Chapter Thirteen (第1/2页)
t te rise and go doo tc Rie, and again puts o my skirts, to nudge me, tands and laug stir, t someone brings me soup, . t taken a I must rise at last, to visit t t-faced girl—Dainty—is made to so it, tands at to keep me from running from it into t. I remember t I I am undressed and put in a nig my o I sleep, per I am ling of taffeta— t I look in o see Mrs Sucksby do o the bed beside me. I remember
t ss o me, tc to h.
I kno I am scious of t of s of sly into an even sleep, and snores, in and out of slumber. tful sleeping makes t seems to me t s in it—s!—ts of smoke, I am pelled to stumble. I Briar; no Mrs Creams; noable beside me. I o moan and long for slumber—for al t, es truly lie, I am.
At last I sleep again. ttle. treet-lamp burning, t t scarf t is put out. t turns filtime, to a sickly yello creeps, and creeps sound—softly at first, taggering cresd, tramp of feet, ting of es, out of t of London. It is six or seven oclock. Mrs Sucksby sleeps on at my side, but I am c my stomac is May, and milder Briar—I sill my clot dressed, .— I remember , noood dosed and dazed before to tly, and gro my ts are get out. I must get out! I must get out of London—go a money. / must, I t t of all—/ must get
Sue! Mrs Sucksby breat s taffeta goo it and pat ts of its skirt. Empty. I stand and study t of draelpieo keys; but many places, I suppose, w be cealed.
tirs—does not moves o remember . . . Sy movement of al. I take a step. ed, e ep again, and tand at a moment, uain; t my fingers behe edge of pillow and slowly, slowly, reach.
Sakes my , and smiles. She coughs.
My dear, I loves you f, s t been born ts got touc past me, rong about my arm; turns to a caress. I s you cold! s, let us cover you up. Sted quilt from ts it about me. Better, dear girl?
My angled, and .
I wish I were dead, I say.
O kind of talk is t?
I wishen.
Sill smiles. ild ? ts Mr Ibbs, a-cooking up our breakfasts. Lets see a plate of bloaters before her!
S t in ticoat; noo affeta goo dip er and brusra la, hee hee, she sings brokenly, as she
does it. I keep my oangled c are cracked, and bulge at toe. o ogs, s and permaly marked by ters.
tarted g. t my otheir pap.
e do go doo escape. But I look at myself. Like t you give me back my gown, my shoes?
Per too keenly, ion, in it. Sates, t dusty old frock? ts? s akes up t ladies oo. S you look . o be s rise before tleman—ate of dis sider no of—s say an uncle. Eh?
I turn aeful to me; but I go o t dark kitctle lourns in the lock.
I step at oo t o try t is s up tigout.
So to to pus t, by an ing nails t keep t I t give, if I pus t; and I am still undressed. orse t, treet ; and t first I to call to to break to signal and ser a sed I begin to look more closely at ty clots t run and tumble at twelve
is is c . . .
At to tters -sy bas and feeds s c at me.
I start back from th my hands.
hen Mrs Sucksby es again, however, I am ready.
Listen to me, I say, going to Rie away from my uncles ?
Your uncle? s me a tray, but stands in til I move back.
Mr Lilly, I say, as I do it. You k. Dont you suppose his?
I s it. Aint we made you cosy, dear?
You kno you?
All rig is Mr Ibbs. My voice of tco t of tairs. Ricoo, irred in en.
All rigly. to me. And , look, growing chilly.
Ss tray upon t I kno Mr Ibbs still stands at t of tairs, t Rid listens at top. tray e and a fork upon it, and a linen napkin. Upoer a ttle like t for my especial use at Briar; but tial.
Please let me go, I say.
Mrs Sucksby shakes her head. Dear girl, she says, go where?
Ss and, w answer, leaves me. Rico his bed. I hear him humming.
I taking up te, against t be strong. You must be strong and ready to run. And so I sit a—sloc tained; and I o replace them.
After an o take ty plate. Anotand, again, at to t, and pace again. I pass from fury to maudlin grief, to stupor. But tering rage. I make a run at o strike he floor and kick, and kick—
two passes in darkness.
, it is again unnaturally early. ttle basket ced gold, cus. I take it to t me, until Mrs Sucksby yawns and opens her eyes.
Dear girl, all rigy of tion—o be so rat—prompts me to grind my teet my ty to taking t be over, ? Im ready to bust.
I do not move. After a sed sc is a te c, , in t of m, I queasily took to be clumps of
ion merely—a great eye it, in a plain black fount, a motto:
use me tell of w ive seen!
a present from wales
t or t Mrs Sucksby sets t dos , and stoops. hen I shudder, she makes a face.
Not nice, is it, dear? Never mind. e s, in rand house.
Sraigticoat between hen she rubs her hands.
No do you say to t oday, make you look , its a dull old t it? And queer and old-fas ry you in somet dresses saved for you—got em fine, you believe it. say y in a em fitted up? Daintys clever ss just you broug dragged up. But s .
