Free A White Room by Stephanie Carroll Page A

be going,” Walter said.
    I left the hallway. Obviously, Walter had helped Marcellus apprehend someone and John had been called to be present as his lawyer, but screaming, bleeding, refusing treatment? They wouldn’t celebrate such a horror. Good people wouldn’t, but I didn’t know if these people were good people. I didn’t know if John was a good person.

Six
    March 1901
    M y nerves twitched. John had made it clear in the past month or so, most recently during the ride over, that it was imperative that I dazzle the people we were to dine with that evening. The invitation suggested a casual dinner, but in the Rippring dining room, I eyed the intricately designed silver and chargers from Italy and wondered if I had underdressed. I imagined the dinnerware’s owners would cringe at our bug bowls and salamander silverware. Ida’s dining room gleamed with gilded crown molding, a large mirror in an intricately etched frame, and a sparkling chandelier.
    Meanwhile, the dining room waiting for me at the house sat like a dark cave, a narrow hole full of bugs and bats posing as spoons and tea cups. The hanging gas lamp was no chandelier, and there were no mirrors or large paintings of landscapes, only maroon wallpaper and dark wood wainscoting. I could see it in my head transforming into a real cave with teeth and a long rectangular table for a tongue, hungry.
    “Ma’am?” The butler held out a bottle of Port.
    “Do you have sherry?”
    “Of course.”
    I removed my gloves and placed them on my lap.
    Margaret and Dr. Walter Bradbridge also made it to dinner, although the senior physician did not.
    “Walter, have you entertained any fine ladies as of late?” Ida asked.
    “Um—well—I—”
    Margaret interrupted to answer for him. “Oh, no, there are very few ladies worth courting here.”
    “Yes, very few. Perhaps a trip to the city could help?” Ida handled her crystal goblet with slender fingers.
    “What a wonderful suggestion.” Margaret beamed.
    Walter’s face tightened. “Thank you, Mother.” He sighed and turned to the hostess. “Ida, I appreciate your interest, but I want to focus on my work.”
    She eyed him. “Oh, yes, ambitions. If I might be so bold, I have to disagree with this impulse to start a practice. You have one here. No need to find another. It will be all yours someday. You are a fine physician. Now find a wife.”
    Margaret nodded eagerly.
    “I wouldn’t call it an impulse, but thank you for the advice.”
    “You aren’t keeping anything to yourself now, are you?” Ida asked.
    “Nothing of the sort.” He unfolded his napkin with his eyes down.
    “Hmm.” Ida sipped her wine.
    The servants placed finger bowls in front of us. I gently dipped my hands. Marcellus sloshed perfumed water onto the lace tablecloth.
    “Emeline?” Ida turned her focus to me. “What do you think of the committee?”
    “I’m joining.” I jumped at the opportunity to please. “Margaret told me you’ve played an important role in making the committee a success.”
    She didn’t respond. I feared everyone saw through me.
    The servants entered in a procession and clinked bowls of rich cream soup in front of us.
    “How did you come to live in Labellum?” I asked.
    “We moved here for my husband’s sake.” Ida eyed him, but he didn’t look up. “For his work.”
    “Really—”
    “I’ll make it easy on you, dear.” Ida gave a tiny grin, revealing two large front teeth. “He does not need to work. When we wed, he insisted he continue. It gives him some sort of satisfaction, I suppose.” Her smug demeanor turned weary.
    Marcellus focused on his soup, his stringy hair hanging around his face.
    “But why Labellum?” John asked. “I would think you would want to mingle with the highest society—if you don’t mind me saying?” He lifted a spoonful of soup. “New York or Paris or something like that?”
    Ida pursed her lips and lifted her chin at her husband, but he didn’t offer an excuse.