"The Covered Way of Love…" (Part Three)
by
jodief1
We hadn't had any dinner, of course, only the bits of bread and fruit that we had eaten, legs entwined, in the bed. I was surprised that Maud had allowed it! ― but then, as she had said the previous day, I was just getting to know her, as she really was. At any rate, before we could go out-of-doors, we had to beg something more from poor Mrs Inker. (Poor, I say; because she hadn't yet realised that she was going to have to cook up a storm to keep up with our appetites, what with all our new exertions.)
Though we didn't speak it, I think that Maud and I already had silently agreed not to appear always together, like Siamese twins; and so Maud smiled her encouragement and squeezed my arm, before turning away to idle in the hall near the door whilst I ventured gamely down the stairs. At once, Mrs Inker heard me coming, and fairly bowled me over with the same babble she'd laid on us the day before: Was I now quite restored? Thank the Lord! and how fared Miss Maud? &c. I did my best turn as an innocent, calmly asking her to pack a basket, and intimating some of that customary familiarity between servants ― but I didn't go so far as to say "Miss Maud." I think I said "we," instead, and thanked her a little coolly, just to put out the hint that I was not the same Miss Smith, not anymore.
Finally, I smiled politely as Mrs Inker handed me the basket, sighing over the notion that her good Miss Maud might improve her complexion by taking some air; and then I smiled in earnest as I huffed it back up the stairs to my companion. Maud turned toward me as I appeared, and I must've made a face to show what I'd endured, for she put back her head and laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. No nervous tittering behind her hand, mind you, but a full-mouthed, gasping fit, as she sagged against the wall and wiped her eyes. I couldn't help laughing myself, and I set down the basket to hold her up as she clutched my arm. I could see her small white teeth, and her splotchy red cheeks, and I thought, how long it has been since I've heard that music!
At length Maud composed herself, her chest heaving in just the same way it did in passion; so I swallowed hard, stooped down to pick up the basket, and marched resolutely toward the front hall, with Maud's arm tucked firmly under mine. "Oh, Sue, wait," she sputtered, "I was just thinking…should we bring along a parasol?" I looked her over mock-sternly and said, "Is it really that bright out? I'm not sure I can trust you to go find one without collapsing in hysterics, miss." Maud bit her lip, and poked me in the arm so that I dropped hers; I rubbed my arm and moaned dramatically, but she stepped quickly away from me to open a creaky door across the passage. She leaned in, and dusty objects came flying out of a closet: a short broom, two mismatched boots, a small brass doorstopper, and a frayed glove. Like an actor in a pantomime, Maud emerged victorious, holding aloft a grayish-pink parasol with lace frills; but a dark spiderweb had clung to her forehead, and so once again, I had to set down my basket and approach her, chuckling, to brush her off. "You're worse than a child!" I exclaimed, and Maud grinned up at me as she replied, "Indeed I am, much worse. For I never was a child, and so never had occasion to grow up. Now, this thing," she said, shaking out the parasol, "has seen better days, but it should do the trick. It's not the sun that concerns me, my dear, as much as prying eyes; but just say the word, and I'll put it back." She batted her eyes at me, and my jaw went slack. Just who was this woman, and what was she playing at?