Stention, no escape.
S of fis it. S as syrup: it makes my beat er. Ss a tories to take to my face, under my arms, bet time, in all my life, t I washed myself.
ty. t them
doie trings and dra goy sees t, rimming it, anotripe, and a ty takes up an edge of clotrokes it.
Pongee? she says, as if in wonder.
Pongee, of ones. Ss t, ed ligained h coeal.
Sc do you say, my dear, to these?
I ks of London. My hey are hideous, hideous.
S no you beeoo long in t dreary great to be if youve no more idea of fas? , dear girl, upon to. S takes your fancy? the silver?
you a grey, I say, or a brown, or a black?
Dainty looks at me in disgust.
Grey, brown or black? says Mrs Sucksby. ?
Make it t, t last. I tripe o t of dra up. S stogs, and stays, and coloured petticoats. tticoats astonis linen must be as, all black books must turn out Bibles.
But I must be coloured nowo girls dressing a doll.
No? says Mrs Sucksby, studying till, my dear, akes her measure. Lord,
look at your .—eady! A person dont to ell you.—ts better. too loose, is it? ell, be particular about ts em.
take a bring me o o . . .?
S distractedly. S y stitc to t of table in t co sort tems inside. I cs my jetle linen packet, un and tips tents into her lap.
No once ures ss it quickly aside. A bracelet of emeralds, s, in fas time of King Gee; but ones. e ss too is, firl you a of beads—glass beads, but you mucter. And— Os t t a beauty? Look Dainty, look at tunning great stones in t!
Dainty looks. a spanker! she says.
It is ts I once imagined Sue breat ing eye. Noudies it sparkles. It sparkles, even here.
I kno mind? Ss clasp and pins it to ty lets fall o ch her.
Oh, Mrs S! she says. You looks like a regular queen.
My beats ainly—not knoo pliment or mock. I do not know, myself.
For a time, ty finiss and pins it into a knot. tand, so t survey me. tant, tilt t ty rubs her nose. Mrs Sucksby drums her fingers across her lips, and frowns.
ter s about it: I turn, and see . I barely reise myself. My moute. My eyes are sure and colour of yellos of t my t.
Per, after all, says Mrs Sucksby, aint t too like bruises. And as for your c say you give it a bit of a pinc t? No? Let Dainty try for you t a grip like thunder, she has.
Dainty es and seizes my d t from her grasp.
All rig! sossing amping. Im sure, you keep your yellow face!
o like one. You put t lip in. Dainty o pout. ts better. Miss Lilly, ake try touc green— all, so long as you keep from sing too he bodice.
But I ot bear to be let en t dress. You like it, dear girl? ser. t last. Noun ts? Miss Lilly?—Dainty, you go on first. tairs are tricky, I se for Miss Lilly to take a tumble.
Sy passes before me and, after a sed, I folloill I o Briar. t of tairs, t I ougo take? I am not sure. I ot see. Dainty raordinary sound—a sound, like trembling, to silence. I start, and turn. Mrs Sucksby urned. Go on, you old bird! s. And to me, more sly: Ns only Mr Ibbss aged sister, t is kept to o the horrors.
S and en doairs—my limbs ad my breaty s at ttom. to fill it. In o tcreet-door bes across it. I sloep. But toucs rigep again, and almost stumble.
tg at table playing at dice. t t! y, say it was you and Ill kiss you.
Ill bruise your eyes, get my ired. Get out of t ctle er, a down.
S ing tg t.—Keep ts out, sg her.
Jos ty seat. e, Maud, beside me. And if you to fly at my eyes—
as you did, you kno to knock you down again.
Jo you make so free make free h yours—you hear me?
Riswer. us be friends again, hmm?
s o me, and I dodge it, dras aening of tc care, I say, to be t a friend of yours. I dont care to be t a friend to any of you. I e among you because I must; because Mrs Sucksby , and I life left io t , remember the you all.
And I sit, not in ty place beside in t rog-c table. I sit in it and it creaks. Joy gaze quickly at Mrs Sucksby, imes.
And , f a laugake ts and ?
Gone off on a job, says Joook Charley ag.
Ss sleeping?
Gentleman give em a dose, half an ho.
Good boy, good boy. Keep it nid quiet. S me. All rig of tea, per ans ro my cs coffee, ty, up some er.—Like a cake, dear girl, to c do ac care for cakes?
t could be served to me be to me as ashes.
S a mout, for poetry! As for the cake, now—? I look away.
Dainty sets about making ticks, and strikes tte. tobaoke, and smoke from tting dles, already drifts from wall
to ly gleam, as if painted ures—of , raits—of Mr Ced to a board of cork; and are muc-holes.
If I , I t ten t, make Mrs Sucksby give up tle. If I had a knife.
Rics te, narroty dress, trimmings, and I ut, tut, emper not muc you en up in fi. As apples do. And veal-calves.
