I was folding clothes on the line in the backyard when Mrs. Holmes came to talk to me later that day. I saw her shadow through the half-hanging sheet first. She only spoke after I moved the material out of the way. Her eyes were downcast, reluctant.
"Is something the matter?" I sounded guarded, as I knew I should be.
She did not respond, so I let the sheet fall back, shielding her from view, like that first day when James came to talk to me.
"Jane says you visited my son's room last night?"
I was reaching to unclasp a corner of the sheet from the line but stopped mid-motion. "I went to him. I was upset."
"I had hoped she was mistaken." She sounded dismayed by my answer.
I lowered my arms and looked around the cloth, "It is not significant ma'am. You can ask your son if you do not believe me." A sickening feeling had begun stirring in my stomach.
"I do not need to. I know you, Mary."
I nodded and moved back to continue my chores.
She did not move to leave but continued, "Jane also has said that you were in the habit of visiting James after the household had retired."
"Just once. I helped him finish the fence." I lowered my head, waiting anxiously for a response.
"Jane believes-"
"I do not care what Jane believes." I was at my rope's end with Jane's accusations. "I do not think you do either."
She took no offense to my discourteous words. "No. But I do care what this town thinks. Some actions, though innocent, are not wise or healthy for your reputation."
"You are worried about my reputation?"
"Yes, and my household's."
"Have I besmirched your name?"
"No, not presently."
"I will not." I was pleading with her, staring at her silhouette.
"I know. Jane can be quite stubborn when she wants her way. I am worried about how she will react if I do not handle the situation."
"You are letting her intimidate you?"
"Jane moves with other children of our class. They talk."
"You know I would not do anything to harm you or your family."
"I know."
I moved the sheet away, staring at her, searching her eyes. "You are cutting me loose?"
"I have to." She touched my cheek, and I knew at that moment that I loved her. She was stoic and at times unknowable, but I had come to love her. That made the gesture all the more hurtful.
I pulled my face away, looking at her in disgust. "You do not have to do anything."
"He is so angry with me. I think you were good for him." She was talking to herself almost.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I was so worried about him, and then you came; your influence was so extraordinary-"
"I have no influence." I had a vision of him walking away from me. To him, I was not worth the trouble. I was not worth the trouble to anyone, apparently.
"You had more than you'll ever know. I think you saved him."
"I do not wish to talk of that." I would not cry in front of her, but her words were too much. I turned my head away, angry that she broached the subject. Who would save me?
"He will likely never speak to me again."
"Is your name worth that?" She was not just pushing me away, she was pushing him away.
"His is. I am sorry, Mary."
I strode away from her to prepare to leave. The laundry was left on the line.
I did not work for her anymore.
The house was breezy as I entered; almost barren without the usual clatter of dishes being washed, or violin strings being tuned.
Jane stood on the middle step of the staircase, one hand on the banister, the other limp at her side. The sunlight from the main room barely reached her, bathing the hem of her petticoat in illumination while her face blended into the shadows.
She stared at me.
I stared at her.
Her eyes were cold, lacking the mocking superiority that I expected to see from her. Somewhere in the depths of them, like a wayward dreg, was a glimmer of pain. She watched me as I broke our contact and wandered down the hall to gather my things.
He walked with me to the cab while his mother watched from the veranda. His long strides slowed to match mine in the usual gentlemanly fashion, but he did not help me with my piece of luggage.
I held my head high, refusing to look shameful in his presence. I caught him staring at me but did not comment for fear of embarrassing him. He gave an occasional glance over his shoulder at his mother's sparse form, still and hard as a statue.
Mrs. Holmes was a good woman in her own right. But she would not inadvertently accuse her own family of treachery by giving me a good reference.
So I was to be left to my own devices, to face the rumors and scorn that was to inevitably follow my dismissal from this well-respected family.
We walked in companionable silence, our shoulders touching, and feet stepping in harmony with one another. The silence lasted until we had reached the gate and the hansom cab that Mrs. Holmes had graciously provided for me to leave this place; a place I wanted to leave as much as I wanted to stay.
Mr. Smith grunted at me in his customary way as I hefted my bag into the carriage. To my surprise, I felt a strong hand grasp mine and help me up the step, and I flushed. I was well aware of the shape and warmth of his hand even through his thick gloves, and when he was finished assisting me into my seat, I did not release him.
"Are you going to London?" His words were short and clipped, but I could see the tightness at the corner of his mouth, which was a clear indication that he was practicing self-restraint.
"Yes, I suppose." I truly hadn't given it much thought although I knew I was expected to give a destination to the driver eventually. It did not seem very important at the moment, though.
I swallowed back a lump in my throat and squeezed his hand tightly. "I will write you."
"I won't be here. I leave tomorrow."
I removed my hand and took a minute to compose myself.
"I won't come back here," he continued, "I cannot . . ." he trailed off and clamped his mouth shut, tilting his head to squint into the sun. "If I come to London, I will look you up." There was a tinge of mislaid hope in his voice.
"Do not do that." Entirely to save face, I blustered on, "James is thinking of buying a farm." I had no idea how much he knew of James and me, but it didn't seem as if he caught on to my lie.
A grimace of pain settled onto his handsome features and was then masked over.
He switched the conversation after an awkward pause, "I slipped something into your bag."
After a moment, I realized that he wished me to look at it in front of him so, as he cast another glance back at the house, I rooted into my bag to pull out his present. It was a flat square object, wrapped in plain brown paper. Ripping it open without aplomb, I ran my hand appreciably over the gold lettering. The whole thing looked quite expensive, and I bent down to smell the leather covering. It was small, nearly pocket-sized.
"It was very interesting." He sounded vaguely amused.
"You read it?"
He nodded, "It was supposed to be a birthday present."
I looked up at him, fighting tears. "I am very sorry that I seem to have caused so much trouble."
He rolled his eyes, "No need to apologize, my family seems to attract it in inordinate amounts."
I wiped my eyes, aware that I probably looked like a sniveling child, and smiled at him. He reached out and touched my hair.
I reached up as well, letting my gloved hand rest on his before sliding one of the ivory combs from their place and giving it to him.
"Keep it," I urged.
His hand slid the object into his pocket without protest. He stared at the sky for a moment as if in thought.
"When we two parted," he said at last, obscurely.
He nodded at the driver.
"I am sorry," I muttered before the wheels started to rotate.
"There is nothing to be sorry for." He smiled sadly. "I hope James can take good care of you."
So I was carried off from that place with a frighteningly cold feeling in my stomach and anguish gripping at my heart.