This tribute was received with an emotional sniff by Maggie, who always cried very easily, and was forgiven her faults as easily in consequence, since tears were regarded as a sign of penitence, leading to grace, by Mother Ambrose.
“But you don’t really
“Perhaps she’ll come back and see us,” volunteered Maggie, unresentful of the spattering, and wiping off the water with apparent unconsciousness. She went to the cupboard, took out a cake-tin which was burnished to spotless brilliance, held it up in a good light and re-set her curls. “She might give us all an outing after Easter.”
“
As this was the exact truth, with no exaggeration whatever as a basis for argument, and as Bessie herself despised boys except in the capacity of gun-men and other law-breakers, there was nothing for Maggie to say. She giggled amiably, put the potatoes on to boil, then went and peeped at the clock in the parlour and set the kitchen clock right. The kitchen clock was supposed to be sacred to the ministrations of Mother Jude, but in her absence the orphans kept it going, for she, unlike Mother Ambrose, was happy-go-lucky as regarded her special privileges, and farmed them out to the deserving and (in Mother Ambrose’s tight-lipped, militant opinion) to the undeserving also, in an irresponsible manner for which, later on, she would certainly be called to account.
At twenty minutes past twelve, to the tick, therefore, Bessie was able to go up and wake Mrs. Bradley.
“
Mrs. Bradley got up and tidied her hair, and grinned kindly at Bessie, whose crude manifestations of affection touched and pleased her.
“I’ve a job for you, Bessie,” she said.
“Oh, ’elp,” said Bessie tartly. “I’m up to me eyes for Mother Saint Jude and Mother Saint Ambrose and Sister Genevieve and Sister Lucia already. The Bishop don’t come very often, but when he do—visitation, they calls it. More like the Last Day, I reckon!”
“I hope,” said Mrs. Bradley, “that you do not betray those racy opinions to Mother Saint Ambrose and Mother Saint Jude.”
“Oh, Mother Saint Jude wouldn’t mind, although she’s as flighty as any of ’em when it comes to the Bishop,” said Bessie. “And Mother Saint Ambrose don’t really like nothing that upsets what she calls the routine. Well, what you want me to do?”
“Retire from the guest-house when I do, and take up a job I’ve found for you with a friend of mine,” Mrs. Bradley answered concisely. She described to Bessie the work which she had in mind. Bessie’s face became transfigured.
“Blimy, if I couldn’t give you a smacker,” she pronounced, in accents of awe. Mrs. Bradley, who had not kissed anyone for more than twenty years, recoiled in alarm, and Bessie, both diverted and restored by this sight, grinned devilishly and opened the door for Mrs. Bradley to go to the bathroom to wash.
She turned at the door and said:
“Who uses bath-salts here, Bessie?”
“Why, that there Mrs. Maslin,” Bessie promptly replied.
“Ah, yes. I might have deduced that,” Mrs. Bradley observed. She dried her hands, went downstairs to the dining-room and took the chair that was empty. All the other guests were assembled. The chair happened to be between Miss Bonnet and Mrs. Maslin.
“So you haven’t seen fit to take away Mary?” Mrs. Bradley observed to Mrs. Maslin. “May I say that I think you are unwise?”
“We shall go as soon as Ulrica is settled,” Mrs. Maslin responded, with her vacant, insincere smile. “I shall go to the docks, of course, to see her off, and shall probably take Mary along. Perhaps you didn’t know, but she and I and her father are going out by the next boat. We can’t afford to let Ulrica have it all her own way now that poor little Ursula is dead. After all, what’s a will, if not subject to alteration?”
“You won’t need to get this one altered,” said Mrs. Bradley. “I fancy it is altered already.”
chapter 24
conflagration
henry vaughan: Cheerfulness.
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