Go to hell, will you? I say.
t, s, sounds a, sounds almost s. Still, dear—able, drops nt speak so nasty.
I o me, do you?
Ster and she looks away.
I drink my coffee, t speak again. Mrs Sucksby sits, softly beating able-top, ogeto a froy s to steam and stink. I y eyes. My stomak again. Or an axe . . .
But tiflingly , and I am so aurned. Mrs Sucksby is feeding babies, and Dainty is cooking a supper. Ba, cabbage, crumbling pota-
toes and bread: te and, miserably pig free trips of fat from ts from ts of fis it. t out glasses. Care for some tipple, Miss Lilly? Mrs Sucksby says. A stout, or a
sherry?
A gin? says Richard, some look of mischief in his eye.
I take a gin. taste of it is bitter to me, but triking t stirs, brings a vague and nameless fort.
So t day passes. So pass t folloo bed— am undressed, every time, by Mrs Sucksby, ticoats and locks t in ttle gold cails of my fi, my plan of escape. For I must escape. I o Sue. are took remember. kno. First, to Briar, beg money from my uncle—ill believe s! Ill beg from Mrs Stiles! Or, Ill steal! Ill steal a book from t book, and sell it—!
Or, no, I do t.—For t of returning to Briar makes me s occurs to me in time t I er all. I rey. Mr o see me climb a staircase. Could I go to myself in e enougrey, ed me to o reet.—I treet ot be far— it? I do not kno I s trey will rey will help me find Sue . . .
So my ts run, w me; wers, wer screams,
wleman cougurns in hers, and snores, and sighs.
If only t keep me so close! One day, I time a door is made fast at my back, one day t to lock it. tired of alc, t. I plain of ted air. I plain of ting . I ask to go, ofteo t t dark and dusty passage at t. I knoo freedom, if I t e: Dainty ime, and s until I e out.—Once I do try to run, and scs ting me go.
Ricakes me upstairs, and s me.
Im sorry, . But you kno, for t ing, you told me once. you oblige us?
t e bruise quite fades, I will escape!
I pass many , in tc t—Per me, I times it almost seems t tir of ty and Jo cards and dioo be sold to Mr Ibbs and tonisuff, it seems to me, all of it: s, ill bound umbling stream of t like t came to Briar, t came as if sinking to rest on t fatains, the rods . . .
ts ahe making of money.
A money-making thing of all, is me.
Not c peckis taking a fever, I ans uck rugs about me, I let and c look at t going to smile? Not even—s to e. t follo aint so long, is it?
S, almost pleadingly; but I gaze steadily into o say t a day, an oo long, wh her.
O my . Still seems rato you, does it, s? s you, t your spirits? ty ri box? A singing bird, in a cage? Per. As a bad one, so over fast—nip out a Miss Lilly a bird in a cage.—Yelloter, Jos pretty . . .
Surns in . t t, t from a beam, t to make it flutter; C. It sing, oo dark—it and pluck at its e ts cage. At last t it. Joakes to feeding it tcime, to make it so ig.
Of Sue, no-one speaks at all. Once, Dainty looks at me as ss out our suppers, and scratches her ear.
Funny t e back from try, yet. Aint it?
Mrs Sucksby gla Ric Mr Ibbs, and t me. Ss o Dainty, I ed to talk about it, but you mig, norut ing baot ever. t last little bit of busi Gentlema o see to for , Dainty, he cash.
Daintys moutrinder? to e doo guess ook all of Mrs Sucksbys money, and ts . Just about broke Mrs Sucksbys . If o kill her.
Done a flit? Sue trinder? s. S got the nerve.
ell, s.
S, says Mrs Sucksby, me, and I dont to s all.
Sue triurned out a sharper! says John.
ts bad blood for you, says Ric me. Shows up in queer ways.
did I just say? says Mrs Sucksby s . But le. ter a moment, he laughs.
More meat for us, t it? e. —Or for there.
Mrs Sucksby sees me; and leans and s him.
After t, if to ter Sue, taken aside and told, like Joy, t surned out rinder? s t is, ing out in t it seems to me, too, t t seems to me t even Joy fet is a s-memoried er all. It is a
s-memoried district. Many times I to tsteps, taking fligly, in darkness. tep of tters -saken by anoturn, moves on, to be replaced by anots Sue, to them?
s Sue, to me? Im afraid, o remember t Im afraid, too, of fetting. I ake out ture of tures ted c. Scfully. Finally sakes ture away.
Dont you be t are done and t be c, dear girl? You time to e.
S. But I am still brooding on my future. I am still ed—soon one in a lock, I kno. I am d Jooo used to me. turn careless, t. Soon, I think. Soon, Maud.
So I til this happens.
Ricakes to leaving t saying o y streets, or to sit in t and tcifles stifles me. One day, returns in an , for once: Mr Ibbs and Jo, and Dainty is sleeping in a cs o td kisses her cheek. his face is flushed and his eyes are gleaming.
ell, hink? he says.
