The Trespass by Barbara Ewing

dimmed in his wife but not extinguished. Mary knew it was there, in Harriet.
    ‘I think you have it too, darling, somewhere inside you, that joy of living. Our mother was like that, and we are our mother’s daughters. It is just that—’ and Mary’s voice was suddenly low, ‘—oh darling, it is just that—’
    Immediately Harriet’s face went blank and she interrupted. ‘Are Richard and Walter well?’
    And Mary acknowledged the interruption with a tiny nod. They could not speak of what was always so heavily on their minds. ‘As much as one can gather. Richard, poor boy, hardly acknowledges my existence so it is difficult to know how he is, exactly. He seems to be involved in a lot of business, like Father, but Richard gets harassed, I am not sure that he manages as well as Father hopes. And I know Walter is getting into trouble at the gaming tables, I have tried to talk to him, but he will not speak of it. I expect Father will have to deal with it, eventually. I think he feels a little gambling will make a man of Walter, but I fear it is more than a little.’ Both girls fell silent.
    ‘And the letters you have been writing for workmen?’ asked Mary finally.
    Harriet recounted to Mary her experiences in the barn at the back of the village. ‘I was frightened.’ Still her hands went backwards and forwards over her sister’s foot. ‘Are you shocked?’ she asked, when she’d finished her story.
    ‘At you? Or at the room?’
    ‘I never saw anything like that before. Of course we see poor people all the time in London, you cannot not see them, but I think – I think my eyes slide over them somehow, so as not to see, not to have to think about their lives. But I had not, ever, been into a place before where they actually lived.’ Harriet’s face was very serious. ‘Have you heard of Godfrey’s Cordial?’ she asked at last.
    ‘Yes. It is treacle, and water, and spices, and opium.’
    Harriet’s eyes opened wide. ‘How do you know that?’
    Mary answered her obliquely. ‘You know when I go on my walks round London, it is as if, because of my foot, people do not quite notice me, do not bother me. I always wear a shawl over my head, instead of a bonnet, and I think that makes people not see me, just as you say you do not see the poor. It is as if crippled people only exist in the lower classes: there is no such thing as a crippled lady. No, no – do not feel sorry for me,’ (for she felt Harriet stir) ‘I think I am lucky. You know very well,’ and she tickled Harriet to make her smile, ‘that I think I am lucky that I have managed to escape from much of the calling and the entertaining that young ladies like us are supposed to be involved with,’ and Harriet made a face. ‘At least we are only very minor young ladies,’ Mary added wryly. ‘Imagine what we would have to go through if we were royal! But,’ and she sighed, ‘I’m afraid Father hates to feel he is a minor gentleman. That is why of course he was so incensed at the idea of you becoming a governess.’
    ‘I only wanted to do something,’ Harriet flashed angrily.
    ‘Father strives at all times to be a real gentleman. It is not enough just to be rich. A gentleman’s daughter does not become a governess: governess is a rude word in the society he aspires to. It would reflect so badly on him. Likewise a gentleman’s daughter does not have a real education, even if she is crippled and has no prospect of marriage. She will run his house: that is what she has been educated to do. An over-educated daughter would reflect badly on him. ’ There was a silence in the room: Harriet felt some sort of odd tension in her sister who she knew so well.
    Mary moved her foot. ‘Give me your hairbrush, Harriet.’
    And Mary began to brush her sister’s hair, as she had always done.
    ‘But you haven’t told me how you know about Godfrey’s Cordial,’ said Harriet.
    ‘Well, it is just that when I walk I get to know people, and they tell me