"I wanna hide the truth,
I wanna shelter you,
But with the beast inside
There's nowhere we can hide…
Don't wanna let you down,
But I am hell bound.
Though this is all for you,
Don't wanna hide the truth."
"Demons" –Imagine Dragons
Chapter Fourteen:
Bruce left the manor not long after Margot arrived at work, trekking with stoic resolve out towards the hills, holding his backpack by the straps. Margot watched curiously as he left, hearing footsteps approach her quietly from behind. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Alfred.
He gazed after the boy with a hint of concern on his face.
"Where's he going?"
"Hiking," said Alfred, not tearing his gaze away from the retreating figure. "It's tradition."
Bruce disappeared into the trees, and the man sighed, finally glancing at Margot.
"He'll be gone all day. Perhaps you'd like to do a bit of studying?"
Surprised, Margot protested, "But the gardens—"
"They can wait for an hour or two," replied Alfred with a guarded smile.
"Well, if you're offering." Margot shrugged and followed the man back to the manor. She caught him glancing back a couple of times, not at her but at the woods behind them. She wondered if he was worried about the boy going off on his own, if perhaps that was why he'd offered to help her today. Was she just a distraction to keep his mind off of Bruce?
They settled in the study, Alfred shifting a few folders to make room for Margot's books on the table.
"Right then," he murmured. "On to the Wife of Bath's Tale. I believe that's where we left off." He glanced up at her and added, "You should like this one."
"And why's that?" Margot inquired.
Alfred regarded her calmly. "Did you do your reading?"
"I did, for once."
"Then you wouldn't mind summarizing it now, would you?"
Margot sighed and gave in. "There's this knight, and he rapes this girl, so he's sentenced to death, but the queen steps in and says she'll spare his life, if he can figure out what it is that women most desire. He asks around and finally finds this old hag, who makes him promise to grant her whatever favor she asks if she tells him the answer. So he agrees, and they go back to court, and he tells them that women want power over their husbands. And then she asks him to marry her, and he can't tell her 'no', obviously, so they're married, and he's repulsed by her. She asks if he'd rather have an ugly but faithful wife, or a beautiful and possibly unfaithful wife, and he says it's up to her to decide that—which, of course, is the right answer, so she chooses beauty and faithfulness, and they live happily ever after." Margot grimaced and commented, "There's not a man in the world who'd honestly say that."
"Have a little faith," Alfred responded with a soft chuckle.
"Any man that gives the 'right answer' without screwing it up first is a man with an ulterior motive," Margot retorted knowingly.
"You've had experience then," he replied.
"I dated one too many Marines," she told him. "They're all the same."
Alfred regarded her curiously. "Do you really believe that?"
She returned his gaze, looking him over briefly. Again, she was reminded of how much like a soldier he seemed. She'd never brought it up before, but now seemed as good a time as any. "Were you a soldier, Alfred?"
"What makes you ask that?" he inquired warily.
She shrugged. "You look like you've seen combat. There's this…way about you. They say soldiers can recognize other soldiers."
The man sighed. "Yeah, well it's not common knowledge around here, so I'd appreciate it if you kept a tight lip."
Margot resisted the urge to shout, "I knew it!" Instead, she was silent for a moment before asking, "What was it? Infantry? Air Force?"
"Royal Marines, then Special Air Services," he replied quietly.
"Really?" It wasn't that Margot didn't believe him. In fact, the surprised outburst was more of a cover for the embarrassment she felt as she suddenly realized her earlier misstep, when she'd expressed her negative opinion of Marines, royal or otherwise. If she'd known…
Alfred's voice distracted her. "You seem surprised."
"And you seemed so harmless," she retorted with a smile, quickly recovering from her previous faux pas when she realized that he hadn't taken any offense.
The man scoffed softly. "I'm frequently underestimated. Don't make that mistake. Now," he said, changing his tone and leaning forward to look at the book again. "Shall we have a look at the Wife of Bath's Tale, or are you going to keep faffing about?"
"Sorry, sir," Margot replied with a grin and a tiny, joking salute.