Dear boy, I t imagine! once?
Better t, do you t of t look so fierce! Save t, till youve s you, rather.
o o table. I sting, the shape of my life.
Youll see. Look s o coat pocket and dra. A paper. .
A bond, dear boy? says Mrs Sucksby, stepping to his side.
A letter, you play? S is someone you know. A friend, very dear.
My gives a lurce. But s.
Not Dainty; guess?
I turn my face. o tell me, dont you?
s anot; t ed. You are ied!
Let me see, I say. Perer all.
Noer , not yours.
Let me see!
I rise, pull down hen push him away.
ts not my uncles ed, I could strike him.
I never said it ers from sent by anoteward, Mr ay.
Mr ay?
More curious still, and t, o me. Read t. Its a postscript; and explains, at least— so queer—will now . . .
tilt to catc lighen read.
Dear Sir.—I found today among my masters private papers, tter, & do suppose it to be sent; only, o a grave indisposition sly after e it, sir, o tiles & me did t first, t to notice, sir, t to onis deed; as, begging leave again sir, no more fully, sir, and presume to finds you ay, Steward of Briar.
I look up, but say not, urn tter is s, and dated 3rd of May—seven says this.
to Mr Ricopaken my niece, Maud Lilly. I , and sincts, if not o t I take fort in my loss, from t I fancy you, sir, a man ing of a whore.—C.L.
I read it, times; t again; t it fall. Mrs Sucksby instantly takes it up, to read he words, she grows flushed. hen she has finished, she gives a cry:
t blackguard! Oh!
y. ho, Mrs Sucksby? ho? she says.
A s all. A o be. No-one you knoo sleep. She reaches for me. Oh, my dear—
Leave me alone, I say.
tter me, more than I should have believed. I
dont kno is t ; or to give, to Mrs Sucksbys story. But I ot bear to be cir. I eps-— to toto a door; and I seize and vainly turn the handle.
Let me out, I say.
Mrs Sucksby es to me. So reac for t for my face. I puso t me out! Let me out! She follows.
Dear girl, s let yourself be upset by t old villain. ears!
ill you let me out?
Let you out, to you need no everythem gowns—
Sep bay o it—a fist—a a it. ts pages sd pluck it from its pin. Dear girl— Mrs Sucksby says again. I turn and t at her.
But afterears ter aken it from me. t it stay t groeadily blacker, as es. to be filled o a fury: ing.—You knolemans son? , to look at me now? ould you?
I do not ans. I o any kind of solicitor or la I pass my days in a sort of restless let nig is too to sleep—at night I
d at the narrow window in Mrs Sucksbys room, gazing blankly
at treet.
tome a, Mrs Sucksby take a fever, from t?
May oake a fever, from a draugid air? I lie do il so to the deeper.
I almost fet t I mean to escape. Per. For at last ternoon—at tart of July, I ty to guard me.
You cells o , my dear? I s be gone an , shall I?
I do not ansy lets , ts ts, draable-top, and takes up tit listlessly, o do to try?
I s my eyelids fall; and presently, s; and am suddenly ry teal t! So s. ticks off tes—fifteen, ty, ty-five. go.
Sleep, Dainty. Dainty, sleep. Sleep, sleep . . . Sleep, damn you!
But s up.
Dainty, I say.
S is it?
Im afraid— Im afraid I must visit the privy.
Ss down ye?
Yes. I place my omak I am sick.
S titution?
I t must be. Im sorry, Dainty. ill you open the door5
Ill go hough.
You . You migay at your se;
Mrs Sucksby says I must go ime; else Ill catc. here.
Sreted beain edged to tc me: I kno, even if I mig ond ock t I imagine doing it, and my s gro think I could.
Go on, sate. s up?
Note, slo , I say.
No, Ill . S take the air.
t is I step inside and close t it; t me. ttle s broken paopped up is cracked and smeared. I stand and te. All rigy. I do not ansamped e. From a . Ladies alemens Cast-off Clotion, anted for— elston & New-laid Eggs—
think, Maud.
I turn to face t my mouto a gap in the wood.
Dainty, I say quietly.
is it?
Dainty, I am not fetg.
? Sries t, miss.
I t. I darent. Dainty, you must go to t
in my room upstairs. ill you? there. ill
you? O rushes! I am afraid of
the men ing back—
Oandi last. S you out ?
ill you go for me, Dainty? But Im not to leave you, miss!
I must keep il Mrs Sucksby es! But say t Jo! Or say I she door
is bolted! ters. And t of drawers, you
say?
top-most dra. ill you
ust make myself , and take it so
badly—
All right.
Be quick!
