The Legacy Part 1

by Rich-As-A-Queen

A sequel to the Sarah Waters novel, Fingersmith. Picking up where the novel left off, Maud and Sue find that there is more than just money to an inheritance, and that the legacy of their past will put their love for each other to the ultimate test.

2. Chapter 2

********************Part Two ***************************

I wrapped the shawl tight about my shoulders when I stepped outside that day. The quiet air was as still as midnight and in the dull morning light my breath made little fog patches that followed me everywhere. I stepped gingerly across the gravel drive in my thin slippers and passed the broken watering trough where the puddle's skin of ice reflected the house and the grey clouds in strange fractures. I found what I was looking for at the corner of the house, where the gravel gave way to a grassy path. Someone had walked in the grass before me and melted the delicate coating of frost into the shape of a shoe that was a bit smaller than my own. I followed the footsteps that led away from the drive and disappeared towards the back garden between the tall unkempt shrubs that reached out from the borders on either side of the path. I stopped every so often and listened for sound, 'cause with each step I only heard the crunch of my own slippers as they crushed the brittle blades like glass beneath my feet. Maud's footprints led resolutely toward the back of the house and I followed them until I heard the answering sound of feet on the crisp footpath. Someone was coming my way and I shivered a bit as I steeled myself to face her once more. How things had changed between us.

Since we got back from London I often found that I woke to an empty bed, or I would retire at night to our rooms only to find her missing. Sometimes I discovered her reading in the library, or wandering aimlessly the grounds around the house. Sometimes her eyes were still red-rimmed, or her face was wet even, but she wouldn't tell me what was on her mind, just like she would never weep before me. Her grief had become a solitary thing, and because of it, so had I. The fact was that I was far too afraid to say anything that would remind her of what happened in London. Instead, I tried to carry on as usual, as if nothing happened. Perhaps that was a mistake, 'cause one day it all came out.

I shiver to remember it. It was not a week after we returned. I had found her in our dressing room, struggling to reach the back of her dress.

"Here you are, Maud; let me help you," I said as I crossed to her.

"I can manage," she said curtly.

I flinched but fastened the hooks for her anyway and then sat her in a chair and began brushing her hair. I tried to think of something to say but conversation no longer came easy to me. Everything I did; everything I said, seemed to remind us of what had changed since that night at the Argyll Rooms. The silence drew on interminably, while she jerked her head against each stroke of the brush, savagely forcing it through.

"I could wash it for you," I suggested meekly. "P'raps a little vinegar to make it shine."

She shrugged my hand off her shoulder irritably. "You should not have to do this at all, Sue. In fact, I have been thinking we might engage a maid to do these things."

"What, a maid?" I said half-joking. "For God's sake, why?"

"I do not think it is fitting any more," she declared.

"Get on!" I sniggered. "I've always done it. I don't mind, I like it."

Maud turned suddenly and her eyes looked so dark and fathomless that my smile died on my lips. I heard my breath catch and felt a hard knot growing in the pit of my stomach.

"You are not a maid," she said ominously. "You are the mistress of Briar now, and the Inkers will expect you to behave accordingly."

"The Inkers," I tried to sound dismissive. "But they're like family, almost."

"Then everyone else then," she said searchingly. "The villagers then."

"What, in Marlow?" I tried to laugh. It came off as snide as a lead sovereign. "They don't know us from Adam. Besides, they don't even come round here."

"Just because we do not see them every day does not mean they do not exist!" she spat the words at my startled face. I swallowed hard and regretted trying to make light of it all. "There is Society out there, Sue, even beyond the river, and we are expected to behave a certain way."

"Since when-," I began but stopped myself. I was about to say since when had she begun to worry what anyone thought about her; but the answer was too obvious, and too painful to give words to. Maud read my face and turned away with a dark look on her features.

I sighed and set the brush aside and sank to the floor in front of her chair so I could hold her hands in her lap. They felt as rigid as dead bones. She pulled one free to bite at her thumbnail while she gazed impatiently out the window, avoiding my entreating eyes.

"We can always go back to London," I told her, but even naming it made her head jerk like I had struck her. I tried to sooth her. "People 'ave got short memories. I'm certain they'll soon forget all about you, right? Meantime, it's not so hard waiting here, is it? I mean, we'd only have to endure-"

"Endure!" she exploded, standing up so sudden I almost fell backwards. Her skirt swirled noisily as she whirled on me with her back to the window. Her eyes were like coals.

"Do not speak to me of enduring! I am an expert at it. I'm sick of it!" she said and before I could rise or open my mouth she turned away dismissively and began pacing restlessly by the window, glaring through the mullions like they were prison bars, chafing to be beyond the draughty, peeling room; past the borders and trees to where she imagined the forbidden pleasures of London lay out of sight. All the joys that she thought were plainly absent in Briar.

I opened my mouth then closed it again. What could I have said to comfort her? What spell could undo what had happened? To tell the truth I was too frightened to act, or to say anything lest I put spark to her unhappiness, and ignite it into something worse. I was scared to death of what such a conflagration might consume: Briar, or me even. I couldn't help but wonder what she might be willing to sacrifice if forced to choose between her happiness and mine. Any choice appeared unbearable to me. The very thought of it made me feel queasy.

So I mumbled something to her back and with a heavy heart left her in peace, to wait as long as I had to for her black mood to leave her. Until then I knew with sickening surety that I would do anything to please her, even if it meant submitting myself to a future filled with unsatisfying, horrible, conventionality.

That was how it was since then. Maud had become less openly unhappy, but more correct and distant. At times she seemed on the brink of opening herself to me, only to retreat into herself once more. At times I found her so painfully frustrating, like having a watch which is jammed from being too tightly wound; you ache to bang it free, yet you're too afraid to in case you break the works. In the days that followed I learned to keep our conversation to harmless, and worthless, subjects; to put up with her silences that she took comfort in, but that I found so deafening. In short, I learned to walk on eggshells around her. Funny that; 'cause as I looked for her that morning I thought the crunch of the frozen grass beneath my slippers was just like eggshells. I took a deep breath and, stepping between the tall shrubs, steeled myself to meet her.

But it was not Maud I found.

"Mrs Inker!" I cried.

I startled her so much that she dropped the basket she was carrying, scattering its contents all over the path between us.

"Gawd, I'm sorry," I said breathlessly as went down on all fours, almost bashing my head on hers in the process. I felt the biting cold in my knees through the flimsy muslin of my dress. The frost melted into ice-water on my hands. I noticed Mrs Inker was more sensibly dressed and I looked enviously at her heavy wool dress and padded jacket with a scarf to keep her head warm.

"S'right dear, I'll tend to it," she said but I helped her gather up the leaves and stems anyways. I blew on my fingers to get the feeling back. There was a pungent fragrance on them that made me smile nostalgically. It was Mrs Inker who had taught me the names and uses of some of the garden plants in the days since I had returned from London. I had been caught by Mrs Inker in the kitchen, when I was once again hunting fretfully for Maud, and not wanting the woman to be privy to my troubles, asked her in an offhand way about the herbs that were lying on the table. She didn't mind me being there one bit, and even if it was a bit inappropriate for her to be seen teaching her mistress she didn't let on. But for me it was so wonderful to finally talk to someone, without worrying my guts out lest I let slip one careless word that might bring down a suffocating silence, that I came back for more the next day as well. I didn't really care what we talked about, but I did remember enough of her lessons to know what my hands smelled of that day.

"Rosemary," I said to her.

She smiled at me in a gentle, kindly way from where she knelt opposite me. Unexpectedly, she took my hands in her, and I was surprised to find them warm. It was a comforting gesture, and reminded me so much of how I ached to close the distance that had come between me and Maud, that for a moment I couldn't look Mrs Inker in the eye for fear that she would see it all in my face and so I kept my eyes on our hands instead. Her hands were thickened by years of domestic labour, yet were remarkably soft. They smelled of rosemary, mixed with lavender and a bit of sage. It recalled the pungent odours of nights spent by the warmth of the brazier back in Lant Street, when I hadn't a care in the world.

"I knew her, you know," she said softly.

"What? Knew who?" I asked. Mrs Inker's eyes searched mine. Behind her careworn features and gentle disposition she had a steely gaze that made it hard to meet her eyes. I hadn't noticed it in her before; I guess I thought of her like I did other servants - so placid; but I shouldn't have been surprised that it might be otherwise seeing as how much nerve it must've taken to have stayed with Maud after everyone else had abandoned her.

"Your mother," she said significantly.

"My mother?" I almost choked and looked about fearfully in case anyone else had heard. I dunno what I was afraid of - ghosts maybe. I didn't suppose Maud had told the Inkers about the will, nor that she weren't the real Miss Lilly. In a panic I wondered if Mrs Inker imagined Mrs Sucksby was my mother; but how could she have ever heard about her? Perhaps she was some kind of witch! The touch of her hands was gentle but I had the urge to pull mine away.

She said, "I should've known it heretofore, but seeing you wandering the grounds these past days looking so sad brought back such memories of her."

Had my troubles been so obvious, I wondered, but said, "Who?"

She gave me a small smile. "She used to wander the grounds those times she escaped the house. I used to watch her. She had such a sad face. Your face… I can see the resemblance now. Ain't you the very picture of her?"

With a shock it dawned on me. "You mean Marianne Lilly?

She nodded slowly, gauging my reaction.

"Marianne…," I struggled to arrange my crowded thoughts. My mother, who had not been a thief, but had died in a mad-house instead. "You said escaped… then she really was cracked?"

Mrs Inker broke into a cackled so sudden that it startled me. "No indeed!" she said. "Who told you those lies? Was it Mr Lilly? Truth was she was imprisoned here! An innocent girl locked up in her room, and you would have died here an unborn child if she weren't determined to save you – bless her!"

I fell silent. There were so many questions all trying to be asked at once that I didn't know where to begin. I knew next to nothing about my mother, and the picture of her in my head had been more like mist; but she was slowly taking shape, like a ghost made real.

"Why d'you never tell Maud this?" I asked suddenly.

She looked at me levelly. "Would have lost my place, eh, when Mr Lilly was alive. He filled Miss Maud's head with lies about her, like he did Mrs Stiles and all the servants as well. Besides, me and William were out at the lodge in those days, and never saw Miss Maud, least not never alone.

"And after," she shrugged. "To be honest she never looked like she wanted to know. Who could blame her after being raised so queerly. It was shameful. Preferred to be shut up in the library; I don't think she wanted anything to do with anybody; at least not until you showed up again."

I almost smiled at that, but said seriously, "So how come you know the truth if all the others just fell for them lies?"

"Cause no one knew that we knew her," she replied conspiratorially. "We was outside servants who never had cause to speak to a Lady. But William found her outside one night, half frozen to death the poor thing, and took pity on her and warmed her in the lodge by the gate. She went back to the house on her own accord, and bade us tell no one that we ever met her. That way no one would ever be the wiser."

"What d'you mean, wiser?" I asked.

She smiled. "That we was going to help her make her escape to London!"

"Is it true, then?" said a grating voice. "'Bout what you said of Miss Susan?"

I scrambled to my feet and saw Mr Inker leaning on a spade nearby. His nails were black with dirt and his creased face bore such a scowl that it made my legs tremble. Mrs Inker gave him a great nudge with her elbow.

"Look at her you great lout!" she demanded. "Can't you see for yourself? You always told me what a great beauty she was."

Mr Inker looked thunderstruck. I blushed right to my roots. He was, after all, an old man.

"I never," he protested.

Mrs Inker slapped his arm hard and cackled, "Not her, you old fool! I was thinking of Miss Marianne."

Then he looked at me with that same intense scrutiny that his wife had used earlier and I think I blushed even more.

"She's got the very same eyes, I swear she does; and the shape of her face too," Mrs Inker suggested. My thoughts whirled. I thought to myself; I've got her eyes! That got my heart going a mile a minute, like I was hearing Marianne Lilly's will read to me for the first time again. My mother was no longer just a name on paper, or a picture in a locket, but someone still remembered as a living breathing person; someone like me. I felt Mrs Inker's hands steady me and with an effort I forced my eyes to focus again. Mr Inker's eyes still stared at me beneath his creased brow, but much softer than before.

"And this is the… I mean her…?" he said tremulously.

His wife almost chuckled at the effect her words were having. "Yes William, this here's Miss Marianne's baby, come back to us a Lady."

His reaction might have been a mirror of my own, cause he was rendered speechless and had to use his spade like a cane to steady himself.

"Bit of a shock ain't it," I said, still shaken myself. I turned to Mrs Inker, for I was dying to ask her. "Tell me more, but first; how'd you know it was me and not Maud?"

She gave me a knowing look. "C'mon inside and I'll tell you. Look at you! You're shivering. I think you could use a cup of tea. What were you thinking coming out here with naught but a shawl and some slippers?"

She went to take my arm but I slipped away, remembering all a sudden why I had come outside in the first place. Already the frost had melted away and with it Maud's footprints had vanished.

"I've got to find Maud," I could hardly keep the worry from my voice. "Have you seen her?"

Mr Inker harrumphed and muttered darkly. "Miss Maud. So, she's been a right cuckoo-bird all along."

"No!" I rounded on him vehemently. "You're never to say that, none of you! This is every inch her home as much as mine. In my mind she still has every right to it, more so even for what she gave of herself here. No one is to forget that, ever!"

I wondered how I could explain it to them, or even if I ever should. How could they understand what Maud had to endure as Marianne's daughter? Whatever reasons Mr Lilly had to hate his sister, it was Maud who had borne all the burden of it, while I just collected the spoils after. It didn't seem fair on the face of it. With blurry vision I pushed past them both and hurried into the wooded area behind the house.

How long I wandered I don't know, only that I almost wished then that Mrs Inker hadn't figured out who I was. Bad enough, I thought, that Maud was sunk into despair over the business in London, but to have the servants think the worse of her as well was too much to bear.

"Sue, what are you doing?" her voice came from behind me and I spun around.

Maud wore a quizzical expression. It was only when I turned that I noticed with surprise that I had unknowingly wandered into the old family plot that lay deep in the shade of the turning trees. The headstone that marked my mother's grave was so close that it made me jump and I became so flustered that could not think of anything to say. I shouldn't wonder what I must have looked like to her, shivering among the graves in only a flimsy print frock and sodden slippers. She in contrast looked sensibly warm inside her boots and jacket worn atop of one of her old, heavier dresses. Feeling foolish, I could only cast about looking for something to say.

"What happened to Mr. Lilly?" I asked suddenly, still looking about. I never noticed before, but the ground was undisturbed.

Maud drew her brows together, not altogether understanding the question.

"He was laid in the churchyard," she answered at last. "It was better that way."

Better than what, I wondered, but nodded. On the pretence of moving away from the graves, I got closer to her. I knew I would have to tell her.

"I just saw Mrs Inker," I admitted. "She knows Maud. I dunno how; I never told her."

Maud's face was a blank, so I explained. "She knows about me; about Marianne. Don't be angry with me. I never told anyone. She must've figured it out somehow."

I chewed my lip. Maud looked away in consternation, and when she spoke her voice was dull. "It does not matter, Sue. It is a trifle."

"But I don't want them to think any worse of you," I declared. "Especially as you are their mistress, and I dunno what we'll say now."

She shrugged but her face was dark with bitterness. "Tell them the truth then. Tell them you are their mistress now…and I have only been fooling them my whole life."

