Portrait of a Girl by Mary Williams

with a wave of his hand. ‘No, wait until I’ve finished.’
    Mortified, I pressed my lips firmly together and waited.
    ‘ You’d expect payment, naturally. I’m prepared to give it — and more I’m sure than you received at the various hostelries where you worked—’
    I could stand no more. Ignoring his command to remain silent, I cried, ‘I expect nothing. I don’t want your money or your help. About Dame Jenny — yes! I see it wouldn’t be fair to leave her in the lurch, and I’ll be able to do more for her without those wretched singing lessons, but only until you find someone more suitable.’
    ‘ That may take quite a time,’ he stated practically, ‘in the meantime, whether you like it or not you’ll receive a weekly sum to provide any feminine fal-als and frippery necessary.’
    ‘ I see. A servant.’
    ‘ Do you find the word offensive?’
    ‘ Of course not. But—’
    ‘ Shall we say “help”?’ he suggested. ‘Do you find that more agreeable?’
    ‘ Oh—!’ Misery engulfed me because he was managing to put me in such a poor light. ‘— I don’t care, call me what you like.’ I turned my back on him, took a few steps to the door, turned and remarked with forced politeness, ‘Is that all, sir?’
    ‘ No.’ His mood changed suddenly. He strode rapidly towards me, and before I could prevent him he’d swept me up into his arms and his lips were on mine — passionate, angry, desirous lips, that left me breathless and bewildered, dizzy with my own longing and reciprocation.
    Then, suddenly, it was all over. He reached for his hat from a chair, made a mock bow and remarked ironically, ‘My apologies. I can promise you there will be no repetition of such a distasteful incident for you in the future. However, dear Miss Lebrun, should you ever have the chance to play Lucy Lockett again I’m sure this little — rehearsal, shall we say — may prove to be a useful experience.’
    The next moment he had gone.

 
    Chapter Six
     
    The days following my disastrous debut, though peaceful, were without inspiration or interest for me. I did my best to help Dame Jenny in her domestic routine, but she was obviously averse to my taking any initiative. Her routine was set, and she wished for no alteration. Jan, the farmer’s boy, came twice a week to scrub out the floors and chop wood, and I found myself doing little more than I did when I was having lessons from Signor Luigi. As Rupert had stipulated, a weekly sum was paid to me and delivered by a servant from Kerrysmoor with Dame Jenny’s salary. She counted mine out carefully and handed it to me always with the same words, ‘Be grateful to have such an obliging master. It’s good money for a maid such as thee.’
    What exactly her statement implied I don’t know, but I don’t think she meant it in any derogatory sense. Once, when I was feeling particularly moody and depressed, she remarked with a touch of concern, ‘I’ve not heard thee sing lately. Haven’t you any voice left, or is it a fit of sulks? Sulks do nothing to raise the spirits. And maybe with a little practice you could start trillin’ ’gain like a bird. It’s the time for it — with all the spring flowers pushing through and the sweet air blowin’.’
    Yes, no one knew that more than I. A sight of or one word from Rupert Verne might have brought a burst of music from my throat, but cast off as I felt myself to be, I hadn’t the heart. So I answered, ‘I don’t feel like it. What’s the use?’
    ‘ There’s use in everything if you do the best you can with it,’ she told me sharply, and the irritation in her voice caused a quick movement of her head which set the bright rings flashing from her ears, and a quivering glitter of all the jewellery she wore. ‘You’re getting dull, girl — stir yourself up. There’s always a job waiting for useful hands. What about the garden? No touching my roses, of course — I’ve told thee that before. But weeds are