All right!
o t, td run. I run out of to t—I remember ttles, t me. But I run furty pat before; but I see it, and kno—I kno!—it leads to an alley and turn, leads to a and leads me— reise, t
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t te rise and go doo tc Rie, and again puts o my skirts, to nudge me, tands and laug stir, t someone brings me soup, . t taken a I must rise at last, to visit t t-faced girl—Dainty—is made to so it, tands at to keep me from running from it into t. I remember t I I am undressed and put in a nig my o I sleep, per I am ling of taffeta— t I look in o see Mrs Sucksby do o the bed beside me. I remember
t ss o me, tc to h.
I kno I am scious of t of s of sly into an even sleep, and snores, in and out of slumber. tful sleeping makes t seems to me t s in it—s!—ts of smoke, I am pelled to stumble. I Briar; no Mrs Creams; noable beside me. I o moan and long for slumber—for al t, es truly lie, I am.
At last I sleep again. ttle. treet-lamp burning, t t scarf t is put out. t turns filtime, to a sickly yello creeps, and creeps sound—softly at first, taggering cresd, tramp of feet, ting of es, out of t of London. It is six or seven oclock. Mrs Sucksby sleeps on at my side, but I am c my stomac is May, and milder Briar—I sill my clot dressed, .— I remember , noood dosed and dazed before to tly, and gro my ts are get out. I must get out! I must get out of London—go a money. / must, I t t of all—/ must get
Sue! Mrs Sucksby breat s taffeta goo it and pat ts of its skirt. Empty. I stand and study t of draelpieo keys; but many places, I suppose, w be cealed.
tirs—does not moves o remember . . . Sy movement of al. I take a step. ed, e ep again, and tand at a moment, uain; t my fingers behe edge of pillow and slowly, slowly, reach.
Sakes my , and smiles. She coughs.
My dear, I loves you f, s t been born ts got touc past me, rong about my arm; turns to a caress. I s you cold! s, let us cover you up. Sted quilt from ts it about me. Better, dear girl?
My angled, and .
I wish I were dead, I say.
O kind of talk is t?
I wishen.
Sill smiles. ild ? ts Mr Ibbs, a-cooking up our breakfasts. Lets see a plate of bloaters before her!
S t in ticoat; noo affeta goo dip er and brusra la, hee hee, she sings brokenly, as she
does it. I keep my oangled c are cracked, and bulge at toe. o ogs, s and permaly marked by ters.
tarted g. t my otheir pap.
e do go doo escape. But I look at myself. Like t you give me back my gown, my shoes?
Per too keenly, ion, in it. Sates, t dusty old frock? ts? s akes up t ladies oo. S you look . o be s rise before tleman—ate of dis sider no of—s say an uncle. Eh?
I turn aeful to me; but I go o t dark kitctle lourns in the lock.
I step at oo t o try t is s up tigout.
So to to pus t, by an ing nails t keep t I t give, if I pus t; and I am still undressed. orse t, treet ; and t first I to call to to break to signal and ser a sed I begin to look more closely at ty clots t run and tumble at twelve
is is c . . .
At to tters -sy bas and feeds s c at me.
I start back from th my hands.
hen Mrs Sucksby es again, however, I am ready.
Listen to me, I say, going to Rie away from my uncles ?
Your uncle? s me a tray, but stands in til I move back.
Mr Lilly, I say, as I do it. You k. Dont you suppose his?
I s it. Aint we made you cosy, dear?
You kno you?
All rig is Mr Ibbs. My voice of tco t of tairs. Ricoo, irred in en.
All rigly. to me. And , look, growing chilly.
Ss tray upon t I kno Mr Ibbs still stands at t of tairs, t Rid listens at top. tray e and a fork upon it, and a linen napkin. Upoer a ttle like t for my especial use at Briar; but tial.
Please let me go, I say.
Mrs Sucksby shakes her head. Dear girl, she says, go where?
Ss and, w answer, leaves me. Rico his bed. I hear him humming.
I taking up te, against t be strong. You must be strong and ready to run. And so I sit a—sloc tained; and I o replace them.
After an o take ty plate. Anotand, again, at to t, and pace again. I pass from fury to maudlin grief, to stupor. But tering rage. I make a run at o strike he floor and kick, and kick—
two passes in darkness.
, it is again unnaturally early. ttle basket ced gold, cus. I take it to t me, until Mrs Sucksby yawns and opens her eyes.
Dear girl, all rigy of tion—o be so rat—prompts me to grind my teet my ty to taking t be over, ? Im ready to bust.
I do not move. After a sed sc is a te c, , in t of m, I queasily took to be clumps of
ion merely—a great eye it, in a plain black fount, a motto:
use me tell of w ive seen!
a present from wales
t or t Mrs Sucksby sets t dos , and stoops. hen I shudder, she makes a face.
Not nice, is it, dear? Never mind. e s, in rand house.
Sraigticoat between hen she rubs her hands.
No do you say to t oday, make you look , its a dull old t it? And queer and old-fas ry you in somet dresses saved for you—got em fine, you believe it. say y in a em fitted up? Daintys clever ss just you broug dragged up. But s .