Unamused, Alfred grumbled, "Don't do that," and directed her attention back to the book.
Margot couldn't help but notice that the man seemed a little distracted himself, constantly checking his pocket watch, or glancing at the clock in the corner of the room. They took a break for lunch, and Margot spent a few hours out in the gardens before returning for a second go at her homework. As it got later, Alfred started to pace, absently worrying the cover of his watch with the pad of his thumb.
"Is everything all right?" Margot inquired.
"It's getting late," Alfred replied without looking at her. "Master Bruce should've returned by now." He went to the window, rocking on his feet for a few moments, hands clasped behind his back. "He could be hurt," he added. "I ought to go after him."
"I could come with you, if you'd like," she offered.
"No," he said, turning to face her with a shake of his head. "Go home," he ordered gently. "You look positively knackered."
Margot rose, but she hesitated to leave. "Are you sure, Alfred?"
He nodded. "Yes," he reassured her, watching as she packed up her books. "I apologize for leaving off so abruptly."
"It's fine," she replied. "I've had about as much studying as I can take, anyway." Heading for the door, she turned back and added, "I'll see you tomorrow."
Alfred nodded distractedly, and Margot left in silence.
Bruce was limping when Margot came across him the next evening in the gardens.
"Hiya, gimpy," she greeted him with a smile. "What happened to you?"
A smile of his own reflected on his face. "I fell down a hill."
Margot winced. "Bet that hurt."
"Not as much as climbing back up," the boy pointed out.
"Nice limp, though," she noted. "You kind of walk like me now."
"I do, don't I?" he agreed. His gaze fell to her leg, and he asked, "How did you hurt your leg, anyway?"
Margot hesitated, remembering the last conversation they had about her military past. She didn't see the harm in telling him the sanitized version. "There was a bomb in the road," she said. "It could have blown me apart, but it didn't. For a while the doctors thought I'd lose my leg, but they saved it."
"Does it hurt still?" asked Bruce.
"Nah," she brushed the question off nonchalantly. "That was a long time ago. It's just stiff now." She indicated his leg and changed the subject. "You shouldn't be walking on that. Have you put any ice on it recently?"
"No."
"Come on," she told him, draping an arm over his shoulders and leading him back towards the manor. "I'll get you some ice." Glancing down at him with a bit of mischief in her eyes, she added, "We can even race if you want."
"Race?" Bruce inquired with a confused frown.
"Two gimps limping through the house. I don't see a problem. If your leg hurts, you can always hop," she teased, hopping ridiculously on her leg.
Bruce didn't respond, he just took off, limping towards the house.
"Hey!" she called after him, racing to catch up.
They shot through the corridors, their voices and uneven footsteps echoing in the quietness. Bruce beat Margot to the kitchen door, but only because she'd accidentally brushed against an expensive china vase in the hallway and stopped to catch it before it shattered on the floor.
Alfred was already in the kitchen, preparing dinner at the stove. It looked like soup. He glanced up when they stumbled through the doorway. "Ah, the mystery of the raucous din in the hallway has been cleared up, I see," he noted dryly. "For a moment I was worried we had a herd of wild boars running loose."
"We came for ice," said Bruce breathlessly as he limped into the room.
"For your ankle, no doubt, now that it's swollen like a balloon." Alfred tasted the soup, nodded in satisfaction, and set the spoon down before he turned on Bruce. "I tell you to stay off the bloody thing and what do you do? Go tearing through the house like some wild ruffian. And you—" he pointed at Margot "—you shouldn't be encouraging him."
"It got a little out of hand," she admitted apologetically, rubbing her own leg ruefully.
Alfred glared at the both of them for another moment longer, before softening. "Come on then, the pair of you." He sat Bruce down and fetched him an ice pack from the freezer. He then filled a hot water bottle with water from the kettle and handed it to Margot.
She took it, a little surprised, but pleased by the kind gesture. "Thanks."
He nodded and filled the kettle with fresh water, putting it on for tea, which he prepared and served after a few minutes.
