The maid who opened the door to them could not take her eyes off the great fat woman in the biscuit straw hat with big cloth roses on its brim, and the cape that just covered her shoulders and showed an expanse of blue cotton bosom, the like she had never seen before. As she was about to say, 'I'll tell the mistress you've come,' there was a scampering of feet on the stairs, and Annabel almost threw herself on Millie, crying, 'Oh! how lovely! How lovely to see you!' Millie was smiling widely at her friend as she proffered the coloured plate, saying, 'I ... I baked some currant buns for you.' 'They're for your mother, love.' Aggie was smiling brightly at Annabel. 'Oh, then Mama will love them. Oh! here she is. Mama, Millie has brought you a present; they're currant buns. She makes lovely cakes. I told you.' It says much for the calibre of Mrs Kirkley that, after greeting Aggie with an inclination of her head and a smile, she looked at Millie, who was handing her the present, and said, 'Oh, thank you very much, Millie; I'm sure they'll be delightful. We must have them for tea. Jessie--' She turned towards the maid, who was standing apart and, handing her the plate, she said, 'Have these put on the table for tea, please.' The maid took the plate from her mistress as if it were hot. Then Mrs Kirkley led the way into her drawing-room and there, after indicating that they should all be seated, she looked at Millie, saying, 'Well, isn't this nice! I'm so pleased to see you again. And how are you?' 'Very well, ma'am, very well.' 'Have you been attending school at all?' 'No; not yet; but we' - she glanced towards Aggie -'we are thinking about it, considering it.' 'Oh, well then, that in a way will be a pity, at least for us, because the proposition that Annabel indicated in her letter is to do with a post for you.' She inclined her head deeply now; then, after a moment she turned her attention to Aggie, saying, 'You see, my cousin is looking for a nursemaid to help with her six children. It would be a very good position for any young girl, and a happy one. My cousin is married to the bailiff on Mr Crane-Boulder's estate. They are the mill owners, you know.' As if by way of explanation that a cousin of hers should be married to a bailiff, she now added, 'My cousin was very young when she married. Her husband is from a good family; in fact he is distantly connected with the Crane-Boulder's family, but ... but he was the youngest son, and you know what positions go to the younger sons.' She held out her hand, palm upwards now, and moved her head slowly as she looked at Aggie as if she were talking to a friend who would understand that a cousin of hers had not married beneath her. And then she went on, 'They live in the grounds. Not in the lodge; it is a very nice, large house. It would have to be' - her smile widened - 'with six children, wouldn't it? Well, there it is. I'm sure that you would want to talk this over, but if you do feel you can consider it' - she was still addressing Aggie 'I could ask my cousin to keep the position open for a week or two. In the meantime, I am sure if Millie here would like to go and see my cousin and discuss the whole situation, my husband would be delighted to provide escort.' She did not add, He would jump at the chance of someone filling that post, so that he wouldn't be asked to take the children off Rose's hands until she is once more fixed up with someone who could manage her unruly crowd, as well as herself and the house. By the end of last year, when they had three of the children, he had been almost driven to distraction. He blamed Rose, and wouldn't have a word said against William. Oh yes, he would take Millie there. And she, too, felt the girl would fit in. She was certainly still young enough to play with children, but, in a way, she seemed to have an old head on those shoulders. And so she smiled now as she said, 'There it is. You must, as I said, have time to think about it.' 'I would have thought there's plenty of lasses ready to jump into such jobs, ma'am, jobs of all kinds being' scarce.' 'Yes. Yes, there are plenty of ... girls, Mrs Winkowski, but they are not the type my cousin would appreciate. She has already experienced some. As I'm sure you know, the majority of girls seeking such posts can neither read nor write and are of such low intelligence that they have no control over the children; in fact, the children soon take advantage of them. Children are very wily, you know. So, thinking it needed someone superior who might fit the requirements of the position, I thought of Millie as a most suitable person, and decided to put the proposition to you, Mrs Winkowski. Of course, that is if you don't intend to allow her to continue with her schooling. Yet, I'm sure she will learn a lot from being in contact with my cousin and her husband, not to mention with the Crane-Boulders themselves, you know, the owners of the estate, because they socialise liberally. Ah' - she looked towards the door - 'there is the signal for tea. Would you like to come along?'... They had tea, just the four of them. Mrs Kirkley ate one of Millie's buns and praised it highly; and after Annabel had eaten one, and then asked if she might have another, her mother exclaimed in mock sternness, 'Oh! Annabel. Your manners!' It was when tea was over that Mrs Kirkley said to her daughter, 'Would you like to take Millie round the garden, dear?' And when Annabel exclaimed, 'Oh, yes, Mama,' the two girls turned towards each other before hurrying from the room. Aggie, of course, knew she was in for, what was termed, a bit of confidential chat; and she wasn't mistaken, because Mrs Kirkley, without any preamble, began by saying, 'There is more than one reason why I have suggested this position for Millie. You know, Mrs Winkowski, girls will talk, and I suppose it was during one of Millie's lonely periods while under the sisters that she confided in Annabel why she had been sent to the school. It was because of her fear and your concern regarding a certain man who seemed bent on ... well, how can one put it, except by plainly saying, abducting her. And for what purpose we won't go into. She is aware, as you yourself only too well know, that her looks are bound to attract attention, and that beautiful hair; its colour is so unusual that that alone will draw eyes to it. Well, need I point out?' 