"Oh, don't talk like that!" I pleaded. I hated seeing her so, but even though I longed to hold her to me I knew that if she pushed me away it would kill me.

"It is true-"

"It's not like that, listen," I implored her. "The Inkers were there, Maud. They've just told me. Before you were born, before Marianne went to London and met Mrs Sucksby, they were here, and knew my mother and, listen to this, they knew her as a good woman who was terribly wronged by Mr Lilly and his father."

"The Inkers?" she looked puzzled. "I never realized they knew her, but of course they must have been here back then." She stiffened. "But what they told you is no different than what Mrs Sucksby told me before."

"But they're here, Maud," I insisted. "And they can tell us what really happened."

"How can it matter to me anymore?" she sighed. "It is your life now, Sue."

"It's my life now, but you're the one who lived it. You're the one who Mr Lilly hurt all those years because he supposed you were me. Don't you want to know what it was all for? You knew him, Maud. D'you think Mr Lilly was so scrupulous that he was cut to the quick just cause his sister was having a baby?"

Maud stared in thought and then dropped her eyes and spoke quietly. "When I was with Mrs Sucksby, Richard received a letter from my unc- … from your uncle. At the time I had hoped Mr Lilly might seek to have me returned to Briar, even if it was only to punish me."

She glanced at me before continuing and I saw her ears were tinged. "But he did not care at all what happened to me. Nothing at all. So no, Sue, I do not think Marianne's baby alone explains all that occurred."

I nodded. "Not enough to do what he did to her, and to you, all those years. It's like he did it out of spite, or for revenge, or something like that."

Maud stared. I had all her attention. "What are you suggesting?"

I came closer still to her. I felt my heart beating like mad beneath my stays, for my head was full of fanciful ideas, and I was afraid the whole house was listening.

"What d'you know about my father, Maud?" I asked.

"Your father?" she shrugged, but her eyes were wild. "Why, nothing at all! Marianne was never spoken of, so you can imagine there was no mention of him. I always assumed it was just because she was never married to him, but now I am not so sure."

I couldn't hide my disappointment. I had hoped she would remember something that would give substance to my warm imaginings, even if it was just a morsel. Still, I was compelled to share my thoughts.

"Maud, what if it was who the father was that made all the difference?"

She sniggered. "What, like he was a peddler, or one of the servants?"

Her answer deflated me, but I hoped I hid it well. I confess at times I imagined him being a more noble sort of scoundrel, like some famous highwayman, or even a Lord caught cheating on his wife and forced to flee to the Americas, leaving his sweetheart behind to face the wrath of her father and brother; the type of scandal that someone might read about in a penny dreadful.

"No, more like he did something terrible to Mr Lilly, or his father, something so bad that they'd never forgive him, or anyone near to him." I suggested.

"What did the Inkers say?" she asked sceptically.

"They… well, nothing really," I admitted. "I forgot to ask. I came to find you."

She slipped her arm through mine. "Well, let's go ask them now. Heaven's, Sue, you are freezing cold! What were you thinking coming outside dressed this way?"

I almost laughed, cause I'd completely forgotten I was shivering with cold. Finding something to take Maud's mind off her own troubles had warmed me more than a summer's day. I even humoured myself that perhaps there would be a thaw that day that would bring everything back to the way it was between us, but Maud paused at the threshold of the house, and her eyes mirrored the overcast day.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I replied cautiously.

She had a faraway look. "I learned many things working for your uncle; there are some things that I sorely wish I could unlearn."

I think I knew what she was speaking of, so I said nothing. She then looked up at the facade of the house before looking at me directly.

"Just be warned that there are secrets in your family," she said. "They might have been taken to the grave with your uncle. It might be best if they stay there, because once learned…"

She didn't finish but went inside and left me pondering if those secrets were the reason why Mr Lilly was buried so far from Briar.

The Inkers rose when we entered the kitchen, but I bade them sit and then told them we'd join them for a cup of tea. There was only a scrubbed table there, stained and marked by the years, with no cloth over it. Mr Inker shot a nervous glance at Maud, which was a testament to how formal things had got since we'd got back; Maud always was served in the parlour. Plus, I think he was a tad worried that I might have tattled on him about his cuckoo-bird comment. Serve him right, I thought wickedly. Once tea was served Maud opened the conversation.

"As you know, I am not the late Mr Lilly's niece. Please rest assured that in that respect we did not intend to deceive you. Sue and I ourselves did not know the truth of our parentage until recently. About Susan's mother, Marianne, we have only been told that when she was in London she came to my mother for help in delivering her baby, and also that she preferred it if her baby was to grow up in London, rather than at Briar. So I was substituted for Susan when Mr Lilly and his father came for Marianne, and Marianne told no one of the exchange, but only wrote it down in her will with instructions for it not to be opened until my eighteenth birthday."

Everyone stared at Maud whilst she made that speech; the Inkers, because it explained so much; me, because it concealed everything. It was the truth yet not the truth. So much was left unsaid that I was fairly busting to interject, so much so that I wondered how she could have avoided my eye while she said it. The Inkers digested the news, and I cleared my throat to break the heavy silence and chose my words carefully out of respect for the great omissions in Maud's account of things.

"That's really all we know about my mother," I told the Inkers. "But we know none of the reasons why she did it. If you can remember anything about why my mother had to run away from Briar it would help me to understand how I got here."

Mr Inker looked to his wife and she in turn fingered her cup, as if unsure where to begin. "You've got to understand, Miss's, that we was, sort to speak, not inside. We lived out at the lodge in those days. That was back when Mr Lilly, your uncle, lived here with his father and sister. We didn't see firsthand what went on between them. We can only tell for certain what we saw with our own eyes."

We waited patiently while she stopped to gulp her tea, then she said to me, "Well, I guess the whole thing was on account of Marianne and those relations of yours in Marlow," she ventured.

"Relations?" wondered Maud aloud, echoing my own thoughts.

"Yes Miss. You know Mr Lilly had cousins living in Marlow," she spoke matter-of-factly.

Maud shook her head at me. "No, he never mentioned them to me."

"You never heard?" Mrs Inker sounded incredulous. "Well, Marianne was in the habit of visiting them from time to time. I can attest to that cause William was often called upon to lend the groom a hand with her horse every time she was going out. It might be idle gossip but one of the chambermaids at the time told me that Miss Lilly had developed an affection for a young man there. Rumour had it her father, the elder Mr Lilly, flew into a rage when he found out about the attachment. It seems the man tried to use the situation to his advantage with her father, demanded money from him after she was with child; threatened to ruin the family reputation. It was because of that that she was locked up."

I was right, I thought. There was someone else, and he was probably my father! I leaned towards Mrs Inker, "Who was he! Is he my father? What was his name!"

She looked at her husband whose face was a blank. "I dunno, Miss. I don't recall his name," she said.

"What d'you mean, you don't remember?" I exclaimed loudly. "You remember everything else!"

Mrs Inker quailed. "Sorry Miss, but that was almost twenty years ago. All I remember was when Marianne came to us at the lodge she could only go on about how cruel her father and brother treated her, and how they was going to murder the child she was carrying and begged us to help her escape them. She never said nothing about the father. I never thought to ask her, Miss."

I glared, and she recoiled as another outburst boiled inside me, but then I felt Maud's restraining hand on mine.

"No need to be sorry, Mrs Inker. You have been most helpful," she said so calmly that I bit back my reply and took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself as well.

"It's alright," I told her at last. "I'm sorry, but it's just that it seemed we were that close to knowing everything that happened, and now we don't even know the man's name, or where he lived, or-"

"Oh I knows where the young rogue lived," chimed in Mr Inker all a sudden.

"What d'you say?" I demanded.

We had all turned and looked at him so intently that he grew nervous and fell silent. He ran his hand through his thin grey hair and coughed when he tried to speak.

"Beggin yer pardon, Miss, but I knows where the young man lived," he croaked and swallowed hard. "Miss Marianne told the groom where she was headed, in case the horse threw a shoe or came up lame and he needed to find her. He were a daft fool an' needed to be told ten hundred times."

"Where is it then?" I asked impatiently, afraid he might forget all of it if he didn't tell that instant.

"Well," he scratched his chin in thought. "I ain't never been there, mind you, but I know fair enough where the place is. It's in Marlow, Miss, but I don't rightly know how to tell you where it is. Beggin yer pardon but you don't know the names of places round here, so they won't mean nothing to you. I would have to show you like."

"Then you could find it again?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, Miss, that I can, easily," he said, relieved to have finally pleased me. "There's been naught changed in Marlow for a hundred years or more."

I slumped against the back of the chair at this revelation, my senses overwhelmed by this discovery. It was one thing to learn about my family history, but the notion that they might still be alive, in Marlow no less, filled me with excitement and dread in equal measure. I became aware too that Maud was looking at me carefully and I knew by her expression that she disapproved of what I was thinking, but was holding back for the moment. Everyone seemed to be waiting for me.

"Thank you, you've been most helpful," Maud told the Inkers, and they took that as their cue to dismiss themselves. Once I heard the door close I tried to make her understand.

"He might have been my father," I implored her.

She said nothing and we continued to regard each other in a childish staring match. Finally I relented and looked away.

"Alright, alright," I moaned. "I know I'm being a bit daft. The rotter probably scarpered as soon as Mr Lilly told him to kiss off, or he might not have been the father at all. Even if he was, probably no one in Marlow will remember him, let alone anyone at that house."

"Or maybe they just met somewhere else and the house was a fiction," Maud suggested. I nodded to concede her that possibility, but then I leaned toward her.

"But it's possible, ain't it?" I beseeched her and my eyes suddenly grew wide. "Christ, he might even still be alive, just imagine!"

Maud put her careful expression back on and regarded me for a while, her features sliding ever deeper into a frown.

I lowered my eyes and muttered sulkily, "Look, forget it. Let's just pretend we never-"

"No, I think you should go there and see if anyone remembers this man," she said suddenly.

"What? Why?" I stammered, confused by her apparent change of heart.

She looked thoughtfully at me. "Do you remember Mrs Inker said that what she was told was just rumours? I for one don't believe what she heard is true."

"You don't?" She'd lost me.

She counted off her fingers. "First, if Marianne was already with child, I do not think the threat of ruining her reputation would carry much weight with her father anymore."

"Of course," I admitted. She should have been a lawyer, I thought.

"Second, let me ask you; why do you think your mother inherited that fortune?" she asked, eying me shrewdly.

I frowned as I wracked my brains. I always hated puzzles. "I dunno. She inherited it when her mother died, maybe."

Maud eyed me patronizingly. "Yes, but doesn't the law of England naturally pass property to the son? Should it not have passed to your uncle?"

I gave her a steely look while I pondered the question, and then it came to me and I said triumphantly, "Someone must've willed it to her, like it was willed to you and me!"

She almost looked surprised and I congratulated myself for wiping that smug look off her face; but she was undaunted and asked me, "Then who would have willed it to her?"

I looked peeved at her once more, for obviously she had the answer already and was just out to prove how clever she was at my expense.

"It's got to be her parents, right?" I replied tentatively.

Maud looked serious now. "Then why would the elder Mr Lilly leave everything to a daughter he so disapproved of? Why would he not leave it all to the son, your uncle?"

I opened my mouth and held it that way, my mind stuck on the contradiction. Maud was too clever by half.

"I dunno," I concluded.

"If your uncle's father wanted to punish Marianne," she reasoned further, "What better way than to disinherit her?"

I thought about it. "What if he intended to, but died before he was able to do it? By your reckoning he must've passed away soon after we were born."

A slow grudging smile forced its way onto her face and I could hardly contain my own. Deep in thought, she unknowingly rose from her chair, like she was lifted up on the tide of ideas that passed between us, and with her finger, traced an invisible pattern on the scarred table.

"But that still leaves almost an entire year from the time she forms an attachment to this cousin of hers, to the time she is discovered hiding in Lant Street," she said. "He still had plenty of time to have the will altered if he so chose."

"If there was a will," I said morosely.

"If there was even a cousin," she added.

In response I dropped my chin onto my hands and exhaled noisily. "So what are you saying, Maud, that Marianne's father wasn't angry with her… loved her even?"

"I'm saying that we may not know why Marianne ran away from Briar. Not yet at least," she stated.

I looked up at her. I detected her colour was up, and there was a gleam in her eye I hadn't seen since we were in London. I believed she actually wanted to find my relatives more than I did! That wasn't all that hard really; the more I knew of them the less appealing was the prospect of finding still living anyone remotely connected with the Lilly family. What was there more to discover, I wondered; a cruel uncle, a father who might have abandoned my mother and a mother who was hated by all her family? Give me Lant Street any day!

But there was Maud to consider. I knew I had to find out what happened to my mother if only for Maud's sake. She was the one who got robbed of her childhood on account of whatever Marianne was accused of, and add to that her shattered dreams of London and it was no wonder she wanted to find out what was behind it all. Besides that, I harboured the secret desire that if we did get to the bottom of it all it might make Maud content to go on as we once did and give up trying to get away from Briar; away from me.

"Then what should we do?" I asked her, and the word 'we' clung to my tongue like a strange taste long after I said it. But Maud didn't notice, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave the kitchen door a determined look.

"Let's go ask Mr Inker if he is willing to take us to Marlow today," she said.

As luck would have it, it just so happened that Mr Inker intended to go into Marlow that very morning on account it was the market day. Maud was content to go as she was, but dressing warm enough was the farthest thing from my mind. If we did find these long lost relatives, what would they think of me? How would it look to them to find the noble Lilly name and property bestowed upon a common girl? Dress after dress was chosen and just as quickly discarded until I settled on a dark purple skirt, luxuriously full and made all of silk, with an embroidered bodice to match. It was one of many that I had made up in London, and was trimmed all around with a tracery of white lace. I finished it with a very small black silk hat. A 'fascinator' was what the milliner in London had called it.

In the mirror I caught Maud's reflection, poised critically against the doorframe of our room. Even the imperfect glass could not hide the severity of her expression.

"It'll likely end up a wild goose chase," I justified to myself as well as her reflection. "So, I figure we might as well join Mr Inker at the market. Ever since you told me they had a market in Marlow I've wanted to see it. D'you think this'll do?"

I turned so fast that my skirt blossomed out in a wild swirl of silk. It would do nicely if we were destined for the Grand Ball but hardly proper for a country market. If Maud thought I was showing off she didn't let on, but her impassive silence made the colour rise up my neck nonetheless. As a concession I decided to forego the dainty shoes I had picked out earlier and instead grudgingly chose some boots from the clothes press nearby.

"And I've got an extra petticoat under to keep me warm," I added as if that made all the difference.

In the cart under the dull sky the roads were as bumpy as ever and made conversation with Maud nearly impossible. Just as well, cause even if it wasn't I was so anxious thinking about who we might meet that I couldn't think of anything to say to her. I wondered what kind of people were they? How grand did they live? I grew so apprehensive that I even wished our old knackeryard nag weren't taking us there quite so fast. I let my hand stray near Maud's but she wouldn't hold it on the pretence of steadying herself against the bucking of the cart. I dunno, perhaps she just didn't notice it was there.

Signs of the forthcoming winter were everywhere I looked. The road was littered with leaves mottled with age; the fields that had been bright with the stalks of hay before we left for London were now dark and barren after being picked clean by the gleaners. Even the roses in the hedgerows were decorated with bright hips like it were already Christmas. I had never been in the country during winter. In London there was just the weather. One day you simply noticed it had turned freezing and that was winter, but at Briar there were so many premonitions of its coming that it was no wonder they still believed in witchcraft.

