in the echoing silence of the fourth floor, with only the occasional hiss and spit of gas escaping from the coal for company. She curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, glancing nervously into the dark corners of the room, but gradually as the warmth seeped into her chilled bones she began to relax and the shadows seemed less menacing. Mindful of Susanâs threats, Lucy kept adding coal to the fire, nugget by nugget. She was wary of the young tweeny, and she was taking no chances. Life on the streets had taught her how to stand up for herself, but she knew nothing of this strange world, seemingly dominated by servants. Eventually the sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Susan and another girl who, in answer to Lucyâs question, said she was Martha the scullery maid.
âYou shouldnât speak to us,â Susan said with a sly grin. âYou got to learn the ways of the gentry and treat us like dirt.â
âWhy would I do that?â Lucy demanded.
âBecause weâre the lowest form of life.â Susanâs cat-like eyes sparkled with malice. âWe arenât even supposed to look at you if you happen to come across us going about our work. Weâre supposed to be invisible.â
âWhere do they keep the bath?â Martha asked plaintively. âI ainât never been up here afore.â
âLook for it then, stupid.â Susan pointed to two doors on the far side of the nursery. âUse your loaf, girl, and have a look.â She sighed and shook her head, leaning towards Lucy and lowering her voice. âSheâs a bit soft in the head. They say her dad used to bang her head against the wall to stop her crying when she was a baby and it addled her brains. Thatâs if she had any in the first place.â She glanced over her shoulder. âHave you found it yet, Martha?â
âItâs a bit dark in here, Sukey.â Marthaâs voice wavered and broke on a sob. âWill you bring a candle? Iâm afraid of bogeymen.â
Susan rolled her eyes and sighed, but she lit a candle and went to Marthaâs aid. âYou canât see for looking, you daft cow. Whatâs that in the corner?â
âI canât see that far, Sukey.â
âYouâre blind as a bat, girl. You need specs. Give us a hand and letâs get this done; then we can go downstairs and get a bite to eat. Iâm bloody famished.â
Eventually, after several trips downstairs to fetch hot water, the zinc bath was filled and Lucy had to suffer the indignity of being bathed under the watchful eye of Mrs Hodges, who bustled into the room bringing a pile of clean towels. Susan was not the gentlest of souls, and she seemed to take pleasure in scrubbing Lucy from head to foot with unnecessary vigour. She was overly generous with the soap, and when Lucy complained that it stung her eyes Susan poured rapidly cooling water over her head, half drowning her.
The final insult was when Mrs Hodges raked a fine-toothed comb through Lucyâs mop of curls. Her eyes watered but she was determined not to disgrace herself by crying. She eased the torment by imagining herself bathed in warm sunshine, floating on a fluffy pink cloud in a celestial blue sky.
âThere, thatâs done.â Mrs Hodges rose to her feet. âYouâll have to wait for your clothes to dry, Miss Lucy. Susan will bring you your luncheon when sheâs finished emptying the bathtub.â
âCanât I come downstairs, missis?â Lucy asked in desperation. She had seen the look that Susan gave her as she scooped the scummy water into a large enamel pitcher. âI donât mind eating in the kitchen, and can I have my dog back, please.â
Mrs Hodges stared at her as if she had just sprouted two heads. âNo, you may not on both counts. I never heard of such a thing. Youâve got a lot to learn, Miss Lucy. Youâll remain here until youâre fit to be
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