Read Online To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis - Free Book Online
Authors: Connie Willis
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speed.”
“Finch,” Mr. Dunworthy said, coming over. “Where’s Kindle?”
“You sent her to her rooms, sir,” Finch said.
He touched the headrig. “Queen Victoria ruled England from 1837 to 1901,” the tape said in my ear.
“Go and ask her how much slippage there was on the drop,” Mr. Dunworthy said to Finch. “The one where—”
“—she brought unprecedented peace and prosperity to England.”
“Yes,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “And find out how much slippage there’s been on the others—”
“—remembered as a decorous, slow-paced society—”
“—and telephone St. Thomas’s. Tell them under no circumstances to let Lady Schrapnell leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Finch said and went out.
“So Lizzie Bittner is still living in Coventry?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“Yes,” I said. “She moved back from Salisbury after her husband died,” and then, because something more seemed to be expected, I said, “She told me all about the new cathedral and how Bishop Bittner had tried to save it. He reintroduced the Coventry morality plays in an attempt to shore up attendance and put up displays of the Blitz in the ruins. She took me on a tour of what had been the ruins and the new cathedral. It’s a shopping center now, you know.”
“Yes,” he said. “I always thought it made a better shopping center than a cathedral. Mid-Twentieth-Century architecture was nearly as bad as Victorian. It was a nice gesture, though. And Bitty liked it. It was originally sold to the Church of the Hereafter or something, wasn’t it? I suppose you’ve checked with them to make certain they don’t have it?”
I nodded, and then he must have left, though I don’t remember that part. A sound like the All-Clear after an air raid had started blasting in one ear, and the tapes were talking about the subservient role of women in the other.
“Women held little or no power in Victorian society,” the headrig said. Except Queen Victoria, I thought, and saw that Warder was coming toward me with a wet cloth. She scrubbed roughly at my face and hands and then smeared a white lotion above my upper lip.
“The role of the Victorian woman was that of nurse and helpmeet,” the headrig said, “of ‘the angel in the house.’ ”
“Don’t touch your lip,” Warder said, pulling the measuring tape from around her neck. “Your hair will have to do. There’s not enough time for fenoxidils.” She encircled my head with the tape. “Part it in the middle. I said, don’t touch your lip.”
“Women were thought to be too high-strung for formal education,” the subliminal said. “Their lessons were confined to drawing, music, and deportment.
“This whole thing’s ridiculous.” She wrapped the tape around my neck. “I should never have come to Oxford. Cambridge has a perfectly good degree in theatrical design. I could be costuming The Taming of the Shrew right now instead of doing three jobs at once.”
I stuck a finger between the tape and my Adam’s apple to prevent strangulation.
“Victorian women were sweet, softspoken, and submissive.”
“You know whose fault this is, don’t you?” she said, snapping the tape as she pulled it free. “Lady Schrapnell’s. Why on earth does she want to rebuild Coventry Cathedral anyway? She’s not even English. She’s an American! Just because she married a peer doesn’t mean she has the right to come over here to our country and start rebuilding our churches. They weren’t even married that long.”
She yanked my arm up and jammed the tape in my armpit. “And if she was going to rebuild something, why not something worthwhile, like Covent Garden Theatre? Or support the Royal Shakespeare or something? They were only able to mount two productions last season, and one of those was an old-fashioned nude production of Richard II from the 1990s. Of course, I suppose it would be asking too much of someone from Hollywood to appreciate art! Vids! Interactives!”
She took
“Finch,” Mr. Dunworthy said, coming over. “Where’s Kindle?”
“You sent her to her rooms, sir,” Finch said.
He touched the headrig. “Queen Victoria ruled England from 1837 to 1901,” the tape said in my ear.
“Go and ask her how much slippage there was on the drop,” Mr. Dunworthy said to Finch. “The one where—”
“—she brought unprecedented peace and prosperity to England.”
“Yes,” Mr. Dunworthy said. “And find out how much slippage there’s been on the others—”
“—remembered as a decorous, slow-paced society—”
“—and telephone St. Thomas’s. Tell them under no circumstances to let Lady Schrapnell leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Finch said and went out.
“So Lizzie Bittner is still living in Coventry?” Mr. Dunworthy asked.
“Yes,” I said. “She moved back from Salisbury after her husband died,” and then, because something more seemed to be expected, I said, “She told me all about the new cathedral and how Bishop Bittner had tried to save it. He reintroduced the Coventry morality plays in an attempt to shore up attendance and put up displays of the Blitz in the ruins. She took me on a tour of what had been the ruins and the new cathedral. It’s a shopping center now, you know.”
“Yes,” he said. “I always thought it made a better shopping center than a cathedral. Mid-Twentieth-Century architecture was nearly as bad as Victorian. It was a nice gesture, though. And Bitty liked it. It was originally sold to the Church of the Hereafter or something, wasn’t it? I suppose you’ve checked with them to make certain they don’t have it?”
I nodded, and then he must have left, though I don’t remember that part. A sound like the All-Clear after an air raid had started blasting in one ear, and the tapes were talking about the subservient role of women in the other.
“Women held little or no power in Victorian society,” the headrig said. Except Queen Victoria, I thought, and saw that Warder was coming toward me with a wet cloth. She scrubbed roughly at my face and hands and then smeared a white lotion above my upper lip.
“The role of the Victorian woman was that of nurse and helpmeet,” the headrig said, “of ‘the angel in the house.’ ”
“Don’t touch your lip,” Warder said, pulling the measuring tape from around her neck. “Your hair will have to do. There’s not enough time for fenoxidils.” She encircled my head with the tape. “Part it in the middle. I said, don’t touch your lip.”
“Women were thought to be too high-strung for formal education,” the subliminal said. “Their lessons were confined to drawing, music, and deportment.
“This whole thing’s ridiculous.” She wrapped the tape around my neck. “I should never have come to Oxford. Cambridge has a perfectly good degree in theatrical design. I could be costuming The Taming of the Shrew right now instead of doing three jobs at once.”
I stuck a finger between the tape and my Adam’s apple to prevent strangulation.
“Victorian women were sweet, softspoken, and submissive.”
“You know whose fault this is, don’t you?” she said, snapping the tape as she pulled it free. “Lady Schrapnell’s. Why on earth does she want to rebuild Coventry Cathedral anyway? She’s not even English. She’s an American! Just because she married a peer doesn’t mean she has the right to come over here to our country and start rebuilding our churches. They weren’t even married that long.”
She yanked my arm up and jammed the tape in my armpit. “And if she was going to rebuild something, why not something worthwhile, like Covent Garden Theatre? Or support the Royal Shakespeare or something? They were only able to mount two productions last season, and one of those was an old-fashioned nude production of Richard II from the 1990s. Of course, I suppose it would be asking too much of someone from Hollywood to appreciate art! Vids! Interactives!”
She took
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