Read Online My Daughter, My Mother by Annie Murray - Free Book Online

have any other clothes, Margaret? Has Mrs Paige washed them for you? Have you been able to have a wash?’
    A shake of the head to all these questions. Words must have passed between the two women after this, as Mrs Paige did start, grumblingly, to pull up water from the well in the garden and heat it to wash Margaret’s clothes occasionally, hanging them on the range to dry overnight. She made Margaret wash out of a bucket. (There was another snatch of conversation that Margaret overheard between the two young teachers one day: ‘The woman doesn’t have the first notion how to care for a child . . .’)
    ‘Does Mrs Paige have many visitors?’ Miss Peters asked, barely above a whisper.
    Margaret shook her head. She had never seen anyone come to the house.
    After another pause Miss Peters said, ‘Have you heard from your mother?’
    Another shake of the head.
    ‘Is . . .’ Miss Peters hesitated. ‘Is Mrs Paige treating you well?’
    This question brought about a vague, floating feeling in Margaret’s head. It was a question she barely understood. Treating you well? It was not something she knew how to think about. As for finding any words to begin on Mrs Paige, with her strange rooms and her cat pouncing on Margaret’s feet in the dark, and Ernest’s riding crop (which had been pointed out to her more than once, a thin, black leather thing with a loop at the end) hanging on the back of the door. (‘It can lash you,’ Mrs Paige had told her, staring hard at Margaret, ‘so beware. It can lash you badly, that can’) . . .
    Miss Peters stopped. ‘Look at me, Margaret. That’s right, dear. Is everything all right? You would tell me if you were worried about anything?’
    Having no idea what other answer she might give, Margaret nodded her head.
    ‘I’m going to show you round,’ Mrs Paige said, the afternoon after Margaret’s arrival. ‘The abode of Mr and Mrs Ernest Paige.’
    Her eyes stretched wide for a second, as if they might pop out of her head, then she blinked hard. It was something she did every now and then. ‘You take note, my girl.’
    She bent down suddenly and put her face close to Margaret’s. Her breath smelled of old onions. Margaret saw, close up, that the mole on Mrs Paige’s left cheek had dark hairs sprouting out of it and that her skin was like old cheese rind. She was dressed in a sagging combination of wool and tweed.
    ‘I don’t have to have you here, you know – it wasn’t my desire to have you. They think ten and six is enough to make a person do anything. Huh! I didn’t want you in here, disturbing Ernest and me. You’ll have to fit in with Mr Paige and me, or there’ll be trouble. And listen to me . . .’
    She grabbed Margaret’s shoulder so hard it hurt and her face was menacing. Margaret had to cross her chubby legs to stop herself spending a penny out of fright.
    ‘I don’t want any gossip, or there’ll be trouble. You’ll be sleeping out in the shed with the rats if I have a peep out of you. Not a word – d’you comprehend?’
    Rubbing her shoulder, Margaret nodded. She didn’t know what ‘comprehend’ meant.
    Mrs Paige straightened up with an apparent shift in mood. ‘But I’ll show you my house – and the sickroom, so you know what’s what.’
    Margaret had still not met Mr Paige. She had wondered if he had already gone out to work, but now she realized he must be ill in bed.
    She was already familiar with the back kitchen, with the dusty range that looked as if no blacklead had been near it for years. Mom had been forever cleaning theirs, when she was well. Mrs Paige didn’t seem to bother. It was the warmest room in the house, for which Margaret was grateful, as she slept there with only the thin blanket.
    ‘I don’t use this room.’ Mrs Paige led her to the front parlour through which they had passed in the dark the night before. Margaret walked into the middle of it and stood looking round. There was the front door and a window looking out