The road gave way to a lane, and the lane to what was little more than a track, hemmed in by tall hedgerows that reached out and slapped at our cart making me and Maud struggle to claim the small patch of safety in the center. The trees overhead deepened the gloom and just when I thought we couldn't possibly be going the right way we emerged into a clearing that held a few rude cottages. The air was so still that the smoke hung in it like a veil.

"Is this it?" I whispered to Maud.

"I'm not sure," she shrugged and we both looked at Mr Inker. He muttered to the horse and brought us to a stop before he turned to us and nodded toward the nearest dwelling.

"That'll be it, Miss," he said inclining his head towards it.

It was a small dilapidated kind of place, set on a patch of land that alternated between overgrown wilderness and bare trodden earth. The low roof was of thatch and was swaybacked even worse than our horse. I might have thought the place was abandoned if not for the worn ground and some smoke from the chimney. But what kind of people lived there, I wondered?

"This can't be it, can it?" I asked Mr Inker. "You must be mistaken!"

He removed his cap and scratched his head. "This is the place as far as I reckon, else she was tellin' lies."

Maud had got off the back of the cart and had already started for the cottage. I looked at the dark, grimy window and hesitated.

"What are you doing?" I called after her. "This can't be the right place. Marianne would never come to a place like this."

Maud stopped and turned a set of baleful eyes to me. "How can you be so sure? Why do you find it so hard to believe that a girl from Briar could fall in love with someone as poor as all this?"

Chastened, I scrambled off the cart and followed the dirt path to where Maud waited for me just inside of the crooked fence where a gate had once been. The door to the cottage had been blackened in one place from years of being handled, but the rest of it was as weathered as driftwood. Despite what Maud said she was suddenly hesitant, so I had to step forward to knock on the door myself. The weathered wood was so coarse and rough that after I rapped on it I had to suck on my knuckles. Both Maud and I strained our ears to hear any sign of a response. When we heard a rustling from within we backed away from the door with our breath held fast.

Then the latch rattled and the door opened a crack to reveal a face that was just visible as a thin band of light against the darkness within. A single red-rimmed eye roved silently over me and Maud and we stared back at it, too alarmed to say anything.

"Hullo," I spoke at last, and attempted a brave smile. "Could I have a word with you?"

In response the probing eye narrowed and I edged closer to Maud. Finally it spoke, but the door remained almost closed..

"Who are you?"

It was a woman's voice, low and hoarse. We had been looking for a man and for some reason I had been expecting a man to come to the door, so the sound of her voice unnerved me.

"My name is Sue," I stammered. "… Susan Trinder."

I could feel Maud's eyes on me and knew what she was thinking; that finally I know what it is to bear the Lilly name. Well, I was just nervous wasn't I?

"Did Mr Chislepick send you?" The woman spat. "Cause I ain't got the money, see?"

The crack had widened, and I could see hair the colour of used straw, and a face that was all ruddy and rough. I decided to continue with my small deception.

"We don't want your money. Me and my friend here are looking for… for a family who used to live in these parts. They went by the name of Lilly," I said nervously and could feel Maud's eyes on me once more. "Well … we met a man in Marlow who was a servant with the family long ago. He said that they had relations living here who might know the whereabouts of the family."

The woman's eye finally dropped and the door opened still more to reveal a thin woman of middle years who wore an old calico frock that left her arms bare. It hung from her bony frame like lead. The skin on the hand that held the door looked sore and cracked and she caught my glance.

"I do a bit of charring, y'know, to make ends meet," she explained apologetically, and opened the door to us at last. "I thoughts you was here for the rent. Just like Mr Chislepick to try an' frighten me with a pair of swells."

She gave a rasping sort of laugh and backed into the room behind her with us in tow.

"I assure you we have not been sent by anyone," Maud told the woman as we entered the parlour. The only light came from the open door and thankfully it had been left ajar else we would have been in darkness. The woman introduced herself as Mrs Skelton. There was no sign of a Mr Skelton but it was hard to tell the place was in such disarray. I saw Maud's nose twitch from the smell of the place. Everywhere in that low-ceilinged room there were piles of what looked like dirty rags and Mrs Skelton began to move the stinking heaps about to reveal some old chairs hidden beneath.

"Darla, come 'ere," Mrs Skelton called out and my eye was drawn to movement nearby. The cottage was not much more than a single room divided by a heavy canvas and through a divide in it came a small girl who evidently had been watching us the whole time. She crossed to the woman, all the while never taking her eyes off of me and Maud. She wore a plain shift and an old scarf kept her hair covered. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and I could feel the hot fetid air that came from the other room where the washing was being done.

"Darla, put some tea on, will you," she instructed the child and then winked at us knowingly. "Always got some water going in this business."

Maud met my glance and I could tell that the thought of drinking the washing water held the same appeal for her as it did for me. We could already hear the sound of cups being brought down.

"We have a driver waiting for us," Maud said hastily. "We cannot stay."

"Won't take but a second," Mrs Skelton persisted. "Look here she comes now."

Sure enough, that little scrap Darla had made the tea up faster than I could palm a coin and had brought it out on a dirty tray that swayed precariously as she manoeuvred between the mountains of laundry. Maud's eyes grew wide with alarm.

"Really, we don't want to put you out," I pleaded whilst I eyed the chipped and stained cups. "If you could just remember if you know of-"

"Later, later. Take a chair first," Mrs Skelton remonstrated with a wave of her hand and sat herself demurely on one of the filthy chairs. "We'll have some tea; then we'll talk."

Now that she had real Ladies in the house it seemed she didn't want to let us go. She probably learned her manners from an old Women's Journal, I thought nastily, but then again she likely couldn't read. No doubt she couldn't wait to tell the neighbours in the next hovel about her distinguished guests. To avoid soiling my dress I lowered myself reluctantly onto the very edge of a chair so that I was more squatting than sitting and took a proffered cup. I saw Maud frown at the mixture in her cup while Mrs Skelton waited until we had all been served. With exaggerated ceremony she raised her cup to her thin lips and regarded us. I gave her a weak smile and did the same, but did no more than touch the rim to my mouth. Maud and I waited patiently for her to drink.

"Now then," she said at last. "I ain't heard nothing of these folk you're after."

The sound of Maud's cup on the saucer was like a shot.

"Nothing?" gasped Maud. "But we were told on good authority that-"

"You were told wrong, then," she said bluntly with a bit of a gleam in her rheumy eyes. "I never heard of no Lillys, nor am I any relation to them. We come from… nobody particular."

Dammit, I could've strangled the hag then and there, but bit back my anger and merely rose.

"Then we're sorry for the bother. C'mon Maud, we've got to go," I said tersely. "Praps Marianne was never here after all."

Moments later we were outside on the dirt path, my dress making a racket as I strode as fast as I could away from the cottage.

I ground my teeth, "What a bleedin waste of time!"

"The smell!" grimaced Maud. "And the tea tasted awful."

I suddenly stopped and looked at her, appalled. "You didn't actually drink it did you?"

She looked sheepishly at me for a moment, but I saw laughter welling up inside her. I would have laughed too, the first time in ages, but for the sound of the cottage door latch and of running feet. We turned to see little Darla run up to us to grasp Maud's hand.

"Don't leave," she pleaded.

The poor thing, I thought. I'd hate to live in that cottage too. I tried to disengage her hand from Maud's but she clung like a limpet.

"Come back," she said.

"Sorry luv," I said gently. "Maud and I have to be on our way."

"You have to come and see," the girl insisted.

I was getting fed up. "Look, you've gotta go now."

"Wait," Maud said, and then bent down to the child. "What do we have to see?"

"Christ," I sighed. I wasn't about to back in there, but Maud shushed me.

"What are we supposed to see, Darla?"

Under Maud's gaze the girl grew furtive. "Me ma doesn't know."

"Know what?" Maud rubbed the girls hand gently. "What is it?"

Darla looked at each of us before she whispered, "Marianne."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Where'd you hear that name?"

The girl pulled at Maud's hand. "Come and see."

She dragged Maud to the door where we met Mrs Skelton coming out.

"Darla!" the woman cried. "What're you doin' there. Leave the Ladies be!"

"It is quite alright," Maud assured her. "She wants to show us something."

Mrs Skelton groaned. "Pay no attention to the little pest. Her head's plain full up with fancies."

We ignored Mrs Skelton and let Darla guide us through the parlour and past the canvas divider to where the great washing kettles produced the awful miasma in the kitchen, and then further still to a dark corner where stairs led to the attic above.

"Darla!" called Mrs Skelton from behind us.

"C'mon," urged the child before she scampered up the stairs.

The steep steps groaned as we ascended to where I assumed the girl slept. I heard Mrs Skelton huffing and puffing in our wake. Once there, we found there were two rooms that had plain cloth curtains for doors. Darla vanished through one of them. We couldn't see inside because the only light was from the kitchen below, but we could hear Darla's muffled voice.

"It's here. Let me show you." She cried plaintively.

Maud turned to Mrs Skelton, "Can you fetch a candle, please?"

Mrs Skelton scoffed. "Pay her no heed, Miss. She's just-"

"Get a candle, will you!" I commanded her impatiently.

She returned in a moment and grudgingly handed over a smoky tallow candle. Maud held it aloft as we stepped into the room. We both ducked involuntarily as the candlelight struck the low ceiling that followed the slope of the roof above and made half the room too low to be of any use. The thatch showed between the boards and I shuddered at the thought of all those mice in it. There was nothing else but a straw-filled tick for the girl to sleep on.

"It's here," said Darla from the shadows beside us. The candle flickered violently in Maud's hand as she moved towards the girl's voice. We found her in a dark corner furthest from the doorway, pointing at the wall at a point where a thick timber was set into the plaster. Behind me I gave Mrs Skelton a questioning look but she merely shrugged.

"Sue, come and see this," I heard Maud call. Her voice trembled.

She held the candle up to the place that Darla was pointing at. It was just a big wooden post, scarred and split with age.

Maud held the light closer. "There, do you see it?"

The post was an ancient thing and the candlelight made the rough surface dance with shadows, but then I saw that the wood had been carefully cut away in one spot, leaving raised letters in the center. Even I could make out what the letters spelled.

"Marianne," I breathed. "Then she was here."

"At least someone who knew her was," Maud added. I looked at here questioningly.

"You would not carve your own name would you?" she explained.

I nodded. Of course, I thought, you'd scratch the name of your sweetheart. Then it struck me. "Oh Christ Maud, my father might have put this here!"

I looked again. It must have taken hours, if not days, to make such fine letters. I imagined that he would have stood on the very spot I was on; even the room might've been his own once! I put my hand out to touch the wood. In truth my head was swimming so much that I had to steady myself lest I swooned. Maud must have imagined it was an intimate gesture, cause she stepped back to leave me alone with my thoughts.

"Darla," she said. "Was this always here?"

I didn't hear Darla answer, but Mrs Skelton said, "It must've been there before I got here, and that was years and years ago."

"Is there anything else like this?" Maud asked.

"Dunno. Never seen nothing like it. I never knew it was there, honest," said Mrs Skelton. "Is that the name of one of them relations you was looking for? I reckon someone didn't like her much."

I rounded on her. "How d'you figure that?"

"Ooh, just look at it," she pointed. "It's all scratched out."

I snatched the candle from Maud and held it closer. Maud and I both peered once more at the name carved into the post. The woman was right. The wood was cracked with age, but where the name had been carved someone had split the wood on purpose, or rather it had been slashed repeatedly with a knife, over and over, in different directions.

"Someone did that on purpose, I wonder what for," said Maud.

I ran my fingers over my mother's name and over the long cuts that crossed it. The slashes were old enough that the exposed wood inside them was as dark with age as the letters they defaced. There was no telling whether days, or months, had passed between the two deeds; either way it was a long time ago. I wondered how anyone could have so lovingly carved her name into that post and then so viciously attacked it so soon after? My fingers traced the hard edges of the cuts that still felt as sharp as the blade that must've made them.

"It takes strength to make a cut this deep," I muttered.

Or passion, I thought grimly as I stared at them. I felt again the knife in my hand as I burst into the Lant Street shop. I remembered the pounding of the blood in my head when I saw Maud there, wearing my clothes, my bangles.

"Sue?" Maud spoke quietly.

I tore myself away, and found Maud's questioning face in the candlelight. "What happened to make him turn against her like that?" I asked her.

Maud regarded me dubiously. "Him? Sue, we don't know who made this, or who crossed it out. Perhaps there was no connection between them."

I was sure she was wrong, though I couldn't say why. I just knew that the cuts weren't made by some boy in a fit of boredom, but were driven there by blind fury, just as I knew in my bones that if anyone's love could be turned to such hate, it would be my fathers. After all, didn't we share the same blood? But I'm sure if I said so aloud Maud would have laughed in my face.

I said, "Let's get out of here."

We shuffled out of the stuffy, cramped room and back down to the parlour. I needed some air, but Maud stopped to speak with Mrs Skelton.

"When you came here, did the previous tenants leave anything else behind that you know of. Were there any papers or anything of that sort?"

Mrs Skelton grunted, "No papers. All of it was here, like you see it."

I looked around the room at the crude chairs and the chipped cups and the painted canvas that served as a carpet beneath the mounds of dirty washing. I thought it did much to explain why Marianne's father would have opposed the match, but made no sense of what we had just seen upstairs; I only wished there was someone about who still remembered who had put Marianne's name there.

As if thinking the same thing, Maud suddenly blinked and I heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Mrs Skelton," she said hurriedly. "That man you pay the rent to, has he always been the landlord here?"

I looked at Maud significantly. "Do you think?"

But Mrs Skelton's face darkened with suspicion. "What d'you want with Mr Chislepick?"

"P'raps he'd know who used to live here," I said to her. "D'you know where we could find him?"

The question seemed harmless enough, but it worked a remarkable change on the woman. She began to shake and waggled a finger at us and her voice was shrill. "Look here, I ain't done nothing wrong! What are you trying to do to me? You'll kill me if you give me up to Chislepick! Fairly kill me it would."

Maud tried to calm her. "Please Mrs Skelton, we have no intention of mentioning your name, or even that we were here. We just would like to ask-"

"You don't know this Chislepick!" she quailed louder than ever. "You dunno what he's capable of!"

She had got herself into a right state, and no explanation would convince her that we meant her no harm. In the end we had no choice but to leave lest her hysteria turn into outright violence. Even then she shouted at us from her door.

"No one goes to Chislepick if he knows what's good for 'im!" she cried before banging it shut behind us. Only once we were safely on the road did we stop for breath.

"Christ, what was that all about?" I said.

Maud stared at the cottage. "She is obviously terrified of this man Chislepick."

"Let's get away from here," I shuddered. "She might come after us with a pitch fork. Anyway, we don't need her to find this man. If he's only half the villain she makes him out to be, he should be easy to find in a place like Marlow. I'll bet half the people there know him."

We mounted the cart and I watched the dirty little hamlet fall away behind us. Maud was watching me distantly and when I met her eye she had to raise her voice to speak to me above the noise from the road.

"I just wonder if it is entirely prudent to even try to find him, given his reputation," she said. I scoffed at her caution.

