Her father and mother had visited Mary onseparate occasions last night. Soon after she had arrived home, herfather’s explosive diatribe blasted the air. ‘What do you think you’replaying at, my girl? That job was Edie’s, not yours. You was onlygoing to keep her company. She’s devastated.’ Her father’scanine-like face had moved closer to hers. ‘What have you got to say foryourself, Mary?’
The blankets on Mary’s shoulders had movedfractionally with her shrug, as she watched bubbles of angry spittle forming atthe corner of her father’s mouth.
‘Answer me!’ he had bellowed, loudlyenough to wake the dead in St Thomas’s churchyard.
‘Lady Rothborne said I would be perfectfor the job, so I took it,’ Mary had said meekly.
‘Perfect on what grounds?’ he hadseethed. ‘I ask you… those stuck up idiots, they don’t knownothing. A housemaid, Mary… you can’t even keep your own room tidy. You can’t make beds, sweep room after room and clean fire grates.’
Mary had drawn in a big lungful of air andrisen from the bed, like a caged lion being taunted through the bars. Shehad levelled with her father. ‘Those things can be taught, Father. I’ll learn them in a matter of minutes. How hard can it be to put someblankets on a bed or push a broom around? Have you ever thought that maybeI got the job on my personality? That Lady Rothborne thinks of me as theright calibre for Blackfriars? Did it ever occur to you that yourprecious Edie might not have been right for the job?’
Her father had laughed in mock indignationthen slapped Mary hard across the face, sending her tumbling backwards onto herbed. ‘My goodness, girl. I don’t even recognise my own daughterstood in front of me. You’re deluded if you think you’re one ofthem. Calibre? That a word your Lady Rothborne friend taughtyou, is it?’
Mary had yelped in pain and clutched ather face, determined not to cry. ‘You said I needed to get a job, to paymy own way…’ Mary’s voice trailed off, having nothing left to add.
‘Not Edith’s job! That was meant forher. It’s a disgraceful way to treat your sister. What’s she everdone to you?’ her father had seethed.
Mary could have listed a thousand timesthat Edie had taken precedence over her, got her own way and been treated morefavourably, but she chose to say nothing.
‘Disgusting behaviour,’ were her father’sparting words before he had slammed the door shut; the roaring fire in thegrate had responded by scattering a fiery burst of orange ash into the room.
Some time later, her mother had quietlypushed open the bedroom door. ‘Are you awake, Mary?’ she had asked.
Mary, wide awake but with a blanket pulledover her head, couldn’t tell from her mother’s expressionless tone how she wasgoing to act towards her. In past family quarrels, her mother’s defaultposition was to sit back in quiet but steadfast support of her husband. Very rarely had she opposed him in an argument because, when it happened, theill after-effects were felt in the Mercer household for days or even sometimesweeks on end.
‘Mary,’ her mother had said more loudly.
Mary pulled down the blanket and hadhardened herself in readiness for another scolding. ‘Come on then, get itover with.’
Her mother had perched herself down on theedge of the bed and taken Mary’s left hand in hers. ‘Look at me, Mary.’
It was a polite request, not an order, soMary had looked at her mother and waited for the tirade to begin.
‘No, I mean really look atme. Look at my face.’ She had paused, allowing time for Mary’s eyesto study the features. ‘I’m forty-one, yet when I look in the mirror, anold haggard woman stares back at me. I’ve done domestic work all mylife. The job of a third housemaid is jolly hard. It’srelentless. I watched domestic service slowly kill my own mother andvowed that my three girls wouldn’t be taken by it. It’s a poison,Mary. They may seem like a lovely lot, but they’re not cut from the samecloth as us. They don’t care about the likes of you. Once you putthat uniform on, you belong to them. They’ll take everything from youuntil you’ve nothing left to give, then they’ll send you to the Rye workhousewhere you’ll wait for humiliation and shame to take you to a pauper’s grave,just like what happened with your gran. The same will happen to me ifyour father goes first.’
Mary had been staggered by her mother’sbeseeching outpouring. Stories of the workhouse had always haunted andterrified her. ‘If that’s true, then why did you send Edie to workthere? Why’s it okay for her and not me?’
Her mother’s face had scrunched slightly,revealing deep-cut wrinkles and lines around her eyes. She was right;domestic service had worn and jaded her. ‘It’s what Edie’s alwayswanted. Her whole life, she wanted it and I thought that if that’s whatshe wanted, then she can jolly well be the best she can and climb up the ranksto be a housekeeper—at least they’re treated and paid better. I’veprepared her for that life.’ Her mother’s voice had softened. ‘Butyou, Mary—you’re better than that. Like Caroline, you could be more thanan old laundry maid like me. You always talked of travelling and gettinga decent education. What’s suddenly changed?’
‘Maybe I’ve just grown up,’ Mary hadreplied. Then she had considered her words against the truth of taking a jobbecause she might one day get the chance to run away with Lord Rothborne and inthe meantime she had a library full of books to keep her entertained: she wasanything but grown up. She was a silly, immature girl. Maryhad suddenly burst into tears.
‘It’s okay,’ her mother had said, pullingMary into a comforting embrace. ‘It’ll work itself out. Somethingelse will come along for poor Edie. Maybe even another job atBlackfriars.’
Through her watery eyes, Mary had thoughtthat she noticed a shadow move from outside her bedroom door: someone had beenlistening.
Thefire in the tiny bedroom hearth was long since dead: all that remained of itnow was a handful of unburnt
