“Are you all right, Mrs. Ellison?” Mabel said with concern.
“I. . I didn’t sleep well. I think I may have to remain upstairs.”
“Oh dear.” Mabel looked suitably sympathetic.
The old lady wondered suddenly what Mabel really thought of her. Was she anything more than the source of a good position, someone to look after until she died, because Mabel was secure in Ashworth House, always warm enough, always well fed and treated with respect? Did she have any personal feelings for her? Perhaps it would be better not to know. They might be of dislike. And if she were to think of it honestly, she had given Mabel very little cause to feel anything else. One did not treat servants like friends; they did not expect it or want it, it would be embarrassing. But there were always degrees of consideration, and of the occasional word of thanks. Usually a lady’s maid could expect as part of her remuneration to receive her mistress’s clothes when they were past her best use of them. However, since Mariah had worn black for the last quarter of a century, that was of less value to Mabel than might have been foreseen. But she never complained, at least not as far as the old lady knew.
“Thank you,” she said aloud.
Mabel looked startled.
“For your care,” the old lady said tartly. “Don’t look like that at me, as if I’d spoken to you in Greek!” She moved to get up, impatiently, and a stab of pain brought her up with a gasp.
“Would you like a doctor, ma’am?” Mabel asked helpfully.
“No, thank you, I would not! Here, give me your arm.” She took it and hauled herself heavily out of bed and stood up, steadying herself with difficulty. She really did feel unwell. She had had no idea her plan would leave her with this kind of reaction. She should have felt the weight lifted, not added to. After all, Samuel Ellison was gone. She was safe. She had achieved what she wanted to-no, needed to. It had been a matter of survival.
He had threatened to destroy her, unwittingly perhaps, but destroy her nevertheless.
But that did not relieve the darkness. In fact, it hardly seemed even to matter.
She dressed with Mabel’s help. Pity about the black. There would be nothing decent for Mabel to inherit when the time came. Perhaps that would not be long. What was she clinging to life for? She was old, worn out and unloved. Maybe she would wear something lavender or dark blue.
“Mabel!”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellison?”
“I want three new dresses. . or perhaps two new dresses and a suit. . a skirt and jacket.”
“I’m making one now, ma’am. Is that three including that?”
“Not that one!” she said impatiently. “Three more. Put that aside for now. I want one in dark blue, one in lavender, and. . and one in green! Yes. . green.”
“Green! Did you say ‘one in green,’ ma’am?”
“Are you losing your hearing, Mabel? I would like a green dress, a dark blue one, and a lavender one. Unless you don’t care for lavender, in which case make it something else. . burgundy, perhaps.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellison.” The incredulity was high in her voice. “I’ll fetch some designs for you to look at.”
“Don’t bother, just do whatever you think is becoming. I trust your judgment.” Heaven forfend she chose something outlandish and the old lady lived long enough that she had to wear them! But an unbecoming dress was really the least of her worries now. Yesterday it would have been merely irritating, two weeks ago it would have been a major catastrophe. Now it was nothing at all. “See to it,” she added firmly. “I shall give you the money immediately.”
“Yes, Mrs. Ellison,” Mabel said quietly, her eyes wide.
But it was a wretched morning. It was impossible to concentrate on anything, not that she had any tasks of importance to do. She never had. Her entire life was a round of domestic trivialities that did not matter in the slightest.
She did not want to spend the morning with Caroline. She could not bear to see her, and sooner or later she would be bound to say something about yesterday’s disastrous events. What answer was there? She had thought she could cope with it, be evasive, or even tell Caroline she had brought it upon herself. But now that it was accomplished, she felt nothing but a black despair-and a weight of guilt that was like a physical pain.
She busied herself doing small domestic chores, to the considerable irritation of the maids. First she gathered several pieces of used string and undid the knots, all the while instructing the youngest maid how to do it herself in the future.
“Never throw away good string!” she said imperiously.
“It’s full o’ knots!” the girl pointed out. “I can’t get them undone! It’s more’n me fingers is worth!”
“That is simply because you don’t know how,” the old lady pointed out. “Here. Fetch me a wooden spoon. Quickly!”
“A wooden spoon?” The girl, who was perhaps thirteen, was nonplussed.
“Are you deaf, child? Do as you are told! And quickly! Don’t stand there all day.”
The girl vanished and returned in a few moments with a large wooden spoon. She offered it, handle first.
“Thank you. Now watch and learn.” The old lady took the first piece of knotted string, placed it on the table in front of her, and, turning the knot over as she went, struck it hard several times with the spoon. Then she took a tiny pair of scissors from her pocket and inserted the points into the middle of the knot. Gradually she eased it open. “There you are!” she said triumphantly. “Now you do the next one.”
The girl obeyed with enthusiasm, pounding the knots and gouging them undone. It was a considerable victory.
Next she taught the child how to clean the cane stand in the hall with lemon juice and salt, then how to shine the brass in the withdrawing room with olive oil, and then sent her to find beer from the servants’ hall and have Cook set it on the hearth for a few minutes to warm it. With that, she instructed her how to clean the dark wood of the mantel.
“I’d teach you how to clean diamonds in gin,” she said tartly, “if Mrs. Fielding had any diamonds!”
“Or any gin,” the child added. “I never met anyone afore wot knows so much!” Her eyes were wide with admiration. “D’yer know ’ow ter get rid o’ scorch marks an’ all? We got a terrible one on the master’s shirt yesterday, an’ the mistress’ll be proper tore up w’en she knows.”
“If she were any use she’d know how to get it out herself!” Mariah said with satisfaction. Here at the back of the house she could not hear every carriage that passed, or footsteps coming and going. She would not see Caroline, or Joshua if he came home. She would not have to hear them, the confusion, the pain. “Vinegar, fuller’s earth, washing soda and a small onion chopped fine,” she went on. “You should know that! Can’t throw out a good piece of linen just because there’s a scorch mark on it. Make a paste, spread it on the stain, and let it dry. Brush it off the next day.”
“ ’Ow much vinegar?” the girl asked.
“What?”
“ ’Ow much vinegar, please, ma’am?”
She took a deep breath and told the girl the proportions.
The rest of the morning passed with other minor duties, excuses to fill the time. She ate no luncheon. It was as if her throat had closed.
By mid-afternoon she could no longer avoid Caroline without some very good excuse. She considered saying she was ill, or even that she had fallen downstairs and was in too much pain to remain out of her bed. But then Caroline would send for the doctor, whether she wanted it or not, and that might provoke all sorts of worse things. She would be proved a liar. No. Far better she exercise courage and self-mastery. She was going to have to for the rest of her life. This afternoon was an excellent time to begin.
She changed into a suitable black bombazine afternoon dress with jet beading on the bodice, and put on a smart brooch she had not worn for thirty years. It was not a mourning brooch, with a carefully preserved coil or braid of hair. It was a handsome crystal piece with pearls.
She went down to the withdrawing room, and there was no one there.
Caroline’s morning began equally wretchedly, but she was looking for something to do to keep her mind from turning over and over the same miserable thoughts when she half overheard the one manservant they kept talking with the housemaid.
“How could I?” he said indignantly. They were standing by the sideboard in the dining room and she was