'No, you needn't, ma'am. As for the abduction business, I think we can say that's over. We've never seen hilt nor hair of that man for well over a year now. He could be gone from the town.' 'Oh yes.' The delicate eyebrows were raised. 'On the other hand, there is the possibility he couldn't. But there, you are the best judge of that. I only put it to you. By the way, do you know much about her mother?' 'No, ma'am, only that she died before her time and had been a lady's maid.' 'Oh, indeed; a lady's maid? Ah yes; likely it is from the mother that the child gets that air she possesses ... Or was it from the father, do you think? Do you know anything about him?' 'Only that he seemed to be in a decent position, and that he died.' 'Oh. Oh.' Mrs Kirkley sat back in her chair. 'I'm so glad we've had this little talk; and it's so nice to think that she and Annabel are friends. Annabel thinks the world of her.' She did not go on to express the next thought in her mind: thank goodness Annabel was going away to school, and very soon the association would be closed, for its continuance would create an impossible situation. It was Aggie who now rose first from her chair and so bringing the conversation to an end by saying, 'Well, ma'am, I thank you for your hospitality, and also for your kindness to the child. I'll think over what you've said, and also put it to Ben. He's a sort of help and partner, and he's had part of the rearing of her from the time I took her, and his advice is always sensible. So now we must be off.' 'Of course. Of course. I'll call the girls.' The goodbyes were said; Annabel and Millie clasped hands, but Mrs Kirkley gently prevented her daughter from seeing their guests to the gate. And perhaps it was just as well because there, on the seat of the rag cart and sitting as patiently as the pony was standing, was Ben. And from the pavement he looked a big, decently dressed young man, for his head and shoulders were well above the back of the seat. On sight of them, he jumped down and first helped Aggie, then Millie up, and lastly squeezed himself corner-wise into the seat, took up the reins, and shouted, 'Gee up! there.' And so they made for home. A short time later they were sitting round the table. Aggie had explained to Ben what had turned out to be the reason for their invitation to tea; and now she broke into his silence by saying, 'Well! Can't you say something?' What he said was, 'It's not for me to say, Aggie, it's for her. Let her go and see if she fancies staying there. Ten miles out, you say, and there's a squad of kids to look after?' He turned to Millie, saying, 'How does that appeal to you: six kids, the eldest ten?' 'Oh, I wouldn't mind that, not for a time anyway. Perhaps I wouldn't like to stay there very long, because, as I said, I might want to go to school again. But,' she now smiled from one to the other, 'it would be an experience; and, as Annabel told me, I'd get one and six a week and a half day off, besides a full day every month.' She made a face now as she added, 'Annabel seemed to think that was generous.' 'Well, compared to the leave they get in the big houses I suppose it is; half a day a month for some of them, and then no leave at all if they're known to come from the workhouse, or one of the settlements. Well, it seems that you'd like to go and take a look at the place and the people before you make your mind up; and I suppose that's only right. But have you thought what I'm goin' to do here, left on me own? This place'll turn into a hovel again. And what about our fancy meals, eh?' 'Oh, Mrs Aggie' - she put her hand across the table towards the plump elbow resting there - 'I won't go. As I said before, I could go to half-day school here. Yes; why not? It's a silly idea, and I'm big enough to take care of myself now... ' Her voice trailed off as the two pairs of eyes fixed on her and her head drooped as she said, 'That was a silly thing to say. But you could always take me and fetch me back as you did before.' She had addressed herself to Ben, and he said, 'Aye, I could. But you know something? For your own good, at least for the next year or so, I think you'd be best out of the way. And at the bottom of this one's heart' - he thumbed towards Aggie 'I'm sure she thinks the same. And I promise you something: I won't let the house get into a hovel; I'll do a bit of cleanin' up meself. And if she would only let me have Annie round' - his thumb was wagging again - 'the place would be spotless.' The look that Aggie fixed on him silenced his tongue but left his face in a wide grin. Aggie rose from the chair and went into the scullery, and Ben, reaching along the table, covered Millie's hand with his own, and she turned and gazed at him. There was always something comforting about Ben: she felt that she loved him as much as she did Mrs Aggie. And on the thought, she lifted the hand, the squat unusually clean hand, and held it against her cheek. 'Oh, Millie love. Millie.' There was something in his voice that made her want to throw herself into his arms; but then she knew that Aggie wouldn't like that. Mrs Aggie wasn't for shows of affection, which, she felt, was a pity, for love should have an expression.