Bruce and Margot sat quietly at the kitchen table, sipping at their tea in amicable silence while Alfred continued with dinner. After a bit, he murmured, "Dinner is nearly ready, Master Bruce. Why don't you invite your partner in crime to stay?" He indicated Margot with a nod. "We can take it here in the kitchen."
Bruce turned to Margot. "Would you like to stay?"
"No, I really should be going," she replied, starting to stand. Her leg immediately collapsed underneath her, sending a shock of pain shooting upward. She grabbed the table and hastily sat back down, sucking her breath in through her teeth. "Well, maybe I'll give it another hour or so," she groaned.
"That's what I thought," said Alfred with a raised brow.
"Alfred's a good cook," Bruce reassured her.
"So I see," she noted, watching as Alfred pulled a pan from the oven, closing her eyes and breathing in the smell of freshly baked rolls. "God, it's been so long since I've had fresh bread."
The rolls tasted even better than they smelled, and the soup was exquisite. Bruce even encouraged Alfred to stay and eat with them, so they all sat around the table, the conversation stifled briefly by the meal they shared.
Once the hunger started to fade, however, Bruce turned to Margot, who by then was picking at her third roll. "Tell me something about the Marines. What's it like?"
Margot noticed the way Alfred glanced up quickly, and she hesitated, searching for an appropriate answer. She finally shrugged and replied simply, "Miserable."
"How so?"
Her eyes flickered to Alfred, waiting for some kind of cue, but the man didn't give her one, so she continued on as normal. "Well, first there's boot camp, which is five percent training and ninety-five percent mind games."
"Mind games?" questioned Bruce.
She nodded. "There was this one time the drill instructors were supposed to be training us how to put on our gas masks properly. They showed us how to do it once, and then they took us to these stupid little Quonset huts and got us all lined up inside. We had our masks on, and then they gassed us, so it was obvious real quick what idiots hadn't put their masks on right."
"They gassed you?" Bruce inquired incredulously, which only seemed to encourage Margot.
"Oh, I haven't even gotten to the good part," she retorted. "After about a minute of that, they made us all take off our masks and do jumping jacks in the gas, so it's not like we could hold our breath, and let me tell you, the stuff wreaks havoc on you. So we've got all this shit just leaking from our eyes and noses, and we're trying to get our masks back on properly. And of course they don't ever clean the masks, so I have this mask with somebody else's crusty phlegm still in it—and it wasn't a little bit either, because it just pours right out of you—"
"This is dinner, you realize," Alfred suddenly interjected, pulling Margot out of her story with abruptness. "Some of us are trying to eat."
"Quiet, Alfred," Bruce muttered absently, waving the man off. "Are they allowed to do that to you?" he asked Margot with fascination.
She laughed. "There are a lot of things they're not supposed to do to us that they do anyway. You know what they say: what doesn't kill you makes you a Marine."
"Marines," Alfred scoffed. "You think you're so bloody tough."
Margot raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that the man himself had been a Royal Marine.
Alfred pointedly ignored the look. "That's nothing," he said with a challenging look on his face. "Try drinking your own piss for a week when some bloody screw-up leaves the water tank uncovered during a sandstorm."
"Wait, when were you in a sandstorm?" Bruce inquired with a furrowed brow.
"Never you mind that now," muttered Alfred.
"You ever eat seagull?" Margot replied.
"Snake."
"We slept in mud pits for three days straight."
Alfred let out a short laugh. "Treacle, you don't even know the meaning of mud pits."
Bruce glanced between the two of them as they stared at each other, caught in some strange power struggle. "Curious," murmured the boy.
"What?" Alfred inquired, breaking his gaze away from Margot to glance at Bruce.
He shook his head. "It's nothing. I didn't realize you were so competitive, Alfred."
The man scoffed. "I'm not."
"Right," Margot snorted. "Don't tell me you weren't trying to show me up."
"Trying?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.
She regarded him silently for a moment before pushing her bowl away and dropping her elbow onto the table. "You think you're tough? Wrestle for it."
He gazed skeptically at her. "You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"
"I think I can handle a butler," she goaded him.
