The Observations (9 page)

The master was sat in the wing armchair opposite my Arabella. He flicked his eyes at me as I came in then glanced away again almost immediately. For dear sake he was a daddy longleg so he was! So tall and lean he barely fit the length of him in the chair. You would have put him older than missus but no more than 45 and just a shade offhand-some on account of his phiz being on the lengthy side and he was not exactly going bald but lets just say his forehead was
high.
The hair he had was dark and shaggy and grew into louse ladders all up his cheeks. He still had his coat on but his hat was on the floor beside him, and now he was staring past his knees at it while he bit ferociously at his finger nails. The minute I seen him he put me in mind of a bird dog, there was something vigorous and high strung about him like he might bound away off at any moment to do something energetic.

“Bessy!” the missus says a bit sharp.

I looked round startled, I must have fell into a dwam. “Yes, marm?” I says.

She give me a warning look so I knew I must have been staring. I made the both of them a low curtsey which is no mean feet when you’re carrying a
1/2
a ton of tea tray.

“This is your master James,” says the missus.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I says and made him another curtsey. Being otherwise occupied with his “manicure‘ he just nodded. I set the tray on the table and began to lay out the cups and saucers, you could hear every clink of the china and occasionally the sound of the masters teeth snapping together. Meanwhile the missus sat in her chair very still, her hands clasped. It was difficult to judge the atmosphere, it might have been that they were simply waiting for me to go or perhaps they had just had some kind of dispute, I couldn’t tell. All the while even as he savaged his nails the master was casting sideways glances in my direction so I made sure I did everything just so. I began to think that I would leave the room with barely a word being spoke but of a sudden he sat back, put one hand in his pocket and spread the long bony fingers of the other across the front of his waistcoat. Then he proceeded to interrogate me.

It was a bit like a more amiable version of the Spanish Inquisition except that no matter how much he grilled you he never asked a single question, what he did was bombard you with
statements
which he then give you the opportunity to corroborate or otherwise. Perhaps it was his training in the law but I formed the impression that Master James thought questions were beneath him, that what he liked was to be a veritable
Font of Wisdom
and that for him every conversation was a way of proving that he was always—like Solomon—
in possession of all the facts.
He may even have thought he was being sociable but it was an unfortunate way of dealing with people. Combined with his beady-eye gaze and a clipped manner of speaking it was destined to put you on the offensive.

His first words to me was, “You came with excellent references, I believe.”

Flipsake! Needless to say this filled me with great alarm. I shot a glance at missus but she had grabbed up the teapot and was staring at it fixedly while she poured, a high point of colour in her cheeks. What in gobs name had she told him? I had to think quick.

“Sir,” I says, with another curtsey. “I have always gave good service in the past.” And not a word of a lie there too by Jove.

He nodded sagely. “You have experience of the work.”

“I do, sir.” I says, (and did not add, a few weeks worth).

He seemed satisfied with that and nodded again. “I’m told you can read.”

“Yes sir.”

“I know that you write also, quite well—bar a scant understanding of punctuation. But no doubt you learn quickly.”

I hope so sir.“

It was interesting to listen to so extensive an account of your own character, especially from someone you had never even met before! I wondered what I would learn about myself next.

The master stretched back in his seat and splayed his legs out on the hearth. “Well,” he says. “You will have little need of reading and writing here.”

Gob I did not
dare
look at missus.

“Although perhaps you can read the newspaper to me of an evening. You would enjoy that I suspect.”

I nodded politely.

He says, “Apparently, thus far you have proved to be quite indispensable. Very hard working and cheerful.”

“I do my best sir.”

At this point he leaned forward and fixed me with a very searching look. “Towards the end of a morning,” he says, “you are left with a heap of vegetable peelings.”

I just looked at him, quite bewildered by this change of subject.

A pound or two,“ he continues. ”Mixed peelings of potatoes turnips and the like.“

“Sir?”

“These peelings are a little dirty but not mouldered. Describe to me your subsequent course of action.”

“Excuse me sir?” I says.

Missus cleared her throat. “What would you do with the peelings, Bessy?” she says quietly without looking at me.