FIVE

Up to the previous evening there had been questions bandied back and forth between Aggie and Ben as to whether, after all, it would be necessary for Millie to take the post she had been offered. But at half-past seven the next morning they knew they had made the right decision. In fact, for a moment, the situation facing Millie seemed to be God-directed when, at seven o'clock, as soon as Ben had opened the gates, a Mrs Walton came hurrying in. 'You haven't seen anything of our Betty, have you, Ben?' she asked. 'Betty? No. No, Mrs Walton. Why? Is she lost?' The woman looked around the yard as if she expected to see her daughter emerge from one of the doors or from behind a pile of rubbish. Then she repeated, 'Lost? Oh, aye, she's lost. But himself said this would happen, because I was always washin' her bloody hair and keepin' her face scab-free, unlicing her an' the rest, instead of gettin' meself out to work. He said it's my fault; but I did it for the best.' And now, her hand outstretched, and with a break in her voice, she appealed to Ben: 'Don't tell me she's been picked up. It's been the fear of me life, because she's so wayward. Scamperin' round the market whenever I let her out of my sight. And she was bonny. You know she was bonny.' 'Aye.' Ben nodded at her. 'Aye, she was bonny, Mrs Walton. How long has she been gone?' 'Since last night. Since last night. She wasn't outside the bar waitin' for him. He always' - again the hand was expressive - 'he always goes in on his way from the mill. He gets dry, you know ... the flax. Feels choked at times. And anyway, if he knows she's there it brings him home. And now he's in a rage. He never went in this mornin', and he's knocked on every door in Foley Street. But if they had her there, d'you think they would let him know? Now he keeps blamin' me for keepin' her clean. Being the first of the lasses, she was always his favourite; the lads didn't seem to matter. What am I gona do?' 'Have you been to the polis?' 'Oh, aye. Aye, I went to the polis. But what'll they do? Himself is right: half of them must be in the pay of the Foley Street mob. Well, it's funny, isn't it, that they never manage to find any missin' youngsters. And it's funny an' all that the dirty buggers don't go for the ragged-arsed lot that's swarmin' the place. No, they take their pick. Oh, my God! Ben, if she's gone it'll kill him. I tell you, it'll kill him. And then he'll go for one of those buggers, an' he'll do for 'em. Then what'll it be? Swingin', or Australia. And we were just gettin' on our feet, three of the lads workin' and himself bringin' it in, at least what's left after his Friday night dos. But, nevertheless, we managed. An' you know yourself, I've come every week here and set them up in different bits and pieces.' She turned from him now and looked towards the house door where Millie was standing. And she stared at the girl for a full minute, before turning to Ben again and with a helpless gesture saying, 'My God! It's a wonder that one's escaped.' Then she added, with a plea in her voice again, 'You get around, Ben. And your Annie, if all tales are true, she's got a relative that's no better than she should be an' livin' nicely on it. Perhaps you could find out somethin' through her.., would you, Ben?' 'Yes, certainly, Mrs Walton. I've got to go on an errand this mornin', but as soon as I get back, I'll ... well, I'll do the rounds and I'll come along an' tell you. You're in Booth Court, aren't you?' 'Aye, number fifty-six. Three floors up. Ta. Thank you.' She turned now and glanced towards Millie again before hurrying from the yard. Instinctively, Millie made her way across to Ben, saying, 'Is she in trouble?' And he looked straight into her face as he answered, 'Aye, she's in trouble. Her little girl has gone missin'. You know her, Betty, the lively one; she was into everythin' in the yard here.' Without saying anything further, Millie turned and went back into the house; and Ben followed her, there to see Aggie shambling into the room, and although her eyes looked full of sleep, their powers of discernment were indeed wide awake. 'What's up now?' she demanded. 'Little Betty Walton has gone missing,' Ben answered. He didn't say, 'He's at it again and he's getting nearer.' But after a moment's silence he said, as if casually, 'She's a scamper, that one; into every hole and corner, if I remember rightly, so she's likely stayed out late and is frightened to go home - if old man Walton had a load on she'd be introduced to the buckle end of his belt. He could be paralytic and she could bring him home, but... ' 'Aye. Aye,' put in Aggie. 'But it's about time there was some breakfast on the table. And you've got a journey before you, you two, so let's get down to the business of the day. And you, Ben Smith, Jones, or Robinson, spruce yourself up, because it's among the gentry you'll be goin'.'

They had left The Courts, passed the countless rows of back-to-back houses, no cleaner, no more sanitary than the half-mile of buildings behind them. They had crossed the market, the shopping centre, passed the churches, chapels, religious meeting rooms, fighting to outdo each other and against the countless bars; even hoping through the wave of religious revival, and the example set by the Queen herself, that they would eventually withdraw sinners from the flames of hell-fire and place them in the arms of the Lord. And then there were the mills. Everywhere you looked there were the mills: cotton mills, textile mills, grim forbidding buildings, all of them, many cheek by jowl with the slums they had created. Then, as if a dividing line had been drawn across the outskirts of the town, the scene changed: Ben was now driving the cart past terraced houses with lace curtains at the windows, and the bath-bricked steps leading to painted front doors, with here and there a little maid scrubbing the steps, or sluicing the pavement outside the small railed gardens. These were the homes of the upper working class, the artisans, clerical workers, shopwalkers. They now reached what appeared to be open country, but which soon became large areas of garden, each surrounding a single house approached from the roadway through magnificent iron gates. 'Be prepared to bend your knee, and keep your mouth shut. And yes, bite your tongue.' He grinned at her. 'Well, I just might have to, mightn't I? But would you ever do it?' 