After the War Is Over_A Novel by Jennifer Robson

Author:Jennifer Robson [Robson, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-01-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

A month’s leave, you say?”

“If not more. His recovery is still so uncertain. His family has asked me to accompany him on a rest cure.”

Miss Rathbone didn’t seem so much perturbed as mystified by Charlotte’s request. “And you say he will allow no one else to nurse him?”

“I’m afraid Lord Cumberland is quite intransigent. He’s had a very bad time of it, you see, and he’ll only accept someone he trusts as his nurse.”

There had been no recourse but to tell her employer the truth, or at least most of it. Miss Rathbone already knew of her connections with the Cumberland family, so it was a straightforward enough matter to explain that Edward’s health had taken a turn for the worse and required a period of convalescence.

“If you feel you must dismiss me, I understand.”

“Of course not. You are far too indispensable. As such, I am prepared to make do without you for a month if I can be sure you’ll return.”

“You can, Miss Rathbone. Of that I am certain.”

“Excellent.”

“The Cumberland family has offered to cover my wages while I am gone. I ought to have said so already.”

“How very kind of them. I’m sure we can put the money to good use. When were you thinking of leaving?”

“Not until the end of the week, and only then if everything here is arranged perfectly. Perhaps I might train up Gwen Vickers to take over some of my duties? Miss Petrie could easily take responsibility for anything directly involving constituents.”

Miss Rathbone steepled her hands beneath her chin and thought for a moment. “No. Gwen is very good, but she’s only been here a matter of months. I’d rather you ask Miss Margison. She knows the workings of the office better than almost anyone.”

Charlotte acquiesced, for what else could she do? Instruct Miss Rathbone on the running of her own office? So she nodded, and agreed that it was for the best, and said she would show Miss Margison where everything was before Friday was at an end.

Of course she put it off for as long as possible, working late each night so that nothing would be left half done. Friday dawned, and her desk was nearly clear.

She went to the woman’s desk, in the big room where all the clerk typists sat, and cleared her throat lightly. “Excuse me, Miss Margison. Might you have some time to go over things with me before I leave?”

“Oh, right. You’re off on holiday, aren’t you?”

“Not on holiday, no. A leave of absence.”

“All right for some.”

Never had Charlotte experienced such a punishingly penitential day. With every new file that she opened, every binder of meeting notes that needed to be transcribed, every letter that required a response, Miss Margison’s expression grew more and more smug, presumably from the satisfaction of seeing so much work left undone.

Of course she had no notion of the true burden of Charlotte’s duties, for she’d never had to go into people’s homes and speak to them of their troubles, or go cap in hand in search of aid for those same families.

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