twisting her hands together, and they were shaking.
“Why did you not do so?”
Florrie caught her breath.
“They were taking on—bad enough—without. As it was, I could see they wouldn’t get over it—Maggie being all they had, and never away from them except just to go up the road to Miss Cunningham’s. So I thought—so I thought—” She broke into a hard sob. “They’d enough, hadn’t they—and the card was a bit of comfort—I hadn’t the heart to go taking it away—”
Mrs. Merridew said,
“Oh dear! But you should have told the police—you really should.”
Florrie flung up her head.
“And how long would it have been before they came worrying my aunt and uncle? I kept it, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I hadn’t! And I don’t know what made me speak of it, but they’re both gone now, and I suppose it don’t matter. All I know is, Maggie wouldn’t have gone off like that, and no more would Miss Holiday. They hadn’t got a boy friend, neither of them, and that’s gospel. Maggie was two years older than what I am, and Miss Holiday isn’t ever going to see fifty again. And not the dressy sort, nor the sort that’s out to get a man, no matter how. Maggie couldn’t be bothered with them, what with the dirt they bring into the house and the work they make. And her father the old bully he was—well, the way she saw it, you can’t get away from the relations you’re born with, but to go and tie yourself up with a husband is clean flying in the face of Providence. And as for Miss Holiday, men just scared her stiff. Why, she wouldn’t go to work in a house where there was a gentleman. Wouldn’t go down the lane to see Mrs. Selby that she’d taken a fancy to and that was always asking her in— wouldn’t even go down to her except when she knew Mr. Selby would be out of the way. Not quite the gentleman of course, no more than Mrs. Selby is what you’d call a lady, but not the kind anyone would be afraid of, if it wasn’t Miss Holiday.”
Mrs. Merridew said,
“The Selbys live down at the end of the Vicarage Lane. He is a retired business man. They have a great many hens, and he goes and plays darts at the Holly Tree every night. He is a very sociable, friendly kind of person, but I think she finds it lonely in the evenings when he is out. I didn’t know that Miss Holiday went there so much.”
Florrie had come back to her usual manner. She said briskly,
“Well, I don’t know about so much. She’d go in there now and again when he was at the Holly Tree, but go before he went or stay after he came back was what she wouldn’t do and nothing would make her. And if she’d feel like that about Mr. Selby she wouldn’t be likely to pick with any strange man, nor he wouldn’t be likely to want to pick up with her, for if anyone was the moral of an old maid, it was her, poor thing.”
Mrs. Merridew pulled her shawl closer about her and began to pour out. Births, and deaths, and disappearances were things that happened, but it didn’t help anyone to let a good pot of tea get stewed. She filled two cups and said in a determinedly cheerful voice,
“Well, Florrie, we must hope for the best.”
CHAPTER 14
Miss Holiday had no relations—at least there were none that anyone had ever heard of. She had been personal maid to old Lady Rowena Thorne, who had allowed her, so everyone declared, to get into dreadfully muddly ways. But then Lady Rowena was a dreadfully muddly old thing who looked like a ragbag and lived in a cottage full of clutter and cats. There was very little money, and out of what there was she left Miss Holiday an annuity of fifty pounds a year, since when she had lodged with Mrs. Maple and gone out to work by the day but never staying anywhere for long. She was, in fact, too incompetent to be tolerated except in a case where there was no one else to be had. All this, which was common knowledge, Mrs. Merridew imparted to her guest.
Having become aware of Miss
“Why did you not do so?”
Florrie caught her breath.
“They were taking on—bad enough—without. As it was, I could see they wouldn’t get over it—Maggie being all they had, and never away from them except just to go up the road to Miss Cunningham’s. So I thought—so I thought—” She broke into a hard sob. “They’d enough, hadn’t they—and the card was a bit of comfort—I hadn’t the heart to go taking it away—”
Mrs. Merridew said,
“Oh dear! But you should have told the police—you really should.”
Florrie flung up her head.
“And how long would it have been before they came worrying my aunt and uncle? I kept it, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I hadn’t! And I don’t know what made me speak of it, but they’re both gone now, and I suppose it don’t matter. All I know is, Maggie wouldn’t have gone off like that, and no more would Miss Holiday. They hadn’t got a boy friend, neither of them, and that’s gospel. Maggie was two years older than what I am, and Miss Holiday isn’t ever going to see fifty again. And not the dressy sort, nor the sort that’s out to get a man, no matter how. Maggie couldn’t be bothered with them, what with the dirt they bring into the house and the work they make. And her father the old bully he was—well, the way she saw it, you can’t get away from the relations you’re born with, but to go and tie yourself up with a husband is clean flying in the face of Providence. And as for Miss Holiday, men just scared her stiff. Why, she wouldn’t go to work in a house where there was a gentleman. Wouldn’t go down the lane to see Mrs. Selby that she’d taken a fancy to and that was always asking her in— wouldn’t even go down to her except when she knew Mr. Selby would be out of the way. Not quite the gentleman of course, no more than Mrs. Selby is what you’d call a lady, but not the kind anyone would be afraid of, if it wasn’t Miss Holiday.”
Mrs. Merridew said,
“The Selbys live down at the end of the Vicarage Lane. He is a retired business man. They have a great many hens, and he goes and plays darts at the Holly Tree every night. He is a very sociable, friendly kind of person, but I think she finds it lonely in the evenings when he is out. I didn’t know that Miss Holiday went there so much.”
Florrie had come back to her usual manner. She said briskly,
“Well, I don’t know about so much. She’d go in there now and again when he was at the Holly Tree, but go before he went or stay after he came back was what she wouldn’t do and nothing would make her. And if she’d feel like that about Mr. Selby she wouldn’t be likely to pick with any strange man, nor he wouldn’t be likely to want to pick up with her, for if anyone was the moral of an old maid, it was her, poor thing.”
Mrs. Merridew pulled her shawl closer about her and began to pour out. Births, and deaths, and disappearances were things that happened, but it didn’t help anyone to let a good pot of tea get stewed. She filled two cups and said in a determinedly cheerful voice,
“Well, Florrie, we must hope for the best.”
CHAPTER 14
Miss Holiday had no relations—at least there were none that anyone had ever heard of. She had been personal maid to old Lady Rowena Thorne, who had allowed her, so everyone declared, to get into dreadfully muddly ways. But then Lady Rowena was a dreadfully muddly old thing who looked like a ragbag and lived in a cottage full of clutter and cats. There was very little money, and out of what there was she left Miss Holiday an annuity of fifty pounds a year, since when she had lodged with Mrs. Maple and gone out to work by the day but never staying anywhere for long. She was, in fact, too incompetent to be tolerated except in a case where there was no one else to be had. All this, which was common knowledge, Mrs. Merridew imparted to her guest.
Having become aware of Miss
Similar Books