'Me?' He pushed out his chest. 'Never! What you call a free soul, that's me; free as the wind.' 'Except for Mrs Aggie and the yard.' 'Don't be pert with me, miss. But aye, you're right, except for Mrs Aggie and the yard. We must never forget, mind, either you or me, if it hadn't been for Mrs Aggie and her yard, God knows where we would have been at this minute. She could easily have given me the push after her dad died, and taken on somebody.., well, more presentable, like.' 'You're very presentable, Ben, very.' She looked him up and down now, and yes, he was very presentable. She had never seen him dressed as he was this morning. He was wearing the suit belonging to that old man who had died. Chinese Charlie had altered the lot to fit him, and he had pressed it, too, and it had made such a difference to Ben. He looked ... well, she couldn't put a name to how he looked. She discarded handsome, yet he had such a nice face and plenty of brown hair and his upper body was so fine. It was only his legs. What a pity about his legs. If they'd only been a few inches longer; or perhaps if his upper body wasn't so big then his legs wouldn't be so noticeable. And he had a nice voice. He didn't always speak correctly, but still he had a nice voice. Everything about him was nice. She liked Ben. Yes, she liked Ben. Impulsively now, she put her hand out and laid it on his, saying quietly, 'I'm going to miss you all over again, Ben, that's if I take this place.' He drew the pony to a stop, looked down at her hand still lying on his and said, 'You're not the only one, Millie. That place is like a dead house when you're out of it. But no matter' - his voice rose now - 'you've got to go there for a time, anyway. And you understand, don't you?' 'Yes. Yes, Ben, I understand. But at the same time I keep asking, Why? Why?' 'You know as well as I do.' He had almost bawled at her; in fact, so loud was his voice that he turned instinctively, feeling he must have been overheard, and looked towards the two gates which had 'The Grange' easily discernible as part of the wrought iron. And just as instinctively lowering his voice, he said again, 'You know as well as I do. There's no need to go into it.' 'But there is.' She was hissing at him now. He stared at her while drawing in a deep breath, which expanded his broad chest further; then he said, 'Well, if you want to know, you shouldn't look as you do; you attract the wrong kind. That's the answer, and I'm sayin' no more. So come, get down. This is the place.' He pointed to the gate. When, a minute later, he pulled on the handle of the iron bell and it clanged loudly, the door of a small house lust beyond the gates opened and a man appeared and stood looking at them for a moment before speaking. 'Well, what's your business?' he asked quietly. 'She ... Miss Forester here is expected. She's to meet a Mrs Quinton.' 'Oh.' The man now moved his head slightly and looked at Millie; then, pointing with his forefinger, he said, 'Further along the road there's another gate. You'll come across the house half-way up the drive.' He looked beyond them to the pony and cart, then added not unkindly, 'You could get that up the drive.' 'Ta,' said Ben. 'Thanks,' said Millie. They had spoken together, then turned away, smiling. Ben now said, 'You walk along; you might have to open the gates... He was quite a civil bloke, wasn't he?' 'Yes, a nice man.' 'Well, as it says in the books, it could augur good.' Millie burst out laughing, and as Ben pulled himself up on to the cart, she said, 'You know, you are funny, the things you say.' He looked down at her. 'Well, you're not the only one who reads books, you know. I could beat you along that line if I liked. And I will an' all; we'll have a competition some day when you start readin' the grown-up stuff.' And he slapped the reins along the pony's back. She was walking at its head when she turned and said, 'Why don't you go to school, Ben?' 'What! What you sayin'? Go to school? Me? a man!' 'Lots of grown-up people go to school at night, some of them after work. I know Father Dolan has a night class.' 'What! Join the Catholics? Are you askin' for him an' all to be stabbed with a pair of scissors?... Oh, I'm sorry, lass. I'm sorry.' 'Oh, you needn't be.' She pulled the pony to a stop opposite this second set of gates. They were open, and, nodding up to Ben, she said, 'I've never felt any guilt or regret over that. She was a horrible woman, cruel. And not only to me. But there are other people taking night classes, Ben; like Parson King. He's Protestant.' 'They're all holy Joes. But get out of the way and let me turn him in if you're not goin' to lead him.' They were now proceeding up a driveway bordered on each side by shrubs: and then quite suddenly they emerged into an open area. It was like a small field, only the grass had been cut; and there to the side stood a house. In comparison with those they had passed along the way, it could be considered small. It looked as if it had only two storeys, but suggested an attic under the fanlight in the roof. Ben had hardly put his feet on the ground when, from the side of the house, there emerged what appeared to be a mob of children coming at them in a rush and then skidding to a halt about three yards distant. There were five of them: the biggest, a girl, looking not much younger than Millie herself. There were three girls and two boys. And it was the taller of the two boys who looked at the others before explaining, 'He's got little legs.' Then they scattered, yelling, as Ben gave a jump towards them, shouting on a laugh, 'Yes! but they can run.' There now appeared at the door of the house a young woman, and she called in a high voice, 'Children! Betty! Paddy! you, Daisy, come. Come this minute.' As if the children hadn't heard her or were not aware of her presence, they all ran back towards the side of the house, and there they stood as a group, staring at the man with the short legs and the girl with hair that looked almost white, walking towards their mother. 'Oh, you're here. Good morning. Well, you had better come in.' Millie took in at once that Mrs Quinton was a nervous lady and that she wasn't very old; in fact, she looked young. And her hair was untidy and she was wearing an apron. She didn't appear to be at all like the kind of lady who would be engaging a maid. Not a bit like Annabel's mother. 