He shook his head with a soft chuckle and got to his feet, removing the dishes from the table and placing them in the sink. "Let's do this properly," he told her, rolling up his sleeve and sitting across the table from Margot, offering his arm to her.
Bruce's eyes had lit up with excitement and interest, standing behind his butler as he offered, "I'll referee."
Margot took the man's hand. It was warm and dry and just the slightest bit rough, as if to prove that years of household labor could never erase the grittier work he'd been involved in long ago. She noticed a particular, subdued energy in his firm grip, which also showed in his hard blue eyes, which glinted like chips of ice as he regarded her calmly.
The two of them stared intently at each other as they waited for the word from Bruce. Margot made a face at Alfred, who didn't even budge.
"Ready?" asked Bruce.
Margot nodded.
"Ready, Master Bruce."
He raised his hand and counted them off. "One. Two. Three. Go!"
As soon as Bruce's hand came down, Margot felt her arm snap towards the table, and she was barely able to save herself from a quick, ignominious defeat by exerting all of her strength, keeping her arm just a few inches from the table's surface.
"Shit!" she exclaimed softly through her teeth, surprised by Alfred's strength. She knew he'd been a soldier, but even then she hadn't been prepared for the sudden show of brute strength. He didn't even seem troubled, as if he wasn't expending any energy whatsoever, even though Margot could feel effort he was putting into it.
She fought back with all she had, and she still had to start pushing on the table with her free arm just to stay up.
"Oi! She's cheating!" Alfred grunted.
"Margot!" Bruce exclaimed.
She gave up and her arm slammed against the table. She slumped back in her chair and massaged her shoulder sorely. "Damn, Alfred. That's impressive." She smiled and added, "For a butler."
"Care to try again?" he responded with a raised brow.
"Ha!" A laugh burst from her. "No, thank you. I think I'll stick to people my own size." Her gaze flickered up to Bruce. "How about you?"
"Me?" he inquired in surprise. "But I've never arm-wrestled before."
"Go on, Master B," Alfred encouraged him, rising from his chair and letting Bruce take his place. "Just put your elbow on the table, other arm flat like that, keep yourself well rooted. Good."
Satisfied that Bruce had the basic form down, Alfred took a step back.
Margot smiled at the boy. "Don't worry, kid. I'll go easy on you."
"No," Bruce insisted with surprising determination. "Try to win."
Margot shrugged as she took his hand.
"On three," said Alfred, adding warningly, "And no cheating from either of you."
"Yeah, Bruce."
"He meant you, Margot!" retorted Bruce with a laugh.
"Ready?" Alfred interjected. "One. Two. Three!"
Margot wasn't sure what she'd expected, but she hadn't thought it would be as difficult as it was. Scrawny as he looked, Bruce had a certain wiry kind of strength in him. "Looks like you've got some muscles in those skinny arms after all," she commented.
"I've been training," he explained in a grunt, screwing his face up with all the effort he was expending.
Margot felt him waver for a moment, and she took advantage, exerting all her force at once and slamming his hand onto the table.
"Right! And the lady wins," Alfred announced. He paused for a moment, his brow furrowed, and added in a mutter, "Not so sure about the 'lady' part."
Margot ignored the jibe. Letting go of Bruce's hand, she sat back and told the boy, "I'm impressed, kid. One day, you're going to beat the snot out of me."
Bruce grinned, despite losing. "I would expect nothing less of myself."
"Right," Alfred said, resting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "That's enough of that. Dessert, anyone?"
"I should go," Margot answered with a reluctant shake of her head. She tentatively rose to her feet, testing her leg. It hurt, but it held.
"I'll show you out, in that case," replied Alfred.
"Goodnight, Margot," Bruce called after them.
"'Night, Bruce."
In the foyer, Alfred pulled her aside and looked at her for a moment with the strangest expression on his face. For a second, Margot worried that she'd overstepped some boundary again. But then he smiled wearily and murmured, "It's good to see him enjoy himself like that. These days, it seems nigh impossible to get him to come out of that study."
