Read Online Hall of Secrets (A Benedict Hall Novel) by Cate Campbell - Free Book Online
Authors: Cate Campbell
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her breasts and hips were so flat she could have been a boy. She would have preferred being a boy, actually. Boys grew into men, and men were free. Men could choose what they wanted to do. Men had all the fun, men like Tommy Fellowes, late of Exeter College, Oxford.
Allison bent to take a handkerchief from a drawer. When she stood up she had to pause, one hand braced against the wall, until the black dots faded from her vision. She supposed she had better be careful about that. It was getting to be a habit.
Margot went up the back porch, leaving her umbrella to dry beside the kitchen door. She sidled carefully through the kitchen, apologizing for getting in the way of Hattie and the two maids, who were bustling between the stove and the counters, their hands full of spoons and spatulas and serving bowls. Hattie just smiled, and said, “Get yourself on in there, Miss Margot, and set down. Your mama gonna be glad to see you.”
Margot doubted that, but she passed on through the kitchen and out into the hall, reaching it just as her cousin was descending the carpeted steps of the main staircase.
Margot’s first thought was that Allison looked more like a thirteen-year-old girl than a young woman of nineteen. She was fair, and very pretty, but the bodice of her dress barely swelled over her bosom. The dropped waist made her lean hips look even narrower, and the points of her clavicle, revealed by the square neckline of her frock, stood out like those of an undernourished child. For a moment, Margot gazed at her in confusion, wondering why no one had mentioned Allison was ill.
Allison looked back at her from shadowed eyes that seemed full of suspicion. They gazed at each other for a suspended moment, until the door to the small parlor opened, spilling the murmur of conversation into the silence. Ramona appeared in the doorway. “Oh, Margot, good!” she said. “You’re here. We were just about to go in to dinner.”
With an effort, Margot recalled why she had made an effort to be present tonight. She took a step forward, and held out her hand to the thin girl standing on the lowest stair. “Cousin Allison,” she said. “It’s nice to see you. I’m glad you could come to stay at Benedict Hall for a time.”
Allison shifted her handkerchief to her left hand. She extended her right, and Margot took it cautiously. Her bones looked as fragile as a bird’s, and her skin was cold to the touch. “Cousin Margot,” Allison said. “Thank you for”—there was the briefest pause before she finished, with deliberate inflection—“ inviting me.”
Margot heard the inflection without knowing whether it was intentional or inadvertent. She saw, though, the narrowing of the girl’s eyes, the flash of emotion in her blue gaze. She lifted an eyebrow. “And how are you?”
It was a commonplace courtesy, a ritual question. For Margot, however, the query was not so simple as it was for most people. It had layers of meaning, elements of real significance. It was why she had chosen her profession, and the sight of this emaciated girl engaged both her interest and her concern.
At the very least, there was no question of Allison Benedict being pregnant. With her body weight so low she was doubtless amenorrhoeic. Margot had observed the condition in malnourished daughters of Chinese laborers and occasionally the crib girls of the Tenderloin.
Allison turned her face away and stepped down the last stair to follow Ramona toward the dining room. Over her shoulder, she said, in a brittle tone Margot thought was meant to be gay, “Oh, swell, Cousin Margot, thanks. I’m just swell.”
C HAPTER 5
Allison’s seat was on Aunt Edith’s left, at the foot of the table. At the head, Uncle Dickson settled into his chair with a slight grunt. Cousin Ramona and Cousin Dick sat together on Uncle Dickson’s left, the other side of the table from Allison, their faces all but obscured by a tall silver candelabra. Cousin Margot was on
Allison bent to take a handkerchief from a drawer. When she stood up she had to pause, one hand braced against the wall, until the black dots faded from her vision. She supposed she had better be careful about that. It was getting to be a habit.
Margot went up the back porch, leaving her umbrella to dry beside the kitchen door. She sidled carefully through the kitchen, apologizing for getting in the way of Hattie and the two maids, who were bustling between the stove and the counters, their hands full of spoons and spatulas and serving bowls. Hattie just smiled, and said, “Get yourself on in there, Miss Margot, and set down. Your mama gonna be glad to see you.”
Margot doubted that, but she passed on through the kitchen and out into the hall, reaching it just as her cousin was descending the carpeted steps of the main staircase.
Margot’s first thought was that Allison looked more like a thirteen-year-old girl than a young woman of nineteen. She was fair, and very pretty, but the bodice of her dress barely swelled over her bosom. The dropped waist made her lean hips look even narrower, and the points of her clavicle, revealed by the square neckline of her frock, stood out like those of an undernourished child. For a moment, Margot gazed at her in confusion, wondering why no one had mentioned Allison was ill.
Allison looked back at her from shadowed eyes that seemed full of suspicion. They gazed at each other for a suspended moment, until the door to the small parlor opened, spilling the murmur of conversation into the silence. Ramona appeared in the doorway. “Oh, Margot, good!” she said. “You’re here. We were just about to go in to dinner.”
With an effort, Margot recalled why she had made an effort to be present tonight. She took a step forward, and held out her hand to the thin girl standing on the lowest stair. “Cousin Allison,” she said. “It’s nice to see you. I’m glad you could come to stay at Benedict Hall for a time.”
Allison shifted her handkerchief to her left hand. She extended her right, and Margot took it cautiously. Her bones looked as fragile as a bird’s, and her skin was cold to the touch. “Cousin Margot,” Allison said. “Thank you for”—there was the briefest pause before she finished, with deliberate inflection—“ inviting me.”
Margot heard the inflection without knowing whether it was intentional or inadvertent. She saw, though, the narrowing of the girl’s eyes, the flash of emotion in her blue gaze. She lifted an eyebrow. “And how are you?”
It was a commonplace courtesy, a ritual question. For Margot, however, the query was not so simple as it was for most people. It had layers of meaning, elements of real significance. It was why she had chosen her profession, and the sight of this emaciated girl engaged both her interest and her concern.
At the very least, there was no question of Allison Benedict being pregnant. With her body weight so low she was doubtless amenorrhoeic. Margot had observed the condition in malnourished daughters of Chinese laborers and occasionally the crib girls of the Tenderloin.
Allison turned her face away and stepped down the last stair to follow Ramona toward the dining room. Over her shoulder, she said, in a brittle tone Margot thought was meant to be gay, “Oh, swell, Cousin Margot, thanks. I’m just swell.”
C HAPTER 5
Allison’s seat was on Aunt Edith’s left, at the foot of the table. At the head, Uncle Dickson settled into his chair with a slight grunt. Cousin Ramona and Cousin Dick sat together on Uncle Dickson’s left, the other side of the table from Allison, their faces all but obscured by a tall silver candelabra. Cousin Margot was on
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