'Come into the kitchen,' she said, and led the way across a small hall and into quite a large kitchen, dominated, Millie noticed, by an oblong table under which were a number of stools. And she also noticed straightaway that the open fire feeding an oven to one side and a water boiler to the other was very like the one Sister Cecilia had introduced her to. 'Sit down. Oh, dear me, dear me.' Mrs Rose Quinton now pulled out two stools from under the table and indicated that both Millie and Ben should be seated, and when they were, she stood before them looking slightly helpless but smiling now as she said, 'You have, unfortunately, already been introduced to my family; at least, all except the baby. They are, what you would term, a handful, but they are not really naughty children, only impetuous, you know.' Millie smiled at her, and she smiled back, saying, 'I ... I must be frank with you. They ... need a firm hand. Well, I mean they need to be managed. And again I must be frank in telling you, because if I don't tell you this, one of the maids of the house will likely inform you very shortly, that I've had two helpers already this year. You see, I don't want you to come on the ... well, shall we say' - her smile widened - 'on false pretences. You understand?' 'Yes. Yes, ma'am, I understand; and I have worked with children before.., well, when I was at the hum' school, it was part of the older pupils' duty to be in charge of two or three of the younger ones to see they washed properly and.., well, things like that, and just before I left I was doing this.' 'You were at the nuns' school? Oh, yes. Oh yes.' Mrs Quinton closed her eyes for a moment as if recalling her cousin relating this girl's history, which had not included the scissors' business with Sister Mary as being the reason for her leaving because that might have put any caring mother off from engaging such a virago. 'My cousin did tell you the terms?' Millie paused a moment, then said, 'Yes.' 'And they're suitable?' 'Yes. Yes, thank you.' 'Well now, when can you start your duties?' Millie now turned to Ben, and he shrugged his shoulders, saying, 'It's up to you; but I could bring you back tomorrow, if you would like that?' 'Yes. Yes, I would like that,' she said, and looked straight back at Mrs Quinton, saying, 'I will start tomorrow.' 'Would ... would you like to meet the children now? Well, I know you have seen them already, but if I could call them and... ' Millie rose from the stool and, looking at her prospective and harassed mistress, she said, 'Oh, it's all right. We'll get to know each other tomorrow, I'm sure, and very quickly.' 'Yes. Yes, perhaps that'll be best. But oh, by the way, you do know there are other duties? I... I have a person who comes in for two hours every morning, but ... but she does just the very rough work. I sometimes need help in the kitchen and...' 'Oh, I'd be pleased to help wherever I can.' 'She's a splendid cook,' Ben said. Rose Quinton looked at the extraordinary man and thought as many another had: what a pity! He could have been a handsome man. She said, 'She is?' And he nodded his head firmly, saying, 'She is. You take it from me, ma'am. I like my food, and she's the best I've come across.' Mrs Quinton was again smiling down on Millie. 'Oh, that would be a great asset. Well, you will come in the morning about.., at about the same time?' 'Yes, ma'am.' Millie's new mistress paused as if uncertain what to do next; then turning quickly about, she led them from the kitchen into the hall and to the open front door again, and looked to where her children were all standing round the pony and cart. In fact, her son Patrick was actually in the cart. 'Oh, dear me! Dear me! That boy! I'm sorry,' she muttered. 'Nothing to be sorry for, missis, I mean, ma'am. It's a good sign when children like animals and are playful with them. Good day to you.' 'Good day.' Standing before her future mistress, Millie did not know whether or not to dip her knee. She decided against it, and so set a pattern which was soon to become questionable. What she said now was, 'Good morning, ma'am,' and Rose Quinton answered in a similar tone, 'Good morning;' then added hastily, 'your name is?' 'Millie, ma'am.' 'Oh. Millie? Well, good morning, Millie.' Again Millie said, 'Good morning, ma'am,' then turned and followed Ben to the cart, from which there was now a great scattering away of children, before once more they formed a group as if into a combined force. But when Millie, from her seat, liked her arm and waved to them, they looked at each other, giggled, then all waved back, which Millie took as a good omen and Rose Quinton took as a sign of comparative peace. 'It was as if,' she said later to her husband, William, when in bed that night, 'I felt as if the house had suddenly been blessed. Strange, wasn't it?' to which he answered, 'Yes, indeed. Well, I'm looking forward to seeing this blessing. Indeed; indeed I am.' SIX

Millie had been living with the Quintons, in what was called Little Manor, for six months now, and she couldn't recall a happier period in her life. She still looked forward to her half-day with Aggie and Ben, as she did her whole day once a month; but she was always glad to get back into the Quinton household, where she felt so at home she could never imagine ever wanting to leave them. But looking back, she always recalled her first week as a very testing time. Mr and Mrs Quinton had their meals served in the little dining-room, whereas she had to take hers with the children at the kitchen table. And when nine-year old Daisy took a spoonful of hot soup and threw it in her face, and there was a giggle from the others, Millie, rising and going to a side table and deliberately choosing a larger spoon, returned to her seat, filled the spoon with the soup, and levelled it at her opponent, causing a scream from Daisy but silent gasps from her supporters. And when the astonished child screamed, 'I'll tell Mama!' Millie said, 'Go on then, tell her.' But when the child went to scramble from her stool, she was checked by Paddy, her younger brother, with the advice, 'Don't; Papa's in. You'll get your own back: just wait.' The 'own back' took the form of locking Millie in her attic bedroom, which was reached by a ladder attached to the end of the landing. The hatch had two bolts on the outside. Why they had been placed there and not on the inside, no-one knew. The children had shot the bolts after