The Golden Girl (#2 in the GOLDEN series)

•S I X T Y - S E V E N•

It took a few moments for Johanna to react, but soon Céleste saw her tug off the dress. "Of course."

Céleste loosened her corset and released a lengthy breath as the pounding in her skull lessened while her waist and chest relaxed.

How did I sleep in this?

The door closed; Johanna had left.

Once Céleste had shimmied into her day-wear, she moved to the bed and perched on the edge beside Marguerite.

Her golden strands encased her delicate features; so at ease, so tranquil, it pained Céleste to wake her.

She rubbed the Director's shoulder, and almost at once, the woman's bloodshot turquoise eyes wrenched open.

"What... what is..." Her gaze landed on Céleste. "Where am I?" Her voice was groggy as she licked her lips and swallowed.

"My room," said Céleste. "Do you remember? Last night?"

Wincing, Marguerite hauled herself from her lying position and hung her legs over the side of the bed. She bent over and placed her head in her lap. "How could I forget?" She emitted something that sounded like a snort. "I am surprised you do. You were bathed in alcohol."

Céleste ignored the jape. "Johanna brought us breakfast." She rose and marched towards the meals. The egg scent wafted into her nose and, having not eaten much the night before, her stomach grumbled.

Marguerite lifted her head enough to gape in the food's direction. "Coffee?" She sniffed. "Coffee. That is all I want."

Johanna wouldn't dare omit that, and Céleste smiled as she approached Marguerite's tray and smelled the rich beverage with its hints of cinnamon. She plucked the cup of dark, tar-like substance and brought it to Marguerite, who snatched it with fervor.

The Director breathed in the steam and took a sip, not once twitching at the scalding liquid. "The girls?" She sipped again. "Did Johanna check on them?"

"I did not ask." Again, Céleste's memory jolted. "Speaking of the girls... we have another problem I have to tell you about. I was too frazzled before, but..."

"Speak," said Marguerite, keeping the rim of the cup against her lips.

"The Vidame of Limesdale has his sights set on Julia." Marguerite's eyes narrowed then widened, and her unkempt eyebrows swished up. "Harriet... she held him off, but he introduced himself to Julia, as we were retiring, and she... Harriet told me to warn you."

"Of course." Marguerite's grip around the cup tightened. "He is part of all this, of course. Romain will marry Adelaide and pass Julia on to someone else; someone he paid to aid in all sorts of shady dealings. Julia is Sir Thatcher's price for..." Clutching the mug with one hand, she massaged the corners of her forehead with the other. "And Harriet told you to warn me because she knows. She knows. Oh, I was right. We must lie low."

"But why? You, perhaps; but me? I am not in danger, am I?"

Marguerite stood and brushed past her. "If you associate with me, you are." After a few steps to the adjoining door, she pivoted and frowned. "I will handle this. Thatcher will not touch a hair on Julia's body, I swear it."

"Can I help?" Céleste made a move to follow her, but Marguerite flicked her wrist in dismissal.

"No. Stay out of this. Until I come to you." Marguerite entered her room.

Now what?

***

Most of the day, Céleste overheard Johanna coming and going, bringing books and documents to Marguerite. Delivering whispered messages Céleste couldn't decipher, even when gluing her ear to the adjacent door to listen.