‘Please, Edie,’ Mary said quietly.
‘I don’t want the wretched job. Idon’t want anything from you ever again.’
‘Edie, please…’
‘Just go!’ Edith yelled.
The gentle groaning of the woodenfloorboards in the hallway made the girls switch their attention to the door,both realising that the outcome of their argument rested with whichever parentwas standing at the top of the stairs. It was their father; Mary had lostthe battle and no more words were needed.
‘Think it’s time you went back toBlackfriars,’ her father said.
Mary knew from the tone of his voice thatit was not a suggestion but a command and that the slightest rebuttal on herpart would result in a violent outburst. As she had done on so many prioroccasions, Mary conceded defeat, pushed past her father, down the stairs andstraight out the front door. She desperately wanted to hug her mother,but she knew that remaining in the house a minute longer would make hermother’s life a misery for the next month.
Mary maintained her composure as shewalked from the house towards the gates of Blackfriars. She was fullyaware that she had the entire afternoon and most of the evening to herself, yetthe gravel path to Blackfriars drew her back in. Somehow, it seemed theonly logical and sensible place to go. The moment that she crossed intothe estate, every angry, incredulous word that she had just suppressed, every spitefulglance between her father and sister and every angry rejection from home flowedout of her as hot tears.
Without having consciously gone there,Mary found herself sitting in the ruins of the ancient abbey. There wasnow little to see of the former complex, razed to the ground by the Reformationin 1558. One solitary three-arched wall and another perpendicular flintwall were all that remained, having defied history and the elements forhundreds of years. It was to here that Mary and Edith would sneak as children,providing them as it did with cover from the house, before scrumping for applesand pears in the nearby orchards. Mary sank down with her back to thewall and, knowing that she was protected from view from prying eyes from thehouse, allowed herself to cry and cry. Since starting work atBlackfriars, Mary had never cried as much in her entire life. Each andevery night when she went to bed, the woes and anxieties from the daymanifested themselves as tears. Most recently, she wept for the fancifulrelationship that she now knew that she would never have with LordRothborne. Four days ago, her childish fantasies had been dropped like adelicate glass vase onto a marble floor, smashing into a thousand pieces. Mary had been working in Cecil’s bedroom, as she had managed to do each daysince starting. She had always wangled it so that it was she who preparedhis room. She had diligently cleaned the fire grate and restocked it withthe best seasoned wood that she could find, swept his floor and dusted hisfurniture before saving the best part for last: Cecil’s bed. She hadcarefully washed her hands prior to touching the soft sheets, then pulled themback ready to be turned down. As she had done on each occasion, Mary hadlaid her head on his pillow, closed her eyes and imagined that he had invitedher into his bed. In her mind, he was asleep next to her, tenderlybreathing on the nape of her neck. Mary had then dared to pull her legsup into the bed and, even through her coarse uniform, she could feel thesoftness of the sheets, which Clara had told her were made from the finestEgyptian cotton. All of her childhood dreams had come rushing back intoher mind, as though a dam had suddenly burst. All things for which Ediehad mocked her. Now look at me, Edith Mercer! Mary hadthought. You’re moping at home with Father and here I’m in LordRothborne’s bed!
With a gloating smile, Mary had opened hereyes. In the doorway stood Lord Rothborne, Mrs Cuff, Clara andEliza. Horrified, Mary fell out of the bed onto the floor, gasping atvarious words to try and formulate a sentence which might justify what she hadbeen doing.
‘Out. Now,’ Mrs Cuff had barked.
Mary, still unable to speak, had regainedher exterior composure, while the inside of her mind raced and jerkedmanically, unable to hold a single thread of thought. As her heartpounded inside her chest, she had walked calmly towards the door, her eyesfollowing the contours of a lavish Turkish rug on the floor. Despite allthat had happened, a small part of her had still believed that Cecil wouldsmile, reach out and take her in his arms, dismissing the other servants.
At the last second, Mary had thrown herhead up to look him square in the face. He was stood in a core of light,as if illuminated by God Himself. She saw his beautiful boyish face andstriking dark red hair up close for the first time since 1902. She hadlocked onto his pale blue eyes. A tiny gasp of breath had escaped whenwhat she saw shocked her, like a knife to the heart. There was nothingthere. Not even simple affection. His eyes had reflected repugnanceand repulsion, as he had looked her up and down as though she were a dirtystreet vagrant.
Mary’s eyes had fallen to the floor as sheleft the room in disgrace. A wave of nausea had rippled through her body,biting at her stomach as the realisation that they would never be together camecrashing down upon her.
A faint shadow passed across the ground infront of Mary, jolting her back to the present. She turned and staredtowards the sunlit silhouette of a male figure. Despite all that hadhappened, a small part of Mary wondered if, at last, Cecil had come forher. Come to make amends. Come to take her away. Come to makeher his. Yet, she knew it was not true. She recognised the shadowedform.
‘Mary, what’s the matter? What areyou doing here?’ It was Edward’s voice.
Mary wiped her eyes on
