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"You wouldn't have to pay me wages," I said. "And I'm a good worker. I'd sleep in the kitchen and only need a little food."
Miss Angela Reed were thinking up plenty of objections, but Miss Kaye Reed said the kitchen were no place for an interview, and would I please come to the parlor.
She would write, she said, to Lord and Lady Allyn for my character, since it came out soon enough that I couldn't write for myself. She were sitting at her desk, which were a lovely dark wood, polished so it shone warm. It had a dozen little drawers with crystal knobs and a green blotter laid down. Miss Angela told me later it had belonged to her grandfather and it were their one "good piece." Miss Kaye stroked the edge with her thumb as if it were a cat.
"I shall hear back from the Allyns within a day or two and then we shall be all set, shan't we, Mary?" She "shalled" and "shan'ted" as if it were a special prayer. But she noticed that my reply weren't quick enough.
"Is there a reason you mightn't like me to write to the Allyns, Mary?"
My eyes were lowered, the way I'd learned from Eliza, not looking at her straight. Should I tell the truth or not? If I told a falsehood, would it tie me up further?
"Mary?"
I shrugged, which I knew at once to be the wrong thing.
"We don't like shrugging in this house, Mary. It signals laziness of mind. Look at me, my dear."
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So I looked, and saw the watery eyes behind her spectacles and the soft creased skin of her face dotted with brown spots, like an apple in March at the bottom of the barrel. She seemed truly curious as to how I'd arrived upon the rose-splashed carpet beside her desk.
I would tell her.
"It won't help to write, Miss Reed."
Or some, anyway.
"And why is that, Mary?"
"They don't think much of my character at Allyn House," I said, very quiet. "Mrs. Wiggins, she's the cook you'd hear from, she turned me out, though I were the best worker she had; new, but I tried harder than Eliza any day of the week and especially on Mondays doing the washing."
"Was there trouble?"
My tongue were blubbery and dry at the same time. Do I say? Do I lie? Do I save my own self?
"I were ... married ... without asking, ma'am. I didn't know about permission. I didn't know it were wrong."
"Where is your husband now?"
Pretense over, I began to leak tears and showered the poor lady with my anguish.
"He's gone to Afghanistan! He's with the Ninth Battalion, gone to war!"
She held out a handkerchief and waited while I mopped my eyes and cleared the snot from my nose.
"My niece will not agree with me," she said, "but I am
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old enough to trust my own judgment of the people I meet. We shall have a trial, you and I. You shall be put upon to prove that you are trustworthy, hardworking, and sober. I shall be put upon to prove that I am capable of assessing human nature. Does that suit you, Miss Mary Finn?"
I fell, yes, fell to my knees to thank her, queasy with shame that I were already deceiving her. But truth would come another day. For now, I had a position!
I woke up sudden-like in the middle of the night, with the baby having a bit of a rumble in a strange bed. That was when I heard her words again: Miss Mary Finn, she'd said, knowing all along.
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JAMES 1888 Morning
Those wooden birds and Mama Peevey were waiting. He stood up and checked his trousers for bits of glass or rubbishy vegetables. What did James have to complain about if Mama was lying there sick? He hobbled on stiff legs back out to the street. He'd go up and down the roads that fanned out from the hospital, he'd walk in the sunny spots, he'd find Mama ...
He should be at her side, saying, "Jamie is here now. I'll make you a nice cup of tea, shall I?" James imagined taking the kettle down from its hook and filling it with two ladles of water from the barrel by the step. Rainwater's best, Mama Peevey always told him, it's softer than what comes out of the ground. Nicer for tea and nicer for hair. He'd fill the kettle and poke up the fire and hang the
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kettle on the hob set over the grate ... and when it began to puff away, he'd take it, careful as anything, holding the handle with that old mitten.... James's eyes got a sting thinking of that old gray mitten that used to be Mister's, till Mama knit him new red ones for Christmas just so's she could use the thick gray one for her hot mitt....
Then he'd pour the hissing water into the teapot and give it a swirl to warm the pot, tossing it after out over the back stoop. He'd reach up and take down the tin of tea leaves ... Oh, that tin! James knew exactly the size and shape in his hands, the TETLEY TEA printed across the side ... He'd measure out the tea leaves, one for each visitor and one for the pot. He'd pour in water, just a thumb-depth to start, count to sixty while it steeped, then fill the pot.
James could see Mama's fingers crumbling the brown sugar crystals, feel her eyes look at him as she sipped, before smacking her lips to say, "Oh my Jamie, you do make a nice cup, don't you, for such a little fellow?"
Only he wasn't little anymore, was he? He was nearly eleven and he hadn't made a cup of tea in over four years. But I remember how, Mama. I remember .
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MARY AUGUST 1878 Labor
Mam's babies used to come at night, or how I recall, anyway. Seems there were always dark in the window. I'd be with the little ones when our dad went with a lantern to fetch Mother Layney, the midwife. She'd come with her bag and sidle into Mam's room, wanting a cup of water to drink from time to time. We'd hear moaning and soothing and keening and finally crying. There the baby'd be.
