would.” Then she blinked and says out loud, “Well done, Bessy. You may light the fire.”
Then off she goes, sailing out the room without a backward glance.
About
1/2
way through the morning a letter come for her. I had my ears pricked up for the postman partly because it would have been just nice to see another face but also on account of what he might be bringing, if indeed the missus had wrote to Crown House for my character, I was worried about the possibility of a reply.
This particular postman must have been the human equivalent of a badger for you never saw hide nor hair of him, only found his droppings on the mat, and this day was no exception. He was supposed to blow his horn to let you know he was on his way but despite the fact that I had my ears and eyes peeled and could have swore that nobody come up the drive there—like magic!—was the letter on the floor one time as I was passing through the hall. The heart went sideways in me for I thought it might be from Glasgow but on closer examination I seen that it was postmarked London so all was well. I thought it might be from the missus husband.
She had been closeted away in her room all morning and I was glad of an excuse to visit her so I took the letter upstairs immediately. I knocked the door and when I entered she was sat at her desk, she had a pen in her hand but oddly I could see no writing paper anywhere.
“This came for you, marm,” I says and give her the envelope.
She glanced at the handwriting on the front.
“It’s from London,” I says.
She smiled. “Yes, I see that.”
I waited for her to open it but she just put it on the desk and turned back to me expectantly. Up until that moment I didn’t realise I had anything to say to her but then I blurted out, “Marm, about this morning,” I says. “I wanted to apologise.”
“Apologise? What for?”
“Marm for not doing what you wanted me to do. Stand up and sit down and all this. I don’t know why. I just didn’t want to do it. And I’m sorry”
She shook her head. “No matter, Bessy,” she says. “You did very well”
“Did I marm? Did I really?”
“Yes you did.”
“Do you want to try it again, missus—marm? That’s to say—I don’t mind, we could do it again now if you want. Downstairs—or here?”
“Perhaps not just this minute, Bessy,” she says. “Perhaps on some other day”
“You sure now, marm?”
“Yes, I think I’ll read my letter now.”
“Oh certainly, go right ahead.” I waited for her to open it but she just sat there and smiled hard at me until I realised that of course she was expecting me to withdraw.
I left her to it, closing the door quietly behind me. I don’t know what made me linger there on the landing. I expected to hear her slicing open the envelope but instead what I heard was a key turning in a lock and a drawer sliding open and shut, then there was a faint “clink‘ I couldn’t place and finally once again silence, so that I had to walk away on the very tips of my toes, and grab onto the wall for balance.
An hour later when I called her downstairs to eat I seen straight away that she had been crying. Her nose was red and her eyes was all swoll up and watery. Bless her she was putting a brave face on it, whatever it was, and I didn’t want to pry so I kept my mouth shut until after we had ate. And then I says, very gentle, “Forgive me asking marm but—did you have bad news?”
All at once, her eyes welled up. I’m afraid my imagination ran riot and I jumped to the worst and most Romantic conclusion.
“Whatever’s the matter, marm?” I says, “Is it blackmail?”
That kind of thing was always happening in The Peoples Journal.
The missus looked at me askance. “Don’t be silly,” she says. And then she stood up. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Now, it’s time you got on with your work.”
And with those words she marched out the room. At the time I thought it was something in her letter had upset her
Then off she goes, sailing out the room without a backward glance.
About
1/2
way through the morning a letter come for her. I had my ears pricked up for the postman partly because it would have been just nice to see another face but also on account of what he might be bringing, if indeed the missus had wrote to Crown House for my character, I was worried about the possibility of a reply.
This particular postman must have been the human equivalent of a badger for you never saw hide nor hair of him, only found his droppings on the mat, and this day was no exception. He was supposed to blow his horn to let you know he was on his way but despite the fact that I had my ears and eyes peeled and could have swore that nobody come up the drive there—like magic!—was the letter on the floor one time as I was passing through the hall. The heart went sideways in me for I thought it might be from Glasgow but on closer examination I seen that it was postmarked London so all was well. I thought it might be from the missus husband.
She had been closeted away in her room all morning and I was glad of an excuse to visit her so I took the letter upstairs immediately. I knocked the door and when I entered she was sat at her desk, she had a pen in her hand but oddly I could see no writing paper anywhere.
“This came for you, marm,” I says and give her the envelope.
She glanced at the handwriting on the front.
“It’s from London,” I says.
She smiled. “Yes, I see that.”
I waited for her to open it but she just put it on the desk and turned back to me expectantly. Up until that moment I didn’t realise I had anything to say to her but then I blurted out, “Marm, about this morning,” I says. “I wanted to apologise.”
“Apologise? What for?”
“Marm for not doing what you wanted me to do. Stand up and sit down and all this. I don’t know why. I just didn’t want to do it. And I’m sorry”
She shook her head. “No matter, Bessy,” she says. “You did very well”
“Did I marm? Did I really?”
“Yes you did.”
“Do you want to try it again, missus—marm? That’s to say—I don’t mind, we could do it again now if you want. Downstairs—or here?”
“Perhaps not just this minute, Bessy,” she says. “Perhaps on some other day”
“You sure now, marm?”
“Yes, I think I’ll read my letter now.”
“Oh certainly, go right ahead.” I waited for her to open it but she just sat there and smiled hard at me until I realised that of course she was expecting me to withdraw.
I left her to it, closing the door quietly behind me. I don’t know what made me linger there on the landing. I expected to hear her slicing open the envelope but instead what I heard was a key turning in a lock and a drawer sliding open and shut, then there was a faint “clink‘ I couldn’t place and finally once again silence, so that I had to walk away on the very tips of my toes, and grab onto the wall for balance.
An hour later when I called her downstairs to eat I seen straight away that she had been crying. Her nose was red and her eyes was all swoll up and watery. Bless her she was putting a brave face on it, whatever it was, and I didn’t want to pry so I kept my mouth shut until after we had ate. And then I says, very gentle, “Forgive me asking marm but—did you have bad news?”
All at once, her eyes welled up. I’m afraid my imagination ran riot and I jumped to the worst and most Romantic conclusion.
“Whatever’s the matter, marm?” I says, “Is it blackmail?”
That kind of thing was always happening in The Peoples Journal.
The missus looked at me askance. “Don’t be silly,” she says. And then she stood up. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Now, it’s time you got on with your work.”
And with those words she marched out the room. At the time I thought it was something in her letter had upset her
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