"Ow! Anna, really!" an exasperated Mary cried, seated at her vanity table. Scowling at Anna through the looking glass, she gingerly touched the skin at her nape.
Mortified, Anna almost dropped the curling iron. "Oh, Milady, my apologies!" she sputtered.
"That's the second time this week you've burned me and the second time you've apologized for the same blunder. I do hope you're not going to make this a daily habit." Mary eyed her sternly. "What in the world's the matter?"
The piercing glare her mistress was shooting at her in the looking glass pushed all distracting thoughts of John from Anna's mind. She blinked and set the hot iron down. There was nothing more she wanted than the earth to open up at this moment and swallow her whole. "Nothing, Milady. I'm very sorry, won't happen again," she said. Averting her eyes to hide from the reproach in Mary's, she started to brush Mary's hair.
Mary harrumphed and her eyes narrowed. "That's what you said last time."
In truth Anna was on pins and needles thinking about her upcoming afternoon off and going to The Red Lion in Kirbymoorside to see John. The prospect of seeing him filled her with equal parts dread and anticipation. She had been imagining scenarios in her mind these past few days: making up opening salvos one moment and playing out tearful conversations in the next. She couldn't decide on what to wear and her meager wardrobe did not offer much choice. She wished that she had an outfit that John had not yet seen. But what did looking her best matter when she didn't know whether she would even speak to him. She looked up and glanced at her own plain reflection behind Lady Mary. Her straight blonde hair was smoothly tucked under her white lace cap, not a hair out of place, not a curl in sight. But should she change that when she goes to the public house? She remembered the Photoplays that Ethel would carelessly throw onto her bed. One issue had a publicity photo of Pola Negri on the cover, her raven hair elegantly styled, and soft tendrils framed her face. She had never really given much thought to her appearance, even in the beginning with John, but somehow this excursion made her feel differently. She was putting on an outwardly brave front, just getting on with the business of life, but in the private spaces of her mind, she couldn't deny she still felt the sting of his absence—even more, the manner in which he'd left. She tilted her chin and raised her eyes, and decided she wanted to make John Bates regret his decision to leave her. She wanted him to see who he'd left behind, who he'd chosen not to stay for, and Anna May Smith wasn't going to be sweetness and kindness anymore.
An idea hit her that she'd experiment with copying Pola Negri's hairstyle, but she didn't want to try it on herself first. Summoning her courage, she asked, "Lady Mary, would you like me to try a new style with your hair tonight? There's a new one the actresses in the pictures are sporting lately." After what she'd just done with the curling iron, pushing her luck was one thing—this was almost like taking Lady Luck prisoner.
Mary's curiosity piqued. Matthew was coming to dinner (albeit with Lavinia and Cousin Isobel) and she wanted to look a little fetching. "Will you burn me again?" she responded teasingly, but something in her tone hinted at wariness.
Excitedly, Anna described the hairstyle, showing Mary where she'd pin and tuck her hair, where curls would tastefully frame her face. She felt like the greengrocer, who, on a weekly basis, tried to convince Mrs. Patmore to buy up more of his produce. But the more she talked the less Mary seemed inclined to try it. She demurred, "Well, it sounds like an awful lot of time that needs to be taken. You know Papa doesn't like us late for dinner, so perhaps some other time."
It was not in Anna's nature to resort to the palaver of a glib-tongued sycophant, and she hoped she wouldn't have to, but she was feeling desperate to try the hairstyle on a guinea pig other than herself. So she tried another tack. "It's the latest rage in America, Milady. Hasn't caught on here yet. And if I start now, I promise no singed locks or skin. I'll be done in a jiffy." Then, she cast her final and what she hoped was her most persuasive argument: "And you will definitely stand out against Miss Swire."
Dark eyes flashed in the mirror and met hers squarely. "All right," Mary conceded. "I'm in your hands."
Anna turned away, gathering extra hairpins, and she couldn't help the smile playing about her lips. But Mary's next words caught her off guard.
"Who knows, Anna, you may find yourself a lady's maid someday – if you can manage to stop burning me."