“I would have come to you,” Marjorie cried. “You had only to ask.”
“He would have seen you and driven you away. We are still in the lapse, and there is no Hunt. He would have seen you.”
But it was really Eugenie that Rowena wanted to see, Eugenie she wanted to question, because she could not go to Commoner Town without Stavenger finding out. Marjorie stayed with them, and it was she who suggested, “Rowena, I will ask the man and the woman to come here. The man and woman who had her, in Commons. I will ask them to come here, since you say they cannot come to your estancia, and you can come here to talk to them yourself/’
A fragile bond. A little trust. After Rowena left, Marjorie sighed, shook her head, sent for Persun Pollut.
“See if you can get the order officer and his wife to come out here tomorrow. The Jellicos. Tell them the Obermum wants to talk to them, privately. Secretly, Persun.”
He laid fingers on his lips, over his eyes, noting that he said nothing, saw nothing, and then departed. He returned to say yes, they would come tomorrow, and Marjorie sent an enigmatic message on the tell-me which only Rowena would understand. While he was there, she asked Persun to explain something to her.
“At the reception, Sylvan said we would all be throwing dead bats at one another, Persun. What did he mean?”
“The Hippae do it,” he said. “At least, so I hear. Sometimes on the hunt they do it. They kick dead bats at one another.”
“Dead bats?”
“They are everywhere lady. Many dead bats.”It made no sense to Marjorie. She made a note in her book for later inquiry. There was no time now. “Rowena will talk to me,” Marjorie said to Rigo. “I think we may find this has opened a door.”
“Only while she’s in this state. When she grows calm, she’ll close us off again.”
“You don’t know that that’s true.”
“I believe it is,” he said stiffly. He had been stiff with Marjorie ever since the reception, since he had seen her dancing with Sylvan with that look on her face. She recognized his stiffness as barely withheld anger, but she believed his discomfort had been caused by Eugenie. Long ago she had chosen not to notice how matters went between Rigo and Eugenie, so she did not seem to notice now. Because she made no response to his evident annoyance, he believed she did not care, that she was probably thinking of someone else. So he grew more angry and she more silent; so they danced, a blindfolded minuet.
Something in his manner, however, declared a decision had been made.
“Rigo, you’re not—“
“Yes,” he said firmly. “I have hired a riding master.”
“Gustave was just being—“
“He was saying what all of them feel. That we are not worthy of their attention because we do not ride.”
“It isn’t riding,” she said with loathing. “Whatever it is they do, it isn’t riding. It’s loathesome.”
“Whatever it is they do,” he growled, “I will do it as well as they do!”
“You won’t expect me .. .or the children …”
“No,” he blurted, shocked. “Of course not! What do you take me for?”
Indeed, what did she take him for? he asked himself. They were in this mess because of Eugenie, but Marjorie had not once reproached him for bringing Eugenie here, where Eugenie certainly did not belong. As a result he felt guilt toward Marjorie and chafed under the feeling. He felt he had ill-used her even though she showed no signs of caring, not now, not ever. She had never showed hostility toward him when he spent time with Eugenie, never showed anger that he was sharing another relationship. She never said anything bitter, never threatened anything. She was always there, unfailingly correct, concerned, always agreeable, acting appropriately under every circumstance, even those which he knew he had created especially to try her. He sometimes told himself he would give his soul if she would weep or scream or throw herself at him or away from him, but she did nothing of the kind.