“Oh!” says I as it dawned on me that this was some kind of test. I had no desire to let her down so racked my brains. “Well I would put them—in—in the bucket for the pig?”

“Hah!” He slapped his knee and stared triumphantly at the missus. “Wrong answer!”

She gazed back at him evenly. “What would you have her do with them, James?”

“Why—rinse them and bile them up for broth!” he says.

“Oh James. Under my instruction she has been putting them in the pig swill.”

He tutted and turned back to me with his dark beady eyes. “I sincerely hope,” he says. “You are not a wasteful girl.”

“Oh no sir.”

“Nothing worse than a wasteful servant. We’ve had our fill of
them
in the past.”

He smiled over at missus, but she avoided his eye so he turned back to me and without further ado embarked upon another swift change of subject.

“Tell me about your parents. I know your mother is—departed.”

“Yes sir.”

“I presume your father is still alive somewhere.”

I looked appropriately mournful and mentioned that he was also “gone‘.

“I see.” He pursed his lips and frowned, then drummed his fingers against his chest, the nails was bit to nubbets. “I’m very sorry to hear that. I imagine you will be wanting to visit their graves from time to time.”

“Sir? Oh no sir I—”

“A departed parent is a terrible thing, I take it you would not mind telling us the cause of their passing.”

“Sir, it was—the typhus sir.”

“Ah. Oh dear.” He nodded his head mournfully then looked across at missus. “We would have no objection to letting her visit the graves on occasion, Arabella.”

“Oh?” says missus. “No indeed.” I think she was as confused as I was by the turn the conversation had suddenly took. The master turned back to me.

“Unless of course they are buried in Ireland,” he says.

“No sir, Glasgow, but I—”

“Very well then. You have our permission.”

He then gazed at me expectantly. What he wanted was gratitude. I give it to him plus a curtsey, even though there was no graves and even had there been I don’t know that I would have visited them.

Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.“

He frowned. “You must miss your home country,” he says.

Not really,“ I says. ”I like it much better here. This is a fine country- It seems very beautiful—well parts of it anyway. And Glasgow is a great city—parts of it anyway—the suspension bridge and all the lights.“

He wasn’t even listening. He only heard what he wanted to hear.

“Aye,” he says. “It’s a terrible thing to be far from home. You haven’t told me how long you have been over here in Scotland.”

That was right, I hadn’t. Gob it was remarkable how he needled you for information without ever seeming to be in ignorance! I wondered did he practise it.

“I been here two years now, sir.”

It was actually four so that was only
1/2
of a lie. I don’t know why I hid the truth, there was no real purpose in it. Perhaps it was because the man was so keen to have what he thought was your Essence, it felt like he was stealing from you, and giving him the wrong information made me feel better.

“Two years, aye,” he says nodding, as if he knew that already but was just testing you. “Well Bessy,” he says. “We shall see how long you last here. You may go now.”

I give them both a curtsey and was about to leave the room when he called out. “Just remind me. The name of the Register Office.”

“Register Office, sir?”

“The Office at which you registered for employment.”

“Oh,” I says. “Yes, sir of course now it was—it was—”

“Lauders,” the missus said. “On Hope Street.”

“That’s right sir, it was Lauders sir.”

“I suppose that cost a fortune,” the master says but he wasn’t talking to me it was my Arabella he was addressing. She dipped her head and smiled at him prettily.

“But I think we will find it will be worth it dear,” she says.

They held each others gaze and it was as though something invisible passed between them for after a moment the master seemed to relax and then he laughed fondly.

“Very well my dear,” he says. “If you say so.”

Of a sudden I felt like an intruder and turned to creep out the room. It was at that moment that my gaze fell upon the missus sewing basket, I was surprised to see her old thimble sitting on top of it. She must have found it then, I thought, perhaps while I was at the shop. Or had she indeed just been trying to get rid of me? I turned to make some remark on the subject but before I could speak she addressed me.

“Oh by the way, Bessy,” she says. “We are invited out this evening so you will not have to make any supper.”

“Out!?” I says.

“Yes,” she says and smiled evenly at her husband. “Is that so unusual?”

“Oh—eh—no marm.”