Well, you'll not want to know the details any more than we did, though it might benefit mothers forever if young men had a brighter ken of how a baby arrives.
I were just tapping the end off Miss Kaye's soft-boiled egg when I were surprised with a flood in my drawers. An upsetting way to start the day. It were then Miss Angela who took up the breakfast tray and notified the old lady
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that I were no longer on duty. It were then Miss Angela who dithered and worried while I were amazed with the tide sweeping my insides like I were a seaside cove. Lordy, but what a body takes care of without the head having a single say!
Miss Kaye appeared, not in her usual immaculate condition, but in her nightdress with hair awry.
"Have you not gone yet?" she scolded Miss Angela. "And you," she said to me. "Where will we put you?"
We had not given this a moment's thought. Me not having a bed, aside from the mat before the stove, there were no place to curl up as I wanted, nor anywhere to do the birthing. I scuttled about, tidying the kitchen, but then would feel a furious swelling, like a roasted apple so hot it burst its own skin.
A time went by, long or short I do not know. Miss Angela came back with Mrs. Carroll, who had eyed me and rubbed me a few weeks prior with a cluck and a nod. Now she looked at the kitchen table, which were too short for all of me to lie upon, and decided on the chair instead.
"You'll want the arms to push against," she said, and Lordy, she were right. With her nearby, I gave over to the roar and did not try to stop the hollering. Miss Angela did not linger, but dear Miss Kaye were there with chips of ice to slip between my lips and a sponge for my face. She were most curious and fascinated and near drove Mrs. Carroll mad with questions, it being a first for her as well as for me.
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And finally, with wrenching, bellowing pain, it were over, lickety-split. Amidst all the wet and blood and twingeing, there you were, as fine a boy as ever came to anyone.
Some people look backward with squinted eyes and bitter hearts, cursing themselves for not seeing happiness while it were staring at them. I were lucky now to have an interlude of utter happiness that I revived in clouded moments forever after.
I knew about babies.
I were big enough when all my brothers got born, and I had our Nan from one day old all to my
self. I knew the smallest noise, the wee twitches of the hands, the pee enough for a pony, I knew the smell of the head, the down of the hair, the little soft patch on the skull.
But with all that, I didn't know about having my own. Even Nan, who were cleaved to me, even dear lost Nan were not like having this boy who were the one taught me that a tit can be a gift from Heaven.
Miss Kaye Reed were a dear old lady, and smitten with Johnny as much as a real granny might be. I'd lay him in her lap and she'd marvel, just as if he weren't a fatherless mite who ought to be in the kitchen sleeping in the coal scuttle.
It were one morning, early, when I took up her tea, the way she liked it on a tray in her bed. She never said anything, but why would she hurry down first thing, only to
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listen to Miss Angela carping, when she could start the morning slowly, like a lady, with a soft-boiled egg and two slices of brown bread with plum jelly?
I settled the tray next to her and drew back the curtains.
"No rain today, Mary?"
"No, ma'am."
"Were you up much in the night? Did Johnny sleep well?"
"Well enough, ma'am. He fussed a bit at five o'clock but that were a help, really, it being time to light the fires."
There were a bit more chatter of that nature before I reached the door, she talking to me often, like a person instead of only a maid, which set Miss Angela's teeth to grinding.
"Can you bring him in to visit when I've finished my breakfast?" she said.
"Yes, Miss Kaye."
I delivered John and even left him with her for a few minutes while I carried her tray to the kitchen before our daily walk. I caught myself humming a tune as I rinsed out her teacup, that were how close to perfect life were behaving that morning.
We took a turn about the square, it being a fresh day. Miss Kaye had a fair stride for a lady of her years, Johnny did some cooing, and I considered how if I began to knit this week, he might possibly have cozy leggings by Christmas.
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"You have a fine, fine boy," said Miss Kaye.
"I will not argue with you there." I were not always formal when it were only us.
"His father ... will be proud, when the time comes for them to meet," she said, careful-like. She waited for me to say, but I only rubbed my nose on Johnny's.
"I haven't held a baby since my niece was born." She had a wee chuckle over that. "That would put it somewhere near sixty years."
She patted him and tugged the blanket up, making him snug as we turned against the wind for the walk back.
"I believe I'll have a rest," said Miss Kaye when we came in. "Oh, goodness, the baby has fallen asleep as well! Aren't we a pair?" She laughed her cheery laugh and off she went to lie down.
Johnny slept while I boiled a chicken, all being peaceful until Miss Angela come to the kitchen with a ghastly look pasted on her face.
"Run to fetch Dr. Dode this minute," she said. "My aunt has died in her sleep."
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JAMES 1888 Still Looking
His feet were wet and cold as Coram. He wanted tea himself. And dry clothing, or at least stockings. He'd even welcome gruel.
He tripped and nearly fell. A man caught his arm and pulled him upright, but hurried on without hearing thanks.
James had been dodging people and not paying attention to the houses. What if he'd missed the one with birds? It was too crowded out here, and noisy! He paused for a moment to catch his breath. A woman came along the road, leading a cow at the end of a rope! He'd seen cows before, back in Homefield, in a meadow , but here?
"Hey! Don't touch my girl!"