"What, you don't believe all that gibberish that woman spouted, do you?" I said. "This morning you were all for doing this. Why stop now?"

Having to almost shout I guess my words sounded challenging, cause the chords of her neck suddenly stiffened and a faint flush spread to her face.

"That was when I thought we might find someone here who knew something. We did not find anything," she replied.

I wondered how she could say that? What we found was hardly nothing, but I wasn't about to argue about it.

I said, "Well, it's not like you have anything else to do, right Maud?"

I meant it as a kind of joke, but she took it the wrong way. Before I could say another word I saw the shutters descend over her eyes and she pursed her lips and turned away. Fine, I thought bitterly, let her have her sulk; but it spoiled the rest of the journey into Marlow.

It didn't take long to reach the village proper and we came out of the lane near the field where the market was being held. There were all sorts of carts, wagons and small carriages drawn up in that part of the field that was bordered by the road we followed. The farmers from around Little Marlow milled about, tending to their horses, or unloading their wares into handcarts. I could smell the animals for sale. Over the noise of the cart and the shouts of the villagers I caught the strains of a flute and drum and I craned my neck to try to catch a glimpse of what else the market held in store for us. Soon I could see a few stalls in the field. Some were just carts without the horse, but others had been built to look like proper little shops, and were topped by oilcloth canopies dyed in bright colours. It all looked very gay and I found myself eager to get off the cart.

I looked sideways to where Maud sat rigidly, and chastised myself for having forgotten about her, if only ever so briefly. I watched her eyes pass impassively over the field, and I couldn't tell whether she was just not interested by what she saw or whether she was pointedly avoiding my eyes. As much as I tried to steel myself, I couldn't help but feel my heart lurch with remorse.

I reached for her. "Maud… please."

There was a stirring in her eyes as if she was undecided, but then she lowered her face and sat back against the side of the cart, her eyes not quite on me but listening.

I said, "I've decided I'm not going to worry 'bout my mother anymore today. And you're right about that Chislepick man, he probably can't remember anything anyways, seeing as he only collects the rent. Let's just enjoy the market today, eh?"

Her gaze fell to my outstretched hand and she lifted her own and touched it and gave me a polite nod of her head. I guess it wasn't so much a surrender on her part than a truce of sorts, but it was enough for me.

Once Mr Inker had tended to the horse, we followed him into the market. Being strangers in a place where there weren't many, we drew our fair share of looks. I soon regretted having worn the London dress I had on. The Marlow girls had to settle for a just a ribbon or a handkerchief or just a bright bauble pinned on their hat to add a splash of colour to their dull country fashions. In contrast my own dress made such a display that it seemed almost cruel to be wearing it among them. Everyone stopped and stared. I didn't mind so much on my part; I could bear their envy, and even scorn; but it was Maud I was anxious for. I worried that she might think that behind every set of eyes was the gossip about her, not just the old talk of her sham marriage, but that stuff out of London. I watched her walk doggedly behind Mr Inker, patently ignoring the stares. It was maddening, I thought; being stared at in Marlow for being a total stranger, whilst in London it happened for just the opposite reason. Was there no getting away from it, I wondered? I pursed my lips and looked defiantly at the faces turned towards us and was rewarded when one after another they averted their eyes. They're all like bloody servants, I thought savagely. Of course I knew it was partly on account of my fancy clobber. The yokels imagined I was a Lady. If they only knew Maud like I did they would show her the greater respect, I thought sourly. The image of those brief weeks, when I was her maid and we were so happy together that we forgot all about Gentleman, stole into my mind. I sighed; it seemed like years ago. One day it'll be like that again, but until then I knew Maud would be brave, but that wasn't good enough for me. I wanted her to be happy.

Maud looked up. Somewhere beyond the nearest row of stalls the sound of flute and drum had resumed. Maud craned her neck to see and I took the opportunity to sidle close to her.

"At least they got more than flipping vegetables here," I whispered to her and drew a smile.

"Can we see?"

"Course," I said and lowered my voice. "But I want to keep an eye on Mr Inker for a bit first.

Maud stopped and looked perplexed. "What for? Has he not been here countless times before without us?"

I pouted at the man's back. "That's the problem, Maud. What's he ever brought back? The man's so frugal if you gave him a sovereign, he'd give it all back to you save a ha'penney."

"I thought economy was a virtue, especially in servants," she said, arching her brows dryly.

"Yes, but not when our cupboards are bare. For both our sakes we must force him to be lavish today."

Maud looked amused but said nothing. I made a gesture that encompassed the stalls around us.

"C'mon Maud. What'll you have?" I exhorted her loudly, determined that she should be diverted.

"Have?" she looked around listlessly in a way that made me shake my head.

"I know what you need. Hang on a second," I told her and then cupped my hands to my mouth.

"Mr Inker, come 'ere!" I called out over the voices around us and couldn't help but notice how even over the sounds of the noisy market my accent drew stares from everyone nearby. Maud made a caustic sound in her throat and I felt a strange delight knowing she took offense on my behalf.

"Miss?" said Mr Inker when he had rejoined us.

"Maud's got a hankering for some wine," I told him and held up my hand to cut off her inevitable protest.

"Wine, oh aye," he mumbled and scratched his head vaguely. "If you'll be needing a bit of 'freshment there'll be a feller hereabouts that'll serve some if I recall, but I can't speak for the quality. Either that or you might try-"

"Not a glass Mr Inker, I meant a whole bottle's worth; no, make that a crate of bottles even," I said decisively.

"A crate's worth?" he said, staring at Maud with a dumbstruck look, before comprehension dawned slowly on his creased face. "Ah, I see, Miss. I guess you'll be wanting it fer the cellars?"

I sensed that he was worried that Maud might want to drink it all now, so I said, "And can you find us some beer? A barrel should do for a while I should think, don't you Maud?"

Maud, who had been eyeing me curiously, shrugged helplessly. "Why not?"

"And ice, Mr Inker!" I suddenly remembered. "We must have more ice!"

That was the last straw, for he wrung his hands together like they were rags as he worked up his courage.

"Miss," he lowered his voice. "You don't know what you're asking. Coal and food are one thing, but these other things cost a pretty penny, and at this time of the year ice is-"

"Is this enough?" I pressed a handful of coins into his hands and heard him gasp.

"Well I never," he breathed as he stared at the coins in wonder. Then he coughed apologetically. "Sorry, Miss, but in all my years I ain't never…."

I gave him a reassuring smile. "It's alright, Mr Inker, things will be different now. Here's enough to get the coal-man and butcher off your back, and also to get anything we fancy as well. After all, we've got to show 'em that we at Briar ain't beggars no more, ain't that right?"

He gave a start when I winked at him, and I knew Maud thought it a horrible impropriety, but just as quick his face cracked into a grin. "Yes Miss, of course!"

We followed him as he plunged into the marketplace. I conferred with Maud over what Mr Inker should buy, and how much we would need, but despite all her years at Briar she had learned little about the running of a household.

She said, "I do not know how much meat, or coal, or washing soap the house requires. No one ever told me before."

"No one?" I said incredulously. "But didn't that nasty Mrs Stiles have to tell somebody what all the money was spent on?"

Maud looked abashed, "She never told me. I imagine she was given an allowance by Mr Lilly and used it at her discretion."

"No wonder you hadn't money back then," I muttered.

"What was that, Sue?" she asked sharply.

I shook my head, "Nothing." I thought it was better not to tease her, but looking at her flashing eyes and flared nostrils I couldn't help thinking that she was even more beautiful when her dander was up a bit. Just up a little bit, though, I thought prudently.

"Then I guess you will be keeping the accounts from now on, Sue," she declared.

"Well, you won't see me being taken in by the hired help," I muttered grumpily, stung by her barb.

If our conversation was strained at least the marketplace did its best to divert us. It weren't all vegetables and meat and such; we loaded up on those things we had become accustomed to in London, but had been in short supply back home; scented soap, balm for your hands and lotion for your skin. There were all kinds of things that the industrious folk of Marlow had made which they peddled alongside the regular foodstuff.. Cloth, embroidered in a way no machine could match. Yards of hand-made lace edgings that I yearned for except that I couldn't think what I'd use it for. All sorts of hats were being sold there, some of them quite handsome, even compared to what I saw in London. I was fascinated by a clockwork device that peeled fruit in the blink of an eye just by turning a handle.

The merchants seemed eager to accommodate me and Maud. My guess was that the news that Briar wasn't shut up after all had spread as quick as it took us to ask a grocer's son to hire us a cart to carry all our purchases home. He came back with a friend who begged to make himself useful by loading our cart for us, and he in turn returned with another friend who knew the ice-man, or the wine merchant, followed by young boys and girls entreating us to visit the stall of their mother, uncle or what-not. They were drawn to us like bees to honey, and pretty soon a whole ragtag gang of them followed us, all wanting to help and of course all wanting to be paid for their services.

All I wanted was for Maud and me to stroll the market at our leisure, so I was tempted to tell them all to sod off, but one look at Mr Inker struggling with a great sack of turnips or something told me he was too old to do all the work himself. I asked the gang following us who was the strongest, but that just started an argument among them; then I compounded my error by offering money up front as an inducement to get them to load our cart but that only turned them into a mob. I had to shout myself hoarse just to be heard. To carry one sack I had ten or more volunteers all pressing me to pick them above all the others, each one fought all the others to get in the most advantageous position nearest me, so that soon it was impossible to tell what they wanted most, to help me or to fight. I could only watch helplessly and pull my skirt clear of them. Even worse, I couldn't make up my mind who to pick cause if I chose only one amongst them I knew I could never face the bellyaching from all the rest of them. I was surrounded, and pretty soon I found myself backed against the side of a great wagon with no way to escape them.

It was Maud who rescued me. She didn't ask them, or offer them anything. She waded into that bloody melee fearlessly and simply picked two or three of the biggest ones and told them what was expected of them, the rest she dismissed without batting an eye. She wasn't dressed have so grand as me, but I bet she could have commanded their respect even if she wore nothing but old rags.

"Thank you, Maud," I said humbly after they were gone.

Her eyes glittered coyly. "I hate to think you are being pushed around."

In reply I could only twist my mouth in a sour grin.

Suddenly Maud gestured toward the stalls. "Oh, is it over so soon?"

I looked around. It did indeed seem the market was winding down. Beside us a man in patched and faded dungarees overheard Maud and straightened up from the crates he was loading from his vegetable stall.

"Aye, Miss," he touched his frayed straw hat in deference. "We generally pack-up about now."

The sound of the flute and drum drifted over us once again from somewhere just out of sight and Maud, hearing it, pouted at me. "I feel we have barely seen half of it."

"Begging yer pardon, Miss," the costermonger offered. "But the young 'uns usually stay the afternoon fer music and dancing… if you're partial to that."

He nodded down the space between the stalls. We could clearly see that there was a string of people filtering through the market in the direction we heard the music come from. We even caught sight of one of the boys who had helped us, leading a lithe girl in a faded yellow print dress who jumped deer-like over the muddy ground.

Maud looked wistful, "Must we go?"

"Mr Inker will be waiting for us by the dog-cart," I chewed my lip a bit before I decided. "Christ, he can wait for us. What-the-hell, eh Maud?"

"It would be best if I tell him that we will be late," Maud suggested sensibly.

"I'll go with you," I said.

"No, wait here, Sue. The horses have trodden the ground. Your dress will get muddy," she said.

"Alright," I replied gratefully and she touched my hand and I watched her walk away between the stalls. I waited, feeling idle and getting in the way as the market was being taken apart. Don't these country folk ever rest, I wondered? I found safety from the jostling between some carts. A short sturdy woman dressed in a tough working smock, was packing things into a crate beside me. She might have been the costermonger's wife, or sister. When she caught me looking she politely bobbed her head, waggling a thick braid that stuck out from beneath the scarf that covered her head.

"D'you do alright today?" I asked conversationally.

The woman stared at me, dumbstruck. Maybe she was surprised by my accent, or perhaps my fancy gown frightened her; either way there was an awkward silence. I tried again. "Have a good day, did you?"

She scratched at her scalp through her scarf and spoke slowly. "I'd say tweren't no better or worse than the other days."

Her accent was thick, and I wondered if the way she measured her words was the county habit or did she think I was as simple as all that? Her expression told me that was the end of the conversation and she returned to her work without another word.

"Say, d'you know someone by the name of Chislepick?" I asked suddenly.

I cocked my head to watch her face as she bent over her work. As soon as I had uttered the name she winced, but she recovered in a flash.

"Who? I ain't never heard of him," she deadpanned.

I suppressed a smile. I never told her I was looking for a man. "You sure 'bout that, 'cause I was just talking to this woman who said that she-"

"I said I ain't never heard of 'im," she said more firmly. I could see her tense, so I tried set her at her ease.

"Oh, I don't know him," I interjected. "I just heard his name from-"

"I got business to attend to," she blurted out and made off quick between the tall stall and a wagon. I stared long after she was gone. I wondered what the man Chislepick had done to make everyone so afraid of him? Perhaps it was nothing more than she owed him money too, just like that Skelton woman. Or maybe she owed someone else money and Mr Chislepick was just some hired bully. I'd seen them plenty times in London and they are nothing to laugh about when once they was after you. Bullies are the same all over.

I looked for Maud down the pathway but couldn't make her out in the confusion. I suddenly changed my mind about waiting and decided to meet Maud before she got back. I reasoned I didn't want her to lose her way on the way back, but really I was worried that the woman might fetch someone to deal with me. How or why I didn't know. Of course it was just my warm imagination playing tricks on me but even still I slipped furtively between the nearest stalls and threaded my way between barrels and baskets until I came out in another lane of the market.

It looked much the same as the part I had come from except that I could see and especially smell the pens where they sold sheep and pigs. Around me everyone was so busy that they barely took notice of me. To test my theory I asked one or two people nearest me whether they knew Mr Chislepick. I tried to be as disarming as I could but each time I asked I was met with stony silence or even outright hostility. Either they were all bloody debtors or there was some other reason they all feared this man who might be the only person alive who knows what happened to my father. I melted into a stream of farmers making their way back to where the horses and carts were waiting but kept one eye out for Maud and the other for any sign of pursuit. I figured I'd better stop inquiring lest I was told to leave the market altogether. How'd I ever explain that to Maud, I wondered?

I noticed a young man in soiled dungarees and large hobnailed shoes had fallen into step with me. It was another of the ones who helped us; probably begging for more money, I thought warily. I tried to ignore him but it was clear he was intent on catching my eye.

"What is it?" I finally said.

He smiled and bobbed his head. "Sorry to bother you, Miss, but can you thank your maid for me?"

"My what?" I asked.

"Ain't she your maid?" he screwed up his face. "Oh, she ain't your sister or something is she?"

"Sister? D'you mean Maud?" I smiled, amused despite his coarse manners. If only Maud could hear this, I thought.

"Yeah, that one you was with earlier, … the pretty one," he added, and then swept off his cap sheepishly at the look on my face. "Sorry, Miss, it's just that-"

"You wanted to thank her?" I said tersely.

"For letting me help you," he nodded enthusiastically. "You're ever so generous; ain't there anything else I can do for you?"

I cocked an eye at him. From his pocket I had heard the dull ring of the coins Maud had already bestowed on him. Probably overpaid him horribly, I thought. I shook my head.

"Sorry, we've done for the day," I said.

