When You Say It's Over
By Laura Schiller
Based on: The Way We Live Now
Copyright: BBC
"What in tarnation happened?" exclaimed Mrs. Winifred Hurtle at the sight of the two people in the hall.
"You may well ask, ma'am," said John Crumb.
He looked like a bandit in a play, with torn clothes, a black eye, anger simmering in his normally pleasant face, and a ghost-white Ruby hiding behind him.
"Never mind, Mr. Crumb," she muttered, raising one eyebrow. "I only hope the other fella looks worse."
"Better believe it," was John's grim reply.
"Ruby! Oh, thank God you're home!" exclaimed Mrs. Pipkin, rushing forward to throw her arms around her niece. "Are you all right? What happened? Shall I make you some tea? Mr. Crumb, we're ever so grateful to you bringing her back safe. You foolish child, what in the name of all that's holy were you thinking?"
"Give her some air, Mrs. Pipkin," Winifred interrupted, catching sight of Ruby's panicked eyes over the old housekeeper's shoulder. "Tea sounds like an excellent idea. Make it a whole pot, if you'd be so kind. I believe we're all in need of a bit of English comfort."
"Very good, ma'am."
Dropping one more kiss on Ruby's forehead, Mrs. Pipkin bustled off into the kitchen, eager to be helpful in the way she knew best.
"I should be going now," said John. "But don't be afeared, Ruby. Yer aunt and the lady won't let no harm come to you."
Ruby could only nod.
"I'd ask you to be good to her, ma'am," added John, tipping his hat to Winifred, "But I know you will. Good night."
He reached out a hand to Ruby, drew it back, and tipped his hat to her as well, the infinite care and concern in his gray eyes expressing what his touch could not.
The two women were left alone in the small rented parlor, the same room in which a certain baronet had once promised to publish his engagement in the Times. The spirited young girl who had sprung to his defense that day was reduced to a shadow huddled in her coat, and Winifred could guess why. She had never been so badly tempted to take out her old pistols as she was tonight.
"Sit down, Ruby," she said, taking hold of her young maid's elbow to guide her toward the sofa by the fire. Ruby tensed, but Winifred did not break contact. She would have to get used to being touched again sometime.
"That man hurt you, didn't he?"
"What? No!" Ruby gasped. "John would never – "
"I'm talkin' 'bout Sir Felix Carbury."
Ruby's clasped hands turned white at the knuckles.
"How did you know?" she whispered.
"Who else would you slip out to see in the middle of the night? And why else would your miller friend look ready to grind someone to flour with his bare fists? Unless, of course, there's another admirer you haven't told us about."
"It's not a joking matter, ma'am!" snapped Ruby, blushing scarlet as her namesake, to Winifred's private relief. At least she looked like a woman instead of a ghost.
"I know I've been a fool, aye, an' I admit it! I know I should'a took your advice at once an' throwed 'im over. Ye can dismiss me now or do whatever ye like wi' me, but I won't be mocked, I won't - "
Between her Northern English dialect and a gathering storm of tears, the American woman could barely understand what she was saying. Suffering, however, was a language she understood very well.
"There now," she murmured, sitting next to Ruby, lightly rubbing her back as she sobbed herself out. "Never mind my jokes, child. It's only my way of whistlin' in the dark. And don't you be afraid of gettin' dismissed now. When I go back to America, I'll make sure you find a good place."
"Even though - I've brought – disgrace – into your household?"
"If anyone's a disgrace, it's that devil of a baronet. Never you."
Ruby's eyes widened; even at a moment like this, she was shocked by Winifred's language.
"But it's me own fault," she continued, still shaking her curly head in protest of so much generosity. "I … I gave him everything, Mrs. Hurtle, don't you understand? Everything a woman has to give. I was his for the asking, until – "
"Until you weren't?"
She nodded. "When he told me he was never gonna marry me, I … I told him we were finished, but he wouldn't let me go. He pulled me into a dark alley and he tried … he tried to … " She covered her face with both hands, as if shutting out the memory, and did not speak for a long time.
"But then John heard me screaming," she finally finished, with one deep, shuddering breath. "Pulled him off me and knocked him down. Twice."
"Good man."
"I'n'e, though?"
Ruby sniffed and wiped her eyes, calm enough at last to take a handkerchief from her pocket. If she didn't know better, Winifred would not have believed this story; not from a girl who seemed no older than a child.
"None of this is your fault," she repeated. "You were naïve, I'll give you that. On the other hand, wiser women than you have been fooled by a pretty face and empty promises." She thought of Paul and pushed the thought away.
"When a woman tells a man it's over, she has the right to be taken at her word Any man who won't is worth less than the earth it takes to bury him. I'm speakin' from experience, my dear, so take it from me: there's nothing worse than punishin' yourself for someone else's sin."
Ruby leaned wearily back into the cushions, her eyes on the hearth instead of her mistress' face as she struggled with logic against a lifetime of tradition. In the silence that followed, Winifred was confronted with an internal battle of her own. When will you accept that it is over between us? she remembered Paul exclaiming, with all the wild frustration of a dog tugging at his chain.
Nonsense. When did I ever have to drag Paul down any dark alleys?
But you threatened it, hissed her conscience. You've been threatening him with a breach-of-promise suit, a bullet to the head or both, ever since you came to England. You bullied him into taking you to Lowestoft. Is that really so much better than what Carbury's done to Ruby?
It's different for a man, she told herself. The cards were stacked in his favor from the moment he was born!
Tell that to the man you murdered.
"Tea's ready, ma'am," said Mrs. Pipkin, making both women jump.
"Thank you," was Winifred's instinctive reply.
The housekeeper handed out two steaming cups of Orange Pekoe with a dash of rum, 'for the nerves', as she always said. Winifred breathed in deep and took a sip, forcing the spicy fragrance to calm the voices inside her head. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ruby doing the same, sitting quietly while her aunt tucked a blanket around her shoulders.
"Hmm, that hits the spot," she purred, pretending they had been speaking of nothing but tea all along. "Almost as good as the coffee back home. I could sleep for a week. How about you, Ruby?"
"I don't know, ma'am … "
"Once we're finished, we should really get to bed. I promise you, everything's at least a little bit brighter in the morning."
I hope, whispered that tiresome voice she could not ignore.
"If you have nightmares, my dear, don't be afraid to light a candle," said Mrs. Pipkin. "I believe we can give economy a rest for once, don't you?"
Ruby nodded and smiled faintly. Winifred stared into her teacup.
And if I have nightmares, she told herself, it may, perhaps, be no more than I deserve.