Slammerkin - Emma Donoghue [103]
'Oh, Mary, before I forget,' murmured Mrs. Jones, digging in the pocket that hung inside her skirt. She produced a handful of shiny scraps of fabric, and leaned over.
The girl received them in her cupped hands. The very same ones that Mrs. Ash had confiscated; not a thread missing! She stared at her mistress.
'It's only natural for a girl to have a liking for odds and ends,' said Mrs. Jones lightly, 'and I can't do much with them myself. Next time, ask me, and I'll see if I can spare enough for a little cape.'
Mary's eyes were prickling. 'You're too good,' she said, very low.
Mrs. Jones waved the thanks away as if it were a fly, and returned to her sewing. Then she let out a genteel burp, and remarked, 'I can't seem to stomach that last batch of beer.'
'Some good cider, that's what you need,' said her husband.
'Why, yes, that would be more wholesome, I believe.'
'Daffy,' said Mr. Jones a minute later, when the manservant came in with an armful of sticks for the fire, 'you might go down to the Crow's Nest to fetch the mistress a pint of cider.'
Daffy stopped in his tracks.
'Go on,' said Mr. Jones mildly, 'it's late already.'
The manservant cleared his throat. 'The King's Arms is not much farther.'
Mrs. Jones laid a small hand on her husband's wrist ruffle. 'My dear—'
'Now, Daffy, enough of this nonsense,' he said, his voice booming in the little parlour. 'The Crow's Nest is the nearest and the cheapest, and it's high time you mended this foolish quarrel with your father—'
Mary stood up. 'I'll go.'
Her master and mistress stared at her.
'I'd be glad to get a breath of air,' she said with a yawn. 'I'll just fetch my cloak.'
Daffy gave Mary a smile so grateful it took her by surprise. The fellow thought she was doing him a favour!
Mr. Jones's forehead was creased. He applied to his wife: 'I don't know; should the girl be out so late?'
'Ach, it's only round the corner. If she kept herself safe on the streets of London, Thomas, I think she can go as far as the edge of the Meadow. Just go straight down Grinder Street, Mary, and tell Cadwaladyr to put it on the slate.'
Everything was just around the corner in this town.
Mary's lantern shed a weak circle as she picked her way down Grinder Street to where there was a gap in the houses. The chill air wormed under her cloak. She turned towards the Meadow, which was a sea of black earth. There was the Crow's Nest. She'd been expecting a painted sign, but the crow's nest hanging above the bright doorway of the alehouse was real; it still held a few fragments of eggshell. Some of its twigs hung loose, twitching in the cool wind. She blew out her lantern.
Though the only light inside came from a pair of fires, Mary winced at the brightness as she came in out of the night. There was a reek of old beer and straw. She worked her way through a knot of old men, knuckling dice on the beaten earth floor; when one of them accosted her in a mumble, she took no notice. She kept her cloak fastened in spite of the blast of heat from the fire. So this was what Daffy had left behind him, she noted curiously; a low, shabby sort of place.
In the corner behind the barrels the drawer-boy straightened up. He couldn't have been more than ten. 'Sup of perry, lass?' he asked cockily.
'Cider. For Mrs. Jones. And draw it fresh,' Mary told him, handing over the tankard.
'Always,' sighed the boy, pulling the spigot from a barrel.
When he handed over the pint, she gripped it and turned to go.
'Penny halfpenny,' called the boy, louder than he needed to.
Heads turned through the smoke. Mary began to flush. 'Mrs. Jones said to put it on the slate.'
'Not bloody likely. Pay the reckoning or give the cider back.'
What an insufferable boy. She turned on her heel, and behind her he shouted 'Cadwaladyr!'
The landlord emerged from the back, his leather apron rolling. 'What's this?'
Mary interrupted the drawer-boy. 'I'm maid to Mrs. Jones the dressmaker, sir, and she sent me...'