"Oh," he looked crestfallen and I was about to cut back to the side of the market where I figured Maud would be looking for me when I had an idea.

"Hey," I said to the boy and I watched his face brighten when I beckoned him to one side.

"Yes Miss?"

"There is something you can do for me; you can tell me why everyone looks at me like I just spat on them whenever I say the name Chislepick."

He flinched something awful. "Shh Miss!"

"What?"

He first made sure no one was listening. "You're not from around here, but you must believe me when I say its bad luck to use that name. If you do, everyone will hate you."

"Hate me? Why; what's this fellow done that's so unforgivable?"

He lowered his voice. "Dunno if he's done anything. It's just bad luck, that's all."

"Hogwash," I scoffed. "Surly you don't believe all that superstitious rubbish. Anyway, if he's done anything really bad in a little place like this the police would have caught him by now."

"What, the Constable?" he said sarcastically. Then something caught his eye that brought a cruel curl to his lip. I followed his gaze over my shoulder and his eyes were fixed on a woman who was passing nearby. I couldn't see her face for she kept it hidden inside a dark hooded mantle, but she did stand out from the crowd. She was very tall, or at least she gave the impression of being tall in the way she walked, slowly with long languid strides that carried her further with each step than anyone around her.

"Try asking her. She'll give you more answers than you've got questions for." the boy called, lifting his chin so that she might hear him and his voice had a mocking edge to it. He smiled and glanced sidelong as his remark provoked a smattering of laughter in those nearest us. I watched the woman's step falter as she judged whether or not to continue. The light caught her mouth and chin and I saw the lines around her mouth tightened in a way that made me sure it was not the first time she had been taunted by the village boys. I wondered why: was she disfigured? Was she mad? Whatever the reason, I was in no mood to laugh with the others at her expense.

A rough and toughened hand emerged from inside the mantle and pointed at the boy. "A pox on you, Billy Warkin!"

"Wotchit, or she'll put a spell on you," the boy warned, waving his hands comically as he drew more laughter from the rest. I frowned at them. I bet she never did anything to deserve such treatment.

"That's enough," I told the boy. "What's she ever done to you?"

He gestured dramatically. "Turned me into a toad once!"

There was more laughter, so I tried another tactic; I smiled at the shining faces around us and said gaily, "Once? You still are a toad. Didn't you know?"

At least they weren't laughing at her no more. While they were at it I gave the boy a good-natured shove. "Now, get on with you."

He bowed theatrically and made off in high spirits. The onlookers also went about their business.

I looked for the woman. "Wait!"

She had been making off too, but stopped and came back to me. I was going to tell her I was sorry for what was said but just then she pulled back her hood to reveal a quite ordinary face, not too old, but ruddy from working outside. She weren't disfigured or anything, but what made my words die on my lips was her hair. Her hood had been hiding a cascade of bright red hair that wasn't pinned, or done up in a chignon like normal women, but just left to hang wild without even a cap to cover hide it. Perhaps she was mad.

"Don' worry, I ain't gonna put a spell on you, Miss," she said.

I must have been staring. I blushed.

"I didn't…," I stammered. "I mean of course not. I don't believe in that."

She made a face, "That's a shame, cause I might have told your fortune."

I regarded her dubiously. "My fortune? You a Gypsy, or something?"

"Gypsy?" She smiled crookedly. "Of a sort, I guess. I admit I bin telling folk their fortunes this morning. Ah, don't give me that eye, Miss, it's only a harmless lark done over tea leaves and herbs; but I daresay they take it serious enough; not that I say anything frightening; I tell em easy things like they'll find that lost coin or bump into an old love. I tell you this 'cause I can see your not one of us."

I bloody well hope not, I thought bleakly. "Is that why the boy was saying you was a witch?"

She gave a barking sort of laugh that took me aback. "Nah, I've been called that since long before I ever read the swill in the bottom of a cup, though you won't find a harsh word about me from any of the women about here, or those boys if they thought of anything but what's in their trousers. I daresay there would be fewer of them to trouble me if it weren't for my hands bringing them into this world, or a poultice when they was taken with the fever."

"Are you a midwife, then?" I said.

She looked mildly impressed. "Oh, d'you know something of the trade?"

"The woman who raised me was… something similar," I replied, but thought what polar opposites she and Mrs Sucksby were.

She looked pointedly at my tight-laced waist and slender hips. "Well, I may not be much with fortunes, but I can see I'd have my hands full with you. Not had a child, 'ave you?"

"No, of course not," I squirmed and wished Maud would hurry up and get back. "But I'd rather you tell my fortune. These days I can't seem to see my way ahead… I can't be sure of my own past either."

I don't know why I should have said that to her when I was too afraid of telling it even to Maud. P'raps it's easier to confess yourself to strangers. The woman looked at me curiously for a moment, and then a rough-looking hand emerged from the folds of her mantle. "Then let's see your hand then."

"My hand?" I held them to my chest protectively.

She raised her brows. "You wanted your fortune."

"I thought you didn't believe in that," I looked at her suspiciously.

She lowered her arm and looked at me frankly with her green eyes. "I mightn't, but that don't matter none. I know the sick can be healed by nothing more than believing that they're healing. So, what I tell you might mean nothing to me; it's in what it means to you where the magic lies."

"Alright then," I told her, extending my hand.

"The other one," she said, nodding to my left.

"What's the difference?"

She took my left hand, palm up, and examined it closely so that her hair fell down and obscured her face. She lowered her voice, "My mother once said the right hand will only tell you what you already know, but the left hand shows the hidden soul."

She looked at my hand some more and then raised a twinkling eye and said chortled, "It's just that most folks right hands is so coarse and worn you can't make anything out of them."

I didn't know what to make of her. I was tempted to retrieve my hand but let it lie and instead said, "If you don't believe in it then you won't mind me asking why everyone thinks its bad omen if I ask about Mr Chislepick."

If I was expecting fireworks I was disappointed. The woman dropped her eyes and calmly examined my palm as if I hadn't uttered a word. She kept it up until I ventured to break the silence.

"I don't know him," I explained to her. "You see, I had family in these parts ages ago, and my friend and I found the house that was theirs. The woman there never heard of them, but I figured the landlord might of. She told us the rent was paid to a Mr Chislepick but then she got scared out of her wits when I thought of asking him."

"Can't be the same man," she muttered.

"Why not?" I said.

"I got no truck with omens, nor do I believe in spirits, but if ever a man was near to being the devil himself it's him, or so I've been told. No one's seen him; no one knows where he lives, or where he comes from, just that his name is mentioned by the lips of dying men who have been murdered."

"Murdered?" I exclaimed.

She looked up. "If your family knew Chislepick then he they ain't got no future to foretell. No one finds Chislepick, he finds you, and no fortune will save you."

Could it be the same man Mrs Skelton was so afraid of, I wondered? Surely these people wouldn't knowingly live with a murderer in their midst? And surely, I reasoned, she paid her rent to a man and not some phantom.

.

"Don't worry," I assured the woman. "Now you've explained it I won't ask after him again. I value my future too much."

She noticeably relaxed and returned her gaze to my hand. "Then lets see what it holds in store for you. Let's start 'ere. This one 'ere's your head line. Tells what kind of person you are. And the one just above it is your heart line, which tells how you love and what kind of person you'll fall in love with. Interesting; I see-"

"Yes go one; what about the others," I said hurriedly. I think I knew my heart, but I didn't want anybody else guessing at its secrets.

She cocked a curious eye at me but continued. "Well, this one that goes up an' down here is your fate line and this one is the life-"

"Fate line?" I interjected. "What's that?"

"Here," she indicated the line running up the middle of my palm, the one that crossed the others. "Also called the line of destiny."

"What's it say," I urged her. I drew close, trying to see as I felt the hardened skin of her finger draw a ticklish path on my hand.

"The bottom is your childhood. By the time it gets to the top it shows what's yet to come. See where it starts, how strong it is?"

"I see it. What's it mean?" I asked breathlessly.

"Strong purpose… a clear path, or one you can't get off of," she said murmured.

I thought of the awful fate Mrs Sucksby had planned for me and nodded. "What else d'you see?"

She shot me a look. "There's a break in the middle here."

"Yeah," I could see it myself. "It starts again."

"Yes, a new start or some new influence." She replied. "See where they curve to meet each other; that wee island right in the middle of your hand? That means something new, something apart from you. Another person, maybe, who has taken you from the path chosen for you before."

Maud! My heart was all a sudden going something fierce. How could it be all there, on my hand, I wondered? I had to hold my wrist with my free hand so she wouldn't feel my shaking.

"What's it say after that," I was almost afraid to ask. "Does it say what's to come?"

The woman moistened her lips as she traced the pattern. "The line breaks here, and here, where it crosses your heart line. Your heart line breaks, too, at the meeting."

She bit back her words, but I heard her sharp intake of breath.

"What?" I said.

She released my hand shaking her head. "You take it to heart too much, Miss. I told you it was naught but a trick to use on market days to earn a few -"

I thrust my hand in front of her. "No! There is something. You see it. Tell me!"

She sighed wearily and with great reluctance took up my outstretched hand. "You've worked yourself up for nothing, Miss. I'll tell you what was taught to me, but do as I do and treat it as nothing more than a game to play on long winter nights."

"Tell me what you see," I instructed her. "And don't say that I'll find some lost coin."

She nodded as she read the signs again and muttered, "The fate line breaks and grows faint. It signifies that this person has a great influence over your life. But see, the heart line curves to meet it there and the two come together and…"

"You say, 'but'," I said. "But what?"

"They stop there," she said, so low I could hardly hear. "There is nothing more, they're… broken. It means there will be a great heartbreak in your future."

"And that person," my voice trembled. "What happens to her?"

The woman shook her head. "The fate line ends too. There is nothing more. The influence is gone."

Gone! It couldn't be, I thought. I snatched my hand away and rubbed at it, as if I could erase the dire prophesy I just heard.

"What do you mean gone? Is she dead, or gone away?" I moaned and held my hand like it was a foreign thing.

"You take it too much to heart," she pleaded. "It may not mean anyone you know."

Nonsense, I thought. It must mean Maud. There was no one else whom I could claim as having any hold on me whatsoever. I looked at her desperately.

"Please, you must tell me what happens to her."

The woman wrung her hands. "I told you, it can't tell you that. It only says that the influence is ended."

"But it could mean she goes away … or worse!" I insisted.

She shrugged helplessly. "It could mean anything, or nothing. You must believe what you will."

I had to find Maud. I was sure if I told her what the woman said she would set me straight. For once I wished she'd give me one of her disapproving looks; I'd kiss her for it. My hand fumbled with my purse and I found myself thrusting coins, they might have been sovereigns even, into her hands.

"Take these… for your trouble," I said distractedly, all the while looking wildly for Maud, but the woman pushed them back at me.

"You're not in your right mind, Miss," she said fretfully.

"Then leave me alone!" I said unreasonably. "You've said enough!"

I shrugged off her hand and took a few hurried steps away from her. Some people stared, drawn by the commotion I caused, so I went away further still. Then on an impulse I slipped behind a great wagon whose sides rose above my head and found a secluded spot between it and a stack of tall crates that were piled high against the back of a fruit seller's stall. Hidden from view I leaned my head against it and shut my eyes until my breath slowed and my racing thoughts turned to nothing.

At my feet was a bucket of piss. That's what I saw when I finally opened my eyes. Probably was used by the fruit seller, though I'd have thought like as not he would've used the grass. I swallowed hard and stepped away from it. How long I'd been there with my eyes closed I couldn't guess. I felt a rising panic at the thought that Maud must be looking for me, but still I clutched at the wooden side of the cart and peered furtively round the back of it. The fortune-teller was no where to be seen, but I figured there must be a dozen people who must have seen me hide. On the other side of the crates I could just see the back of the fruit seller still plying his goods. What would they think a Lady was doing back there for so long, I wondered? Probably using that bloody piss-pot, I told myself. I smiled despite myself and felt better for it. Then I heard a familiar voice approaching from somewhere beyond the wooden crates.

I could have rushed to her but I was on the wrong side of the stall. Besides, how would I explain where I was? I decided to wait for her to pass and then slip out like I'd been looking for her all along. I peered between the boards of the crate in front of me and gave a start when I realized she was standing right in front of the fruit seller, not more than an arms length away. I held my breath knowing I'd feel doubly foolish if she caught me spying.

"Yes, they look very fine," I heard Maud say. "I would have one now but Mr Inker has already had them sent on to Briar."

Then a man's voice said, "Pity. Then I shall have to purchase a few now, so you will not have to go hungry."

Dammit, I thought. What were the odds that she would want some fruit from the very place I was hiding behind? I peered cautiously from behind the broad back of the fruit seller and I could see Maud's face turned to her left, but I couldn't see who she spoke to; he was just out of sight.

"Thank-you, but I shall get them myself," Maud said to him, and then to the fruit seller, "Just a couple; no, make that an even half dozen."

Who was that man, I wondered, and why was he trying to buy things for my Maud? At least I took some comfort in the fact that she rebuffed the fellow. There was some movement and Maud had handed over her basket. The fruit seller bent down behind the counter and began to fetch apples from a full crate, leaving me pretty much exposed to view. I was sure she would have seen me but for the fact she was looking at her new found companion.

"You must be hungry," I heard him say.

"The others may want one as well," Maud explained. "You may have one too if you wish."

"Then you must allow me to pay," he said. There was the jangle of money.

I was sure I'd heard his voice before, but the fruit man was up again and I could hardly see anything. I twisted to get a better angle to see past but the wretched crates lurched and creaked. In horror I saw the fruit man pause and turn toward the sound.

"No, I have it… here," Maud reached out her hand and the fruit man was forced to turn back to take the coin and return her basket to her without spying me. Maud took the basket and, reaching in, produced an apple which she held out with a rather coy expression on her face.

"I feel I owe you something at least," she said. I writhed inside my little wooden prison.

"Forget that," he said. "I am indebted to you for being the only pretty face I have recognized in this entire town."

Recognised? My chagrin almost turned to surprise. He knows her! I felt a twinge in my guts like I had that night at the Argyll Rooms, but looking, Maud didn't seem at all worried by the man's attentions; indeed her expression told me she welcomed them.

I strained to see him. I saw an arm reach for the proffered fruit, then a shoulder and then he came full into view. I was leaning so much I almost gave myself away for a second time. Then I saw his face and was surprised when I recognized him; it was Mr Lloyd, the same man we met in London!

In an instant I ducked down and tried to recall what I remembered about Mr Lloyd. A handsome man who showed an interest in Maud; or had I just imagined it? Anyway, he was a likable sort of man, but that didn't recommend him to me.

I carefully looked again. What was he doing here in Marlow, I wondered? I could only imagine he was following Maud. He looked as I remembered him in London, from the same pleasing features to the waves of blond hair that showed beneath his hat.

"Hullo, you there," I heard him say. I froze, thinking I was caught, but to my relief he was only speaking to the fruit seller. Maud started as Mr Lloyd took her basket from her.

"Aye?"

"What do you take us for?" Mr Lloyd held up Mud's basket. "Look at these… all bruised and dented. You did this on purpose!"

I saw Maud was blushing, but she gave the apples a critical look and then raised her brows at the seller. "Is this true?"

"Oh, I just grabs wot comes to hand, Miss. There's no 'arm intended wot ever the Gentleman said," he said stiffly. Maud looked to Mr Lloyd and I smiled when the seller took the opportunity to shoot him a murderous look.

