Read Online The Stepson by Martin Armstrong - Free Book Online Page B

weeks since she had come to The Grange she had been dropping further and further out of touch with life. She had become as strange to herself as she was strange to the folk among whom she lived; for they, who were all bound together in the fellowship of work, felt that she was differentfrom them. How far, after all, was this new life from what she had so fondly hoped. And yet, had she not promised herself, as the greatest happiness that her new life would bring to her, that she would drudge no more but enjoy to the full the leisure which was hers to enjoy? Could it be that this long-desired leisure was in truth mere emptiness; that when you stopped working, you stopped living? But work in itself was no satisfaction: she had proved that severely enough, working for a father she had never loved. It would have been different if someone she loved had been dependent on her work. Here at The Grange no one depended on her, for, she reflected, everything had moved quietly and smoothly, as it was moving now, long before Ben had so much as thought of her. Then it came into her mind that one day perhaps she would have children. That, of course, would alter everything; and for the first time Kate began to hope ardently that she would have a child. Then her thoughts turned to David, this boy whom she had never seen. In a way, she told herself, David was her son: she was in the place of a mother to him. And she began to think how pleasant it would be when he came back to live at The Grange; and, feeling a sudden desire to picture him again more clearly, she put aside the book that lay on her lap, rose from her seat and crossed the room to the cupboard, determined to get out the album and examine his photograph again.
    She had opened the cupboard door and her hand was raised to the bookshelves when she heard someone come into the room. She glanced over her shoulder. It was Emma. She glanced sharply at Kate, and Kate, as though she had been caught prying into something that was not her business, felt the blood rush to her face.
    â€˜Was there anything you were wanting in there?’ said Emma, and Kate could feel the aggressiveness that lay beneath the question.
    â€˜I can find it myself, thank you, Emma,’ she said; and Emma, still looking at her, took from the sideboard a glass dish for which she had been sent by Mrs. Jobson and went out of the room.
    Kate stood irresolute. That small occurrence had upset her extremely, and she felt angry with herself for being upset and with Emma for producing such an effect upon her. Then she closed the cupboard door and went back to her seat by the window, troubled and disconsolate. She had not brought out the album.
    Kate took up her book again and tried to read, but now her unhappiness had become acute. The unmistakable sense of Emma’s hatred coming on the top of her mood of depression brought upon her a feeling of loneliness and injury. She sat, her hands gathered on the open book, gazing with a kind of undirected intensity into the hollow of the room before her. The door opened again and Mrs. Jobson,serene and busy, came in. She glanced at Kate and then, murmuring an excuse in her pleasant, musical voice, went to the sideboard, knelt down, and opened the small cupboard in it. There was a sound of moving crockery and glass, and then she rose and moved towards the door, glancing at Kate again as she went. Then, just as she was about to lift the latch of the door, she paused, turned back, and began to cross the room towards Kate.
    â€˜Can I do anything for you, ma’am?’ she asked, her kindly eyes looking solicitously into Kate’s.
    Kate sighed. ‘Don’t call me ma’am, Mrs. Jobson,’ she said.
    The old woman smiled affectionately. ‘Why, what can I call you, then?’
    â€˜You can call me Kate.’
    Mrs. Jobson shook her head. ‘I doubt Mr. Humphrey wouldn’t like that.’
    â€˜Wouldn’t he? Well, call me Mrs. Humphrey, then. But