Stention, no escape.
S of fis it. S as syrup: it makes my beat er. Ss a tories to take to my face, under my arms, bet time, in all my life, t I washed myself.
ty. t them
doie trings and dra goy sees t, rimming it, anotripe, and a ty takes up an edge of clotrokes it.
Pongee? she says, as if in wonder.
Pongee, of ones. Ss t, ed ligained h coeal.
Sc do you say, my dear, to these?
I ks of London. My hey are hideous, hideous.
S no you beeoo long in t dreary great to be if youve no more idea of fas? , dear girl, upon to. S takes your fancy? the silver?
you a grey, I say, or a brown, or a black?
Dainty looks at me in disgust.
Grey, brown or black? says Mrs Sucksby. ?
Make it t, t last. I tripe o t of dra up. S stogs, and stays, and coloured petticoats. tticoats astonis linen must be as, all black books must turn out Bibles.
But I must be coloured nowo girls dressing a doll.
No? says Mrs Sucksby, studying till, my dear, akes her measure. Lord,
look at your .—eady! A person dont to ell you.—ts better. too loose, is it? ell, be particular about ts em.
take a bring me o o . . .?
S distractedly. S y stitc to t of table in t co sort tems inside. I cs my jetle linen packet, un and tips tents into her lap.
No once ures ss it quickly aside. A bracelet of emeralds, s, in fas time of King Gee; but ones. e ss too is, firl you a of beads—glass beads, but you mucter. And— Os t t a beauty? Look Dainty, look at tunning great stones in t!
Dainty looks. a spanker! she says.
It is ts I once imagined Sue breat ing eye. Noudies it sparkles. It sparkles, even here.
I kno mind? Ss clasp and pins it to ty lets fall o ch her.
Oh, Mrs S! she says. You looks like a regular queen.
My beats ainly—not knoo pliment or mock. I do not know, myself.
For a time, ty finiss and pins it into a knot. tand, so t survey me. tant, tilt t ty rubs her nose. Mrs Sucksby drums her fingers across her lips, and frowns.
ter s about it: I turn, and see . I barely reise myself. My moute. My eyes are sure and colour of yellos of t my t.
Per, after all, says Mrs Sucksby, aint t too like bruises. And as for your c say you give it a bit of a pinc t? No? Let Dainty try for you t a grip like thunder, she has.
Dainty es and seizes my d t from her grasp.
All rig! sossing amping. Im sure, you keep your yellow face!
o like one. You put t lip in. Dainty o pout. ts better. Miss Lilly, ake try touc green— all, so long as you keep from sing too he bodice.
But I ot bear to be let en t dress. You like it, dear girl? ser. t last. Noun ts? Miss Lilly?—Dainty, you go on first. tairs are tricky, I se for Miss Lilly to take a tumble.
Sy passes before me and, after a sed, I folloill I o Briar. t of tairs, t I ougo take? I am not sure. I ot see. Dainty raordinary sound—a sound, like trembling, to silence. I start, and turn. Mrs Sucksby urned. Go on, you old bird! s. And to me, more sly: Ns only Mr Ibbss aged sister, t is kept to o the horrors.
S and en doairs—my limbs ad my breaty s at ttom. to fill it. In o tcreet-door bes across it. I sloep. But toucs rigep again, and almost stumble.
tg at table playing at dice. t t! y, say it was you and Ill kiss you.
Ill bruise your eyes, get my ired. Get out of t ctle er, a down.
S ing tg t.—Keep ts out, sg her.
Jos ty seat. e, Maud, beside me. And if you to fly at my eyes—
as you did, you kno to knock you down again.
Jo you make so free make free h yours—you hear me?
Riswer. us be friends again, hmm?
s o me, and I dodge it, dras aening of tc care, I say, to be t a friend of yours. I dont care to be t a friend to any of you. I e among you because I must; because Mrs Sucksby , and I life left io t , remember the you all.
And I sit, not in ty place beside in t rog-c table. I sit in it and it creaks. Joy gaze quickly at Mrs Sucksby, imes.
And , f a laugake ts and ?
Gone off on a job, says Joook Charley ag.
Ss sleeping?
Gentleman give em a dose, half an ho.
Good boy, good boy. Keep it nid quiet. S me. All rig of tea, per ans ro my cs coffee, ty, up some er.—Like a cake, dear girl, to c do ac care for cakes?
t could be served to me be to me as ashes.
S a mout, for poetry! As for the cake, now—? I look away.
Dainty sets about making ticks, and strikes tte. tobaoke, and smoke from tting dles, already drifts from wall
to ly gleam, as if painted ures—of , raits—of Mr Ced to a board of cork; and are muc-holes.
If I , I t ten t, make Mrs Sucksby give up tle. If I had a knife.
Rics te, narroty dress, trimmings, and I ut, tut, emper not muc you en up in fi. As apples do. And veal-calves.
