Shouldn't you like to learn, though? You could find a dancing- master.'
'Could I?' She looked doubtful, then shook her head. 'I am not sure . . .'
I guessed what she was thinking. She was thinking of Gentleman, and what he might say when he found out she couldn't dance. She was thinking of all the girls he might 60
be meeting in London, who could.
I watched her fret for a minute or two. Then, 'Look here,' I said, getting up. 'It is easy, look— '
And I showed her a couple of steps, to a couple of dances. Then I made her rise and try them with me. She stood in my arms like wood, and gazed, in a frightened sort of way, at her feet. Her slippers caught on the Turkey carpet. So then I put the carpet back; and then she moved more easily. I showed her a jig, and then a polka. I said,
'There. Now we're flying, ain't we?' She gripped my gown until I thought it should tear. 'This way,' I said. 'Now, this. I am the gentleman, remember. Of course, it will go much better, with a real gent— '
Then she stumbled again, and we flew apart and fell into separate chairs. She put her hands to her side. Her breath came in catches. Her colour was higher than ever. Her cheek was damp. Her skirt stuck out like a little Dutch girl's on a plate.
She caught my eye, and smiled; though she still looked frightened.
'I shall dance,' she said, 'in London. Shan't I, Sue?'
'You shall,' I said. And at that moment, I believed it. I made her rise and dance again.
It was only afterwards, when we had stopped and she had grown cool, and stood before the fire to warm up her cold hands— it was only then that I remembered that, of course, she never would.
For, though I knew her fate— though I knew it so well, I was helping to make it!— perhaps I knew it rather in the way you might know the fate of a person in a story or a play. Her world was so queer, so quiet and shut- up, it made the proper world— the ordinary, double-dealing world, where I had sat over a pig's head supper and a glass of flip while Mrs Sucksby and John Vroom laughed to think what I would do with my share of Gentleman's stolen fortune— it made that world seem harder than ever, but so far off, the hardness meant nothing. At first I would say to myself, 'When Gentleman comes I'll do this'; or, 'Once he gets her in the madhouse, I'll do that.' But I'd say it, then look at her; and she was so simple and so good, the thought would vanish, I would end up combing her hair or straightening the sash on her gown. It wasn't that I was sorry— or not much, not then. It was just I suppose that we were put together for so many hours at a time; and it was nicer to be kind to her and not think too hard about what lay before her, than to dwell on it and feel cruel.
Of course, it was different for her. She was looking forwards. She liked to talk; but more often she liked to be silent, and think. I would see her face change, then. I would lie at her side at night, and feel the turning, turning of her thoughts— feel her grow warm, perhaps blush in the dark; and then I knew she was thinking of Gentleman, working out how soon he'd come, wondering if he was thinking of her.— I could have told her, he was. But she never spoke of him, she never said his name. She only asked, once or twice, after my old aunty, that was supposed to be his nurse; and I wished she wouldn't, for when I spoke of her I thought of Mrs Sucksby; and that made me home-sick.
And then there came the morning when we learned he was coming back. It was an o r d i n a r y m o r n i n g , e x c e p t t h a t M a u d h a d w o k e n a n d r u b b e d h e r f a c e , a n d winced.— Perhaps that was what they call, a premonition. I only thought that later, 61
though. At the time, I saw her chafing her cheek and said, 'What's the matter?'
She moved her tongue. 'I have a tooth, I think,' she said, 'with a point that cuts me.'
'Let me see,' I said.
I took her to the window and she stood with her face in my hands and let me feel about her gum. I found the pointed tooth almost at once.
'Well, that is sharper— 1 began.
'Than a serpent's tooth, Sue?' she said.
'Than a needle, I was going to say, miss,' I answered. I went to her sewing-box and brought out a thimble. A silver thimble, to match the flying scissors.
Maud stroked her jaw. 'Do you know anyone who was bitten by a snake, Sue?' she asked me.