But I was feeling confused. I was used to our evenings in together, somehow it had never entered my head that the missus would ever dine
out.

“Close your mouth, girl!” the master says. “Or you’ll catch a fly.”

I looked at him. Then I looked back at the missus. “Only I was wondering, marm,” I says. “What about our punctuation lesson?”

“Not tonight, Bessy,” says the missus. “We shall continue again tomorrow.”

The master give a yell of laughter. “Oh dearie me!” he says. “She doesn’t like that!”

I made an effort to smile and give him a curtsey to show that he was wrong. He jutted his chin out at me.

“One last question, Bessy,” he says. “About your father.”

I waited with great interest to see if he actually
would ask
a question but what he said was, “I would like to know his trade.”

“He was a sailor, sir.”

And by all accounts that was more than likely true.

But I didn’t really want any more enquiries on the subject, in the form of questions or otherwise so I curtseyed quickly and went out.

Oh there was a few things I could have tellt him about my parents. And I would have loved to see the look on his face if I had. Come to think of it, perhaps I should have tellt him. He might have dismissed me on the spot as unsuitable.

And then none of the rest of it might have happened.

6

I Make a Discovery

What happened next I am a little ashamed to recount. But since the rest of my tale depends upon it—indeed it is the very substance of my story—recount I must. With hindsight I have only one excuse and that is the natural curiosity of youth.

Missus and the master spent some time in their separate rooms before they went out for the evening. Hector was sent to tell Biscuit to bring round the carriage for 7 and at about 1/2 past 6, I went to see if the missus wanted any help with her clothes. But she didn’t need me, she had got ready herself. She seemed very excited about the idea of dining out because it was some fellow what wrote songs and poems they were going to visit.

“I make up songs,” I says to her.

“I know you do,” she says. But she wasn’t really listening she was inspecting her own reflection by the light of a candle, in the looking glass. “Is this necklace too ornate?”

“No marm it’s lovely,” I says. “I wish I had one like it. Do you like to hear my songs, marm?”

“I do indeed,” she says. “Now where are my gloves?”

“Here they are marm. Is there anything you want me to do while you’re gone?”

“Not really.”

“I tell you what—I could do the standing up and sitting down if you like.”

She paused in the action of stretching her gloves and looked at me. “What?” she says.

“Stand up sit down—I’ll do it and tell you how many times when you get back.”

She frowned. “No, Bessy,” she says. “That is
not
how it works. And you will remember our little discussion, won’t you?”

I looked at her.

“About being discreet?” she says.

“Oh, certainly marm.”

“Good girl,” she says. And then she give me a little kiss.

I think I must have flushed with pleasure and in my confusion stepped forward to return the kiss but she had already moved away and was pulling on her gloves. Where her cheek brushed mine she left behind the fragrance of roses, I could still smell it even after her and the master had climbed into the carriage and gone off together into the night. I wished it was me going.

Well—me and the missus, two ladies dressed in our finest frocks and off out for a night at gaming and cards. Now
that
would have been something to see. That would have been the pigs whiskers.

With the master and missus gone the house suddenly felt very big and empty. For a while I wandered about the downstairs rooms with a candle, realising that I had not really been there entirely on my own before. It felt very cold and lonely and my footsteps echoed on the boards and slates. Usually, the missus was always somewhere within shouting distance not that I ever shouted, she didn’t like shouting, she said that was public house behaviour, you always had to go to her and address her quiet and nice if you wanted to ask something and not bawl it out the window or across the yard like a washer woman or somebody. At any rate after a while I grew restless and decided to go upstairs and have a look at the missus frocks while she was out. I think, in my girlish way, perhaps it was my intention to try to get into one or two more of them, I don’t know. I did open her press but I only glanced at the frocks, didn’t try them on or sniff them or anything. And then after that I thought I might have a peek in her desk. Well the drawer was locked as always. However it occurred to me that now she was out I had sufficient time to try and locate the key. It did take quite a while and I was on the point of giving up my little searches when’t occurred to me that she might have left it in the frock she’d been wearing earlier. Sure enough, when I slipped my hand inside the pocket my fingers closed around a small key. I slid it into the lock of the desk and turned it, then opened the drawer.