"I'm too young
To lose my soul.
I'm too young
To feel this old.
So long,
I'm left behind.
I feel like
I'm losing my mind."
"World so Cold" –Three Days Grace
Chapter Four:
There was a black car in the driveway, one of the vehicles plainclothes cops used when they didn't want to stand out. Margot could spot one at a glance. Anybody from the lower end could. It wasn't that they weren't plain. They were too plain, in fact, as if they were trying too hard not to stick out.
Even as she watched, the detective came from the house, sent off by Alfred, who stood in the doorway and watched as the man drove away. The cop glanced at Margot as he passed by. She nodded to him as he left. He was the one that had been on the news lately. The one who'd caught the Wayne killer. What he was doing there, weeks after the case had closed, she had no idea.
"You see that detective stop by?" she asked Mr. Harrison as they made their way toward the manor for a late lunch break, stopping by the shed to drop off some of their tools.
The man nodded. "So?"
"I was just wondering what he was doing here. Is he a friend of Bruce's?"
Mr. Harrison shook his head. "I don't care to know. It could have to do with their current investigation. You heard about that, didn't you? That guy offing people with weather balloons?"
Margot had heard the news. Everybody had. She shrugged and waited for the man to close up the shed before following him into the manor. They passed by one of the studies on their way, and Margot caught sight of Bruce inside, sitting at the desk and searching intently through a file.
"What's the deal with Bruce anyway?" she asked, completely off-topic.
"What do you mean?"
"He can't be his own legal guardian."
"He's not. Alfred is."
"The butler."
"Yes."
"Isn't Bruce technically his boss?" she inquired.
"Well…yes, I suppose so."
"So if Alfred grounds Bruce, Bruce fires Alfred. Sounds like a plan that was well thought out."
Mr. Harrison chuckled and opened the kitchen door for her. "It's not like that, Margot. They get on, you know. Alfred's been around all Bruce's life. He understands the boy. They're like family."
She shrugged and said nothing more, already preoccupied with a tray of food that rested on the counter. Approaching, Margot could tell that it had been there for a while, so she took a sip of juice and popped a few grapes into her mouth. She hadn't had grapes in what felt like ages.
"Hey!" exclaimed Mr. Harrison. "What makes you think you can do that?"
"It's here."
"Yeah, but it could be young Mr. Wayne's lunch for all you know," Mr. Harrison protested.
"It probably was," she replied calmly, "but it's not fit to be served to him anymore. The juice is warm and the bread is—"
"What about the bread, Miss Vallant?" interrupted a voice from the doorway.
She jumped a little, startled. "Mr. Pennyworth!" she exclaimed. Seeing the expectant manner in which he looked at her, she explained, "I was just saying that the bread on this sandwich is dry."
Those blue eyes regarded her in a curious way. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss. Shall I make you another? Toast it for you, perhaps? Cut the crust off?"
"Please do," she responded. "And could you spread a little more sarcasm on it? I like it extra thick."
"Well you're a cheeky little minx, aren't you?" the man noted with a raised brow. "Did that work well for you with previous employers? The Marine Corps perhaps? I'm sure the officers loved your charming wit."
Margot felt her face start to burn, mostly with indignation, but there was a little embarrassment mixed in. She knew she shouldn't have talked back. For a moment, she'd forgotten that Alfred was technically her boss, responding with her most basic instinct—to defend against sarcasm with sarcasm. She quickly explained, "I wasn't complaining, sir. I was just telling Mr. Harrison that nobody else was going to eat it."
Alfred didn't move for a moment, standing like a statue. She waited for him to reprimand her, send her home, fire her even, but he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath and let it all out in a heavy sigh. "No, they won't. Apparently Master Bruce is no longer eating." He looked at the sandwich, then at Margot, and gave in after a moment. "Go on then. You might as well."
She gratefully took the sandwich, pleasantly surprised. He probably didn't want to eat it himself, and he didn't seem like the kind of person that would let it go to waste. It was practicality, not kindness that prompted the offer.
"Not eating?" asked Mr. Harrison in a worried voice.
"No," Alfred responded with a shake of his head. "He's going to starve himself sick."
Margot laughed through a mouthful of bread, accidentally spraying crumbs all over the counter.
Both men whirled and stared at her.
"Sorry," she mumbled, swallowing painfully. When neither of them looked away, waiting for an explanation for her ill-timed laugh, she exclaimed, "He's just a kid! I don't care how upset or how determined he is not to eat. His stomach's going to overrule him long before it becomes serious."
Alfred came around the counter, advancing on her. It was quite threatening, especially with the fierce look he had in his eyes. "Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you don't know Master Bruce like I do," the man growled, mere inches from Margot.
"No," she admitted, nodding in agreement. "But he's not going to starve. You won't let him," she pointed out, popping a grape into her mouth.
Alfred scoffed, shook his head, and stalked away, muttering under his breath.
"Thanks for the sandwich!" she called after him, receiving a closed door in response.
"That couldn't have gone worse," muttered Mr. Harrison.
"What?" she inquired defensively.
"You're going to push one too many buttons someday," he warned her. "You're a good assistant, but you're not that good. Have a care and don't get yourself fired, all right?"
Margot looked at the man, saw the worry in his face, and suddenly didn't feel so cocky. "You're right." She lifted the plate from the tray and offered it to Mr. Harrison. "Want half?"