Mr Lloyd sniffed, "Then you won't mind replacing these then."

By the time Maud looked back the fruit man was smiling kindly at her. "If that's wot the young Miss wants then I'll be more than happy to oblige."

Maud chewed her lip a second and seemed about to let it lie, but Mr Lloyd had already thrust the basket at the fruit man, so she conceded meekly. "If it is not too much trouble."

The fruit man bent down behind the counter, grumbling. Mr Lloyd wore a smug smile. He said to Maud, "You can't be too careful in these places, Miss Sucksby. They always keep the best on display while dishing out the rotten ones. It's the oldest trick. I've seen it before."

"Thank you, Mr Lloyd," Maud looked at him wide eyed. "How fortunate I am to have met you today."

I've seen it before, I mocked wordlessly while I rolled my eyes. Of course the fruit man saved the best ones for the display; they all do as everyone knows who hasn't been locked away in a library for half their life. Make that all their life, I thought cruelly. I had half a mind to come out of hiding right then and there and remind Maud that the oldest trick is for some randy Jack to feed a girl a load of the bleedin obvious and call it brains.

My opportunity to escape came when Maud finally set out to find me with Mr Lloyd walking by her side like some loyal dog. I slipped out the way I came, heedless of the stares my sudden reappearance caused, and raced all the way down aisle to beat Maud to the end of the one she was following, slowing only when I made the turn.

"Sue!" I heard her call and I saw her waving. Of course Mr Lloyd was there with her, still wearing that smug smile. Maud ran ahead of him and I couldn't help but rush to her eagerly as well.

"Where have you been?" she said breathlessly soon as she was near enough. "I came back and you were gone, so I thought you might have gone ahead without me."

I desperately wanted to tell her about the fortune teller; I needed to hear her admonish my warm imaginings, but that man was with her and I wouldn't do it in front of him. Still, it was all I could do not to hug her.

"Oh Maud, I would never leave you behind, ever!" I gushed.

My exuberance made her cock her head questioningly at me. I shouldn't have wondered; I was still winded from running and I could feel my skin growing clammy beneath my stays; God knows what I looked like. But she didn't have long to ponder why, cause a shadow crept up behind her. I could feel he had his eyes on me, but I didn't look up. I wouldn't gratify his vanity by letting him charm me so quickly.

Maud sensed him too. "Sue, you'll never guess who ran into! It is Mr Lloyd, from London. Do you remember him Sue?"

"Yes, I saw him," I said without enthusiasm.

Maud's furrowed her brow. "Saw him? When?"

"I mean…," I reddened and looked up belatedly. "I mean I remember him. Of course I do! What a surprise to find you here, Mr Lloyd."

I found him looking at me so directly I had a hard time meeting his gaze. He was dressed for riding; tall boots polished to a shine and a dark-green jacket with those big brass buttons that funnily enough reminded me of the riders depicted in the paintings that hung in the Reverend Moorhead's parlour. Strange, that I should think of that then. Mr Lloyd swept off his silk plush topper with a flourish and gave a small bow.

"Finally, I have the pleasure of meeting you again, Miss Lilly, though you must permit me to say that you cannot be half so surprised as I am at finding you here," he said.

"Me?" I asked wide-eyed.

"I think he means us both," Maud said discreetly.

"Oh," I nodded.

"Mr Lloyd has told me he just arrived here recently," explained Maud.

"Arrived… to Marlow?" I asked. It was hard to shake off the feeling that it was I who was the stranger among the three of us. "What for?"

Maud smirked at the ground and Mr Lloyd searched uncomfortably for some words in the clouds for a moment before he said, "Miss Sucksby, did you not say you and Miss Lilly were trying to catch the entertainment? I should never forgive myself if you miss it on my account."

Maud looked to me for directions so I took her arm and started in the direction I saw the young ones go earlier, though I avoided the place where I met the red haired woman. I noticed Mr Lloyd followed us, but I didn't draw Maud's attention to it figuring she must have invited him.

"I almost forgot; are you hungry, Sue?" Maud asked suddenly. "I have these apples."

I don't care for apples, lest they're baked, but said, "Lemme see."

"I bought them," she said while I reached for one. "But Mr Lloyd made sure they were good ones."

"Really?" I looked at him, and then at Maud. "Did you bargain the man down?"

"No," she admitted.

"Pity," I said as casually as I could. "Then you paid too much. They always ask double the first time, it's the oldest trick."

Maud looked to Mr Lloyd for an explanation, but he could only shrug helplessly.

I hid my smile behind a big bite out of my apple. It was delicious.

When Maud and I visited Marlow, that time before we went to London, I remember there was a flat stony outcrop in the field that reminded me of a stage. I recognised it the day we were there with Mr Lloyd. The music we had heard earlier was being played from on top of it so that the players could be seen a little above the rest of the folk gathered at the back of the market. There was a clearing in front of the players for the listners and behind them the colourful stalls of the market made a festive backdrop, like a country version of the Olympic theatre.

When we arrived they were in the middle of a jig being played by some old men who were fresh off the fields by the look of them. There was a fiddle, a tin whistle and a drum. I was surprised how much noise three men could make. The song was sprightly and the players had worked themselves into a right lather. In front of them there was a wide circle of people clapping and stamping encouragement to a group of dancers in the centre. I could hardly make the dancers out through the bodies in front of us but I could see that the jovial mood of the crowd had already infected Maud. She strained on her tip toes to see and her teeth gleamed behind her smile.

"C'mon!" I shouted, pulling her deeper into the crowd with no heed as to whether Mr Lloyd followed us or not.

It was such hard work trying to squeeze past all those strapping dairy maids and hulking farmers that at first I made little headway. Maud lost my hand in the crush and she laughed and lunged to catch it again.

"Be careful, Sue; your dress!" Maud warned me.

Her sweet voice was so unlike their own that everyone near us turned to look for the speaker, and once they saw who was trying to get through they all made a great show of standing to one side to make an aisle for us. My guess is that they didn't see too many strangers at these sorts of celebrations, or at least no one who could half afford the clothes I was wearing.

Ahead of us we saw the dancers arrayed in two lines, doing a dance that looked like the Coverly. That arm-in-arm kind of dancing that we did in London was obviously too bold for their country sensibilities, I thought wickedly, but looking at how they threw themselves into the reel I saw they got every bit of pleasure from it as anyone I ever witnessed in the Argyll Rooms; more even. The working aprons and overalls had been put away and some of the men had added a necktie and waistcoat to the dungarees they had been working in. The younger men danced with the most enthusiasm and were bold enough to cavort in just their shirtsleeves. The girls had removed their pinafores and bonnets and just tied their hair back with a handkerchief to let the rest of it tumble down their backs. The music was uncomplicated, but fast, and the dancer's happy, open faces made me yearn to be part of it all.

The music ended to much clapping and hooting. Maud and I both looked to the stage; Maud looking as alarmed as I felt at the thought we had missed everything, but we saw they were only changing up the couples. I felt Maud's hand tighten on my arm and when I looked at her she was looking longingly to the centre of the circle, straining against an invisible leash.

"Let's do it!" I urged her.

She shook her head, but it was too obvious she wanted to. I took a step forward and tugged at her sleeve.

"C'mon," I assured her. "I never done it either, but you see how easy it is."

Actually, that was a lie; back in the day, that girl Dainty could never bear to hear Mr Ibbs whistle a tune without jumping up and childishly demanding that we all dance a reel. Course with only four of us it weren't a proper line but the steps are pretty near the same everywhere.

"Aye, Miss, come and join us!"

It was the boy who had tormented the fortune teller; the one she called Billy. He was with one of those girls you see everywhere in the country; big bosomy things with legs like hams and the smell of sour milk and manure following them everywhere. After he spoke a dozen sets of admiring eyes turned in our direction and I saw a lot of nodding and the word, 'Briar', was solemnly exchanged. I snorted; nothing makes people warm to you like spending a few sovereigns on them. Genuine or not, at least it was all the encouragement Maud needed.

"Alright, Sue," she said bravely and stepped into the circle.

There were some cheers and hoots as we stepped forward and took our places. I took a spot with the men; a thing no one minded. I figured a Lady dancing with her companion can't have been that unusual, or maybe they just turned a blind eye on account we were from Briar, which still seemed to count for something among these folk.

Anyway, I was beaming proud to have Maud opposite me in the line, by far the most beautiful girl out of all of them. Maud's face was flushed from all the attention but as soon as the players started up I could see she quickly found out just how childishly simple it was to do something like the Coverly and after a few passes we could watch each other rather than our neighbour. I used to think these old fashioned dances were something you only did with your relatives, cause the closest you got to your partner was to touch your palms together, but what I never appreciated was just how tantalising it could be to do it with someone you loved. Maud hiked her skirts up to do the steps, flashing her ankles at me just like the common girls beside her, and when we came together in the middle I winked at her and then we giggled like children. And then there was the part when the other couples make an arch out of their arms; when it was our turn to run underneath we laughed louder than any of them did. We finished the dance back in our lines watching each others bright eyes and shining face while our chests heaved from the exertion.

"Christ Maud, I'm going to faint!" I told her.

"If you did not have your laces so tight," she gently admonished me while taking my arm to lead me off as the couples changed.

Roguishly, I was about to suggest that she might remove them altogether after we got back to Briar, but then Mr Lloyd suddenly appeared at Maud's side.

"Miss Lilly, you overexert yourself," he admonished. "Will you allow me to ask Miss Sucksby for a dance so you may catch your breath?"

He said it loud enough so that the couples taking to the field paused lest there was not room enough for one more and I couldn't help but bristle inwardly at his smiling demeanour. The prospect of him dancing with my Maud was bad enough without the galling task of actually having to grant him permission, but to refuse him would mortify Maud to no end, I was sure.

"Ask her yourself," I told him and then, before he could, I said to Maud, "…but I guess you're too tired."

Maud took one wistful look at the assembled dancers and with an apologetic shrug said, "I think I can manage one more try."

So I had to watch from the side as she took his arm and stepped into the circle, but not before he handed his coat and crop to the woman nearest at hand with no more regard than if she were his maid. I bridled at the presumption, but even more so cause the woman didn't mind none either. Everyone was taken with Mr Lloyd.

The music started up again and Maud and Mr Lloyd shared a smile as the dance began. The smooth bastard, I thought irritably; like he's doing me a great favour dancing with her. Part of me hoped he couldn't dance at all, but who was I kidding, the steps were too simple and of course he was as good as any man there. I took some comfort from the fact it wasn't a waltz, but still I winced every time they touched hands. I had to remind myself that wasn't this exactly what I wanted for Maud; a place we could call home, with society that was entirely unconnected with our past? Every time she looked at his face I tried to be happy for her, if not for myself, and when they came off I plastered a grin on my face and told them that they were the best couple of them all.

Maud and I danced one more time and my injured pride was somewhat mollified when I found we smirked and laughed at each other in that way I never saw when she danced with Mr Lloyd, and when all the dancing was over it was Maud who sought me out to take my arm even though Mr Lloyd insisted on accompanying us back to the cart.

With Maud's arm firmly in mine I found it easy to forgive her for having belittled our discovery at Mrs Skelton's. Judged against the glow of contentment that I basked in after the dance I began to wonder whether I really had placed too much significance on a name carved on a post. Where had it got me, I wondered? By comparison Mr Lloyd's sudden appearance seemed to have made a lot more of an impression on Maud, much to my chagrin. However, his company seemed to please her and I had to remind myself not to let unwarranted jealousy cloud my opinion of the man.

Maud drew me closer. "How do you suppose he ended up here in Marlow?" she murmured.

Mr Lloyd was just in front of us but out of easy earshot. I found it disconcerting to know she'd been thinking of him at the same time.

"I dunno, why don't you ask him?" I suggested.

She shook her head. "I couldn't. You ask him. You're…"

I bristled. "What? Coarse,… common?"

Her face softened and I felt her fingers gently squeeze my arm. "I was about to say braver."

"Oh," I replied. I wished Mr Lloyd wasn't there and it was just Maud and me arm in arm, like in the old days before the disaster in London. I wondered how much of her present mood was entirely due to his presence. I looked at her face. There was a blush to her cheek that in another time I would have been proud to say I put there, or it might have been on account of the dancing. The other possibility was one I was loath to explore. She couldn't really be attracted to Mr Lloyd, could she?

After all, no one is immune to a bit of flattery, especially if it comes from an attentive gentleman. It doesn't mean anything if the effort is all on his part, I reasoned. Of course he was attracted to her; why shouldn't he be? Even I had to admit he was not an unpleasant man, judging solely by appearances.

"So?" Maud made eyes at Mr Lloyd's back.

"Alright, I'll do it," I muttered.

Maud smiled warmly and disengaged my arm.

"What, now?" I asked. She gave me a little push.

I had to bat her away when she tried to push me some more. "I said I'll do it!" I hissed.

Turning I found Mr Lloyd looking back to see what the commotion was.

I stepped forward and said, "Why ever did you come to Marlow, Mr Lloyd? Surely it weren't just to see our little market here."

Mr Lloyd found the question amusing and there was an impish glint from his blue eyes.

"Would you believe me if I told you I followed you and Miss Sucksby?" he said while he began walking backwards in front of me and Maud to more easily address us both.

"I might if I believed you," I said and then swallowed. "…did you?"

He broke into a grin and leaned toward Maud conspiratorially. "This coming from the young Lady who once accused me of trying to force her to pay her hotel bill, and of secreting invitations in the pocket of her coat."

Maud's coat, I clearly recalled, but I could feel the heat rising up my cheeks nonetheless. Maud shared a smile with him at my expense.

"You are teasing her," Maud warned him with mock severity before she gave me a reassuring nudge. I wondered how she could be so sure he was.

"Then you deny it?" I challenged him.

"Sue," Maud protested but Mr Lloyd waved it off.

"No, Miss Sucksby, I must plead guilty to trying Miss Lilly's patience As to the other charge I am entirely innocent. The truth is it is my father who has taken a house here. He has been looking for a quiet place that is within striking distance of London. He has business interests that need take him into the city occasionally, but wishes to live in the country. So you see, Ladies, it is because I am dependent upon his generosity that I am here and nothing else."

He was focusing on Maud. Nothing else, … I doubted that. He then caught the scepticism in my eye and chuckled to Maud.

"I see Miss Lilly is not convinced. In truth I had no choice but to come, but now that I am here I can honestly say I have discovered more than one reason to stay."

The smooth bastard missed no opportunity to flatter, I thought. To my consternation I saw Maud blush, and I was trying to think of something biting when he said, "For example, since I have come here I have discovered this charming little market, and also this delightful antique!"

Mr Lloyd had turned as he spoke and stopped just short of where Mr Inker waited, holding onto the bridle of our horse with obvious impatience. He might have been referring to Mr Inker, and while I must admit I have often thought of him as a lovable old man, he wasn't what Mr Lloyd was looking at.

"That is our cart," Maud drew her brows together.

I had noticed just how shabby that cramped little dog-cart really was compared to even the worst we saw in London, but compared to what the farmers and villagers of Marlow had, well… at least we had one. Mr Lloyd was bending down inspecting the axels and the wheels. Mr Inker stroked our horse's mane like he was worried our old nag might be offended by such close scrutiny. Maud and I looked at each other like Mr Lloyd had gone mad.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Maud asked. Maybe she thought Mr Lloyd had found something broken.