Millie had retired to bed. But when, at half-past six the next morning, she found her way barred, she didn't, as they expected, bang on the trap door yelling her head off in frenzy; no, what she did was to return to her pallet on the floor, pull the clothes around her and lie there waiting. And she hadn't all that long to wait, for when Mr Quinton came downstairs for his seven o'clock breakfast and found a bare table, he hurried upstairs and informed his wife. Mrs Quinton's first remark was, 'Oh, she must have gone. And I thought she was different. I thought she would handle them. Or perhaps she has just slept in. Go and see, William.' When William climbed the ladder and found the bolts shot he pulled them back, pushed open the hatch and in the dim light of an almost guttering candle he saw the maid sitting fully dressed on the side of her pallet, her feet stretched out before her, and she was smiling at him. He smiled back as he said, 'The little devils!' What she said to him was, 'You won't have had any breakfast, sir, but I'll get it in a jiffy.' She prepared his breakfast the while he visited the two rooms in which five of his children slept, but in which three of them were now wide awake, waiting for the screams and the thumps that so far hadn't been heard. And after clipping his sons' ears and shaking his daughters, telling them they should know better, he awakened his six-year old son, Robert, and his four-year old daughter, Florrie, with hard smacks on their buttocks. Then pointing from Betty to Daisy, and then to Paddy, he said, 'I warned you what would happen, didn't I, if we lost another maid? No more school; and you, Betty, would go up in the big house kitchen; you, too, Daisy. There's a young girl up there who has to scurry around with muck buckets most of the day. As for you, Paddy, it will be the stables. Now, I mean that.' He lifted his hand. 'I'm not just saying it this time. This girl is a good, intelligent girl. She'll likely be able to teach you as much as you would be able to learn at school, because she's been to school, too. So that's the last warning I'm going to give you. You understand?' And he now bawled at his son, 'Paddy! do you understand?' 'Yes, Father, yes.' 'Do you want to go into the stableyard?' 'N... n... no, Father. I... I like engines. I mean, I can draw engines. You know I can.' 'All right, all right. But there you have it, the three of you. As for you, Robert,' he looked at his younger son, 'you had better follow their lead or you will end up in a stableyard, too. There's as young as you had to muck out horses before today.' On this he turned abruptly and left them. His warning had stuck, but resentfully; at least, for the next few days and until Millie was able to break through it because she was a storyteller, and, moreover, because she could play with them. Probably, too, because she told Patrick she liked to hear him play his tin whistle, whereas, apparently, nobody else did. And she broke down the final barrier when, in a clearing in the woodland on an afternoon when the sun was shining and there wasn't a breath of wind, she danced for them, doing the Irish jig Ben had taught her and which he himself had learnt from Annie when he was a lad. Blessed with a quick ear, Patrick was soon able to play the tune that she hummed to him. And then she had them all attempting to jig, the while filling the wood with their laughter, so much so as to attract the attention of two young horsemen riding up the bridle path. Dismounting, they peered through the trees and in amazement watched the young Quintons' mob doing a weird dance round a girl they had never seen before. She had golden hair tied with a ribbon at the back, but the rest of it bounced from her shoulders with every step of the dance. They weren't to know it had escaped from its bun with the exertion... Millie came to know these young men; or rather, became aware of them as being the sons of Raymond Crane-Boulder, just as she was to come to know many of the people in The Grange through the gossip of Jane Fathers, she being the lowest in the servants' hierarchy at The Grange because she was merely the slopperout. This term was very appropriate, for Jane took over from the housemaids the chamber pots and china slop buckets and emptied them into iron buckets; then, with the help of Ken Atkins, the boot boy, she carried them all of a hundred yards to the end of the kitchen garden, where lay the cesspits. The beginning of the wood lying only a few yards distant from the cesspits, Jane would sometimes slip into the shelter of the trees and flop down and dream of the day when she might become a scullery maid if she kept on the right side of Mrs Potter, the cook, who would put a word in for her with Mrs Roper, the housekeeper. It was during one of these appropriated short siestas that she first saw Millie and found a recipient for her knowledge of the members of the household. There was the old master who owned two mills in the town, but who never visited them because he was fat and had gout and hardly ever left his room. It was Mr Raymond, his son, who saw to the businesses, and Jane assured Millie that she would recognise him right away if ever she came across him, because he was tall, thin, and handsome. But the mistress now, Jane pointed out: she was another kettle of fish, different altogether, because - and the information had been imparted in a whisper - she had a failing: she liked the bottle, and at times there would be the devil to pay going on upstairs. Flo Yarrow, she was the second housemaid, her and Jessie Kitson, she was the in-between one, they could tell some tales, and they did about the goings on upstairs: just like Ridley's pub on a Saturday night, they said it was sometimes. Then there were the two sons, Mr David, he was fifteen, and Mr Randolph, he was fourteen. They were real rips; they played tricks on the servants. Once they kicked a bucket of slops around her feet. Eeh! she had been in a mess, she said. Millie learned that some of the servants were all right, that they would speak to you, but not Mr Winters the valet, nor the lady's maid Miss McNeil. The butler neither; he was uppish. But Mr Boswell the first footman, he was all right; well, he would laugh at you at times; but not John Tester, the second one; he was as snotty as a polis. There were four maids attached to the kitchen and three others on the first floor; and