Sally started to follow her, then scurried back into cover. For Mrs. Fiske came quickly down again, wrapped in a shawl and tying a drab bonnet under her chin. She went out by the street door.
Now, where are you off to, you old cat? Sally mused. To fetch a doctor, p’raps, or a constable—
Suddenly she was struck from behind. She stumbled on the stairs and scrambled around to face her enemy.
It was only the flaxen-haired girl, Florence, looking as dazed as herself. “Who are you?”
“Me name’s Sally. I come here to be reformed, only it seems like it ain’t a good day for it.”
“No, it ain’t.” Florence giggled nervously. “I’m sorry I run right into you like that. I’m in such a pucker, I didn’t see you. We’re all at sixes and sevens—Red Jane’s spilled her porridge down the front of my apron. Just look!”
“I heard a gal laid hands on herself last night.”
“Hush!” Florence put a finger to her lips and looked about warily. “Mr. Harcourt’ll cut up rough if he hears us talking about it.”
“He won’t hear nothing—he’s too far off.” All the same, Sally sank her voice. “This gal Mary—who was she?”
“Nobody knowed, really. She wasn’t like the rest of us. She was a lady.”
“A lady?” Sally pricked up her ears.
“Certain sure. You could tell by the way she talked— when she talked, which wasn’t often. Mr. Harcourt was that cross with her, on account of she’d never say nothing about herself, or where she come from, or who her people was. He wanted to know all about her, you see, because anybody could tell she’d been brung up respectable, and he thought if he could send her home, reformed and right as a trivet, her people’d be ever so grateful. Leastways that’s what Peg says, and Peg always knows his mind.”
It must’ve been this gal Mary as wrote the letter! Sally thought. A lady, and one as wouldn’t talk about herself.
“It’s mortal sad, ain’t it?” said Florence, “her drinking down that poison in the dead of night, all alone. If she hadn’t been in the Black Hole, she couldn’t have done it. Somebody would have stopped her.”
“What’s the Black Hole?”
“It’s a little room—hardly more nor a closet, really. We call it the Black Hole on account of it has no windows or hearth, so it’s always dark and cold. It’s for punishing an inmate as is in-tracktable . Mr. Harcourt put poor Mary in it directly she come, because she wouldn’t confess her sins or tell where she come from, or even give her true name. Just called herself Mary—and when she was asked her surname, she’d say ‘Magdalene.’ She was plucky, in her way, was Mary. So Mr. Harcourt was in a bad skin with her from the first. He made her sleep all alone in the Black Hole—not like the rest of us, we sleeps four or five to a room—and in the daytime she had to take her meals at a little table by herself, and wear a sign round her neck that said ‘Unrepentant.’ I don’t know why he let her stay at all—he’s put many a gal over the door for much less. I s’pose it’s as Peg says: he thought her people might be swells, and do something for him.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “ ’Cept, that’s not all there was to it. He wanted to break her.”
“Bugger his eyes!” said Sally. “That ain’t no way to treat a dog, let alone a poor gal as is gently bred, and lost her character!”
Florence nodded sadly. “She felt it, did Mary. Very low, she was. Though it’s queer—”
“What?” Sally prompted.
“She seemed better the last few days—not so green about the gills as she was before. And she’d smile to herself sometimes, like she was hugging a secret to her heart. Mr. Harcourt didn’t like that above half, I can tell you! But p’raps it was just her medicine put her a bit more in form. She was taking a cordial— ‘Summerson’s Strengthening Elixir,’ it’s called. You wouldn’t think she’d want to make away with herself, just
Now, where are you off to, you old cat? Sally mused. To fetch a doctor, p’raps, or a constable—
Suddenly she was struck from behind. She stumbled on the stairs and scrambled around to face her enemy.
It was only the flaxen-haired girl, Florence, looking as dazed as herself. “Who are you?”
“Me name’s Sally. I come here to be reformed, only it seems like it ain’t a good day for it.”
“No, it ain’t.” Florence giggled nervously. “I’m sorry I run right into you like that. I’m in such a pucker, I didn’t see you. We’re all at sixes and sevens—Red Jane’s spilled her porridge down the front of my apron. Just look!”
“I heard a gal laid hands on herself last night.”
“Hush!” Florence put a finger to her lips and looked about warily. “Mr. Harcourt’ll cut up rough if he hears us talking about it.”
“He won’t hear nothing—he’s too far off.” All the same, Sally sank her voice. “This gal Mary—who was she?”
“Nobody knowed, really. She wasn’t like the rest of us. She was a lady.”
“A lady?” Sally pricked up her ears.
“Certain sure. You could tell by the way she talked— when she talked, which wasn’t often. Mr. Harcourt was that cross with her, on account of she’d never say nothing about herself, or where she come from, or who her people was. He wanted to know all about her, you see, because anybody could tell she’d been brung up respectable, and he thought if he could send her home, reformed and right as a trivet, her people’d be ever so grateful. Leastways that’s what Peg says, and Peg always knows his mind.”
It must’ve been this gal Mary as wrote the letter! Sally thought. A lady, and one as wouldn’t talk about herself.
“It’s mortal sad, ain’t it?” said Florence, “her drinking down that poison in the dead of night, all alone. If she hadn’t been in the Black Hole, she couldn’t have done it. Somebody would have stopped her.”
“What’s the Black Hole?”
“It’s a little room—hardly more nor a closet, really. We call it the Black Hole on account of it has no windows or hearth, so it’s always dark and cold. It’s for punishing an inmate as is in-tracktable . Mr. Harcourt put poor Mary in it directly she come, because she wouldn’t confess her sins or tell where she come from, or even give her true name. Just called herself Mary—and when she was asked her surname, she’d say ‘Magdalene.’ She was plucky, in her way, was Mary. So Mr. Harcourt was in a bad skin with her from the first. He made her sleep all alone in the Black Hole—not like the rest of us, we sleeps four or five to a room—and in the daytime she had to take her meals at a little table by herself, and wear a sign round her neck that said ‘Unrepentant.’ I don’t know why he let her stay at all—he’s put many a gal over the door for much less. I s’pose it’s as Peg says: he thought her people might be swells, and do something for him.” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “ ’Cept, that’s not all there was to it. He wanted to break her.”
“Bugger his eyes!” said Sally. “That ain’t no way to treat a dog, let alone a poor gal as is gently bred, and lost her character!”
Florence nodded sadly. “She felt it, did Mary. Very low, she was. Though it’s queer—”
“What?” Sally prompted.
“She seemed better the last few days—not so green about the gills as she was before. And she’d smile to herself sometimes, like she was hugging a secret to her heart. Mr. Harcourt didn’t like that above half, I can tell you! But p’raps it was just her medicine put her a bit more in form. She was taking a cordial— ‘Summerson’s Strengthening Elixir,’ it’s called. You wouldn’t think she’d want to make away with herself, just
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