"No, it is fantastic!" he said enthusiastically. Maud and I were baffled and stood rooted. He straightened and came back to us.

"Allow me to explain. My father collects old carriages and carts. He has one almost as old as this but he wouldn't dream if hitching it up for fear of ruining it."

He was pulling our leg, I was certain. I was tempted to ask him to give me a hundred pounds for it if he thought it so valuable, but knew Maud would have thought that a low thing to say.

"It's good enough for our purposes," I said defensively. "Here, you can see it work first-hand because Maud and I have to go now."

"We do?" Maud replied, crestfallen.

I took her firmly by the arm. "Yes, we've kept Mr Inker waiting long enough."

I steered her to the back of the cart, but Mr Lloyd was undeterred.

"Then allow me to accompany you back home," he said with a flash of his teeth. "My father would never forgive me if I didn't see you home safely."

I would have declined the offer right off, but Maud's eyes entreated me. Mr Lloyd readied himself to hand her up.

"There's not enough room," I retorted.

"Never fear, I have my horse," he held up his crop.

I could see I didn't have much choice. Grumpily I pushed past him and handed Maud up into the cart myself, though none too gently. Undeterred, Mr Lloyd insisted on handing me up, despite my sighs, and I was soon sitting opposite Maud with her sober eyes relentlessly following my face everywhere.

"Come if you like," I said tersely. "Briar's not far, but you may well give up when you see the pace of our horse."

"Then I will do my best not to fall too far behind," he said cheekily, which drew a laugh from Maud.

I had to smile at him. "Get on with you." And then to Maud more severely, "You too."

We left him to find his horse and then catch up to us, so for the first part of the way we were alone together. To forestall me asking more questions about her and Mr Lloyd, Maud asked me where I had gone after she left me alone in the market. I muttered something about looking around. I didn't tell her about the fortune teller. She would have probably thought me daft for listening to the woman in the first place. Of course I didn't mention I had spied on her from behind the fruit seller.

It was Maud who spotted him since she was facing backwards across from me.

"Look, here he comes," she said.

I could hear the sound of horse's hooves cantering on the road behind up. I craned my neck, cause I was facing the wrong way. Even at that distance I could tell it was him cause I could see his blond curls peeking out from below his hat. He looked every inch a gentleman too; waving from the back of his horse with careless ease, his silk plush topper gleaming with a light that defied the dull day. He spurred his horse to cover the remaining distance at a gallop, going so fast he had to hold onto his hat in the rushing wind. Bloody show-off, I thought. It would serve him right if he broke his neck! From the corner of my eye I could see Maud watching the spectacle breathlessly. I discovered I was gripping the side of the cart unnaturally hard and willed myself to turn back to Maud so as not to give him the satisfaction. There was colour in her cheeks. The cock amongst the hens, I thought to myself. Maud suddenly looked at me like I had said it aloud and I blushed.

I could tell by the sound that Mr Lloyd had slowed to an easy trot well short of us. To catch his breath and look his best for us, I thought wryly. He came alongside and Maud smiled and waved to him. I tried to look indifferent but waved anyway when he tipped his hat. He didn't speak, there was not much to say, conversation being difficult over the noise from the road and the jostling of the cart. Anyway, he was too polite to make us raise our voices. For the rest of the way I didn't know where to rest my eyes. When I looked at Maud I imagined I felt his probing eyes on me and when I looked at him I was all too conscious of Maud's regard, so I settled at staring at the weeds growing on the verge.

"Miss Sucksby," I heard him call after a long while. I looked up to find he had manoeuvred his horse close beside us. "I fear Miss Lilly did not exaggerate about the pace of your horse. I believe my own has fallen asleep beneath me. Would either of you be very angry if I went on ahead?"

I opened my mouth to tell him he might do whatever he wanted but Maud got there first.

"Be my guest," she called. "We are almost there. It is down the lane, on the left. You cannot miss it."

He gave his horse the reins and he was off again in a clatter of hooves. Up front I could see Mr Inker shaking his head disapprovingly. Maud craned her neck to watch him ride. When she turned back I averted my eyes so she wouldn't know I had been watching her. Mr Lloyd wasn't gone long. He came back at a gallop and I saw Maud's hand involuntarily go to her mouth as he swept past us only to pull his mount around hard accompanied by a frightful lot of blowing and tossing. Admittedly, it was hard not to be impressed with his riding. His horse settled once more, grateful for the easy pace.

"Did you find it to your liking?" Maud called out.

He cocked his head at her. "Find it? Why there is nothing there."

Maud screwed up her face. "Nothing; you mean you could not find it?"

"I went down the lane in the direction you indicated but only came across a tangled wood. I dared not go further. I am sure it holds all sorts of dangers," he said ominously.

"Woods?" Maud frowned, perplexed, until I gave her a nudge and when she saw the look on my face she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I see…," she made a face. "That was indeed Briar, Mr Lloyd."

"Forgive me," he grinned. "It may not be so very wild… but I'm sure I am correct about the dangers."

He urged his horse forward before we could say anything in reply.

We lapsed once more into silence. Once we both looked at each other at the same time and just as quick averted our gaze. I think we were both guilty of thinking about him again. Mr Inker turned us at the gatehouse and in the distance we could see Mr Lloyd waiting for us in front of Briar. He had dismounted and nearby his horse grazed on the clumps of grass that spilled onto the gravel from the weedy borders. Maud eyed me.

"I wonder if he will wait for us," she suddenly said over the noise of the wheels. When I made no reply she tried again. "What a coincidence that he lives so near to us. He could visit, … maybe."

I acknowledged her words with a tight smile. She tried to read my features but soon gave up and looked at the trees. Our horse, sensing he was done for the day, trotted down the home stretch for his oats. Maud stole a quick glance forward and saw we were almost there. With exaggerated composure she gazed at the trees again.

"I wonder if he'll call on us ever again?" she wondered aloud. To her consternation I avoided her gaze and looked noncommittally at the road ahead. It was obvious she was itching to invite Mr Lloyd to come back for a visit but was simply afraid I'd say no out of spite. Well, I reasoned, why not refuse? It was within my right. As the Mistress of the house our connection with Mr Lloyd was in my hands, to make or break, a position, I remember, that gave me a delicious feeling of power.

I said nothing, just to frustrate her, and in another minute Mr Lloyd was handing us down.

He cast a satisfied eye over my house. "Judging from what Miss Sucksby told me, I was expecting Briar to be no more than a comfortable cottage, but what a surprise to find so many rooms."

I watched his gaze sweep over the walls; probably counting the windows and chimneys. Put this type of country gentleman in London and he'd run a pawn shop, I thought.

"It has been in Sue's family for generations, I believe. Perhaps she will show it to you sometime," Maud said suggestively.

I saw the colour creeping up her neck at so obvious a ploy. Mr Lloyd took the bait easily.

"I hope so. I would like that very much," he said to me and raised his eyebrows expectantly, but I would not be hooked so easily. I began to lazily brush my skirt of the dirt picked up from the cart rather than give them the answer they wanted.

After a bit I said, "You said your father has taken a place in Marlow, Mr Lloyd. Is it close to Briar?"

He eyes told me he knew I was playing coy with him but he answered the question anyway.

"Let me see," he said, and shaded his eyes in the direction we had come. "If I'm right the house itself is closer to Marlow than to Briar, but the property extends far in this direction. I believe it goes as far as the river."

"Then we must be neighbours!" Maud brightened. She had on this air of expectation, like being neighbours settled the matter irrevocably in her favour.

I clicked my tongue. "Neighbours? What, are you planning on putting a bridge across the river or something?"

That was too much for Maud. In stony silence she fixed me with a baleful gaze. Mr Lloyd looked appraisingly at me and Maud in turn and decided that beating a retreat was the prudent thing to do.

"I think I'd better get my horse before he wanders off," he suggested diplomatically.

"Thank-you, Mr Lloyd, for the pleasure of your company today. I hope we haven't made you late for your other appointments," I said formally while I stepped forward and extended my hand to him to signal the visit was over.

"Not at all," he mumbled mechanically and I saw him glance nervously past my shoulder where I could hear Maud kicking at the gravel while she sulked. When I accompanied him to his horse I could feel her eyes shooting daggers at my back.

He swung himself up in one easy motion and tipped his hat to us.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lilly, Miss Sucksby. I do hope we meet again," he said and took up the reins and turned his horse around. I then decided I had tortured Maud enough.

"Mr Lloyd," I called, coming as close as I dared out of respect for his horse. "If you're free tomorrow would you mind coming back for tea? I could show you round if you like. 'Course there's not much to see, Maud and I live quite modestly, you know. I'd get Maud to show you the place but I don't think she's got a mind to, you know… lack of propriety and all. She already figures I'm too bold asking you in the first place, but the way I see it there's nothing improper in it, seeing as how we're practically neighbours."

"I never!" her indignant voice made me stifle a giggle.

She was almost upon me with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes. I burst out laughing which only made her more riled, to the point where she raised her hands against me. With a shriek more of mirth than fear I backed right into Mr Lloyds horse, which started it stamping.

"That's done it!" I shouted amongst the sounds of hooves, Maud's furious breathing and Mr Lloyd trying to control the horse. "She's got her dander up, Mr Lloyd! You'd better clear out while you can."

Maud battered away at my upraised arms as Mr Lloyd fought with the reins. "Ladies, please!" he cried.

Fright made me laugh all the harder and I could feel Maud's assault slacken. By then I could see from behind my upraised arms that she was laughing too. Then the horse's rear-end came round and threw me into Maud and with a shriek we both fell to the ground.

"Are you mad?" Mr Lloyd cried and reined his horse to a safe distance. Maud and I clung to each other out of fear of the plunging beast until Mr Lloyd had it under control again and our stretched nerves had calmed to the point where we were just giggling. But just looking at one another's heaving features was enough to start us laughing all over again.

Maud finally got up and heaved me to my feet and we brushed the dead leaves from each other's clothes under Mr Lloyd's disapproving eye.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? You could have been killed," he admonished the two of us. We hung our heads like naughty children and then looked at the leaves in each other's hair and started giggling again.

"Goodbye then," he said with an exasperated gasp.

Maud broke away from me. "But you will come tomorrow?" she asked him.

"Yes, you've got to," I joined her.

He drew himself up in the saddle. "I don't know if I care to now, but I will, against my better judgement."

I thought maybe I'd gone too far, but then we saw his impish grin. I waved him away. "Get on with you."

Maud playfully rebuked me by hitting me once more and I pushed her back. "And you too, Maud."

Mr Lloyd rode away at a trot and we could see him shaking his head long after he left us.

I woke the next morning to a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I knew deep down could only have been be on account of Mr Lloyds impending visit. Inviting him seemed like such a lark the day before, a harmless way to indulge Maud, but when the day had come I was struck by what a gamble it was to play games with Maud's affections in regards to a man like Mr Lloyd. It felt a lot like I did that day, long ago, when I first left London for Briar; a feeling that there was no going back.

I stared out the window while I mechanically assembled myself; pantalettes and shimmy, stays, stockings and petticoat, finally blouse on top, everything but my skirt and bodice. For them I decided to wait until I knew how warm it would be. The weather was unnaturally clear that morning… and warm. So much so that I imagined the beams coming in were hot enough to scorch my fingers if I let them linger in the heat for more than a moment. In fact the weather had changed so much during the night that it felt like the whole winter had passed me by while I slept.

I would need something light, I decided, but chose to linger by the window. Outside, the fallen leaves that were scattered across the lawn glowed gold in the soft morning light and the ones still hanging on the branches fluttered like flickering flames before they too, one by one, fell to the ground. To think I'd never witnessed the spectacle before; what all those folk in London are missing! It was a shame Mr Inker had to rake them up. Fascinated, I tried to spy a leaf just as it let go the branch, but try as I might I could not quite catch the moment. Behind me Maud moved about the dressing room.

She and I had hardly spoken since we rose. That in itself was not unusual. Anyone who's lived with someone in such close affection as me and Maud could tell you there are hours, days even, where words simply aren't necessary, where everything that needs to be said is understood just by being there.

But that morning was not one of those days. Rather it was one of those times when every word must be examined and turned over and searched for incriminating evidence, and then by the time you deem it safe to speak, the time to say it has quite passed you by. If I thought the room was dusty I couldn't mention it on account Maud might imagine I was only worried Mr Lloyd would see it , or if I thought her hair was nice I had to bite my tongue cause she might think I was somehow accusing her of trying to impress him. I was even afraid to comment on the weather out of fear that Maud would suspect I was marking the day of Mr Lloyd's visit as being particularly exceptional. It all sounds silly in hindsight, but that's the truth.

"What are you looking at?" asked Maud from somewhere in the room.

I peeled myself away from the window, sure that the next leaf would fall the moment I looked away. Maud glided slowly around the room and picked up a glass paperweight from the small writing desk and then put it back again, in no hurry to dress any further than her under-things.

"Nothing," I replied, and moved back to the clothes press that I had opened before. I felt Maud's eyes following closely as I let my hands hover in turn over crisp muslin, shiny silk or soft marino. To think it was the chance to get my hands on such things that finally swayed me to join with Gentleman against her! I paused every so often but did not choose any of them, just to pique Maud's curiosity. I had no doubt that if I chose something fashionable Maud would conclude I did it only to catch Mr Lloyd's eye. I knew she might then choose a bold taffeta gown, just to be the brightest star or, more likely, a plain calico just to prove to him I was vain. Why do you think she'd not dressed yet? She was waiting to choose something to show herself to best advantage, obviously. Well, I figured, two could play at that game. So I feigned indecision and made my way back to the window. I had to hide a smile as I caught Maud's reflection regarding my back sourly and then she finally gave up and stomped to the dresser to fetch a pair of stays. Out of the corner of my eyes I watched her struggle with the hooks until I could stand it no longer.

"Here, let me help you," I offered.

She shook her head and turned away, child-like, so I couldn't watch. I still looked a while longer and then let her be. She didn't really need any help with her stays. She had taken to using the same pattern that I used, the ones that had the hooks in front so she could fasten them without my help. The reason was, in her words, that she didn't want me doing the work of servants, which is funny cause ever since then we dressed by ourselves, like servants must, rather than dress each other like Ladies, but I dared not say that to her face. Who was I, a common London girl, to tell whether she was more, or less, a Lady? Christ, for all I knew she was planning to cut her hair short and demand the vote.

I suddenly grew tired of the childish game and grabbed something from the clothes press and dressed quickly, setting the hooks and strings of the skirt and bodice before Maud had even finished with her stays. It was a plain unadorned dress with a simple pleated skirt, but made of dark blue shot silk that deepened the colour depending on which way the light hit it. A clever touch for a sunny day, I thought.

"If you don't need me I'm going to find Mrs Inker and see about breakfast," I said.

Without waiting for an answer I left the room, and had almost closed the door behind me when I heard a sudden movement. "Wait!"

She had her face crammed into the doorway. She must've leapt across the room like a bleedin' deer! There was a curious gleam to her brown eyes.

"We'll have breakfast in the parlour downstairs. I'll meet you there in a minute," she said quickly and, after flashing the briefest of smiles, left me staring at the closed door. How strange, I thought; Maud and I had always eaten our breakfast in the upstairs parlour by the bedroom. Nonplussed, I shrugged and went downstairs to look for Mrs Inker.

