her breath at the beauty of it
all. Somehow she and Richard would stay here. She knew it.
Mabs
stood in the middle of her kitchen, as if she were a tree grown roots, and she,
Liffey, was some slender plant swaying beneath her shelter, and they were all
part of the same earth, same purpose.
“Anything the matter?” asked Mabs
again, wondering if Liffey were half-daft as well.
“Just
thinking,” said Liffey, but there were tears in her eyes. Some benign spirit
had touched her as it flew. Mabs was uneasy: her own malignity increased. The
moment passed.
Mabs
helped Liffey unpack and put things straight, and half-envied and half-despised
her for the unnecessary prodigality of everything she owned—from
thick-bottomed saucepans to cashmere blankets. Money to burn, thought Mabs.
Tucker would provide her with logs in winter and manure in summer: she’s the
kind who never checks the price. A commission would come Mabs’s way from every
tradesman she recommended. Liffey would be a useful source of income.
“Roof
needs re-doing,” said Mabs. “The thatch is dried out: it becomes a real
fire-risk, not to mention the insects! I’ve a cousin who’s a thatcher. He’s
booked up for years, but I’ll have a word with him. He owes me a favour.”
“I’m
not certain we’ll be able to stay,” said Liffey sadly, and Mabs was alerted to
danger. She saw Liffey as an ideal neighbour, controllable and malleable.
“Why not?” she asked.
Public
tears stood in Liffey’s eyes at last, as they had not done for years. She could
not help herself. The strain of moving house, imposing her will, acknowledging
difficulty, and conceiving deceit was too much for her. Mabs put a solid arm
round Liffey’s small shoulders and asked what the matter was. It was more than
she ever did for her children. Liffey explained the difficulty over the train
timetable.
“He’ll
just have to stay up in London all week and come back home weekends. Lots of them round here do that,”
said Mabs.
Liffey
had not spent a single night apart from Richard since the day she married him
and was proud of her record. She said as much, and Mabs felt a stab of
annoyance, but it did not show on her face, and Liffey continued to feel
trusting.
“Lots
of wives would say that cramped their style,” said Mabs.
“Not
me,” said Liffey. “I’m not that sort of person at all. I’m a one-man woman. I
mean to stay faithful to Richard all my life. Marriage is for better or worse,
isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” said Mabs politely. “Let’s
hope your Richard feels the same.”
“Of
course he does,” said Liffey stoutly. “I know accidents can happen. People get drunk
and don’t know what they’re doing. But he’d never be unfaithful, not properly
unfaithful. And nor would I—ever, ever, ever.”
Mabs
spent a busy morning. She went up to her mother and begged a small jar of oil
of mistletoe and a few drops of the special potion, the ingredients of which
her mother would never disclose, and went home and baked some scones and took
them up to Liffey as a neighbourly gesture, and when Tucker came home to his
mid-day meal told him to get up to Liffey as soon as possible.
“What
for?” asked Tucker.
“You
know what for,” said Mabs. She was grim and excited all at once. Liffey was to
be proved a slut, like any other. Tucker was to do it, and at Mabs’s behest,
rather than on his own initiative, sometime later.
“You
know you don’t really want me to,” said Tucker, alarmed, but excited too.
“I
don’t
all. Somehow she and Richard would stay here. She knew it.
Mabs
stood in the middle of her kitchen, as if she were a tree grown roots, and she,
Liffey, was some slender plant swaying beneath her shelter, and they were all
part of the same earth, same purpose.
“Anything the matter?” asked Mabs
again, wondering if Liffey were half-daft as well.
“Just
thinking,” said Liffey, but there were tears in her eyes. Some benign spirit
had touched her as it flew. Mabs was uneasy: her own malignity increased. The
moment passed.
Mabs
helped Liffey unpack and put things straight, and half-envied and half-despised
her for the unnecessary prodigality of everything she owned—from
thick-bottomed saucepans to cashmere blankets. Money to burn, thought Mabs.
Tucker would provide her with logs in winter and manure in summer: she’s the
kind who never checks the price. A commission would come Mabs’s way from every
tradesman she recommended. Liffey would be a useful source of income.
“Roof
needs re-doing,” said Mabs. “The thatch is dried out: it becomes a real
fire-risk, not to mention the insects! I’ve a cousin who’s a thatcher. He’s
booked up for years, but I’ll have a word with him. He owes me a favour.”
“I’m
not certain we’ll be able to stay,” said Liffey sadly, and Mabs was alerted to
danger. She saw Liffey as an ideal neighbour, controllable and malleable.
“Why not?” she asked.
Public
tears stood in Liffey’s eyes at last, as they had not done for years. She could
not help herself. The strain of moving house, imposing her will, acknowledging
difficulty, and conceiving deceit was too much for her. Mabs put a solid arm
round Liffey’s small shoulders and asked what the matter was. It was more than
she ever did for her children. Liffey explained the difficulty over the train
timetable.
“He’ll
just have to stay up in London all week and come back home weekends. Lots of them round here do that,”
said Mabs.
Liffey
had not spent a single night apart from Richard since the day she married him
and was proud of her record. She said as much, and Mabs felt a stab of
annoyance, but it did not show on her face, and Liffey continued to feel
trusting.
“Lots
of wives would say that cramped their style,” said Mabs.
“Not
me,” said Liffey. “I’m not that sort of person at all. I’m a one-man woman. I
mean to stay faithful to Richard all my life. Marriage is for better or worse,
isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” said Mabs politely. “Let’s
hope your Richard feels the same.”
“Of
course he does,” said Liffey stoutly. “I know accidents can happen. People get drunk
and don’t know what they’re doing. But he’d never be unfaithful, not properly
unfaithful. And nor would I—ever, ever, ever.”
Mabs
spent a busy morning. She went up to her mother and begged a small jar of oil
of mistletoe and a few drops of the special potion, the ingredients of which
her mother would never disclose, and went home and baked some scones and took
them up to Liffey as a neighbourly gesture, and when Tucker came home to his
mid-day meal told him to get up to Liffey as soon as possible.
“What
for?” asked Tucker.
“You
know what for,” said Mabs. She was grim and excited all at once. Liffey was to
be proved a slut, like any other. Tucker was to do it, and at Mabs’s behest,
rather than on his own initiative, sometime later.
“You
know you don’t really want me to,” said Tucker, alarmed, but excited too.
“I
don’t
Similar Books
