‘Everything you have,’ Carolineretorted. ‘I don’t think you realise how bad the situation is athome. I’m having to use the pittance I get for my widow’s allowance topay the rent here. If the situation continues for much longer, I’ll haveto let my own house in Bristol go.’
Mary nodded; she understood. IfCaroline having all of her wages meant the family were able to hold onto thehouse and put food on the table, then that was what must happen; Edward’spresent would have to wait. She still had several hours of free timeleft—plenty of time to collect the money, spend some time at home and be backat Blackfriars by nine. ‘I’ll go and get it now.’
‘See that you do.’ Caroline sighed,turned around and marched back up the hill.
Mary walked quickly, instantly deep inthought, back to Blackfriars. She would have to explain herself to Edwardlater. How had life become so desperately miserable so quickly?she wondered. The final visit to her ailing grandmother in Rye workhouse,coupled with her mother’s words about her being consumed by domestic serviceentered her troubled mind. ‘I just want to go,’ Mary recalled hergrandmother pleading. ‘I’ve done my time. I need to sleep.’ Mary now realised that her grandmother saw her time as a housemaid as a prisonsentence, something to be served before the welcome salvation of eternalsleep. At the time, Mary had no grasp of what the old woman was feeling,having a naïve and youthful outlook on life. But if the rest of her lifehad to be spent like this, Mary understood her desperation for it all to cometo an end.
‘Quoi encore? Qu’est ce que tuveux maintenant? Tu t’crois à l’hôtel!’ Bastion shouted at Mary,brandishing a long silver knife in her direction. The repulsive, rude manwas mid-way through beheading a pig carcass, a job he seemed to relish a littletoo much for Mary’s liking.
Mary turned her head and strutted throughthe kitchen, having learned quickly to simply ignore the disgusting man. She darted up the ninety-six stairs to the female servants’ quarters. Asexpected, she found her bedroom mercifully empty; she didn’t want the hassle ofexplaining herself to Clara or the other servants. It was a very rarething for a servant to return from time off a moment before absolutelynecessary. Mary headed over to her bedside cabinet and pulled open thedrawer. Carefully wrapped inside an old blouse, she found the RowntreesCocoa tin in which she had been diligently saving her wages. Tugging openthe tin, Mary tipped the money onto her bed and momentarily stared at it. Reluctantly, she took out a handful of the money, leaving a few paltry coinsbehind—at least something towards a gift for Edward. Then shethought of her poor family, struggling to exist, whilst she lived rent-freewith almost as much food and drink each day as she cared to consume. Takingevery last coin from the bed, Mary set the tin back and was about to slide thedrawer shut when she noticed her locket. It was sterling silver with afake diamond set in the centre. Mary clasped the locket to her chest fora moment. The twins had received the lockets as a birthday present fromtheir parents last year. Mary recalled the day fondly. She and Ediehad woken early and travelled by train to Hastings to have a carte-de-visitetaken at Pearson’s Photography Studio on the West Hill. They hadspent the rest of the day on the seafront, enjoying ice cream, a walk along thecrowded promenade and a Punch and Judy show on the stony beach.
Mary pulled open the locket. Inside,was a tiny photograph of Edie looking unduly severe. The girls, gigglinglike mad things, had been chastised by George Pearson and told not to smile forthe pictures. In Edie’s locket was an identically stern photo ofMary. Mary closed the locket and placed it carefully back inside thedrawer.
Aftersitting down with Caroline in the chilly kitchen and receiving a tirade ofcriticism, Mary had sought a moment’s sanctuary in her old room. But shedid not find any refuge there; a thorny discomfort bit at her stomach. The house was so terribly cold: all of the fire grates were as empty andredundant as at the height of summer. Mary looked at her room as thoughit belonged to a stranger and felt sure that she was warmer sitting on thepiece of sandstone in the abbey ruins than in her own home. Yet that wasnot the cause of the unsettled feeling which was troubling her. She feltstifled. She shuddered and hurried from the room, trying to work out thecause of her malaise. On the landing, she could hear her father gentlysnoring in his bedroom. Caroline had given strict instructions to notdisturb him. He was suffering from melancholia and hadn’t left his bed indays.
‘You didn’t disturb him, did you?’Caroline asked Mary when she returned to the kitchen.
‘No, I did as you asked and let him rest,’Mary said quietly. She pulled out a chair to sit down, but quicklychanged her mind. The sooner that she was gone from this lifeless placethe better. It pained her even to think this way, but right now shelonged to be back at Blackfriars. She hurriedly poured all the money ontothe table. ‘That’s everything.’
Caroline prodded at the heap of money witha mild sneer. ‘Not much, is it? Are you sure you didn’t keepanything back?’
Wild anger boiled in Mary’s blood butoutwardly she remained calm. She had to make allowances for her recentlywidowed sister’s behaviour. Meeting Caroline’s eyes, she spoke clearlyand confidently. ‘That’s everything. I can assure you. I havenothing left for myself.’
Caroline seemed taken aback at hertemerity. ‘What do you need money for anyway? You haveeverything given to you on a silver plate. The best French chef in theparish cooks you the finest meats and vegetables, which are then served to youby another servant. You sleep in a warm bed with wood burning in the grateall night. You’re not a poor widow with ailing parents and two lots ofbills to pay. If only you’d earned such a luxurious life.’
Mary desperately wanted to argue back, tofight
