The Enthralling Adventures of Laura Cross, Crypt Hunter
Chapter 2 -- Not Very Ladylike
"Harlot," Laura said under her breath.
"Trollop," Aisling hissed.
"Tramp."
"Slut."
"Tart."
"Floozy!"
"Hussy!"
"
Whore!
"
"You," Laura faltered, "you...
cunt!
" The waiting room was nearly empty, so even their whispers seemed unnaturally loud.
"
Ladies!
" said Florence, the headmaster's secretary. "That will be quite enough!"
Laura Cross sulked, sucking on her bottom lip, her tongue playing along where it had split.
"Aw, did ya run out?" Aisiling said, her native accent creeping back in. "Bloody hoor."
"Says the girl with the black eye," Laura said with a smirk.
Aisling gently prodded her cheekbone. The skin around her eye was already turning a deep shade of lavender where Laura had punched her.
"By the by,
Ay-sling
, you have a little..." Laura brushed a finger under her own nose.
Aisling mimicked Laura's gesture, wiping away a trickle of blood. Her face darkened.
"Should've punched you in the tit," Aisling said, looking down at Laura's breasts, straining against a bulky Christmas jumper. "Not that you'd have felt it, yeh fucken cow."
Florence's intercom buzzed. "
Miz Graham?
"
"Sir?"
"
Miss Halloran first, if you please
."
"Of course, sir." She gestured to Aisling. "In you go, luv."
Aisling grunted and stood, straightening her blazer and pulling down her skirt. "Strumpet," she said, nodding to Laura as if saying farewell.
"Slattern," Laura shot back, but Aisling was already closing the office door behind her. "Hmph." Laura crossed her arms and sank down in her chair.
* * *
As she waited, Laura watched Florence Graham go about her day. Laura found Florence puzzling -- she had been head girl, three years ahead of Laura, Oxbridge material from head to toe. She had taken on the role of secretary -- Florence insisted on that title, and would correct anyone who dared call her a 'receptionist' -- to save money for her gap year, even though she clearly didn't need to, what with who her parents were.
And so Florence's her gap year turned into three, her friends left for uni or just fell away, and she stayed at Woodhaven, fetching tea and answering phones for the headmaster. Strangest of all was how unbothered she was by it all. Florence's old life had drifted away like so much dandelion fluff, and she'd simply watched it go. And there was the way...
Buzz. "
Miz Graham?
"
"Sir?" Florence chirped. As Laura watched, the secretary's eyes seemed to lose focus.
"
I'll need... another few minutes with Miss... Halloran
." He sounded out of breath. "
."
Florence glanced at Laura, raising her eyebrows. Laura shook her head.
"She declined, sir," said Florence.
"
Very well. Back to it, Miz Graham.
"
Florence blinked, the light coming back to her eyes. She shook herself a bit.
...And there the way Florence acted around the headmaster. Laura had noticed it before, in each of her many trips to the headmaster's office. The intercom would buzz, and Florence's back would go ramrod-straight, all expression leaving her face, her voice taking on lilting, almost... girlish tone. Laura had mentioned it to the other girls in her classes, but they told Laura she was being silly and chalked it up to Florence being in love with the headmaster. What other reason could there be?
* * *
The door to the headmaster's office swung open. Aisling paused in the doorway, looking flushed. Her normally pristine red hair had come undone and hung about her shoulders in wild, tangled waves. She looked down at herself, straightened her tie, refastened a button, and smoothed her rumpled blouse over her breasts. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a lace handkerchief.
Laura scoffed. "Twat," she muttered.
Aisling didn't respond. Her lips moved, as though she was talking to herself, so quietly that Laura couldn't make out the words. She walked past Laura without a second glance, staring straight ahead, her back impeccably straight, still whispering as she left.
"Ginger bitch," Laura said.
Buzz. "
Miz Graham?
"
"Yes, sir?" That familiar blankness.
"
I'll see Lady Cross now.
"
* * *
The headmaster, Laura had thought upon their first meeting, was the
most
British person she had ever met, cartoonishly so, and subsequent encounters had not disabused her of this notion even a little. Even his name, Lord Alasdair Auberon Corvensthwick, was fairly bursting with Britishness. He was a great slab of a man, simultaneously hulking and doughy under a blocky, ill-fitting tweed jacket. His remaining hair was iron-grey, and clung to his scalp like a dying wreath. His office was forever redolent with the twin aromas of pipe smoke and gin, despite both being prohibited by Woodhaven's bylaws. He looked especially blotchy today.
"One moment," said the headmaster, typing away. He hit the Enter key with a flourish and turned to face Laura. "And done. Now. Lady Cross," the headmaster said, peering over his half-moon spectacles. "Kindly be seated, if you would."
"It's just Laura," Laura said as she sank into an overstuffed armchair. She'd been here so often that she imagined her bum had left a groove in the leather.
The headmaster tutted. "Come now. You are a lady, just as I am a lord. It is only proper that we should avail ourselves of the titles into which we--"
"It's. Just. Laura," Laura said through gritted teeth. "
Alasdair
