strangerverse | Enter the Stranger

* * * * * * *

Unpacking done, Silverman headed back down to the first floor, where all the “working class”--at least for this weekend—were housed. Hoping to meet some of her fellow travellers, she left her room door open while she unpacked her own clothes, and sure enough, someone dressed as a parlourmaid popped in. “Jane,” said the maid, by way of greeting. “I'm next door. What are you playing—butler? Suffragette housekeeper?”

“Lady's valet,” Silverman explained.

“Care for a cuppa? I've already got the kettle on to boil. So far we've got two butlers, a gaggle of housemaids and shop girls, and one tremendously well-built chauffeur. Everyone's just getting settled in, but my room is already the designated tearoom.” Jane sounded entirely satisfied with this state of affairs. Silverman, pleased there was a place where people informally congregated and even more pleased that it wasn't her room, followed her cheerfully. The perfect opportunity, she thought, to join in whatever entertainment the other guests could provide without relinquishing her solitary space.

And all too soon, entertainment was forthcoming, although as it arrived in the form of a sobbing young woman it wouldn't have done to look too amused. The distraught creature was in a maid's uniform, and Silverman struggled to hide her satisfaction when the girl lifted her snowy white apron to bury her face in its folds. Well and properly done, that, with no hint of theatricality; one could easily have believed one really was looking at a jilted housemaid. It was impossible not to admire, even if it was a bit callous to treat someone else's misery as a distraction. Still, she thought philosophically, sipping her tea, what was life after all but a series of performances. Life with Mina had taught her that much.

Besides which, it was impossible to offer anything substantial by way of sympathy or advice until the girl had actually spoken to clarify things, and she remained unhelpfully mute throughout Jane's perfunctory introductions. A bit much, the continued sobbing, really.

Jane must have been thinking something similar, since she chose that moment to address the newcomer sharply. “For God's sake, Nellie, what is it now? Has he finally dumped you?”

Nellie looked up, shocked out of her sobs. “Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because you're such an idiot about him, I assumed you'd take his departure as bad news,” Jane snapped. “And it's not as if you think or talk about anything else anymore, so what else would you be crying about?”

Nellie sniffled loudly a couple of times, gave her face one last fierce scrub, and then smoothed the damp apron back into place over her knees. She lifted her chin and looked as dignified as is possible with a red, puffy face. Silverman silently applauded the effort.

“I'm upset,” Nellie said haughtily, “because I don't like the people I'm rooming with. I'm staying with Maggie White and Betsy and some friend of theirs called Frankie, and all three of them keep rolling their eyes when I talk, and giving each other looks when they think I can't see, and I don't see how I can stand an entire weekend of it. And there we are, four of us crammed into one room. Oh, Jane, I wish I was rooming with you again, like at Midsummer. That was so much better.”

Jane didn't say a word, and Silverman felt a distinct and unwanted pang of sympathy.

After a tiny pause Nellie tried again. “Are you rooming alone this time? You've got the exact same room we're in, with two double beds. I suppose the organizers just reserved a block of them.”

“I am,” Jane said, “and it's wonderful. No offence, but I'm really glad to have a room to myself this time around. I need the downtime.” Which was patently untrue, since she'd already set herself up in the role of “person who serves tea to all comers,” but Silverman could see her point. She appreciated downtime herself.

So it must have been sheer pity for Nellie's youth and unhappiness that moved her to speak. “I've got a room to myself, too. Do you want to crash with me, Nellie?”

“I'd love to,” Nellie said, throwing her a painfully grateful look. “Silverman, was it? Do you have a first name?”

“Yes,” said Silverman, quellingly.

* * * * * * *
next