doing here, forcing your way into my house?’
A sick, clammy fear twisted itself around Meg’s suddenly pounding heart as she looked up at the stony face of her prospective employer. An icy, high-nosed stare was directed upon her as Mrs Garsby sailed down the stairs.
‘I…I am here to take up my position, ma’am,’ said Meg. ‘You…you asked me to come as soon as I could…I meant to come straight after the funeral but I…I contracted the influenza. I did not think you would want the children exposed to it…and then I was too ill…If there has been any inconvenience…I do apologise…’
Her voice trailed off under that chilly regard. Fear solidified in a hard, suffocating knot in her breast at the look of amazement on Mrs Garsby’s arid countenance.
When she finally spoke it was in tones of lofty moral condescension. ‘Out! Your family history I was prepared to overlook at the Vicar’s request, but to come here expecting employment in a respectable household now! Influenza, indeed! Could his lordship not suggest a better tale to cover up your liaison ?’
Meg’s jaw dropped. This aspect of her situation had not previously occurred to her.
‘But I was ill!’ she protested. ‘You may ask Dr Ellerbeck!’
Mrs Garsby snorted her disbelief. ‘Even so, to remain in the house once his lordship had arrived! No doubt you thought to entangle him, you presumptuous little slut! Take yourself off at once! No doubt his lordship can find a more suitable position for you. One in keeping with the colour of your cloak. I should be failing in my duty as a Mother were I to permit your contaminating influence anywhere near my family!’
Ten years ago Meg had heard similar words. Then she had not known what they meant, only the tones had struck home into the heart of a confused, grieving little girl. Then she had turned away in mortified hurt, but now she was no longer that defenceless, ignorant child. Now she understood what was being said to her, and the injustice of it enraged her. Despite years of hiding her feelings under a meek façade, Meg’s temper began to rise and Mrs Garsby’s next words were all that was needed to fan it into fiery utterance.
‘My sister said I would regret my generous impulse to accede to the Vicar’s suggestion that you would suit. What is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh!’
‘Will it, Mrs Garsby? Will it indeed?’ Meg’s voice was low and bitter. ‘Then I thank God that I am not to have the charge of your children!’ Her voice rose in passionate fury. ‘For I have not the slightest doubt that they would be just as unchristian and mean-spirited as their mother! I hope that you are proud of casting the first stone. Good day, Mrs Garsby!’
With that she picked up her portmanteau and walked proudly to the front door. Opening it, she stepped out into the now-blinding rain and slammed the door as hard as she possibly could. Behind her she could hearthe crash echoing through the hall with a most satisfying resonance.
The crash was promptly followed by another as a peal of thunder rolled overhead. Meg raised her dripping face and realised that there was not the slightest prospect of the rain clearing. She might as well start walking.
Buoyed up by her fury and satisfaction at having finally told at least one of the local matrons exactly what she thought of her, Meg did not at first realise just what was before her. By the time she had traversed the avenue and had reached the road again, reality had broken around her ears with greater force than the thunder and bucketing rain. Grimly she faced her situation. She would have to go and see the Vicar. Perhaps he could help. Even if it was only entry into the nearest Magdalen. Miserably she thought that indeed that might be her best course. At least they would provide her with some training and she would be placed with charitable people who would not throw her past up in her face too much.
She would go straight to the
A sick, clammy fear twisted itself around Meg’s suddenly pounding heart as she looked up at the stony face of her prospective employer. An icy, high-nosed stare was directed upon her as Mrs Garsby sailed down the stairs.
‘I…I am here to take up my position, ma’am,’ said Meg. ‘You…you asked me to come as soon as I could…I meant to come straight after the funeral but I…I contracted the influenza. I did not think you would want the children exposed to it…and then I was too ill…If there has been any inconvenience…I do apologise…’
Her voice trailed off under that chilly regard. Fear solidified in a hard, suffocating knot in her breast at the look of amazement on Mrs Garsby’s arid countenance.
When she finally spoke it was in tones of lofty moral condescension. ‘Out! Your family history I was prepared to overlook at the Vicar’s request, but to come here expecting employment in a respectable household now! Influenza, indeed! Could his lordship not suggest a better tale to cover up your liaison ?’
Meg’s jaw dropped. This aspect of her situation had not previously occurred to her.
‘But I was ill!’ she protested. ‘You may ask Dr Ellerbeck!’
Mrs Garsby snorted her disbelief. ‘Even so, to remain in the house once his lordship had arrived! No doubt you thought to entangle him, you presumptuous little slut! Take yourself off at once! No doubt his lordship can find a more suitable position for you. One in keeping with the colour of your cloak. I should be failing in my duty as a Mother were I to permit your contaminating influence anywhere near my family!’
Ten years ago Meg had heard similar words. Then she had not known what they meant, only the tones had struck home into the heart of a confused, grieving little girl. Then she had turned away in mortified hurt, but now she was no longer that defenceless, ignorant child. Now she understood what was being said to her, and the injustice of it enraged her. Despite years of hiding her feelings under a meek façade, Meg’s temper began to rise and Mrs Garsby’s next words were all that was needed to fan it into fiery utterance.
‘My sister said I would regret my generous impulse to accede to the Vicar’s suggestion that you would suit. What is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh!’
‘Will it, Mrs Garsby? Will it indeed?’ Meg’s voice was low and bitter. ‘Then I thank God that I am not to have the charge of your children!’ Her voice rose in passionate fury. ‘For I have not the slightest doubt that they would be just as unchristian and mean-spirited as their mother! I hope that you are proud of casting the first stone. Good day, Mrs Garsby!’
With that she picked up her portmanteau and walked proudly to the front door. Opening it, she stepped out into the now-blinding rain and slammed the door as hard as she possibly could. Behind her she could hearthe crash echoing through the hall with a most satisfying resonance.
The crash was promptly followed by another as a peal of thunder rolled overhead. Meg raised her dripping face and realised that there was not the slightest prospect of the rain clearing. She might as well start walking.
Buoyed up by her fury and satisfaction at having finally told at least one of the local matrons exactly what she thought of her, Meg did not at first realise just what was before her. By the time she had traversed the avenue and had reached the road again, reality had broken around her ears with greater force than the thunder and bucketing rain. Grimly she faced her situation. She would have to go and see the Vicar. Perhaps he could help. Even if it was only entry into the nearest Magdalen. Miserably she thought that indeed that might be her best course. At least they would provide her with some training and she would be placed with charitable people who would not throw her past up in her face too much.
She would go straight to the
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