I started in the kitchen, cause that's where she always could be found in the morning, hanging fresh bundles of herbs, pouring off some of the cream from the day's milk, setting the water on the hot stove for tea or boiled eggs. But today the normally cheery kitchen was empty. I went to the stove but knew before I got there that it was cold.

"Now what?" I sighed. I went to the front parlour on the hunch that she might be getting an early start cleaning the place, but there was no one there either. The empty hearth reminded me that I had told Mrs Inker the day before that we would need coal from the cellar for when he came. Probably doing just that, I thought, but I would have thought Mr Inker would have done the heavy lifting for her. Perhaps, I speculated, Maud had set him to work making the front shrubbery look tidy… for Mr Lloyd, of course.

"It's like the bloody Queen is coming," I muttered as I passed through the pantry on my way to the cellar. Suddenly there was the patter of feet behind me and through the open pantry door behind me I spied the tell-tale flash of a white apron. Retracing my steps I caught her as she was mounting the stairs with her arms full of parcels. I couldn't even see her face there were so many boxes of different shapes and colours. Of course I knew them at once as the many things we had had sent over from London.

"Mrs Inker?" I called.

The woman stopped so suddenly that the tower of parcels swayed, and I was afraid she'd topple herself trying to balance them. Then her face appeared from one side.

"Morning, Miss Lilly," she said between breaths. "I'll attend to the breakfast shortly, just as soon as I finish with Miss Maud. This is the last of the lot."

She gave a worried glance up the stairs, measuring the effort required to reach the summit. It was obvious by her complexion that it was just one of several such journeys already that morning. Had we purchased so many things in London, I wondered? Mrs Inker saw the perplexed look I was giving her and hesitated, glancing suddenly at the boxes as if they'd just appeared out of thin air.

"Miss Maud's things," she explained.

"I can see that," I said sharply, convinced that our stay at the George had been an unseemly extravagance. What had I been thinking spending half a year's income on coloured cloth and ribbons? At least I wore mine sometimes, Maud had stored most of her things away in an empty room on the pretext of never having use for them. Until now, I thought, the day that Mr Lloyd was coming of all days. I could hear my own breathing whistling through my nose. Mrs Inker looked anxiously up the stairs, unsure whether I had dismissed her.

"She told me to bring them to her," she reminded me.

She never told me, I thought to myself, but then why would she? After all, I had bought them for her. I even remembered that it was less than a fortnight earlier that I had suggested she might wear her new clothes more often just so they didn't go to waste. I thought it might cheer her up. Mrs Inker was still waiting, so I jerked my head at the stairs.

"Go on then," I said. Never before had I felt so irked at being accommodating.

"Yes, Miss," she said dutifully and started up the stairs. "Oh, by the way, Miss… you're supposed to wait for your breakfast in-"

"The parlour down 'ere, yes I know!" I snapped. She flinched and then scurried away upstairs. Unreasonable anger flooded me and I lifted my face to the empty stairwell.

"Yeah, and I want the parlour clean like for this afternoon!" I shouted.

I listened to her unsteady footsteps all the way to the next landing. I knew I shouldn't have spoken to her like that; really she'd done nothing at all, which made me all the angrier with myself. I decided a bit of coffee would do me good, so I started for the parlour, but then remembered there weren't no breakfast waiting for me. Fuck, I spat under my breath and then headed for the kitchen to grab an apron.

Mr Inker found me squatting on the kitchen floor trying to get some kindling into the stove when he came in from outside. Now he shows, I grumbled and slammed a larger chunk of wood into the stove, though I'd already more than enough to start the coal. I felt Mr Inker watching me - probably couldn't imagine what I was doing there - which only made me keep on playing the scullery maid, just to rub it in.

"You know Miss," he said, in no hurry to relieve me. "You could always get a girl to do some of the chores. I'm sure any of the girls from Marlow would give anything to go into service-"

I had shot him a look that made him stop. I'm sure he meant it kindly, but in my state of mind I couldn't help but remember that Maud told me much the same thing. Had she been talking to the Inkers, I wondered?

"You're in my light," I growled.

"Miss, you'll ruin your fine things doing that. Better step aside and let me," he said. I squinted up at the old man and saw the deep lines of his face arranged in that kindly expression usually reserved for humouring the very young… or the mad.

"I can manage. I'm only boiling water," I said brusquely and threw the next chunk so hard I heard it hit the back of the stove with a satisfying thud.

"Aye Miss, and you'll be getting' enough steam up to take us all the way to Newcastle," he commented mildly.

"What, it's not too much is it?" I said, but I'd shoved enough inside for a bonfire. I felt the heat rising up my face like the wood was already burning.

"It'll get the water going faster," I suggested feebly.

"Faster? I'd say!" chuckled the old man. "With a fire like that I could melt down that ol kettle into horseshoes. And how would you explain to Miss Maud how her toast was burnt all to ashes?"

Maud again. The mention of her name reminded me that while Mr Inker might have to answer to her, I certainly didn't. I stood up so quick it frightened him.

"I would tell Miss Maud that she can make her own bleedin toast," I told him.

Mr Inker looked thoughtful but evidently decided it was better not to comment and, without being asked, began to remove most of the wood from the stove. After a while he spoke again, the stove making his voice sound hollow and distant.

"What I meant was, Miss" he blundered on. "Now that you've started having guests I thought you might need some more help so when the next time the young man comes by-"

"Next time?" I cut him off. "Who said anything about next time! What has Maud told you?"

Mr Inker blenched. "Nothing, Miss… least nothing but that he's coming today. I just figured… I don't know what, Miss."

My features must have looked menacing, 'cause he cringed fearfully during my outburst. In fact he reminded me of a dog I once saw in the Borough that was beaten by a man with a stick. It yelped and yelped but didn't run away because the man was its master and it hadn't any choice but to take it. Actually, that might have been a child I saw, but Mr Inker was no dog, and I felt ashamed at the way I had behaved to both him and his wife. If he got it into his head that Mr Lloyd was going to be a fixture round here than that was certainly his right. After all, Maud gave him no indication he was wrong. That thought alone took all the fire out of my belly.

"Sorry," I mumbled. Mr Inker regarded me curiously while I collected myself. I felt weary all a sudden, like the pugilist who leans against his opponent with no fight left in him. "I'm going to wait in the parlour. If you see Mrs Inker could you tell her that Maud and I will take our coffee there?"

The great lines of his face rearranged themselves and softened into a gentle smile and he said, "I'll see to the coffee, Miss. Don't you worry 'bout anything."

Maud and I rarely used the front parlour, and I never gave it a thought until the day Mr Lloyd was to visit us. Then it was like seeing it for the first time. As soon as I entered the room I turned on the spot and did a quick survey of the parlour, trying to see it through the eyes of a stranger. I spotted dust on the mantelpiece and drifts of it in the corners. The wainscoting beneath the bay window had discoloured and cracked from the seeping water. I wondered what our guest would think when he saw it? I couldn't bear to see Maud in Mr Lloyds company, but I couldn't bring myself to scare him off by letting him see how shabby Briar was. The last thing I wanted was for him, or anyone else for that matter, to think that I was some low sneak masquerading as a lady, one who neglected her house purposefully until it resembled nothing more than the London slums that she called home. I remembered how he'd already taken note of my accent. At least propriety prevented him from sniffing about the house uninvited. If he did he'd find out how Maud had hawked all the furniture in most of the bedrooms and the morning room, (no great loss since it had been shut-up since my mother died and the mice had got at the furniture). Even the rear parlour stood empty and was only used for storing Maud's things.

Thank God Maud had had the sense to leave at least one room intact, even if the parlour was a bit worn. The sofa was lumpy and the upholstery on the arm of the large wing-backed chair by the hearth was frayed (I can only imagine) from Mr Lilly constantly picking at the spot when he used to sit there. I thought the glass baubles and paintings were awful. Admittedly I couldn't see that anyone would have wanted the stuff even if Maud had tried to sell it. Maybe she had tried to sell them, I thought humourlessly.

It weren't all bad, though. The parlour wasn't so very cluttered with the junk found in most rooms in those days, judging by what I'd seen in my youth that had been purloined by London housebreakers from the nicer neighbourhoods. I had to be thankful that Mr Lilly's strange taste in collecting hadn't extended any further than books, or perhaps he'd been so wrapped up in his mania that he simply left the rooms as he found them? At least there were none of the ball-fringed draperies that Mrs Sucksby warned me were to be found all through the houses of the better classes. I started to have a better appreciation for the work put into even an ugly room, and sighed at the thought of the effort required to make my one room presentable. I realised I should have started on it long ago. Too long had I been in the habit of thinking that Briar was someone else's house rather than mine.

Behind me the creaking door announced that Maud had finally come down at last. When I saw her dress I knew right off what all the secrecy was about. She'd chosen her dress well, as I knew she would. It was of silk, in a yellow that I'd been assured would make it the envy of the Season. The price of the fabric alone would suffice for that, I thought cynically. Over her shoulders hung a shawl of the palest blue silk, cunningly woven to be as gossamer as dragonfly wings. Together they were like the sky above a field of sunflowers that I'd seen in a print once. Fine embroidery made a raised pattern on the bodice below the curved neckline that exposed her throat. The sleeves left most of her arms uncovered. We had the dress cut to the latest style – not so very wide in the skirt. The new fashions swapped the big crinoline for what was really just a petticoat stiffened with horsehair, like in the old days. So the skirt was slimmer, useful for preventing carelessly placed teacups from being swept to the floor, (I still preferred my skirts wide, they made me feel like a Lady) but the new style required you to keep your stays laced ever so tight if you were to have any figure at all; not a problem for Maud, who's always been as thin as a wasp. She was beautiful beyond measure in it. The only problem being I had intended that she wear it for me.

"Well," I said shortly. "Don't we make a pair?"

If she thought I was being sarcastic she didn't let on, but smiled at me.

"What a lovely warm day," she enthused and ran her hands over her hips. "I thought I should wear this while I still had the chance."

Chance at what, I wondered? To wear it while it was warm enough, or while you could still catch his eye? If she'd gone out of her way to outdo me in dress she couldn't have made a better choice.

Maud's smile was fast becoming brittle. "What is it? Don't you like it?"

I engrossed myself with the trinkets on the occasional table beside me. I surprised myself to see I was still wearing the apron. On an impulse I picked up a glass thing and used the apron on it as a dustcloth.

"I hope he likes it," I murmured. There was a heavy silence during which I couldn't believe I had said the words aloud. Red-faced I could only peek sidelong to confirm that my words had indeed registered fully with Maud. She regarded me with a steely gaze.

"I am hoping he does too," she said bluntly.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. Maud twisted her mouth into a sour sort of smile and beckoned to me with her hand.

"Oh Sue, if you could only see the expression on your face," she growled. I backed away and nearly upset the small table and so found myself cornered. She waited until she had caught my eye again.

"I know you are imagining I am in love with him," she told me in a matter-of-fact way that left me flabbergasted. "I assure you I am not, but I hope you understand how important his visit is as well."

I frowned at her. I didn't know what she was getting at, but more than that, I didn't like the look on her face. Her jaw was set and the tight muscles of her neck made all her features seem sharper. I had seen this look on her only once or twice before, but that was before I knew what it was. This was the cruel and cunning Maud who dared to pretend to love a fiend like Gentleman, and who could betray her best friend to get what she wanted.

"Don't look at me like that," she admonished me, but gently. Then she walked over to the sofa and sat down at one end, leaving plenty of room for me and folded her hands neatly in her lap like one of those Improvement ladies. I hesitated but couldn't risk offending her and so finally moved to the sofa too. All the while not a word was exchanged until I was settled and met her candid eyes.

I finally broke the silence said in a timid voice, "What d'you mean, by important, Maud?"

I watched her eyes search my face, trying to read me. She was choosing her words carefully, like she was dictating lessons. "You know we kept very little company here at Briar, when I was living here under your uncle."

I said nothing, but nodded.

She continued. "What company we had was only because of your uncle's peculiar interests."

Your uncle, she called him. I recognised the way she tried to distance herself from that connection.

Maud moistened her lips before she went on. "You saw some of those men in London, Sue. What did you think of them?"

"They were monsters," I said straight off. A twitch of her eye registered the hit.

"They are gentlemen, Sue," she corrected me, and held up a hand to stifle my protest. "Yes, Gentlemen. Perhaps not the ordinary sort," she gave a sharp laugh, "Or maybe all too common, but at least not the type portrayed in the good magazines, but they are gentlemen just the same. Do you know what makes them so?"

"Money," I blurted. I really hadn't a clue where the conversation was going.

Maud shook her head. "Anyone can have money, thieves have money."

I ignored the barb. "Go on."

"They are gentlemen because they have connections," she explained. "Everywhere they go these connections are as good as an introduction. No matter what we think of them they are respected among a section of Society."

I'd heard enough. "Respected? I can't believe you, Maud, and why are you talking about those men? They're disgusting!"

"I am not defending them, Sue. I am using them as an example."

"Of what? It's making me sick just thinking about it!" I cried and began to rise.

She suddenly seized my hand. "Hear me out, Sue."

Her face was so earnest that I relented and merely nodded at her. When she was satisfied I was settled she turned her gaze to the carpet and continued.

"I have been thinking much about my situation of late, but especially after yesterdays chance encounter with Mr Lloyd," she said.

She looked up at me and there was pain in her eyes. Oh God here it comes, I worried.

"Ouchl, you will crush my fingers! It's not what you suppose," she said and extricated her hand from mine to nurse her fingers before she continued. "I was thinking of the unfairness that allowed Mr Lilly's friends to have the freedom to go anywhere in Society while I am… talked about, and shunned."

"But it's just because they're m-" I began.

"Men?" She spat the word. "Yes, they have all the advantages of their sex, but you do not know half of what I know of them, Sue… of what depravity they are capable of. You were right when you said they were monsters. They are, and should be despised by everyone, but they get away with it because they know how to play the game. While I lived here all those years I was not so stupid that I did not learn how it is played"

"Game?"

She gave me a patronising smile. "The game of Good Society. It is like a sport, you know, and with Mr Lloyds help we will use it to our advantage. You must be familiar with it. Even I, who was never permitted to have any connections, know how it works."

She donned her school teacher manners again before she continued.

"Mr Lloyd will call, and then we will return the call. He will introduce us to his family and acquaintances and then we will call on them as well. In turn, they will return the call and come to Briar and leave cards, and round we will go again, and each time the little circle of our acquaintances will get larger. That was how it works in Society. That is how you get you get a name people will vouchsafe, not by …" she stopped and bit her words before shaking her head.

But I understood her perfectly. Her name would be restored by work as painstaking as any done in the workhouse, or as meticulous as any locksmith's, not by flashing gold coins to any old London shop assistant. That was how Maud would get her name back and then I would get my Maud back too and from there we could do anything, and go anywhere together. But I knew what a risk I was taking. I would have to welcome Mr Lloyd and his flirtations with Maud and worse, I had to encourage him too. I had to reassured myself that it was all just a scheme to Maud. After all, she wouldn't do nothing to deceive me, would she? Would she?

I shouldn't have been so worried, I should have been happy Maud and I had finally seen our way together, but I was not. Cause I knew that from that day on we were in Mr Lloyds hands, for better or worse.

********* To Be Continued **********