higher and higher. This is her sending-home money and she’s trying to think what else she can do without. It’s a while before she knows where she is, then she’s by Victoria Station, that’s ten minutes’ walk, and she knows the way. Grace leans forward and asks the driver to stop. ‘Thought you said Park Lane,’ he grumbles. ‘Remembered where you really live?’
Sunday again. Michael takes Grace to the far side of the park. The damp chill of the last few weeks is fading and the freshness of the air begins to take her mind away from last night. Every minute she sat in church she was wondering if God forgives girls who encouragemen. It must have been her fault that Mr Pointer behaved liked that. Is that what London has done to her, and so quick? The thought comes to her that Joseph may be seeing that too and it makes her feel slightly ill, so she fixes her eyes on the building ahead, dark red brick and windows the size of small trees.
‘Looks like a palace, Michael.’
‘It is a palace.’
‘Who lives there?’
He doesn’t reply.
‘There must be dozens of them.’
‘Only dozens of servants, and thought little of. The rich keep their eyes shut and their hearts empty, Grace. They don’t give a damn about us. I’d do away with the lot of them.’
Grace jolts back with this, almost as if he’s been speaking about her, which he is, in a way. When you’re in service it feels as though what happens to the family you work for is happening to you, too. She thinks of Miss Beatrice, and Lady Masters; would Michael want to do away with them? Surely they care about Grace and the rest of them downstairs, what with the questions they ask. She feels a little hollow. No, she thinks, this mustn’t be true; she’s not going to let Michael make all that friendliness untrue. There’s enough bad thoughts she’s had this morning and she’s not having him take away the good ones she might have left.
‘No, Michael,’ she says. ‘I don’t think that’s fair.’
‘Turning your head, is it? Mayfair and all that money? You’ll be on their side, soon … If I had my way I’d never give them a civil word. Some day I won’t have to.’
‘No, Michael, it’s simply not fair to say all of them are like that.’
He grunts.
She continues. ‘Some of them have the money not to be,’ and as she smiles at this wry comment of hers, Michael laughs out loud.
‘But it’s true,’ he says, ‘you have to be able to afford to be kind. Remember that: what you can afford to do and what you can’t. Not just money either, Grace. Don’t give anything away lightly.’
They hover by the Round Pond, watching the miniature yachts trying to make their way across. A few feet from them a man so wide that he looks as if he would be better bouncing along rather than walking, struggles to lean over to launch his wooden boat.
‘He’s going to go,’ says Grace, ‘right over.’ And Michael laughs again. There it is: she knew the old Michael was there. Whatever she’s said to him, it’s working and, slowly, the wrongs of yesterday begin to right themselves.
‘They’re feeding you, sister.’
Grace blushes. She looks across at him. He’s drawn, not eating what she is. She’d thought of him when she saw the leftovers in the pantry were turning.
‘That’s not a thought even to have,’ Mary had said. ‘It’ll set Mrs Wainwright on your tail. She’ll say that Lady Masters can’t be feeding half of London.’
‘I thought she did?’
‘Did?’
‘The dockworkers. When they were on strike.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Oh, no one.’
‘Message from God?’
‘Joseph.’
‘Oh.’ Mary’s oh was long drawn out. She looked at Grace sideways. ‘That was before his time. Best not to know it.’
‘Got all you need, Grace? I worry about you.’ Really, Michael is on gentle form today, Grace is beginning to feel that this is her moment to tell him any one of those things burning inside her. She needs someone to
Sunday again. Michael takes Grace to the far side of the park. The damp chill of the last few weeks is fading and the freshness of the air begins to take her mind away from last night. Every minute she sat in church she was wondering if God forgives girls who encouragemen. It must have been her fault that Mr Pointer behaved liked that. Is that what London has done to her, and so quick? The thought comes to her that Joseph may be seeing that too and it makes her feel slightly ill, so she fixes her eyes on the building ahead, dark red brick and windows the size of small trees.
‘Looks like a palace, Michael.’
‘It is a palace.’
‘Who lives there?’
He doesn’t reply.
‘There must be dozens of them.’
‘Only dozens of servants, and thought little of. The rich keep their eyes shut and their hearts empty, Grace. They don’t give a damn about us. I’d do away with the lot of them.’
Grace jolts back with this, almost as if he’s been speaking about her, which he is, in a way. When you’re in service it feels as though what happens to the family you work for is happening to you, too. She thinks of Miss Beatrice, and Lady Masters; would Michael want to do away with them? Surely they care about Grace and the rest of them downstairs, what with the questions they ask. She feels a little hollow. No, she thinks, this mustn’t be true; she’s not going to let Michael make all that friendliness untrue. There’s enough bad thoughts she’s had this morning and she’s not having him take away the good ones she might have left.
‘No, Michael,’ she says. ‘I don’t think that’s fair.’
‘Turning your head, is it? Mayfair and all that money? You’ll be on their side, soon … If I had my way I’d never give them a civil word. Some day I won’t have to.’
‘No, Michael, it’s simply not fair to say all of them are like that.’
He grunts.
She continues. ‘Some of them have the money not to be,’ and as she smiles at this wry comment of hers, Michael laughs out loud.
‘But it’s true,’ he says, ‘you have to be able to afford to be kind. Remember that: what you can afford to do and what you can’t. Not just money either, Grace. Don’t give anything away lightly.’
They hover by the Round Pond, watching the miniature yachts trying to make their way across. A few feet from them a man so wide that he looks as if he would be better bouncing along rather than walking, struggles to lean over to launch his wooden boat.
‘He’s going to go,’ says Grace, ‘right over.’ And Michael laughs again. There it is: she knew the old Michael was there. Whatever she’s said to him, it’s working and, slowly, the wrongs of yesterday begin to right themselves.
‘They’re feeding you, sister.’
Grace blushes. She looks across at him. He’s drawn, not eating what she is. She’d thought of him when she saw the leftovers in the pantry were turning.
‘That’s not a thought even to have,’ Mary had said. ‘It’ll set Mrs Wainwright on your tail. She’ll say that Lady Masters can’t be feeding half of London.’
‘I thought she did?’
‘Did?’
‘The dockworkers. When they were on strike.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Oh, no one.’
‘Message from God?’
‘Joseph.’
‘Oh.’ Mary’s oh was long drawn out. She looked at Grace sideways. ‘That was before his time. Best not to know it.’
‘Got all you need, Grace? I worry about you.’ Really, Michael is on gentle form today, Grace is beginning to feel that this is her moment to tell him any one of those things burning inside her. She needs someone to
Similar Books