there were four men in the yard, and four gardeners. At first Millie was confused with all their names, but through time, and at least twice a week listening to Jane's chatter, she felt she had come to know the members of the household and their particular jobs. But what she didn't know, because Jane herself didn't know, was the layout of the rooms in the house, for although the girl had been in service since she was eight and was now eleven, she had never got past the servants' hall, and certainly not past the green-baize door that led from the passage into the main hall, not even to receive her yearly pay of fifty-two shillings; for she received this, as the rest of the kitchen staff received theirs, from the butler, across a table in the servants' dining-room. But Jane had high hopes that this year would be different, for, later on, the mistress's brother, or her half-brother, she explained, was going to have his coming-of-age party, and it would be a big do. And there was a whisper that there would be a special party for the servants, too. Wouldn't that be wonderful? Millie felt sorry for Jane, and she told Aggie so on one of her half-days. 'She's from the workhouse,' she said, 'and so is the boot-boy, and they are treated as though they have the plague, by what I can gather. But she's so grateful for a kind word, and she keeps on about this party that's going to be held for the mistress's half-brother. But as far as I can gather, he won't be of age until next year. Sad, really. I'm so sorry for her.' She was sitting on the couch by Aggie's side, and as she leant her head against the broad forearm, saying, 'She wasn't lucky like I was.' Aggie put her arm around her, and in an unusual show of her feelings said, 'And I was lucky in my turn to get you, my dear.' Then she pressed her away and, looking into her face, she asked quietly, 'D'you know what Ben's up to?' 'No. What?' 'That's what I'm askin' you, lass, 'cos he talks to you on the journey backwards and forwards. So, has he said anything?' 'What about?' 'Well, where he goes twice a week in that good suit of his. Now when he drops you off he doesn't wear it. He's decently put on, I'll grant you that; he always has been, even when he's goin' down to Annie's he's spruced himself up a bit, but this is something different. The night he puts on that suit he doesn't turn down the road that would lead to her place, but goes on towards the town. So where does he go? And he hasn't said anything to you?' 'No, Mrs Aggie. No; but it must be somewhere special he goes to, if he puts on that suit.' 'Well, that's what I think an' all, lass. I said to him, jokin', like, "Have you given your lifelong friend the push and taken up with a fancy piece? And you know what he said to me?' Millie shook her head. '"I shouldn't be a bit surprised." That's what he said: "I shouldn't be a bit surprised. Stranger things have happened." And then d'you know what he said? and he put one of those fancy voices on. "For the first time, Mrs Winkowski," he said, "you've given the right term to the association I have with Miss Annie Blackett." Eeh! I nearly threw the pan of stew over him, I did.' But Millie too was curious as to where Ben would go in his good suit twice a week, and on the journey back to the Quintons' she asked him bluntly, 'What are you doing, Ben, going into town twice a week in your new suit?' 'Oh, she's been at you, has she? I've been waiting for it. Well, miss, if I told you, you'd know as much as me, wouldn't you? Then come Sunday you would tell her on the quiet.' 'Oh no I wouldn't, not if you didn't want me to. You know that, Ben.' He glanced at her, then said quietly, 'Well, if I tell you, you'll laugh; at least you'll do that.' 'I mightn't laugh unless it's funny. Is it something funny?' ' No; I don't think it's funny. It's what I've wanted to do for a long time but hadn't the nerve. But then, I got to thinkin': there's you, a bit of a lass, and your head's full of all kinds of things; and there's me, ten years older than you, a fully-fledged man, and I know practically nowt. Well, what I mean is, me mind's workin' all the time, but it's goin' round in circles, like, and the circles are not gettin' any wider, if you know what I mean. So, I thought: well, there's many a better man than me started to learn when he was well on in age. And so that's what I'm doing. I joined the night class.' 'Oh Ben. Oh! I am glad. What made you think I would laugh at you? And as for me having more in my head than you have, that's silly. I've always found you wise.' The, wise?' 'Oh yes. Yes, the things that you say in your summing up of things ... and people. But I'm so glad you're going to night classes. What are you learning?' 'Well--' He flapped the reins, calling, 'Gee up! there, Laddie,' and he seemed to ponder a moment before he answered her question: 'It seemed daft, the first time I went, just listenin' to the fella readin' bits from this and that, then askin' what you thought about it. Well, I wasn't the only one there that couldn't tell him what they thought about the Poor Law unions before the Board of Guardians came into being'. I ask you. But as one bright spark said, the less he knew about the workhouses the happier he would be; he had just come to the class in order to help him get a better job to keep him out of the workhouse. We all laughed at that, and the teacher fella did, too. It sort of broke the ice. Mind, I nearly did say something when he got on about the Public Health Act that had come in in '48. Eeh! I wanted to say they must have overlooked the mile warren of Courts, where the rats have more space than those livin' there. But it all makes you think. Well, it's opened my eyes. But mind, I felt a bit rattled when he said there were good workin' class houses goin' up and people wouldn't go into them because they were used to herding together in lice-ridden hovels. One fella did stand up and go for him, but he told him to go to Boston Lane and there he would see what he had said was true. And you know, Millie, it was, 'cos I went along there meself an' had a look. They were smallish houses, but neat like, brick built, yet half of them were empty. I wouldn't have believed it until I saw it.' 'It all sounds interesting, Ben; makes me wish I was there with you.' 