Slammerkin - Emma Donoghue [106]
The girl's white teeth flashed in a grin. 'War broke out?'
'You can't imagine! He's a skilful fellow, though, is Daffy; that must be said. He's got a knack with the knife and the needle. Thomas couldn't manage without him.'
Mary worked on beside Mrs. Jones for a minute, her glossy head bent over her sewing. 'Nowadays, though,' she asked, 'has Cadwaladyr any ... do you think he might ever take a second wife?'
'Not at all.' Mrs. Jones was amused at the idea.
'Or would he ever...' The girl blushed faintly. 'You know, go with a bad woman. Like Sally Mole, while she was alive.'
Mrs. Jones gave her maid a stern look. 'Mary, how can you say such a thing of our curate, a man of God!'
'I just wondered,' said the girl a little sulkily.
'You can tell just by looking at Joe Cadwaladyr, the thing's impossible,' said Mrs. Jones, more gently. 'The whiff of loneliness comes off him like ... onion.'
The maid nodded thoughtfully. Then, with one of those swerving changes of subject, she said, 'There's something I must admit to you, madam.'
'What is it?' asked Mrs. Jones, concerned.
'When I came away from London in such a hurry, I left ... something owing.'
'Debts, Mary?' Mrs. Jones's hand froze over the velvet hem.
'Just one,' said the girl rapidly. 'Rent ... In her sickness, you know, my mother couldn't help but run into arrears, and our landlady at Charing Cross...' Her voice trailed off.
'You mean she wouldn't forgive the debt of a dying woman?' asked Mrs. Jones, appalled.
Mary shook her head slowly.
'How much is it, child?'
'Near a pound.' It came out in a whisper. 'I knew it was wicked to rush off without paying, but I couldn't think where else to turn but to you. Only, now the sum is preying on my mind—'
'Of course,' murmured Mrs. Jones.
'—or, I mean to say, on my conscience. I can't rest till I send it back to the landlady.'
What a jewel this girl was, thought the mistress. Just fifteen years old, but the wisdom of twice that.
Mary's voice was faltering. 'So I wondered if you might possibly ... advance it on my wages?'
'Well, now,' dithered Mrs. Jones. 'It's not the usual thing, you know, Mary. Nothing till the end of the year, is the rule. I don't know what Thomas would say.'
The girl nodded miserably.
Delight bubbled up in Mrs. Jones; she knew what she was going to do. She leaned closer and murmured in the girl's ear. 'But I have a little fund for emergencies, look you, and if I advanced you the money out of that, there'd be no need to trouble Thomas with the matter at all, would there?'
A smile flashed, quick as a fish.
'That's what we'll do, then, Mary. You won't need to fret anymore. It'll be our wee secret.'
The girl grabbed Mrs. Jones's fingertips and kissed them. Her mouth was hot and soft as a child's.
This time Mary told the drawer-boy at the Crow's Nest to fetch his master and no dawdling. As soon as Cadwaladyr stepped up to the bar, she moved into the light. Yes, it was true, she thought, examining his tired eyes; apart from her, he probably hadn't touched a woman in twenty years. Which meant that if he had indeed picked up an itch, it was from her, and there was no point bluffing.
'So it's you again,' he said, 'the innocent maiden.' His vowels stretched with contempt.
Mary wet her lips with her tongue and said, in a murmur that was barely audible, 'We both did what we oughtn't, Reverend.'
'I'm only Reverend on Sundays,' he said warningly, drawing his tufted eyebrows together; 'here I'm the Master.'
'Well, any rate,' she said soothingly. 'It's not a bad clap you've got; it's the kind that cures itself pretty fast. So I'll say nothing if you'll swear to the same,' she suggested.
At that the man smiled grimly, and leaned on his fists on the bar. 'Our cases aren't alike. My parishioners must already know that I'm a man of flesh and blood. Do your masters know you're a whore?'
Mary shut her eyes for a second. The word winded her; it had been so long since she'd even heard it.
His voice came closer; his breath smelled of strong beer. 'Jane Jones, of all the women