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In classic George fashion, she waved away Magdalene’s hissed “George” and extended her hand to Sam, who blinked, looking shell-shocked.
“Sam Threadneedle, ma’am.”
“Oh, beautiful manners aside, none of this ma’am stuff. This one,” she winked in Magdalene’s direction, “might require such ceremony to soothe her dark soul, but I feel fine being called George, sweetheart.”
Magdalene closed her eyes and counted to five without much effect as her second utterance of “George,” only drew a rueful chuckle.
“I’m ten years her senior and can get away saying things like that. Plus, I’ve been her secretary for oh, let’s see, never mind, an ungodly number of years, ever since she became Chair at Rodante. Such a wee, lovely lass she was back then. Are you the welcome committee then, cutie?”
Magdalene scoffed and motioned with her hand, and George finally fell silent. They’d known each other long enough for George to recognize her exasperation.
“Now that there is some quiet and less insolence in here... Ms. Threadneedle, Ms. Leroy is indeed my secretary, and will be replacing former Headmistress Fenway’s staff.”
“You’re firing Roger, sight unseen?”
Sam’s outburst would have held more weight if Magdalene hadn’t seen the absolute disaster the former secretary’s desk was. Littered with dirty dishes, it emanated a distinct smell of stale food.
When their eyes finally met after Sam had perused the desk in the front office with a rather sheepish expression on her face, Magdalene raised an eyebrow. When Sam bit her lip, Magdalene managed to suppress a triumphant smirk. But it was a close call.
“Yeah, I guess some things do need an overhaul,” Sam admitted.
“Well, I’m glad you approve, Ms. Threadneedle.”
The long look George gave Sam before winking at her did not escape Magdalene. Dismissing the perhaps too perspicacious George and Sam—who couldn’t seem to get her loyalties and priorities into any semblance of order to save her life—Magdalene proceeded to peruse the messy desk in front of her. It was not particularly different from the hoarders’ paradise in the front office.
A half-eaten donut caught her attention as she gingerly lifted some of the files with the very tips of her fingers, and she almost gagged. Lying right there on a piece of paper clearly marked ‘URGENT’ and seeping grease all over it, the pastry embodied everything that was wrong with the school, with Orla Fenway, with the careless, almost criminal way she’d been allowed to misuse and ruin this place.
On cue, as if sensing that her disgust could be made even more acute, the ginger creature raised from its slumber and zeroed in on the treat in front of them. As it coiled, muscles taut to make the leap from the windowsill to the desk, Magdalene narrowed her eyes. The cat froze, sat back on its haunches, and tilted its head. Their gazes met, and bi-colored eyes, eerily like her own, focused on her with a patient yet decidedly questioning look, as if seeking permission.
She stared back at it. Why was she even entertaining feeding this mangy beast? Suddenly, the cat emitted a rather pitiful, scratchy meow. Yes, definitely asking permission. Well, then… She gave the creature one more glare before she raised the file that was half obscuring the donut a little higher and nodded, though still unable to hide the disgust she felt for the spectacle unfolding in front of her.
One leap and a thud later, the cat proceeded to loudly chew on the disgusting prize. There was no indication that it minded its condition.
Magdalene shuddered and turned to Sam, whose face was bright red as she shook with obvious embarrassment, then to George, who appeared positively giddy with mirth, hiding her snicker behind a cough.
Sympathy warred with a little schadenfreude in Magdalene. She knew Sam did not want her pity, but the unraveling of the depth of the school’s despair and misery were clearly hurting her. Yet, Magdalene had been telling her as much, and this final act of discovery of just how disgusting the mess was, should be her coup de grâce.
“Now that we’ve dispensed with small talk and disgusting pastry, George, you’re here, does that mean that those troglodytes are here as well?”
“If by troglodytes you mean the trustees, you would be right. All nine arrived with me on the ferry. Sorry to tell you, though, they are all sorts of disgruntled and disheveled. The waters were a bit choppy.” For once, George’s glee made Magdalene cringe. In fact, here in front of Sam, who was cautiously eyeing them both, it grated. And George played up to the obvious attention by leaning into Sam with a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes.
“This one’s ex-husband is among the crowd. Good times ahoy, matey.”
“George!” Her own raised voice, something she so rarely employed, sounded sharp and shocked even her. Sam’s discomfort with the tension was palpable, but her shoulders also sagged as if in relief, and Magdalene bit her lip. Well, thankfully there went Sam’s misplaced idea about having had an affair with an adulterer.
To Magdalene’s relief, George raised both hands, soothing some of her frayed nerves. When she spoke again, her tone was suitably chagrined.
“Apologies, Madam Headmistress. I believe there was talk of assembling in the Mess Hall and waiting for the faculty to gather as well. I’ll join you in a jiffy as soon as I find the restroom in this labyrinth.” Sam pointed to a door outside the office. “The Headmistress’ personal facilities are right there on the left. I mean, ah, if Headmistress Nox doesn’t mind you using them...”
Magdalene waved a dismissive hand at both of them and shook her head. With a suspicious glance at the cat—who’d been sitting on its back haunches, observing them as if it understood and was ready to chime in with a smart remark at any moment—Magdalene made to leave the office. But after being jerked around by everyone all morning, she really wanted to have the last word. And Sam was such an easy, delicious target.
With a half-turn, Magdalene narrowed her eyes at her. “I assume you still want to be part of the faculty, Ms. Threadneedle? Then I advise you to join the rest of that rag-tag bunch in the Mess Hall, and not at your convenience, but preferably immediately.” Out of the corner of her eye, Sam’s expression told her exactly how susceptible her target had been to Magdalene’s little game.
Good. Mission accomplished…
* * *
It was only 10 PM,yet she felt like she’d been awake for 72 hours straight. The early morning arrival, the subsequent upheaval, and the ensuing chaos, as well as the absolutely useless and farcical assembly—where Joel Tullinger fancied he was channeling a great orator and leader only to sound like an amateur—had worn her down.