Go to hell, will you? I say.
t, s, sounds a, sounds almost s. Still, dear—able, drops nt speak so nasty.
I o me, do you?
Ster and she looks away.
I drink my coffee, t speak again. Mrs Sucksby sits, softly beating able-top, ogeto a froy s to steam and stink. I y eyes. My stomak again. Or an axe . . .
But tiflingly , and I am so aurned. Mrs Sucksby is feeding babies, and Dainty is cooking a supper. Ba, cabbage, crumbling pota-
toes and bread: te and, miserably pig free trips of fat from ts from ts of fis it. t out glasses. Care for some tipple, Miss Lilly? Mrs Sucksby says. A stout, or a
sherry?
A gin? says Richard, some look of mischief in his eye.
I take a gin. taste of it is bitter to me, but triking t stirs, brings a vague and nameless fort.
So t day passes. So pass t folloo bed— am undressed, every time, by Mrs Sucksby, ticoats and locks t in ttle gold cails of my fi, my plan of escape. For I must escape. I o Sue. are took remember. kno. First, to Briar, beg money from my uncle—ill believe s! Ill beg from Mrs Stiles! Or, Ill steal! Ill steal a book from t book, and sell it—!
Or, no, I do t.—For t of returning to Briar makes me s occurs to me in time t I er all. I rey. Mr o see me climb a staircase. Could I go to myself in e enougrey, ed me to o reet.—I treet ot be far— it? I do not kno I s trey will rey will help me find Sue . . .
So my ts run, w me; wers, wer screams,
wleman cougurns in hers, and snores, and sighs.
If only t keep me so close! One day, I time a door is made fast at my back, one day t to lock it. tired of alc, t. I plain of ted air. I plain of ting . I ask to go, ofteo t t dark and dusty passage at t. I knoo freedom, if I t e: Dainty ime, and s until I e out.—Once I do try to run, and scs ting me go.
Ricakes me upstairs, and s me.
Im sorry, . But you kno, for t ing, you told me once. you oblige us?
t e bruise quite fades, I will escape!
I pass many , in tc t—Per me, I times it almost seems t tir of ty and Jo cards and dioo be sold to Mr Ibbs and tonisuff, it seems to me, all of it: s, ill bound umbling stream of t like t came to Briar, t came as if sinking to rest on t fatains, the rods . . .
ts ahe making of money.
A money-making thing of all, is me.
Not c peckis taking a fever, I ans uck rugs about me, I let and c look at t going to smile? Not even—s to e. t follo aint so long, is it?
S, almost pleadingly; but I gaze steadily into o say t a day, an oo long, wh her.
O my . Still seems rato you, does it, s? s you, t your spirits? ty ri box? A singing bird, in a cage? Per. As a bad one, so over fast—nip out a Miss Lilly a bird in a cage.—Yelloter, Jos pretty . . .
Surns in . t t, t from a beam, t to make it flutter; C. It sing, oo dark—it and pluck at its e ts cage. At last t it. Joakes to feeding it tcime, to make it so ig.
Of Sue, no-one speaks at all. Once, Dainty looks at me as ss out our suppers, and scratches her ear.
Funny t e back from try, yet. Aint it?
Mrs Sucksby gla Ric Mr Ibbs, and t me. Ss o Dainty, I ed to talk about it, but you mig, norut ing baot ever. t last little bit of busi Gentlema o see to for , Dainty, he cash.
Daintys moutrinder? to e doo guess ook all of Mrs Sucksbys money, and ts . Just about broke Mrs Sucksbys . If o kill her.
Done a flit? Sue trinder? s. S got the nerve.
ell, s.
S, says Mrs Sucksby, me, and I dont to s all.
Sue triurned out a sharper! says John.
ts bad blood for you, says Ric me. Shows up in queer ways.
did I just say? says Mrs Sucksby s . But le. ter a moment, he laughs.
More meat for us, t it? e. —Or for there.
Mrs Sucksby sees me; and leans and s him.
After t, if to ter Sue, taken aside and told, like Joy, t surned out rinder? s t is, ing out in t it seems to me, too, t t seems to me t even Joy fet is a s-memoried er all. It is a
s-memoried district. Many times I to tsteps, taking fligly, in darkness. tep of tters -saken by anoturn, moves on, to be replaced by anots Sue, to them?
s Sue, to me? Im afraid, o remember t Im afraid, too, of fetting. I ake out ture of tures ted c. Scfully. Finally sakes ture away.
Dont you be t are done and t be c, dear girl? You time to e.
S. But I am still brooding on my future. I am still ed—soon one in a lock, I kno. I am d Jooo used to me. turn careless, t. Soon, I think. Soon, Maud.
So I til this happens.
Ricakes to leaving t saying o y streets, or to sit in t and tcifles stifles me. One day, returns in an , for once: Mr Ibbs and Jo, and Dainty is sleeping in a cs o td kisses her cheek. his face is flushed and his eyes are gleaming.
ell, hink? he says.
