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stared at her, for there was a rumour that she had no nose. Sometimes as she hurried by they could hear her muttering: the scarf muffled her curses on the world or some reiterated plaint about the state of her existence. Today, as if she were sleep-walking, she stared ahead of her and climbed the steps of the Wesleyan Chapel. “At least she has religion,” Angel thought, as if she had come upon a child playing with a broken toy.
    When she reached home, she found Aunt Lottie there. She was still in deep mourning for Queen Victoria, and the black and braided dress was brightened only by a bunch of velvet parma violets which Madam had discarded. It wasn’t the usual day for her weekly visit and she seemed excited and nervous.
    â€œWhere have you been?” she asked Angel. Mrs Deverell looked apprehensive.
    â€œOut,” said Angel, going over to the window and throwing her cloak on the sofa.
    â€œAunt Lottie’s been waiting to see you, dear,” said her mother.
    â€œI had a message from Madam. . . .”
    â€œNot more theatricals?” said Angel.
    â€œShall we have a cup of tea first?” Mrs Deverell suggested.
    A silence fell as she began to lay the table. Aunt Lottie fidgeted with the parma violets and Angel looked out of the window. Rain had fallen earlier in the afternoon, and there were still places where the pigeon-coloured rooftops shone with silver. At the corner of the street, a child with shaved head and bare feet was skipping. Her thin arms kept crossing over her breast, the rope looped rhythmically above her head and her pinafore flew out as she bobbed up and down, and her lips moved as she counted.
    â€œAunt Lottie has a suggestion to make,” said Mrs Deverell as the three of them came to the table.
    But over this new offer from Paradise House even Aunt Lottie was dubious, and she hardly knew what reaction to hope for or which one would affect her less disagreeably.
    â€œMadam wants a young maid to train under me ready for Miss Angelica. Up till now, she’s managed with Nannie, with me to help on special occasions, but the time’s coming when she’ll need more than to scrape along like that.”
    â€œPoor thing!” said Angel scornfully.
    â€œSo Madam, having heard me talk of you, thinks it would be better for me to have someone I know to train into ways similar to my own, for she always is consideration itself to me. . . .”
    â€œShe is that,” said Mrs Deverell.
    â€œMadam, then, says for me to come this afternoon, hesitation is not in her make-up. ‘You must go at once,’ she said, ‘and ask her mother.’ So what do you think of taking the position? Do you feel that you have such a vocation?”
    â€œI?” said Angel. The question came out on a deep gasp of astonishment.
    â€œIt would be nice for you to be with Auntie Lottie, and would comfort me to know you weren’t with strangers,” Mrs Deverell said.
    â€œThere’s no life better,” Aunt Lottie said smugly.
    Angel stared at her. “Do you really dare to suggest that I should demean myself doing for a useless half-wit of a girl what she could perfectly well do for herself; that I should grovel and curtsy to someone of my own age; dance attendance on her; put on her stockings for her and sit up late at night, waiting for her to come back from enjoying herself? You must be utterly mad to breathe a single word of such a thing to me. Go back and tell your damned Madam what I think of her insult, ask her what she would say to someone who spoke of her own daughter so degradingly, and tell her that one day she will blush with shame to think of what she has done.”
    Her mother and her aunt sat quite still, as if they were waiting to be photographed, her mother with her head turned slightly aside and Aunt Lottie smiling down at her plate. When Angel had stopped speaking, there was silence. Her Aunt licked the tip of one finger and pressed it