James jumped back before the dairymaid could swat him. He hadn't been touching, really. It smelled too ... hairy.
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All about him the day was starting; merchants called and laid out wares, an ice cart chinked by; a pair of chimney sweeps, still with clean morning faces, were playing swordfight with their brushes.
And there, in front of him, shuffling awkwardly and using both hands to lug a full basket of pies, was the old man, Pie Peter. A familiar face in all the whirl of London!
"Hello," said James. Whiffs of meat and pastry inspired him to speak. "Could I help carry your basket?"
"Clear off," said the pieman. "Gutter thief."
"I'm not a thief, I swear," said James. "Look, I'll pay for a pie." He flipped open his jacket and pointed to the five gleaming buttons he'd kept to the inside. Pie Peter raised furry eyebrows.
"All right, then," he said.
"Have you got a knife?" said James. He mimed cutting off a button.
The trade was made. The first bite of pie left him dizzy with joy. By the time he'd finished, he thought he might be sick, packing in so much so fast. Pie Peter picked at his teeth while he watched James eat. That made James sicker.
"Do you know where there's a house near here that's covered in birds?" said James. "Carved birds?"
Pie Peter spat out a bit of the pick he'd been digging his teeth with. He signaled with his head, off to the left.
"Brunswick Square," he said. "You want another pie?"
Not a chance of that. James hurried away, his feet burning to take him straight to where he was going.
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MARY 1878 Telling How It Seemed Like the End
Miss Kaye passing on, sudden like that, were as woeful a thing as ever happened since my own mam's deathbed. Dr. Dode came and agreed that she were dead and gone. I helped Miss Angela wash and dress her, though I'd just done it while she were living a few hours before. How quick a person goes from chattering under the shining sky to being a body with nobody home.
She were laid out on her own bed, tidy and elegant as she always were. Johnny, however, forgot his sunny self and now were in the spirit of mourning. He wailed as if his little soul could not bear to lose Miss Kaye. Miss Angela went about tongue-clicking and head-shaking and shoulder-hunching, most anxious to have him quiet. I tried to nurse and tried to keep him shushed but there were
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tasks at hand, what with the blinds being lowered, which alerted the neighbors, who began to stop in, and Miss Kaye's room needing to be put straight all around her before visitors could visit. Johnny fussed as if there were a misery contest and he were set on winning. Of all days!
A tall chap came, wearing a tall black hat and a mourning band around his arm, which I suppose were his everyday apparel, him being in the burying trade. The funeral were set for three days on and she'd be lying there with us till then.
While the baby finally napped, I took a cup of tea up to Miss Angela in her room, where she were shifting through a small heap of garments on the quilt.
"I'll be in black for six weeks," she said, "being a niece. I've got the dark bombazine from when Papa passed on, though I'll have to let it out some...." She were only thinking aloud, not asking advice, or I'd have told her those seams weren't wide enough to expand as much as she'd require, with her fondness for buttered bread.
"But I'll need a dress by tomorrow," she said. "Which do you think is more becoming, Mary? The blue or the russet?"
"The blue, miss."
She lingered on the decision but agreed at last. "Take the russet, then. Go to Robinson's Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street. They can dye it black overnight and deliver here tomorrow. And select mourning cards as well. I shall need two dozen with a half-inch border."
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"Yes, miss. But Johnny's sleeping, miss."
"Leave him here. And hurry back."
Only when I hustled in an hour later, he were clamoring like a fiend, kicking in his basket, and Miss Angela were cross-eyed with being irked so. It were quite a while longer before he'd settle down to nurse.
Evening came and Miss Angela wanted only broth and toast. Her face were gray with the weight of things and I were right sorry for her until she spoke.
"I must inform you, Mary, that there is no longer a position for you here. My aunt was a charitable woman, but I
am not so inclined to provide shelter for ... for a bastard baby."
My face prickled hot. "I nev--!"
She cut me off with a wave. "Naturally you would object. However, this is now my house. I am mistress here and you will leave tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? But ... Miss Kaye! The funeral!"
"You'd not be welcome there in any case. I will pay your wages until the end of the month as my aunt would have wanted, bless her giving soul."
The end of the month were four days away so Miss Angela were not being excessive generous.
"Could I not stay until Saturday, miss? There's a terrible lot of preparing ... and if you're paying me?" My head were swarmed with panic.
"No, Mary, you may not. I have listened to the mewling of your spurious child until I thought I should go mad!"
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"But where will I go?" Tomorrow! "How will I find a position? I have ... Johnny ..."
"These are questions that you should have considered before you surrendered to immorality. I am really only helping you by sending you on your way. Perhaps now you'll do what you should have done to begin with. Lose the child somewhere. Good night."
She turned herself around, holding the chair against her bum and turning it with her. There were no mistake about the interview--and my good fortune--being at an end.
It were resolve alone that carried me from that hour through the days that followed. There were no more fairytale old ladies arriving in carriages. There were no forgiveness from wicked stepmothers. There were no second chances at marrying the handsome prince or the other one, disguised as a frog. It were early autumn and not dead winter, which is why I am alive to tell the tale.
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