The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [454]
“Ignorant you are,” Miss Buchan cried back at her, “Ignorant as the pigs you look like—nothing but snuffle around all day eating and drinking. All you think about is your belly. You know nothing. Think if a child’s got food on his plate he’s got everything, and if he eats it he’s well. Ha!” She looked around for something to throw, and since she was standing on the stairs, nothing came to hand. “Think you know everything, and you know nothing at all.”
“Buckie, be quiet!” Edith shrieked.
“That’s right, Miss Edith,” the cook said, cheering her on. “You tell ’er to keep ’er wicked mouth closed! You should get rid of ’er! Put ’er out! Daft, she is. All them years with other folks’ children have turned ’er wits. She’s no good for that poor child. Lost ’is father and ’is mother, poor little mite, and now ’e ’as to put up with that old witch. It’s enough to drive ’im mad. D’yer know what she’s bin tellin’ ’im? Do yer?”
“No—nor do I want to,” Edith said sharply. “You just be quiet!”
“Well you should know!” The cook’s eyes were blazing and her hair was flying out of nearly all its pins. “An’ if nobody else’ll tell yer, I will! Got the poor little child so confused ’e don’t know anything anymore. One minute ’is grandmama tells ’im ’is papa’s dead and ’e’s gotter ferget ’is mama because she’s a madwoman what killed ’is papa an’ will be ’anged for it. Which God ’elp us is the truth.”
The footman had rearmed himself and approached her again. She backhanded him almost unconsciously.
“Then along comes that wizened-up ol’ bag o’ bones,” she continued regardless, “an’ tells ’im ’is mama loves ’im very much and in’t a wicked woman at all. Wot’s ’e to think?” Her voice was rising all the time. “Don’t know whether ’e’s comin’ or goin’, nor ’oo’s good nor bad, nor what’s the truth about anything.” She finally took the damp dish towel out of her apron pocket and hurled it at Miss Buchan.
It hit Miss Buchan in the chest and slid to the floor. She ignored it completely. Her face was pale, her eyes glittering. Her thin, bony hands were knotted into fists.
“You ugly, interfering old fool,” she shouted back. “You know nothing about it. You should stay with your pots and pans in the kitchen where you belong. Cleaning out the slop pots is your place. Scrubbing the pans, slicing the vegetables, food, food, food! Keep their stomachs full—you leave their minds to me.”
“Buckie, what have you been saying to Master Cassian?” Edith asked her.
Miss Buchan went very white. “Only that his mother’s not a wicked woman, Miss Edith. No child should be told his mother’s wicked and doesn’t love him.”
“She murdered his father, you daft old bat!” the cook yelled at her. “They’ll hang her for it! How’s ’e goin’ to understand that, if he doesn’t know she’s wicked, poor little creature?”
“We’ll see,” Miss Buchan said. “She’s got the best lawyer in London. It’s not over yet.”
“’Course it’s over,” the cook said, scenting victory. “They’ll ’ang ’er, and so they should. What’s the city coming to if women can murder their ’usbands any time they take a fancy to—and walk away with it?”
“There’s worse things than killing people,” Miss Buchan said darkly. “And you know nothing.”
“That’s enough!” Edith slipped between the two of them. “Cook, you are to go back to the kitchen and do your own job. Do you hear me?”
“She should be got rid of,” the cook repeated, looking over Edith’s shoulder at Miss Buchan. “You mark my words, Miss Edith, she’s a—”
“That’s enough.” Edith took the cook by the arm and physically turned her around, pushing her down the stairs.