Inheritance Feud

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

she were an adder sliding out from behind a brake. "Mrs. Priddy of Emmett's Foundation wrote to me about you. She says you pilfer." The tone held no accusation, only a calm weariness. Livia flushed scarlet; she'd forgotten about that part of it. "It was the money, ma'am," she said lamely. There seemed nothing else to say.

"If you are caught stealing here, you will be whipped and dismissed within the hour. You understand that clearly?" "Yes, ma'am." One didn't dare mention the forty days by law. In this country, everyone knew, they had to let you work

that out before you left; except that, granted, sometimes you

wouldn't want to: She wouldn't in any case want to fall foul

of this terrible little lady. She opened her mouth to say it

would be all right, there wouldn't be any danger of her steal

ing here, there was no need; or some such thing. But Mrs.

Galadriel seemed to have forgotten about it. She asked Livia

to hold out her hands for inspection, to see if they were clean. Something flared then in Livia. It had been dusty in the coach, and there'd been the mucky farm-cart afterwards and she'd walked since then, carrying her basket. She kept silence, however, and extended her broad, capable hands, soiled with the journey. Mrs. Galadriel's mouth tightened a little.

"That will not do for serving food, Mary; you will see that they are cleaner than that when Mrs. Betts hands you the dishes. I understand, however, that you are a capable laund ress; that will clean them." She smiled at her own mild pleasantry, but Livia did not respond. Old b***h, she was thinking; one's as bad as the next. Still, it's a pretty house. I'll keep it clean as well as my hands. She wondered where one went to fetch water; perhaps there was a well.

A glint had showed already in Mrs. Galadriel's refractive eyes; the new maid's silence was like a wall. She must be broken, that was evident. "There will be plenty of work for you to do, Mary; I expect a high standard. You will be res ponsible generally for the lighter housework, dusting, sweep ing the stairs daily and polishing once a week; cleaning the glass panes inside and out, and caring for the curtains and the linen, also serving at table. There are other tasks Mrs. Betts will show you. She will also show you your room."

There hadn't been mention of time off, Livia thought; but the news of a room was cheering. She had never in all her life had a private sleeping-place; as a rule, no servant expected it. She stammered a word of pleasure, anxious to please this difficult, unpredictable lady; Mrs. Galadriel raised her flat eyes. "The reference from Mrs. Priddy also says that you need supervision, Mary, or else you are lazy; that will be provided here. She adds, however, that you have no flighty inclinations, which is as well; they would not be tolerated."

"No, ma'am." It was her luck, of course, that most things wrong with Mary had been right with her; she certainly wasn't lazy. As to flighty ways-well, such as they'd ever been they were done with. After a day or two this little, old county b***h would no doubt find there was less need than she'd thought to keep a strict eye. Till then, she herself would just have to put up with whatever came. And there was her room; at nights, there'd always be that. Dismissed from the presence, she fol lowed Mrs. Betts' toiling skirts upstairs at last with thankful ness.

The room was small, hot, and directly under the roof; it contained a mattress and a row of pegs, and a ewer. But it was hers; she'd never before had anything of her own. She listened to Mrs. Betts' gabble with half an ear, longing to be alone in it.

"Don't mind being up here on your own, I hope? I live with Betts over the stable. Thirty years, we been man and wife; I come from beyond Solway. Betts is the coachman here. not that they run a coach now. There's the little carriage, when they use it, for her and Miss Hermione. Grows a good vegetable, Betts does. If he didn't, he'd hear from me." Mrs. Betts smiled mournfully. "Quiet, everything is here; they never see company. Sir Sandor Melrose comes sometimes, but it was sad about his losing his son."

Livia listened, perforce, to the tale of Peter Melrose's death; he had been killed in a riding-accident last autumn. She was only half aware of the names conjured, the Melroses, Miss Hermione; all of her mind was attuned to the necessity of making them want her here, making it impossible to do with out her even if they found out she wasn't Mary Reid. First thing, she'd scrub that passage, with its grimy stones. Where was the sand? She asked Mrs. Betts about it.

"You can call me Betty, everyone does," said that lady sadly. "And if you want a bite to eat, when you've got your gear hung up, it's in the kitchen. I'll be glad of a hand; there's Miss Hermione's things, and all the bed-linen. Come down when you're ready."

Having eaten well, on a bit of a cold meat pasty and an apple and a cup of fresh milk, reminding her of the old days at Ransome's, Livia set to on the pile of soiled linen. Who was Miss Hermione?

She first set eyes on that young lady, next morning, when

she carried the tray of chocolate upstairs to her room. The room was in semi-darkness-it was still fairly early, although Livia had already lit fires and carried up cans of hot water to Mrs. Galadriel and to her niece, who was not yet awake. She set down the chocolate-pot and fetched the can, which had been left outside the door, and put it over by Hermione's flower-patterned ewer; then she drew the window curtains. The day outside filtered through the branches of a large old pear-tree, at present bare of fruit; it still left the

room in a green twilight.

Livia went across then and drew the bed-curtains, which were of printed India muslin, not new. The underwater light may have accounted for the breath she drew then; she stood holding the chocolate-things and looking down on Hermione Doon, asleep like some princess of old fable. Livia thought that in all her life she had never seen anyone so beautiful.

Hermione awoke, lifting the long gold-brown lashes which had lain quietly all night on her smooth cheeks; she wore a frilled night-cap of white linen, tied with a tape beneath her chin, and the long hair cascaded under it to her shoulders. She sat up, yawning a little, and accepted the chocolate. Presently she noticed Livia, and smiled. "You must be the new maid. What is your name?"

And Livia, bemused, sunk in the contemplation of beauty and delight such as she had never known existed-this girl's eyes, her hair, her flower like skin, her exquisite smile, were of fairyland, and her tiny hands seemed almost too fragile to hold the cup from which she drank with, granted, a human enough appetite-answered unthinkingly, "My name is Livia, miss." Afterwards, she remembered.