day.
Only on Sunday did silence whisper in like a refreshing breeze.
The Lord’s day one of true, blessed relief.
But
almost
didn’t mean she liked the disturbance, not one
jot. Nor did it mean she’d given up the effort to find a way to make the
infernal noise cease. Or at least delay its start until a more civilized hour
of the morning. Try as she might, though, she hadn’t been able to come up with
a means of achieving her ends.
And heavens above, she had tried.
She’d gone to Wilda first, bringing up the topic of O’Brien and
his noisy minions over breakfast the morning following her alarming encounter
with him and his rambunctious dog.
She had hoped for a sympathetic ear. After all, Wilda was a lady
despite her lamentably dowdy appearance. Surely as a woman she would understand
another woman’s need for proper rest. And Jeannette could not get proper rest
when she was roused to wakefulness at such a ghastly hour of the day. Only
birds and mice and scullery maids bestirred themselves when dawn had barely
broken across the horizon. Birds, mice, scullery maids and building crews, she
amended.
The foul beasts hadn’t even had the decency to wait until
seven-thirty that morning, beginning work a full hour earlier, no doubt at the
urging of O’Brien himself.
When she mentioned the problem to Wilda, reminding her cousin of
her promise to speak with the architect-in-charge and request he begin work at
a reasonable hour, her cousin informed her she had already done so.
“Oh, yes,” Wilda confirmed. “I explained the problem and he was
most sympathetic.”
For a brief instant, hope rose inside Jeannette’s breast. Just as
quickly, it winked out as she remembered the exact hour at which she had been
awakened.
“Was he indeed?” she ventured. “Then why did he and his men
commence their labors at six-thirty this morning?”
Wilda gave her a look of helpless dismay. “Well, they must, dear.
He explained how essential it is for the men to begin early. How even an hour
or two a day will compromise their schedule. I am ever so sorry, but what can
be done?” Then, like the helpless coward she so obviously was, Wilda tossed up
her hands in defeat.
Jeannette next sought out her cousin Cuthbert in his temporary
laboratory. As a man, she assumed he would be more easily able to state his
demands and see to it O’Brien followed them.
Yet in spite of the plate of delectable breakfast foods she’d brought
as a kind of culinary bribe—which he’d gobbled down like a starving
orphan—Bertie had remained unmoved by her plight.
“Well now, can’t interfere,” her cousin said. “No, no, frightfully
tired of being forced to conduct my experiments inside this storage cupboard.
O’Brien’s building me a specially designed laboratory, don’t you know.
Detached, with its own lightproof room and vapor chamber. Then there’s to be a
new orangerie. Oh, I can already see the
Dendrobium aggregatum
and the
Paphiopedilum faireanum
on display. The orchids came to me through an
explorer chappie I know, all the way from India. Magnificent specimens, those
plants.”
He clapped his hands together. “And the new west wing, splendid,
splendid design. O’Brien is brilliant, using quite the most up-to-date,
innovative techniques and styles possible. Even Wilda can’t wait for the
renovations to be complete, since we’re adding a new card parlor for her. She
does love her cards, don’t you know.”
And with that, Jeannette found herself summarily ejected from the
dark storage cupboard, where she’d spent ten minutes holding the oddest—and as
it turned out, most useless—conversation of her life.
But the lack of success with her cousins in no way dampened
Jeannette’s determination. By rights she should resent them for refusing to aid
her in her battle. But they were old and plainly incapable of dealing with that
overbearing man, that O’Brien who had them under his big, calloused thumb,
right where he wanted them
Only on Sunday did silence whisper in like a refreshing breeze.
The Lord’s day one of true, blessed relief.
But
almost
didn’t mean she liked the disturbance, not one
jot. Nor did it mean she’d given up the effort to find a way to make the
infernal noise cease. Or at least delay its start until a more civilized hour
of the morning. Try as she might, though, she hadn’t been able to come up with
a means of achieving her ends.
And heavens above, she had tried.
She’d gone to Wilda first, bringing up the topic of O’Brien and
his noisy minions over breakfast the morning following her alarming encounter
with him and his rambunctious dog.
She had hoped for a sympathetic ear. After all, Wilda was a lady
despite her lamentably dowdy appearance. Surely as a woman she would understand
another woman’s need for proper rest. And Jeannette could not get proper rest
when she was roused to wakefulness at such a ghastly hour of the day. Only
birds and mice and scullery maids bestirred themselves when dawn had barely
broken across the horizon. Birds, mice, scullery maids and building crews, she
amended.
The foul beasts hadn’t even had the decency to wait until
seven-thirty that morning, beginning work a full hour earlier, no doubt at the
urging of O’Brien himself.
When she mentioned the problem to Wilda, reminding her cousin of
her promise to speak with the architect-in-charge and request he begin work at
a reasonable hour, her cousin informed her she had already done so.
“Oh, yes,” Wilda confirmed. “I explained the problem and he was
most sympathetic.”
For a brief instant, hope rose inside Jeannette’s breast. Just as
quickly, it winked out as she remembered the exact hour at which she had been
awakened.
“Was he indeed?” she ventured. “Then why did he and his men
commence their labors at six-thirty this morning?”
Wilda gave her a look of helpless dismay. “Well, they must, dear.
He explained how essential it is for the men to begin early. How even an hour
or two a day will compromise their schedule. I am ever so sorry, but what can
be done?” Then, like the helpless coward she so obviously was, Wilda tossed up
her hands in defeat.
Jeannette next sought out her cousin Cuthbert in his temporary
laboratory. As a man, she assumed he would be more easily able to state his
demands and see to it O’Brien followed them.
Yet in spite of the plate of delectable breakfast foods she’d brought
as a kind of culinary bribe—which he’d gobbled down like a starving
orphan—Bertie had remained unmoved by her plight.
“Well now, can’t interfere,” her cousin said. “No, no, frightfully
tired of being forced to conduct my experiments inside this storage cupboard.
O’Brien’s building me a specially designed laboratory, don’t you know.
Detached, with its own lightproof room and vapor chamber. Then there’s to be a
new orangerie. Oh, I can already see the
Dendrobium aggregatum
and the
Paphiopedilum faireanum
on display. The orchids came to me through an
explorer chappie I know, all the way from India. Magnificent specimens, those
plants.”
He clapped his hands together. “And the new west wing, splendid,
splendid design. O’Brien is brilliant, using quite the most up-to-date,
innovative techniques and styles possible. Even Wilda can’t wait for the
renovations to be complete, since we’re adding a new card parlor for her. She
does love her cards, don’t you know.”
And with that, Jeannette found herself summarily ejected from the
dark storage cupboard, where she’d spent ten minutes holding the oddest—and as
it turned out, most useless—conversation of her life.
But the lack of success with her cousins in no way dampened
Jeannette’s determination. By rights she should resent them for refusing to aid
her in her battle. But they were old and plainly incapable of dealing with that
overbearing man, that O’Brien who had them under his big, calloused thumb,
right where he wanted them
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