Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

be pitied, Sue.’
    ‘I believe so, sir.’
    ‘And are you grateful to Miss Lilly, for having you at Briar?’
    ‘Oh, sir! Gratitude ain’t in it!’
    ‘Violets again!’ He waved his hand. ‘Never mind, that will do. But don’t hold my gaze so boldly, will you? Look, rather, at my shoe. That’s good. Now, tell me this. This is important. What are your duties while attending your new mistress?’
    ‘I must wake her in the mornings,’ I said, ‘and pour out her tea. I must wash her, and dress her, and brush her hair. I must keep her jewellery neat, and not steal it. I must walk with her when she has a fancy to walk, and sit when she fancies sitting. I must carry her fan for when she grows too hot, her wrap for when she feels nippy, her eau-de-Cologne for if she gets the head-ache, and her salts for when she comes over queer. I must be her chaperon for her drawing-lessons, and not see when she blushes.’
    ‘Splendid! And what is your character?’
    ‘Honest as the day.’
    ‘And what is your object, that no-one but we must know?’
    ‘That she will love you, and leave her uncle for your sake. That she will make your fortune; and that you, Mr Rivers, will make mine.’
    I took hold of my skirts and showed him one of those smooth curtseys, my eyes all the time on the toe of his boot.
    Dainty clapped me. Mrs Sucksby rubbed her hands together and said,
    ‘Three thousand pounds, Sue. Oh, my crikey! Dainty, pass me an infant, I want something to squeeze.’
    Gentleman stepped aside and lit a cigarette. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad, at all. A little fining down, I think, is all that’s needed now. We shall try again later.’
    ‘Later?’ I said. ‘Oh, Gentleman, ain’t you finished with me yet? If Miss Lilly will have me as her maid for the sake of pleasing you, why should she care how fined down I am?’
    ‘ She may not mind,’ he answered. ‘I think we might put an apron on Charley Wag and send him, for all she will mind or wonder. But it is not only her that you will have to fool. There is the old man, her uncle; and besides him, all his staff.’
    I said, ‘His staff?’ I had not thought of this.
    ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Do you think a great house runs itself? First of all there’s the steward, Mr Way—’
    ‘Mr Way!’ said John with a snort. ‘Do they call him Milky?’
    ‘No,’ said Gentleman. He turned back to me. ‘Mr Way,’ he said again. ‘I should say he won’t trouble you much, though. But there is also Mrs Stiles, the housekeeper—she may study you a little harder, you must be careful with her. And then there is Mr Way’s boy Charles, and I suppose one or two girls, for the kitchen work; and one or two parlourmaids; and grooms and stable-boys and gardeners—but you shan’t see much of them, don’t think of them.’
    I looked at him in horror. I said, ‘You never said about them before. Mrs Sucksby, did he say about them? Did he say, there will be about a hundred servants, that I shall have to play the maid for?’
    Mrs Sucksby had a baby and was rolling it like dough. ‘Be fair now, Gentleman, ’ she said, not looking over. ‘You did keep very dark about the servants last night.’
    He shrugged. ‘A detail,’ he said.
    A detail? That was like him. Telling you half of a story and making out you had it all.
    But it was too late now, for a change of heart. The next day Gentleman worked me hard again; and the day after that he got a letter, from Miss Lilly.
    He got it at the post-office in the City. Our neighbours would have wondered what was up, if we’d had a letter come to the house. He got it, and brought it back, and opened it while we looked on; then we sat in silence, to hear it—Mr Ibbs only drumming his fingers a little on the table-top, by which I knew that he was nervous; and so grew more nervous myself.
    The letter was a short one. Miss Lilly said, first, what a pleasure it was, to have received Mr Rivers’s note; and how thoughtful he was, and how kind