Gypsy by Lesley Pearse Page A

young girl to be stuck in a couple of rooms with a baby, and no family or friends to visit. Mrs Bruce thought perhaps this was what was ailing Beth now.
    ‘Is there something troubling you, Beth?’ she asked. ‘You are awfully quiet today.’
    ‘I was just thinking how hard Sam works,’ Beth said with a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘He wants to go to America, you see, that’s why he took the barman’s job. He thought some experience like that would stand him in good stead.’
    This was the first Mrs Bruce had heard of this. ‘Is he planning to go without you?’ she asked.
    ‘No, he wants me to go too. But I don’t see how I can, there’s Molly to think of.’
    ‘People emigrate with children all the time,’ Mrs Bruce said evenly. ‘They manage. I’ve heard of some going with five or six children.’
    ‘Yes, but it’s different with Sam being my brother.’ Beth sighed, her blue eyes suddenly very sad. ‘I wouldn’t want to spoil his chances, and having us two to support would be difficult for him.’
    Mrs Bruce thought about that for a few moments. ‘Yes, I suppose you are right, he wouldn’t be free to travel and look for the best prospects, and later if he wanted to get married, that could be a problem. But it’s hardly fair that you should be left behind with all the responsibility of Molly, either here or over there. She’s his sister too.’
    ‘That’s the nub of the whole thing,’ Beth replied, her voice flat and dispirited. ‘He’s far too conscientious to leave us, but I feel bad that I’m holding him back.’
    ‘I see.’ Mrs Bruce nodded. ‘Tell me, if you didn’t have Molly, would you like to go to America?’ she asked.
    ‘Oh yes,’ Beth exclaimed, her eyes brightening. ‘It sounds such a wonderful place. I often daydream of playing the piano in a big hotel.’
    ‘You play the piano?’
    Beth smiled shyly at her surprise. ‘Yes, though I’m probably rusty now because we had to sell ours when Mama died. I play the fiddle too. Sam managed to save it in the fire. I like that best, but Mama called it Devil’s music because they play the fiddle in low ale houses.’
    Mrs Bruce smiled. She had heard someone playing jigs on a fiddle on many an occasion but she’d never guessed it was coming from the coach house. She didn’t think it was Devil’s music either; it was gay and bright. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?’ she asked. ‘It’s such a wonderful accomplishment.’
    ‘I thought it might sound like I was boasting. Servants aren’t supposed to do that.’
    ‘I would never have thought it boastful, and I would love you to bring your fiddle over here sometime and play for me.’
    The way Beth’s eyes lit up made Mrs Bruce smile. ‘And don’t you stop dreaming or planning for your future,’ she went on. ‘I made the mistake of always putting duty before my own desires and ambitions, and because of that I missed out on marriage and children. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.’
    ‘What wouldn’t you want to happen to Beth?’
    Both Mrs Bruce and Beth turned their heads in surprise on hearing Mrs Langworthy’s question. They hadn’t heard her come down the stairs to the basement. She looked stunning in her apple-green silk dress with leg-of-mutton sleeves and her hair arranged in sleek, fat curls on the top of her head.
    ‘Beth was just telling me that Sam is dead set on going to America, and I suspect she really wants to go with him,’ Mrs Bruce said.
    ‘I can understand that.’ Mrs Langworthy nodded. ‘It sounds such a wonderful, exciting place. But don’t go rushing off just yet, Beth, I’ve just got used to having your help. And seeing this little one every day!’ She stood by the perambulator looking down at Molly adoringly. ‘She is just the most perfect baby. I wish she’d wake up so I could cuddle her.’
    Mrs Bruce could feel her mistress’s raw longing for a child as she leaned over Molly. When she first married Mr Edward