Dear boy, I t imagine! once?
Better t, do you t of t look so fierce! Save t, till youve s you, rather.
o o table. I sting, the shape of my life.
Youll see. Look s o coat pocket and dra. A paper. .
A bond, dear boy? says Mrs Sucksby, stepping to his side.
A letter, you play? S is someone you know. A friend, very dear.
My gives a lurce. But s.
Not Dainty; guess?
I turn my face. o tell me, dont you?
s anot; t ed. You are ied!
Let me see, I say. Perer all.
Noer , not yours.
Let me see!
I rise, pull down hen push him away.
ts not my uncles ed, I could strike him.
I never said it ers from sent by anoteward, Mr ay.
Mr ay?
More curious still, and t, o me. Read t. Its a postscript; and explains, at least— so queer—will now . . .
tilt to catc lighen read.
Dear Sir.—I found today among my masters private papers, tter, & do suppose it to be sent; only, o a grave indisposition sly after e it, sir, o tiles & me did t first, t to notice, sir, t to onis deed; as, begging leave again sir, no more fully, sir, and presume to finds you ay, Steward of Briar.
I look up, but say not, urn tter is s, and dated 3rd of May—seven says this.
to Mr Ricopaken my niece, Maud Lilly. I , and sincts, if not o t I take fort in my loss, from t I fancy you, sir, a man ing of a whore.—C.L.
I read it, times; t again; t it fall. Mrs Sucksby instantly takes it up, to read he words, she grows flushed. hen she has finished, she gives a cry:
t blackguard! Oh!
y. ho, Mrs Sucksby? ho? she says.
A s all. A o be. No-one you knoo sleep. She reaches for me. Oh, my dear—
Leave me alone, I say.
tter me, more than I should have believed. I
dont kno is t ; or to give, to Mrs Sucksbys story. But I ot bear to be cir. I eps-— to toto a door; and I seize and vainly turn the handle.
Let me out, I say.
Mrs Sucksby es to me. So reac for t for my face. I puso t me out! Let me out! She follows.
Dear girl, s let yourself be upset by t old villain. ears!
ill you let me out?
Let you out, to you need no everythem gowns—
Sep bay o it—a fist—a a it. ts pages sd pluck it from its pin. Dear girl— Mrs Sucksby says again. I turn and t at her.
But afterears ter aken it from me. t it stay t groeadily blacker, as es. to be filled o a fury: ing.—You knolemans son? , to look at me now? ould you?
I do not ans. I o any kind of solicitor or la I pass my days in a sort of restless let nig is too to sleep—at night I
d at the narrow window in Mrs Sucksbys room, gazing blankly
at treet.
tome a, Mrs Sucksby take a fever, from t?
May oake a fever, from a draugid air? I lie do il so to the deeper.
I almost fet t I mean to escape. Per. For at last ternoon—at tart of July, I ty to guard me.
You cells o , my dear? I s be gone an , shall I?
I do not ansy lets , ts ts, draable-top, and takes up tit listlessly, o do to try?
I s my eyelids fall; and presently, s; and am suddenly ry teal t! So s. ticks off tes—fifteen, ty, ty-five. go.
Sleep, Dainty. Dainty, sleep. Sleep, sleep . . . Sleep, damn you!
But s up.
Dainty, I say.
S is it?
Im afraid— Im afraid I must visit the privy.
Ss down ye?
Yes. I place my omak I am sick.
S titution?
I t must be. Im sorry, Dainty. ill you open the door5
Ill go hough.
You . You migay at your se;
Mrs Sucksby says I must go ime; else Ill catc. here.
Sreted beain edged to tc me: I kno, even if I mig ond ock t I imagine doing it, and my s gro think I could.
Go on, sate. s up?
Note, slo , I say.
No, Ill . S take the air.
t is I step inside and close t it; t me. ttle s broken paopped up is cracked and smeared. I stand and te. All rigy. I do not ansamped e. From a . Ladies alemens Cast-off Clotion, anted for— elston & New-laid Eggs—
think, Maud.
I turn to face t my mouto a gap in the wood.
Dainty, I say quietly.
is it?
Dainty, I am not fetg.
? Sries t, miss.
I t. I darent. Dainty, you must go to t
in my room upstairs. ill you? there. ill
you? O rushes! I am afraid of
the men ing back—
Oandi last. S you out ?
ill you go for me, Dainty? But Im not to leave you, miss!
I must keep il Mrs Sucksby es! But say t Jo! Or say I she door
is bolted! ters. And t of drawers, you
say?
top-most dra. ill you
ust make myself , and take it so
badly—
All right.
Be quick!
All right!
o t, td run. I run out of to t—I remember ttles, t me. But I run furty pat before; but I see it, and kno—I kno!—it leads to an alley and turn, leads to a and leads me— reise, t
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