Hope - Lesley Pearse [79]
‘We gotta keep any food stuff in this tin cos of the mice and rats,’ Betsy said, getting out a small bag of sugar. ‘There’s a bit of bread if you want it. Gussie’s gone to get us some pies, but it’ll keep you going until then.’
With the cup of sweet black tea in one hand and a lump of bread in the other, Hope felt a little better, though it was hard to eat and drink with her cut lips. ‘I’ll pay you back for my keep as soon as I get a position,’ she said.
‘You got a character?’ Betsy asked.
‘No, I couldn’t, could I? Albert threw me out too fast.’
‘Then you’ll be lucky to get anything,’ Betsy said curtly. ‘Whatcha want to be a servant for anyways?’
Hope said it was all she knew, but she wouldn’t mind working in a shop.
‘You has to be able to figure, writing it down and that,’ Betsy said.
‘I can do that,’ Hope replied. ‘I know all the stuff about linen and household things too. And I know about farming and animals.’
‘You’re a bit of a know-all, ain’tcha?’ Betsy said sarcastically.
Hope was embarrassed then and hung her head. ‘I didn’t mean to be, I was only telling you what I could do because I thought it might give you ideas for places I could go to look for work.’
Betsy didn’t know anyone who could read and write, and she was in fact impressed. It struck her that if her own parents had lived, she might have learned such skills. But there was something more about this girl, maybe it was her name, God knows, hope was the only thing that kept her going sometimes. Or maybe it was because if her sister hadn’t died, she’d be the same age. Yet whatever the reason, she felt drawn to the girl, like it was a kind of fate.
‘You can’t go now here till yer face is mended,’ she said, more kindly. ‘So jest rest up fer now. Tell us about what you done in the big house. I ain’t bin in one, leastways not to stop, if yer know what I mean.’
A week later, Hope studied her face in a small mirror Gussie had brought home for her.
‘You look pretty now,’ he said, his pale brown eyes crinkling up as he smiled at her. ‘We didn’t want you to see how bad you looked when we found you.’
Hope’s eyes prickled with tears of gratitude. Not for the mirror – she would sooner have remained in ignorance about how she looked, for once the swelling had gone down on her face she had imagined she would look normal again. But the bruising was still purple and at no stretch of the imagination did she look pretty. Yet it was another act of kindness, of which Gussie and Betsy had showered so many on her. They’d let her stay, they’d fed her and comforted her, all when they had so little themselves.
‘Gus might be sweet-talking when he says you look pretty, but you don’t look like a monster no more,’ Betsy said with laughter in her voice. ‘It’ll be a couple more weeks before them bruises fade, but you look good enough for the Grapes tonight.’
Gussie and Betsy went out drinking every night; it seemed that the only thing which made life bearable for everyone in Lewins Mead was cheap gin or rum. Up till now Hope had declined to go with them, using her injuries as an excuse, but it was clear they thought the time had come for her to venture out.
‘I can’t,’ Hope said in alarm. ‘I’m not ready for that. I’ll be all right here on my own.’
‘I didn’t take you for a coward,’ Betsy retorted, putting her hands on her hips and glowering at the younger girl. ‘No one will take no notice of a few bruises, they’s as common as fleas down the Grapes.’
Hope realized by that response she had to go. It wasn’t just that they’d be offended if she refused, she had to prove to them she had spirit. But they couldn’t possibly know how terrifying their world was to her.
On the day they’d brought her here, she had felt like an ill-treated dog that was just grateful for being brought inside. Her mind had stopped working and she couldn’t think about the next day, or the one after. She answered Betsy’s questions as best she could, but she couldn’t even summon up enough strength to ask her