Page 75 of The Tartan Trap

“While it’s impossible to adequately relay the entirety of a lively debate that lasted nearly two hours, I’ll do my best to summarize the point that I found most fascinating.” Rachel straightened and her brow wrinkled. “Have you heard of metaphysics?”

“I haven’t,” she admitted. “Though I assume this has something to do with the basket at your feet?”

“All in good time. Metaphysics is the study of the nature of reality itself.”

“Pardon?” Margaret’s nose wrinkled. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not so consumed with pride that I’ll claim to have understood everything. But from the parts I did understand, metaphysics seeks to understand the reality of reality. Or rather, how reality is shaped by each individual’s experience of it.”

Margaret pressed her lips together in consternation. Most of the time, she felt she was Rachel’s equal, but every once in a while, it became very clear—to Margaret, at least—that her friend outstripped her in intellect.

She finally shook her head and said, “Pardon, but where did you attend this lecture?”

“Attended might be the incorrect word.” Rachel cocked her head and gave an enigmatic smile.

“But you said⁠—”

“I said I heard it, not that I attended.”

Margaret’s nose wrinkled. “How did you hear it, if you didn’t attend?”

“There’s a decorative grate in one of the salons at the Royal Institution that allows anyone in the neighboring closet to hear whatever transpires.”

“What?” Margaret’s eyes were wide.

Rachel flapped her hand dismissively. “That’s hardly the point. Unless you’re upset that I didn’t invite you to accompany me?” She leaned forward and studied Margaret. “I only didn’t because I didn’t think such a topic would interest you. Besides, it’s standing room only in the closet, and I’m one of only two ladies who attend. With all of us exhaling, it gets quite hot in there. Besides, Mr. Selma always eats kippers before he arrives, as he read that they increase the capacity of the mind. Rubbish, if you ask me.”

Margaret shook her head, rather overwhelmed with the picture her friend had just painted. “No,” she said faintly. “I shouldn’t have liked that at all.”

“Right.” Rachel gave a sharp nod. “Back to the central point, then.”

She launched into a long explanation, complete with bright eyes and hand gestures. Margaret found she could barely pay attention. She kept imagining Rachel standing shoulder to shoulder in a broom closet with a group of people who hadn’t been invited to attend the lecture at the Royal Institution in the first place.

How on earth did they get in without being spotted? And how had Rachel heard about such a thing to begin with?

Margaret silently berated herself—this was just further proof that she was destined to be on the periphery of things. She hadn’t even been invited to stand in a broom closet and breathe someone’s fishy exhales. What hope was there for her to receive a coveted invitation to an exclusive dinner party if she was excluded from things she didn’t even care to attend?

“Which naturally leads to this,” Rachel concluded, gesturing at the basket at her feet.

Margaret blinked. Her thoughts had wandered so far and freely that she hadn’t heard a word that Rachel had said. But she could hardly admit as much without hurting her friend’s feelings.

On a sudden burst of inspiration, Margaret said, “Would you please summarize the idea in a single sentence?”

“It will be a challenge, but I’ll attempt it.” She grinned at Margaret. “This is one of the reasons I so value our friendship—you’re always pushing me to reach higher limits of self.”

Margaret smiled and tried her best not to fidget, though her guilt poked and prodded her. Would Rachel still have such devotion to this friendship if she knew it wasn’t scientific excellence that had occupied Margaret’s mind?

Rachel took a deep breath. “The most interesting part of the debate last night was when it was suggested that a person might alter reality if they believed something strongly enough.”

Margaret eyed the basket warily. She couldn’t imagine what it might contain, especially in the face of such a ridiculous statement.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Margaret finally said. “After all, Daisy Knope is quite convinced that everyone has forgotten about her failed engagement. Yet the opposite is true—I heard some of the older ladies discussing it at the Elderwicks’ ball.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t believe enough yet,” Rachel said, tapping her chin. “For you can’t deny that her outlook hasn’t changed some people’s opinions on the matter.”

“What do you mean?”

Rachel shrugged. “She’s acting as if it never happened, and many people are following her lead. If Daisy were going around acting embarrassed—as many of us would, under such circumstances—everyone would avoid her.”