A Daughter's Duty

Chapter Two

     "What do you think of Psalm 27:1, cousin?" Gertrude had arrived just under an hour ago, and they were hardly through dinner's first course when she broke out her ever-famous biblical references. 

     "Oh, I know that one!" Lord Malcolm exclaimed from the other end of the dining table, looking up from his roast for the first time that evening, "Lord my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me," Malcolm finished, obviously very proud of his recitation.

     Gertrude smiled from her corner of the table as she looked to Malcolm with a condescending smile, "I'm afraid not, my dearest Lord Malcolm, what you have just recited is Psalm 30:2." Malcolm smiled a goofy, embarrassed smile and shrugged his shoulders.

     "I was close, though, they're practically the same number!" He said, obviously quite happy enough with himself to warrant returning back to his plate. Cordelia could feel her cousin's shoulders stiffen in her chair beside her, and Cordelia gripped her fork tightly, already anticipating another condescending retort from her cousin to their guests.

    "Gertrude, I believe your mother has been writing to me about your stunning embroidery! Is that right?" Lord Alfred interjected, tactfully changing the subject to save his guest of honor from any further embarrassment. 

     Gertrude nodded her head rapidly, her tight bun loosening slightly, and several strands of her black hair pulled from the sides. "That's correct, Uncle. I've been crafting pieces to donate to our church, for the less fortunate." 

     At this, Cordelia let out a snort that made her cousin snap her head in her direction. "I'm sorry, cousin, I just didn't realize that what the less fortunate were in need of today were dainty, embroidered gloves and handkerchiefs." She felt Gertrude's stare intensify and her mouth drop open to the floor. 

     "I happened to have read in Women at Home catalog that every little bit you can do for the poor helps," Gertrude responded, quite proud and happy with herself, and straightened up in her chair, taking a sip of her water. Cordelia took a swig of her wine and shook her head.

     "What would truly help the less fortunate, are social welfare programs," Cordelia responded, "not gloves and donated parasols." 

     "Cordelia," her father tried to hiss from across the table. 

    "I'm sorry father but it's true, so many of us have more than enough for ourselves. If we really wanted to be a help to others that don't have as much, we need to give." Cordelia wanted to stop but was starting to feel like she was rolling down a very steep hill, gaining too much momentum to slow down.

     "You expect Britain's elite to give their earnings to the country's poor?" Lord Heyworth questioned, his big cheeks growing red from drink. "Girl, are you daft?"

     "Excuse me, my lord?" Cordelia questioned, her own face now growing red from anger.

     "Father," Lord Charles interrupted, shooting his father a concerned and silencing look.

     "Cordelia, I think it's time you bid our guests goodnight for the evening," Lord Alfred said, his own strong voice overpowering all the others in the room that had begun to speak up all at the same time.

      "But Papa-" Cordelia begged. Him sending her to her room was a huge blow, and very embarrassing. 

     "Retire for the evening now, Cordelia." Embarrassed, Cordelia rested her napkin on the table beside her barely-touched plate, and started to make her way to the door to the dining room when her father commanded her again, "bid our guests good evening, Cordelia."