Read Online Mary Reilly by Valerie Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Valerie Martin
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and I might spend the rest of my life without standing again in such a doorway with such a woman. I turned away and hurried down the busy street, looking neither right nor left but straight ahead, only wanting to be home in my quiet room where I might best mull over what could possibly be the meaning of this unhappy business.
T his morning I was up early—indeed I slept poorly all night, doubtless from the weight of guilt I feel about my errand yesterday, though it does seem it isn’t my own, but rather Master’s, as doing his bidding is only my duty. Still it
was
my half-day and I’d a perfect right to refuse, though such a course never come to me for a moment until after the whole thing was concluded. I dressed and went down to the kitchen, hoping to be at my work before Cook come in, but of course she was there and would ask at once how my day had gone and if I’d found the cloth for my cloak, so I had to sit over my tea and lie about going to this store or that, but nothing would do. Lying does not come easy to me, nor do I do it well. I thought Cook looked at me close, and felt myself blushing with confusion. Then Mr. Poole come in and said Master had been in his laboratory the entire night and had just come in and wanted his breakfast and fire and then to be left alone, as he intended to sleep until noon, he was that done in. Cook turned to her pans and I put on my bonnet and apron, feeling grateful to have the opportunity to deliver my message so early in the day. Mr. Bradshaw came in and he and Mr. Poole sat down at the table to wait on their own breakfast. “I’ll do the fire now,” I said and went off feeling disapproval in the air, though this was likely my own imagining as there was nothing uncommon in my actions.
I went up the stairs and knocked at Master’s door.He called out to me, I went in and found him, as I expected, lying on his bed in his dressing gown. “I’ve come to do your fire,” I said, and he only responded, “Yes, good,” so I went straight to work, hardly having looked at him. My heart was pounding, as if I had something to fear, and I went over and over sentences that would be the answers to his questions, how I had fared on his errand, what Mrs. Farraday had said, sentences that would tell him how distrustful and sad I felt so that he would explain to me the meaning of it all and set my mind at rest.
When I stood up and turned to him I saw he was lying back on his pillows with his eyes closed, looking for all the world like a corpse, pale and drawn about the temples. My heart sank, for I knew I couldn’t speak and I stood near the foot of the bed gazing at him stupidly.
His eyelids flickered, he saw that I was there, but he seemed too weak to take me in, so he closed them again, turning his head a little away from me. I thought I should have to go away and speak to him at some later time, but just as I was making up my mind to go out he spoke, still without looking at me. “Were you able to deliver my letter for me, Mary?” he said.
“I did, sir,” I said.
“And the answer?”
My poor head seemed about to burst. I knew I could not say any of the sentences I had thought out so careful. I couldn’t even bring myself to say the name of Mrs. Farraday, much less tell my feelings of shock and concern for Master, that she should speak of him sodisrespectful and talk to me, too, as she had, so rude, seeing as I was connected to him and to his house. I heard myself say only, “The answer is yes, sir, though she says you must wait two weeks.”
Master sighed. “Good,” he said. “That will be quite convenient.” Nor did he turn toward me or even open his eyes, seeming to be nearly asleep, and so I went out.
I went down the stairs feeling as weary as if I had worked all day, instead of as I should after my half-day, refreshed and ready to shine up a palace if the chance arose. In the kitchen Cook was just putting out some eggs and rashers. I took my plate with a heavy
T his morning I was up early—indeed I slept poorly all night, doubtless from the weight of guilt I feel about my errand yesterday, though it does seem it isn’t my own, but rather Master’s, as doing his bidding is only my duty. Still it
was
my half-day and I’d a perfect right to refuse, though such a course never come to me for a moment until after the whole thing was concluded. I dressed and went down to the kitchen, hoping to be at my work before Cook come in, but of course she was there and would ask at once how my day had gone and if I’d found the cloth for my cloak, so I had to sit over my tea and lie about going to this store or that, but nothing would do. Lying does not come easy to me, nor do I do it well. I thought Cook looked at me close, and felt myself blushing with confusion. Then Mr. Poole come in and said Master had been in his laboratory the entire night and had just come in and wanted his breakfast and fire and then to be left alone, as he intended to sleep until noon, he was that done in. Cook turned to her pans and I put on my bonnet and apron, feeling grateful to have the opportunity to deliver my message so early in the day. Mr. Bradshaw came in and he and Mr. Poole sat down at the table to wait on their own breakfast. “I’ll do the fire now,” I said and went off feeling disapproval in the air, though this was likely my own imagining as there was nothing uncommon in my actions.
I went up the stairs and knocked at Master’s door.He called out to me, I went in and found him, as I expected, lying on his bed in his dressing gown. “I’ve come to do your fire,” I said, and he only responded, “Yes, good,” so I went straight to work, hardly having looked at him. My heart was pounding, as if I had something to fear, and I went over and over sentences that would be the answers to his questions, how I had fared on his errand, what Mrs. Farraday had said, sentences that would tell him how distrustful and sad I felt so that he would explain to me the meaning of it all and set my mind at rest.
When I stood up and turned to him I saw he was lying back on his pillows with his eyes closed, looking for all the world like a corpse, pale and drawn about the temples. My heart sank, for I knew I couldn’t speak and I stood near the foot of the bed gazing at him stupidly.
His eyelids flickered, he saw that I was there, but he seemed too weak to take me in, so he closed them again, turning his head a little away from me. I thought I should have to go away and speak to him at some later time, but just as I was making up my mind to go out he spoke, still without looking at me. “Were you able to deliver my letter for me, Mary?” he said.
“I did, sir,” I said.
“And the answer?”
My poor head seemed about to burst. I knew I could not say any of the sentences I had thought out so careful. I couldn’t even bring myself to say the name of Mrs. Farraday, much less tell my feelings of shock and concern for Master, that she should speak of him sodisrespectful and talk to me, too, as she had, so rude, seeing as I was connected to him and to his house. I heard myself say only, “The answer is yes, sir, though she says you must wait two weeks.”
Master sighed. “Good,” he said. “That will be quite convenient.” Nor did he turn toward me or even open his eyes, seeming to be nearly asleep, and so I went out.
I went down the stairs feeling as weary as if I had worked all day, instead of as I should after my half-day, refreshed and ready to shine up a palace if the chance arose. In the kitchen Cook was just putting out some eggs and rashers. I took my plate with a heavy
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