Four Queens

Four Queens

1852 — Today I write in much distress! I fear for the welfare of Lady Pallas; though of foreign blood, she has lived no more some noble fifty-two years than any other woman of English stock. I love her as though she were my own blood. She is ill, and yet, her most disagreeable daughters-in-law took it upon themselves to visit yesterday evening.
We were in the hearth room, and I — having already done my duties — was given permission to rest and knit by the fireside. As shameful as it may seem, I was more than happy to sit by the fire, as it gave me a plain view of the playing table at which sat Lady Pallas, with her back to me, and her three bride-daughters: Judith, Rachel and Argine, whose expressions were within my gaze. They were playing Black Maria. Lady Pallas dealt the cards in silence, and her daughters eyed her without a change in their vacant expressions; how beautiful they are! A shame such beauty is wasted on their poisonous hearts: these three, knowing full well the uncertainty of the Lady’s estate holdings (after the loss of the late Lord Pallas, God bless him), take it upon themselves to come and fawn before the good Lady whenever the opportunity arises. Shame! These wicked girls have no love in their hearts, they married the Pallas sons only for their material wealth, and yet even that is not good enough, they must do with taking more. Oh, what wicked and conniving daughters Lady Pallas must suffer with! Why, even then, as I sat knitting, the glow of fire — normally radiating soft warmth — did instead cast a terrible sharpness on the faces of these daughters: fiendish, scheming, voluptuous hunger.
Lady Pallas paused her dealing, putting a hand to her mouth and coughing softly. Rachel leaned to her and said:
“Oh dear! Are you okay, Mother? Your throat must be dry. Ethel!” she called to me. “Do fetch Mother a glass of water.”
Instinctually, I stood up in haste to hurry for the kitchen, but Lady Pallas waved her hand.
“No,” she said, not turning her face from the table. “I’m fine, Ethel, do sit down.”
“Really though—” said Judith, “—it is terribly dusty in here. Did you clean this room today, Ethel?”
“Of course, Mrs. Pallas.” I saw Lady Pallas tense up my address of Judith, though her daughters didn’t notice.
“Well, the utmost care should be taken to ensure Mother feels comfortable,” said Argine. “As this is a rather larger home, it is most susceptible to the ravages of time … made worse by carelessness in its upkeep.” Judith and Rachel nodded in agreement, and I was certain I saw the three of them suppressing a wry smile. I knew not what to say that would be sensible, so I said nothing at all.
I wonder now as I write, if my Lady shares the same contempt for them as I do.
After she had dealt, and the first three cards were passed around, Lady Pallas leaned back on her chair, bunching her cards close to her so as to hide them from the others — a rather childish gesture, but endearing for a lady of her age. Judith placed a card down first (presumably the 2 of Clubs); Argine next, Rachel after her, then finally Lady Pallas. They were quiet for a while, caught in the tension of play — even I paused in my knitting to watch the effect of their hands dealt: Argine collected the first trick, and her pretty face bunched into an ugly frown. The next three cards were passed around on the right. Judith pulled her cards closer to her eyes, and squinted. Argine placed down the 2 of Clubs, the others followed suit, with Argine stifling a gasp as she gathered the trick again.
“Hush,” she snapped at Rachel, who was giggling. On the third hand the four matriarchs exchanged three cards opposite each other; I say matriarchs, for surely this little game of theirs was a test? That of will between this queer tetrarchy of the Pallas family — Judith, Rachel, Argine, who held sway over the influence of Lady Pallas’ sons. Those sons in turn held in check only by my Lady’s waning reign. Her, the last remnant of Lord Pallas and his day, was growing weaker with each passing night. Oh, it pains me now even to write of such sadness!
Rachel collected the trick. The fourth hand was dealt, and so there was no need to pass over three cards. The three girls were rather careless in the haste of putting down their cards, while my Lady — wordlessly, soundlessly — placed hers down. Judith pursed her lips and snatched the trick, making a slight whining noise, as though a tiny child. The fifth hand was dealt, and the four stages were reset: they exchanged three cards clockwise. Argine had been counting the points on a small chalkboard, and as the hands went on, her scribbling grew more violent — so much so that on the seventh she struck the board too hard and the chalk snapped.
“Ethel, dear—” she chimed, her voice calm and radiant, “—would you please pass me another piece of chalk?”
“Certainly, miss.”
On the ninth hand, I noticed my Lady’s cards, and saw that she only had three hearts left in her bunch, along with the Queen of Spades: the most reviled card. I knew then that the game was to be finished, and so I got up to watch the finale, in as polite a manner as possible. Lady Pallas dealt away in successive tricks all her hearts to the young Pallas daughters, the last being Argine, who led the final trick.
What a bittersweet sight it was — that final flourish from my poor Lady: an invalid soon to be devoid of her wealth and (apart from myself) estranged of loving family. Argine placed down the Queen of Clubs; Judith the Queen of Hearts; Rachel the Queen of Diamonds, and my Lady — up to then completely silent — let out a soft chuckle as she placed down the Queen of Spades, winning the hand, and so the game with the lowest score against her daughters.
“That is everything,” laughed Lady Pallas, after she winked at me. “Take it all.”