Pure as the Lily by Catherine Cookson Page B

to restrain it, and as she pushed the sixpence into his hand there came a querulous shout from the bedroom.
    “You, Jimmy! Do you hear me there? You, Jimmy!”
    When they were left alone Alee whispered, “You’ll have nowt left, lass.”
    “Don’t you worry. Da.” She slanted her eyes up to him.
    “I’m on to a good thing here; it’s a gold mine, or a silver one. Look.” She pulled from her pocket another half-crown.
    “Mr. Tollett gave it to me for myself. He emphasized that. He said, “ Now that’s for yourself. “ Alee smiled at her as he said, “ Well, that was kind of him. “ As she looked back into his face the mischievous smile left her own and she said, “He is kind, Da, he’s a nice man.”
    They stared at each other and then he nodded slowly.
    “Aye, Ben’s all right,” then he asked, “Do you like it there?”
    “Yes, Da. Aw yes. It’s lovely; it isn’t like work at all. The way the place’s set out it’s grand. Have you seen it?”
    “No, no, I haven’t seen it, lass. What’s it like? Tell us.” So she proceeded to tell him, and he gazed at her not taking in all she was saying but thinking, It’ll be God’s pity if she takes up with housework for good; she’s worth something better, oh aye, something better than that.
    It became the regular procedure that Alice would instruct Mary what she was to cook for Ben and how she was to cook it, and Mary would listen dutifully and say, “Yes, Ma. Yes, Ma,” knowing that at half past twelve she would hurry panting through the backyard and up the stairs, to warm up, or 5l finish, the dinner she had prepared yesterday, a dinner of her own concocting.
    She would talk to the child. Joke with him, make him laugh. She had given new names to all his toys.
    His cloth doll she called Ching Lang Lou. What did it matter that it was a negro with black wool curls, they had great fun with Ching Lang Lou. Then, the meal ready and set in the dining-room, not the kitchen, she would call Ben up, while she herself would take his place in the shop.
    One day he had said to her, “It’s a pity we can’t sit down together, Mary,” and she had answered, “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Tollett,” then added, “I eat more when I’m on me own’ ; and at this they had laughed loudly as if at a great joke, and shaking his head while he gazed at her, he had said, “Aw Mary, Mary.”

    She got on well with Mr. Tollett. But it was odd how little they saw of each other; they were just like that saying, ships that pass in the night. He was already in the shop when she arrived in the morning, and they spoke to each other for only a few moments when she took his place so that he could have his meals. Very often when she took down his three o’clock cup of tea she just left it in the storeroom and tapped on the door, and he would call to her, “Thanks. Thanks, Mary.” The only time she ate with him was on a Wednesday when he had his half day.
    One night, as she was leaving, she did say to him, You’re busy enough to have an assistant,” to which he replied, I did have one, but he assisted himself, Mary, a little too much.”
    “Aw, like that was it?”
    Tes, it was like that. “
    ‘you can never trust people. “
    “Yes, that’s a fact, you can never trust people, Mary.”
    She had every opportunity of helping herself from the well-stocked cupboard upstairs, and a half-dozen spoonfuls of tea wouldn’t have been missed from the caddy each day, but she wouldn’t do that, not to Mr. Tollett. Why, the basket of groceries he had given her ma every Friday night and which he still continued to give her couldn’t be bought for fifteen shillings! No, she wouldn’t take a grain of salt belonging to Mr.
    Tollett.
    She was happy as she had never been happy before, because she now had things to give, money to give to her da and their Jimmy, the price of an ounce of baccy to her gran da and a quarter of bullets for her grandma. But she didn’t pay for the bullets