𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐖 ❧ 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀
In some respects, the decision to move the bazaar was a simple one.
Changing the date was the obvious choice, but Margaret knew that the London natives would not appreciate being delayed more than they considered proper. The country was alright for hunting and the like, but a decade of summer balls in London taught her that their southern friends thought the world stopped at Leeds. It had been a miracle they had travelled so far north to start with. No, Margaret couldn’t support such a scheme.
The rest of the women on the committee had debated the remaining choices earnestly. Mrs Forester had done her level best to coax them into group prayer and thus a quorum; even though Margaret felt the pang of guilt - for her feelings towards God remained uncertain - she could not, in good conscience, reward the family who had schemed to trap Maurice in a loveless, convenient marriage with Miss Forester. Putting aside Doctor Forester’s regretful letter, Margaret had not quite forgiven the family, and so vetoed that option with a pleasant smile and a sympathetic expression. I hope you understand, and so on. And Mrs Forester, with a smile of her own and coldness in her eyes, understood.
Had the bazaar occurred a few weeks earlier, Margaret would have advocated for the church. What a perfect site it would be - if one could pretend that examining bric-a-brac was proper beside a gravestone, of course. But Father Valentin had effectively stonewalled her suggestions for improvement, and Margaret thought he could learn a little humility. She had marvelous ideas for the renewal of Saint Mary’s - why he decided they were tosh was quite beyond her! (Of course, it was worth noting that Father Valentin hadn’t exactly turned her down, but Margaret felt turned down, which was half the point).
All this left the one option that Margaret never dreamed she would back, yet there was simply no other choice. Her conversations with Lord Talbot and Miss Talbot had planted a seed of hope that the new generation might seek to recover from the sins of their father, hopefully with dignity and respect to the people of St Maur, who had had to bear witness to the baron’s deteriorating and incoherent behaviour. As far as Margaret was concerned, this could be a turning point for the (moral) fortunes of their family. Here was an opportunity to turn the other cheek - should they be clever enough to take advantage.
Margaret could only advise so much; at this point, she was rather eager to see just what the Talbots would do with an opportunity gift-wrapped for their convenience. Would they recognise this as a chance to distance themselves from their father? Or would they use the stage to enact vengeance upon the town that had spurned them at their lowest?
Yet, it was undeniable that this option was also a gamble. No one liked to talk about something as vulgar as money, least of all Margaret, but the fact was that their London friends had the purse-strings to make a difference to the bazaar. If they refused to attend on the basis of morality, Margaret did have a card she could play. It was a sanctimonious one, and even she wondered why she was becoming so moral all of a sudden, but at risk of people judging her to be Mrs Forester’s shadow, it was in Margaret’s estimation that returning St Maur to a place of reputable houses was more important in the long-term than some disgruntled monied creatures from London.
Dear God, she hoped this would work.