What could you say? Her mind ran to things like that. Perhaps it was the country living. I said I didn't. She looked at me, then opened her mouth again and I put the thimble on my finger and rubbed at the pointed tooth until the point was taken off. I had seen Mrs Sucksby do it many times, with infants.— Of course, infants rather wriggle about. Maud stood very still, her pink lips parted, her face put back, her eyes at first closed then open and gazing at me, her cheek with a flush upon it. Her throat lifted and sank, as she swallowed. My hand grew wet, from the damp of her breaths. I rubbed, then felt with my thumb. She swallowed again. Her eyelids fluttered, and she caught my eye.
And, as she did, there came a knock upon the door; and we both jumped. I stepped away. It was one of the parlourmaids. She had a letter on a tray. 'For Miss Maud,' she s a i d , w i t h a c u r t s e y . I l o o k e d a t t h e h a n d , a n d k n e w a t o n c e t h a t i t m u s t b e Gentleman's. My heart gave a dip. So did Maud's, I think.
'Bring it here, will you?' she said. And then: 'Will you pass me my shawl, also?' The flush had gone from her face, though her cheek was still red where I had pressed it.
When I put the shawl across her shoulders, I felt her trembling.
I watched her then, seeming not to, as I moved about her rooms, taking up books and cushions, putting away the thimble and closing her box. I saw her turn the letter and fumble with it— of course, she could not tear the paper, with her gloves on. So then she sneaked a look at me, and then she lowered her hands and— still trembling, but making a show of carelessness, that was meant to say it was nothing to her, yet showed that it was everything— she unbuttoned one glove and put her finger to the seal, then drew the letter from the envelope and held it in her naked hand and read it.
Then she let out her breath in a single great sigh. I picked up a cushion and hit the dust from it.
'Good news, miss, is it?' I said; since I thought I ought to.
She hesitated. Then: 'Very good,' she answered, '— for my uncle, I mean. It is from Mr Rivers, in London; and what do you think?' She smiled. 'He is coming back to Briar, tomorrow!'
The smile stayed on her lips all day, like paint; and in the afternoon, when she came from her uncle, she wouldn't sit sewing, or go for a walk, would not even play at cards, but paced about the room, and sometimes stood before the glass, smoothing her brows, 62
touching her plump mouth— hardly speaking to me, hardly seeing me at all.
I got the cards out anyway, and played by myself. I thought of Gentleman, laying out the kings and queens in the Lant Street kitchen while he told us all his plot. Then I thought of Dainty. Her mother— that had ended up drowned— had been able to tell fortunes from a pack of cards. I had seen her do it, many times.
I looked at Maud, standing dreaming at the mirror. I said,
'Should you like to know your future, miss? Did you know that you can read it, from how the cards fall?'
That made her turn from looking at her own face, to look at mine. She said after a moment,
'I thought it was only gipsy women could do that.'
'Well, but don't tell Margaret or Mrs Stiles,' I said. 'My grandmother, you know, was a gipsy-princess.'
And after all, my granny might have been a gipsy-princess, for all I knew of it. I put the cards together again, and held them to her. She hesitated, then came and sat beside me, spreading her great skirt flat, saying, 'What must I do?'
I said she must sit with her eyes closed for a minute, and think of the subjects that were nearest her heart; which she did. Then I said she must take the cards and hold them, then set out the first seven
of them, face down— which is what I thought I remembered Dainty's mother doing; or it might have been nine cards. Anyway, Maud set down seven.
I looked her in the eye and said, 'Now, do you really want to know your fortune?'
She said, 'Sue, you are frightening me!'
I said again, 'Do you really want to know it? What the cards teach you, you must obey.
It is very bad luck to ask the cards to show you one path, then choose another. Do you promise to be bound by the fortune you find here?'
'I do,' she answered quietly.
'Good,' I said. 'Here is your life, laid all before us. Let us see the first part of it. These cards show your Past.'
I turned over the first two cards. They were the Queen of Hearts, followed by the Three of Spades. I remember them because of course, while she had been sitting with her eyes tight shut, I had sprung the pack; as anyone would have I think, being in my place then.