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She carried the tray upstairs and tapped at Mrs. Masterman’s door.
“Come in,” said the weary voice.
She was lying on the bed.
“It’s one of my headaches,” she said.
“They come on so suddenly. I think I’ll have my pills before I eat. What is it you’ve brought? Oh! I ca
Carolan felt intoxicated with success. She felt, as she often did in the presence of Marcus, that she had stolen some of his verve for living, for finding life amusing. She felt sly, able to plan for herself.
“You must try to eat, M’am!”
She began to understand the sickly creature on the bed. Her ailments were her life; the table beside the bed was full of remedies. She locked her door to keep out that brute, that coldblooded brute. Surely he did not need much keeping out? They were only half alive, these two. Oh, Marcus! Marcus! she thought, and she could feel his lips on her skin, warm and eager, “But I ca
“I can guess, M’am.”
“There isn’t much sympathy I get here. What is your name?”
“Carolan Haredon.”
“You speak like a lady.”
“I was supposed to be one once.”
“Yours must be a very interesting story…”
But Carolan did not plunge into an account of it, because she saw clearly that Lucille Masterman did not want to hear it, but only to talk about herself.
“It’s a frightful story,” she said, and added artfully: “But in one thing I have been fortunate, I have had good health.”
Lucille raised herself on her elbow.
“It is not often that people who have are wise enough to realize what a boon it is.”
Carolan smiled and forced compassion into her eyes.
“Please, M’am, could you not try to eat a little?”
“I will try then…”
She took the tray. Carolan picked up a bed jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders.
“You may take further cold, M’am.”
“I do take cold very easily. No! Do not go. Stay a while. You may sit down and talk to me while I eat. But first give me my pills … A little water to wash them down; it is there, in the jug-‘ “You must suffer very much, M’am, to need so many remedies.”
“Indeed I do! I do not like that gipsy; she frightens me. She creeps about so: she is like some soft-footed animal. The other girl, Poll, is such a frightful creature; I could not beat her near me. You and the other new girl are much nicer types. But my husband has always said that you convicts should not be allowed to roam about the house at large until you have been with us a little time. How long have you been with us now?”
“Six weeks.”
“It is a very short time, but you do not look vicious.”
“You would not believe me if I told you I was wrongfully accused?”
“Will you pack up my pillows a bit? I have a terrible backache. That is much better. These pills are so hard to swallow. Where did you live in England?”
“In the country near Exeter, and then in London.”
“London! Do not talk to me of it, for the homesickness is more than I can bear. I feel that I ca
“When I think of London I think of horrible things. I was not very happy I think in the country.”
“You speak very nicely. I shall certainly have you to wait at table. Everyone will be envious; they have such trouble with their servants. You are sympathetic too; you shall look after my clothes and give me my medicine.”
Thank you,” said Carolan.
“Thank you very much. It is very good of you.”
“I have taken a fancy to you. That gipsy girl never speaks at all. She grunts, and she is so sullen. I have told my husband that I am terrified of her; her eyes flash so. But he laughs that to scorn; he is a most unimaginative man. He has never had a day’s illness in his life, and he does not understand what it means to be ill.”
“People who are healthy are so often like that, M’am.”
“I shall tell Margery of the change. You can send her up to me at once. Take this tray down … why, I have eaten everything! Those pills are truly wonderful, and what I should do without dear Doctor Martin I do not know. Tell Margery to come up at once.”
Carolan went slowly down the stairs. Had she ever been as happy as this, even in the days of freedom?
Margery was locking backwards and forwards in her chair. She had thrown her apron over her face to hide the tears of laughter which for the life of her she could not stop flooding her eyes. It was the fu
What a change there had been in her in the last week! Her beauty had been veiled before, and now it was as though she had thrown aside the veil. There she was, radiant. A lovely, healthy girl. Reckless as they made ‘em. The dead spit of what Margery had been at her age. In love if anyone ever was. Every time they heard the sound of carriage wheels, her head would jerk up, her eyes glisten, and Margery would see her heart beat faster under the yellow frock. Now that her skin glowed with the regular application of soap and water, the yellow suited her, brought out that red in her hair, that green in her eyes. Her body had filled out a little. She was ripe for the plucking. And what a plucking it would be! But what if she whispered what she had heard?
The girl was doing well upstairs. The mistress had taken a fancy to her. Carolan had asked if she could use the bath water after her mistress had done with it, and strangely enough permission had been given readily. A queer request, Margery had thought, but the mistress did not seem to think so. She had said that, when Carolan worked in the kitchen, she was not to be given the dirty jobs because she hated to see dirty hands serving her guests. The master had come home. Now for trouble, thought Margery; he was not one to see his laws flouted. But, queer enough, nothing happened. He probably hated the sight of the dark-ski
This was the fu
Margery pulled down her apron and composed her features, for Carolan had entered the kitchen. Carolan sat at the table; she was singing to herself.
In Scarlet town where I was born, There was a fair maid dwelling__ Queer emotions fought each other in Margery’s mind. Admiration and jealousy were uppermost. Wonderful to be young and beautiful, desirable and desirous. A little she-devil, this Carolan, and a temper ready to flare up at a moment’s notice. Now the other one, Esther, with that shining fair hair of hers like a halo, reminded Margery of a saint in a holy picture. She wanted no truck with saints. Why was she, Margery, not young and beautiful like Carolan? What a time she would have, James? Awkward little man… no fire in him! He just knew what to do and that was about all.