Margot smiled in return. "You're doing a good job, Alfred," she reassured the man. "It's not my place to say it, but you're good for him."
"And he's good for me," he admitted. "Will we see you tomorrow, then?"
She nodded, cracking her knuckles. "That wisteria and I have some unfinished business."
"That old plant?" he exclaimed in soft surprise. "Is it still causing you trouble? Why not just take the bloody thing out?"
She shrugged. "I'm fond of it."
Alfred inclined his head in deference. "Of course." He still seemed slightly bemused, but Margot didn't feel the need to explain further.
Instead, she nodded gratefully and limped out into the night, feeling a strange and warm sense of satisfaction creep through her.
Margot's leg was still sore the next day from racing Bruce. She didn't regret it, but it certainly made pruning the wisteria more challenging. She wobbled on the ladder, reaching to cut a particularly obnoxious sprig that seemed determined to upset the delicate balance she had achieved with the plant's shape.
Margot was smart enough to know that she should have climbed down from the ladder, moved it a foot or so to the right, and then trimmed the unruly branch. The idea of climbing down and then climbing back up, however, deterred her. Instead she leaned as far as she could reach.
It was no surprise, then, that she lost her balance mid-cut, slipping from the ladder and crashing to the ground. As if to add insult to injury, the ladder slowly tipped and landed on top of her. She groaned softly and laid still for a few moments, wallowing in her pain.
A nearby window swung open and Bruce's face appeared through the curtains. "Margot!" he exclaimed with surprise. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," she replied with a wince.
Bruce vanished inside, but she heard him call out, "Alfred!"
Soon they were both out there, Bruce lifting the ladder so that Alfred could help Margot to her feet.
"You all right there?" Alfred inquired, watching as Margot tentatively put weight on her leg.
She winced and inhaled sharply. "I think so."
"Right. Master Bruce, back to your studies. I have this sorted."
The boy hesitated, but did as he was told. Alfred took Margot's arm and hung it around his shoulders, helping her limp inside to the kitchen, where he sat her down at the table and prepared a hot water bottle for her.
While he waited for the water to heat up, he crouched in front of her to get a better look at her leg. "May I?" he inquired.
She nodded, grimacing a little as he poked and prodded at her leg. The knee was particularly sore.
"Did you ever try physical therapy?" he asked absently.
"Yeah. You should have seen me before therapy. I could hardly walk."
Alfred pressed one hand down on her thigh, just above the knee, and wrapped his other hand around her ankle. For a moment, Margot wondered what the hell he was doing, trying not to notice their close quarters, or the pleasant warmth of his hand on her thigh. Then she wondered what the hell she was doing, having thoughts like that about the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her boss. Then all such thoughts were banished when the man suddenly and swiftly bent her leg.
Margot's vision went white for a moment, and she had to grip the chair hard to remain seated in it, a pained cry escaping her. "What the hell, Alfred!" she demanded angrily.
Alfred was as unflappable as ever. "Did you see that?" he inquired.
"Yes, I saw it!"
"It can bend that far," he pointed out, doing it again, speaking loudly to be heard over her protestations. "The only reason it doesn't is because you won't."
"Because it hurts," she gritted through her teeth. "What are your qualifications for this anyway?"
"I've done my fair share of field dressings."
She glared at him, but after a moment she said, "Do it again."
He looked up at her. "Do it yourself."
She tried to bend it herself, but the pain became unbearable before she'd even bent it halfway as far, and she couldn't bring herself to do it as quickly as he had. "I can't," she admitted. "My body is averse to causing itself physical harm."
"Not everything that hurts is harmful," Alfred told her, taking her leg and bending it again. He held it in place this time, while Margot tried not to squirm in pain.
"All right," she finally growled, and he let go.
"You should do that every day," he instructed, rising and preparing the hot water bottle for her, which she held on her knee, letting its warmth start to permeate the joint. "Now I've got to get back to Master Bruce, if you think you're all right on your own."
"Yeah," she waved him off, "I'll be fine."
He nodded and turned to go. "Margot?" he called back.
"What?"
"Try not to fall off any more ladders."