Slammerkin - Emma Donoghue [93]
'Oh, it's not that, Daffy. You were very sharp with the girl, that's all,' she said softly.
'If I was, it was no more than she deserved.' His voice came out like a roar. What was the matter with the man?
'But—'
'You must admit she's a sullen hussy, that Saunders girl,' he interrupted. 'Swanning round the house with her citified airs and her clacking tongue—'
'She's a stranger among us, Daffy. She doesn't know our ways.'
'She knows enough to carp and gibe!'
Mrs. Jones let out a long tired breath. Authority had never come naturally to her. Living alongside her servants, she found it hard to think of them as anything other than family: her own adopted flesh and blood. 'You were never acquainted with Su Rhys, were you?' she asked instead.
He stared at her, as if she'd made a feeble effort to change the subject.
Mrs. Jones clucked her tongue at her own stupidity. 'What am I talking about? She'd have gone off to London when you were only a boy. What I meant to say was, Su—Susan Saunders, as she became—was a very fine woman.'
'Is that where the girl gets her eyes, then?' he asked neutrally.
She made a little amused note of that: he was not immune to the newcomer's eyes. 'No, Daff, I don't mean handsome, I mean good. Su was the best of friends to me till her husband took her off to London. And for Mary to grow up with such a mother, living as close as two females can be, and then to have her snatched away in the blinking of an eye—' Her voice trembled. 'And for Mary to come back here to her native place, but not to know its ways any better than a stranger—well, is it any wonder the girl should be a little spleenish at first?'
'I'm sorry for her loss,' said Daffy coldly.
Exhaustion covered Mrs. Jones like a blanket of snow. 'No but try to understand her, would you now? After all the books you've read, you must have a power of understanding!'
He shrugged a little, watching the embers. She should have known better than to try flattery.
'Grief can do peculiar things to a person, you know,' said Mrs. Jones, very low. 'The heart can get all twisted.'
She hadn't meant to call attention to her own losses. The last thing she was angling for was this young man's pity. But he looked at her as if she'd said the one needful thing. He stood up all at once and grinned down at his mistress. 'I'll do my best.'
'Thank you, Daffy,' said Mrs. Jones.
When he went up to bed she was still darning in the last of the firelight.
That night Mary Saunders lay on her side, too tired to sleep. Beside her in the dark, Abi was as still as a corpse. The chime of eleven sounded from St. Mary's around the corner; another icy night. Soon Mary would shut her eyes, and sooner than seemed possible she'd open them again on another icy day.
This had all been an appalling mistake.
How could Mary have thought of going into service, even for a short while, a girl like her who'd known what liberty was? Less than a month in this narrow house had taught her that she had no talent for it. She could play the part of a grateful, obedient maid for an hour or two at a time—but sooner or later her wicked tongue showed itself.
Well, now she knew. She couldn't face another wagon journey in the deep snow, but as soon as the weather broke its grip, she'd be on her way, on the run again. She knew London wasn't safe for her yet—Caesar would still have his knife out for her—but there had to be somewhere else she could go in the meantime. Bristol, or Bath, or Liverpool maybe; anywhere with a bit of room for her talents; anywhere you could call a city.
As always, when she couldn't find her way to sleep, Mary buried her face in the pillow and began to dress herself, in her mind's eye. A shift of white silk, next to the skin; a pair of stockings, silver-clocked. As she weighed up the rival merits of a flowered green bodice and a ruched pink one, she felt her limbs grow heavy and luxurious.
Soon her time in this purgatorial place would be up. But till the thaw came she had to stick it out, wear the mask. It was only a matter of a