Slammerkin - Emma Donoghue [142]
Despite the disappointment, something he'd said hung in her mind as she hurried home: the fruit of the labour of your hands. She thought of all the fruit she hadn't seen since Barbados: plum, breadfruit, mango. She let herself imagine fruit, filling up her mouth.
That day Mrs. Ash began to reap her harvest. It had been slow work, often tedious, but it had borne great fruit in the end. How many hours had she wasted in idle, worldly chit-chat with her neighbours, listening out for the name of Mary Saunders? But yesterday, by glorious accident, she'd been standing in the queue at the apothecary's, when who did she fall into conversation with but the drawer from the Crow's Nest? He was a very helpful lad, most articulate, especially after Mrs. Ash agreed to lend him a shilling. He told her so much about the girl known as Sukie that Mrs. Ash had to send Hetta to stand outside so her ears wouldn't be polluted.
To think of it, God's own curate in Monmouth was a pimp for that whorish girl! Now Mrs. Ash came to think of it, Cadwaladyr's sermons had always lacked rigour, smacked a little too much of the world.
She'd slept on it till today, Sunday; she'd wanted to do the Lord's work on the Lord's day. She sat at supper, dipping her barley bread in her soup and taking tiny bites, watching the London girl. All evening Mrs. Ash waited. She put Hetta to bed early and would accept no pleas for stories. She said nothing and did nothing when Mrs. Jones sent her pet down the road to fetch her a pint of liquor. Mrs. Ash simply went up to the last flight of stairs, leading to the attic, and sat there three steps from the top, as quiet as a cat at a hole.
When she heard Mary Saunders coming up through the silent house, she got to her feet. Her shadow slithered down the bare wood. The girl flinched when she saw her. No peace for the wicked.
'What kept you so long, Miss, down at the Crow's Nest?' Mrs. Ash began civilly.
The girl stared up at her, blank-faced. 'Nothing. The cider takes a while to draw.'
'Is that so?' The silence lengthened. Mrs. Ash knew the girl wouldn't be able to resist answering.
'Don't you believe me, then?' said Mary, chin up.
The nursemaid folded her arms like snakes. 'All I know is what I hear.'
'What d'you hear, then?'
'That you've been seen,' said Mrs. Ash, savouring the sounds.
'Where?'
She threw the words out like trash. 'Round the back of the stinking alehouse, with all manner of men!'
Mary was silent, as if with astonishment. 'Who says?' she asked.
Mrs. Ash shrugged, as if to suggest that her informants were the elements themselves.
'Well, it's not true,' hissed Mary. 'None of it! I don't know what kind of troublemakers you've been talking to, but it's perjury, the lot of it.'
The nurse let the girl's blustering words hang in the air till they faded. She wanted to remember every sweet moment of this.
Mary inhaled heavily and walked upstairs. Mrs. Ash grabbed the girl's skirt as she passed. She rifled the folds feverishly, though the girl struggled. Yes, there it was, a wet mark, as big as her hand. She stretched out the blue cloth to display the stain. 'What's that, then?'
'I must have sat on something,' said the girl, faltering.
The nurse let out a snort of derision.
'Would you call me a liar?' Mary went on, shrilly.
'No, that's not what I'd call you, Sukie,' said Mrs. Ash deliberately.
The girl's face was white with guilt. It was as if the house were beginning to shake under their feet.
'Yea,' Mrs. Ash declaimed, 'you have polluted the land with your whoredoms and sorceries.'
Mary stared at her crazily.
'Filthy harlot! The Lord shall smite thee with a consumption,' quoted Mrs. Ash triumphantly, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword, and with mildew; and they shall pursue thee till thou perish.' It was as if the words had been stored up in her head all her life, just for this moment.
'Get away from me,'