The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [210]
A game of cards had just ended between Pip and Estella, and Miss Havisham, resplendently shabby in her rotting wedding dress and veil, seemed to be trying to come to a decision.
“When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham in a low growl. “Let me think.”
“Today is Wednesday, ma’am—” began Pip, but he was silenced by Miss Havisham.
“There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Havisham sighed deeply and addressed the young woman, who seemed to spend most of her time glaring at Pip; his discomfort in the strange surroundings seemed to fill her with inner mirth.
“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let him roam and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.”
They left the darkened room, and I watched as Miss Havisham stared at the floor, then at the half-filled trunks of old and yellowed clothes that might have accompanied her on her honeymoon. I watched her as she pulled off her veil, ran her fingers through her graying hair and kicked off her shoes. She looked about her, checked the door was closed and then opened a bureau that I could see was full, not of the trappings of her wretched life, but of small luxuries that must, I presumed, make her existence here that much more bearable. Amongst other things I saw a Sony Walkman, a stack of National Geographics, a few Daphne Farquitt novels, and one of those bats that has a rubber ball attached to a piece of elastic. She rummaged some more and took out a pair of trainers and pulled them on, with a great deal of relief. She was just about to tie the laces when I shifted my weight and knocked against a small table. Havisham, her senses heightened by her long incarceration in silent introspection, gazed in my direction, her sharp eyes piercing the gloom.
“Who is there?” she asked sharply. “Estella, is that you?”
Hiding didn’t seem to be a worthwhile option, so I stepped from the shadows. She looked me up and down with a critical eye.
“What is your name, child?” she asked sternly.
“Thursday Next, ma’am.”
“Ah!” she said again. “The Next girl. Took you long enough to find your way in here, didn’t it?”
“Sorry—?”
“Never be sorry, girl—it’s a waste of time, believe me. If only you had seriously attempted to come to Jurisfiction after Mrs. Nakajima showed you how up at Haworth—well, I’m wasting my breath, I have no doubt.”
“I had no idea—!”
“I don’t often take apprentices,” she carried on, disregarding me completely, “but they were going to allocate you to the Red Queen. The Red Queen and I don’t get along, I suppose you’ve heard that?”
“No, I’ve—”
“Half of all she says is nonsense and the other half is irrelevant. Mrs. Nakajima recommended you most highly, but she has been wrong before; cause any trouble and I’ll bounce you out of Jurisfiction quicker than you can say ketchup. How are you at tying shoelaces?”
So I tied Miss Havisham’s trainers for her, there in Satis House amongst the rotted trappings of her abandoned marriage. It seemed churlish to refuse, and I really didn’t mind. If Havisham was my teacher, I would do whatever she reasonably expected of me. I’d not get into “The Raven” without her help, that much was obvious.
“There are three simple rules if you want to stay with me,” continued Miss Havisham in the sort of voice that seeks no argument. “Rule One: You do exactly as I tell you. Rule Two: You don’t patronize me with your pity. I have no desire to be helped in any way. What I do to myself and others is my business and my business alone. Do you understand?”
“What about Rule Three?”
“All in good time. I shall call you Thursday and you may call me Miss Havisham when we are together; in company I shall expect you to call me ma’am. I may summon you at any time and you will come running. Only funerals, childbirth or Vivaldi concerts take precedence. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss Havisham.”
I stood up and she thrust a candle nearer to my face and regarded me closely. It gave me a chance to