Inheritance Feud

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Not quite two months after that, word came of a place for Mary. It was with an old woman in the remote country, who couldn't seem to keep her maids. Her name was Mrs. Galadriel, Mains of Baron. There wouldn't be any chance to pilfer there, Mary was warned by the authorities; Mrs. Galadriel was informed of Mary's weakness, and there would be no chance to get rid of stolen goods in any case, so far from town and with no coach-road. So it was arranged.

Sorrow however awaited the authorities; the devil claimed his own. Tam Imrie the baker's apprentice had, as is known, already shown signs of levity, for which he had been duly punished by the session and by his master. Tam however would complete his indentures, which had prevented his marrying, within the week. On the day this happened, he delivered the order of loaves and meal for the last time to the correction-house, going round as usual by way of the open kitchen-passage in his dray. The dray moved off afterwards; and that was the last anyone ever saw of the youngest inmate, Livia Millarch, who as it happened had been taking her turn at cook-service that day and was not, as afterwards became clear, fully supervised in this process; it was not in fact pos sible to keep an eye all the time. But Livia had been proved a wanton before she was sixteen and her bad end was a surprise to no one. She and Tam had made off; even Tam's master did not know where, although he said the boy had decamped, ungratefully, with all his gear the day the appren ticeship was formally concluded. He himself had no further hold over Tam and nothing could be done.

For Livia, lying snug in the dray behind meal-sacks, some thing could and was; she hid that night in a place Tam showed her, and he brought her food. Next day, Mary was to board the coach for Mrs. Galadriel's. "You'll keep your hood pulled forrit?" said Tam anxiously. The only time when things could go wrong, for all of them, was in the market-place before the coach drove off. Tam couldn't be there himself, for obvious reasons; it was a matter for Mary and Livia alone, and perhaps Ada Park if she should come to see off the passenger.

Ada ame; but no doubt Tam had said a word to the coach-driver, for the latter spent some moments in dalliance with that poor civet. By the time he stepped aboard, one grey hooded figure had been exchanged for another; Ada was too busy waving to the driver to spare time to look for the departing countenance of Mary Reid at the window. This was as well; by then, round four or more corners, Tam and Mary were embracing one another with swift, triumphant happiness before they vanished into their life together. "I gave Livia four of my twelve pence for herself," said Mary when she could. "She'll need them with that Mrs. Galadriel. She's got the papers too."

By then, the coach had gone.

The farmworker's cart set Livia down about a mile from Mains where the lane turned up again towards the moors. Carrying her hamper, she walked slowly on, holding her skirts aside from the high central ribbon of green grass which, even in this winter season, cluttered the narrow road.

At last she crested the rise from which the gables of the dower house could be seen, with Baron itself a brooding ghost beyond. In that first moment as for all of her life, it was the smaller, more intimate house Livia would love best; a warm, welcoming little house, with pitched roof and walls honey-yellow with age on their plaster, covering the old stones. A glimpse of the wintry garden, bare now except for the dark yew-arbour, met Livia as she passed by. It all added to the wonder of the sight; she had not yet seen a garden. She made her way almost fearfully up to the rear door, and knocked on it. To live here, to help cherish this pretty house, would be all she asked, no matter how bad the mistress might be. If only she herself could continue in safety as Mary Reid! Surely with the papers, and the letter, and the distance away it all was, she could be Mary Reid; nobody from Emmett's would ever come here. Every waking moment, every effort of muscle and will, should be spent in turning her into Mary; a new Mary, who worked hard and didn't look at men. Livia the wanton was dead and fled, gone long ago into a different country with Tam Imrie. Let her be fogotten; a new servant had come to the Mains, who would work as no maid had ever worked before. Even this Mrs. Galadriel shouldn't have any complaints if she did exactly as was wanted, every least thing

The door had opened and a middle-aged woman stood there, in cap and apron; a cook, perhaps, or housekeeper. She looked Livia up and down where she stood waiting in her hodden. "You're Mary Reid, I daresay."

Livia bobbed. "Yes, ma'am." It was done now; too late to change, she was Mary. The woman, whom she followed into a stone passageway, didn't look as bad as matron, Priddy or even Gammer had done; but one hadn't yet set eyes on Mrs. Galadriel.

"I'm Mrs. Betts. Best leave your hamper," said the other woman, knocking on a closed inner door. As Livia went in to answer the summons she heard Mrs. Betts' footsteps shuffling away.

She closed the door behind her, and found herself con

fronting Mrs. Galadriel.

That lady sat alone in her room, at her desk, summing up accounts, a goose-quill held firmly in one small hand. The light was, designedly, behind her-Agnes Galadriel had not let full light fall on her face of late years-and her features were difficult to see. The voice when it spoke was cultured, with an overtone lacking in the late charitable ladies of Emmett's. Without being told, Livia knew she was in the presence of county. She hadn't met county before; they didn't interest themselves in the busier aspects of charity, only sometimes giving money to it. But this Mrs. Galadriel wouldn't be giving money to anything, that was certain. Her eyes were too close together. They were flat, blue, somehow repellent eyes, with no more depth in them than a pair of buttons. Mrs. Galadriel in her day had been a blonde, and her faded locks were still somewhat coquettishly arranged beneath her widow's cap of cream-washed lawn. She had long ago left off full mourning for her spouse, who had been dead forty years, not much

lamented. Livia waited, hands held respectfully clasped beneath her mantle; her new employer looked her up and down.

"Mary Reid?" "Yes, ma'am." And she curtsied. That was the second time they'd asked her; soon, perhaps, she'd get used to it and stop jumping inside herself when they called her Mary. Mrs. Ret ford nodded, as if satisfied in one way. Then she said, as if