rachel out the door. Once it was closed behind them, she said, “What theory did you have in mind?”
“Whether I can eat all the biscuits before you!” Rachel sprinted down the hall, her ghost costume fluttering behind her.
Margaret chased her, laughing. In her haste, her eye holes became misaligned, and she groped and slapped at the sheet, trying to put it back into place. She was distracted and giggling, which explained how she ended up smacking directly into a wall.
No, it was not a wall, after all—just a very large, solid person whose arms came out immediately to steady her.
“Margaret,” he said.
Margaret would recognize that voice anywhere, with its deep timbre and rolling accent.
“Callum?” she squeaked, still floundering in her costume. “What are you doing here?”
Through her one eye hole, Margaret could see he was grinning down at her.
“I came to see you, of course.” He frowned and looked down the hall. “Your butler has already relieved me of my flowers, but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”
Margaret desperately tore the sheet from her person, bundled it quickly in her arms, and tossed it behind her. There was a crash—she’d knocked a potted plant from the sideboard. Her nose wrinkled with the force of her wince.
He grinned at her. “Hello, Margaret.”
“Hello.” She gave a little fingertip wave and immediately cursed herself an idiot.
But if anything, Callum seemed even more amused. “I came to see you early, as I won’t be able to attend visiting hours this afternoon. I have an important engagement with my steward, you see.”
“Ah,” Margaret said, nodding.
She didn’t know what else she should say to such a proclamation. I’ll miss you certainly seemed too forward, even though that was the truth.
Nor could she admit she’d been looking forward to seeing him, or that the hours would undoubtedly pass more slowly without him there.
Still dressed as a ghost and now carrying a plate piled high with biscuits, Rachel thrust her head from the parlor. “You should come for the dinner party tomorrow night, Your Grace.”
“I’d be honored. Where will it be held?”
“Here, of course.” Rachel selected a biscuit, then seemed to remember she’d failed to cut a hole for her mouth and dropped it again.
“You’re having a dinner party?” Callum cocked his head at Margaret.
She frowned at Rachel. “Apparently, though this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Six o’clock. I know it’s too early to be considered stylish, but we have to hand out character assignments.” With that enigmatic proclamation, Rachel disappeared back into the parlor.
“You don’t have to come if you’d rather not,” Margaret murmured. “To be honest, after this morning’s activities, I’m a bit frightened as to what she has planned.”
Callum grinned. “If you’re going to be there, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll face it together, whatever it is.”
Margaret didn’t know how to reply. Though Callum was always very forthright with his speech where she was concerned, she didn’t yet know how she felt. Even if she had, she doubted she’d have the courage to declare it.