'Oh, you are better off where you are, far better off lookin' after those rips of bairns, as Aggie's police friend calls them. And one of the lessons was about children, bairns, and the New Act of 1842. According to that, apparently, children shouldn't be sent to work until they are ten years old. But half the country were up in arms against it: farmers, even parents. I mean the young 'uns' parents, because they were breadwinners. Of course, they were cheap labour for the factories and the farmers. Well, I've always known that. But when you hear it read out to you, an' you hear of the laws that were passed against it and weren't carried out, it makes you think. So, there you are, Millie Forester, that's what I'm doin' in me good suit twice a week: learnin'. And reading more - when I get the chance.' 'Oh, I am proud of you, Ben. I really am.' And when he muttered, 'You must be the only one then,' she shook his arm, saying, 'Don't be silly. I'm not. Mrs Aggie loves you.' She waited for the denial, but it wasn't forthcoming, not even the cocky one that would have come easily to him, 'Aye, I can't help it, she can't help it.' Instead, he just shouted to the horse, 'Gee up! there.' Thinking of Ben going to school, even if it was only a two-hour night class twice a week, set her mind working again on the thought that she, too, would like to go to school. Yet, she knew she couldn't have it all ways; and she loved working with the Quinton children, as she did helping Mrs Quinton. In fact, she did most of the cooking now, and she knew that they appreciated her and thought of her in a way as perhaps being different from a servant. Even so, on the three Sundays in the month when the children had their mid-day meal in the dining-room with their parents, she was never asked to sit down with them. And yet they made her feel as if she was one of the family, whereas Nellie Fuller, the coachman's daughter, who came for two hours every morning, was given no privileges at all. Mrs Quinton was kind to her in that she never shouted at her - but she was never offered a drink or a bun before she left, and her wage was always given directly to her father. She was another one Millie was sorry for, and she sometimes sneaked her a currant bun that she had kept over from her own middle morning break, and which Nellie always accepted and ate without saying a word. But it was one morning when she was escorting the children on their mile walk to the church school in the village that she got an idea, and that evening she put it to Mrs Quinton in a very diplomatic way. It was Mrs Quinton herself who gave her the opening, saying, 'I bless that school. They get on so well there, and your reading to them at night has helped considerably, Millie. You know, you yourself could be a teacher.' 'Well, I have high hopes of being one, ma'am... ' The idea had never entered her head. 'Before I came to look after the children I was going to return to school, and I would like to do that again.' Before she got any further, Rose Quinton cried, 'Oh, no! Millie. No! You couldn't possibly leave the children, not now. And they love you, they really do, they really love you. You have been able to manage them like no other; in fact, they obey you more than they do me. Oh, Millie, Millie, you're not thinking of leaving us, are you?' 'Well, I really would like to go to school again, if it was only for half a day.' 'Oh, Millie, Millie. I thought you would be settled here until the children grew up, I really did. You are such a help to me. And we do appreciate you, both Mr Quinton and I. He will be so disappointed.' 'But I am not going right away.' 'No; but you've got it in your mind, haven't you?' 'Well, yes. Yes, I have, but.., but there is a way out if... if you really feel that the children would want me to stay.' 'Yes? Yes? What is it; I mean, the way out?' 'Well, if it were possible for me to attend school with the children two or three mornings a week just for half the day, I'd make that do for a time.' Rose Quinton seemed to think for a moment, and then she said brightly, 'Yes. Yes, indeed, Millie, that is an idea. I must speak to Mr Quinton, and he will talk to Mrs Wilkins. She is the teacher, you know, and I'm sure, in a way, you could likely be of help to her with the younger ones. Yes. Yes, I will speak to Mr Quinton as soon as he comes in. That is a way out. And the children would love it and they wouldn't take advantage of you. Well, you don't let them, do you?' She nodded knowingly at Millie before rising and leaving the kitchen, sighing deeply as if with relief.

So Millie went to school again and life went on very smoothly, and such was the feeling of the family for her, she was given tea in the dining-room on her thirteenth birthday. And it could be said that life took on a rosy glow for Millie during the months ahead, until the celebrations at The Grange for the coming of age of the mistress's half-brother Bernard Thompson, and the staff party that followed it, changed things entirely. SEVEN

During the week before the great event, the growing activity and excitement it was engendering in The Grange itself was also seeping into The Little Manor, and especially was it felt by Millie, who had been given to understand from Mrs Quinton that she would be invited to the staff party, which was to take place the day following the main party, and which Jane had told her was to be held in the big games room. During one of her collections, Aggie had been given a lady's taffeta dress with a blue silk lining. The outside of the dress was marked in various places, but the inside of the material looked as good as new, as did the lining. She had taken it to Chinese Charlie and asked him if his wife could turn it into a dress for her Millie. Mrs Charlie was very good at remaking clothes and it was she who suggested that the material would be suitable for a Chinese style of garment. And so that was what was being made for Millie to wear on the great day. Millie was as excited about the dress as she was about the party itself; but she was anxious, above all, to see the inhabitants of the house; except for the coachman and Ken Atkins, the boot-boy, who sometimes slipped into the wood with Jane, for what purpose she hadn't yet discovered, nor would allow her mind to guess at, because she liked them both; yes, except for these and, now and again, a gardener, she had seen no other members of the household, for The Little Manor was as separate from The Grange as if it were set in another part of the town. The staff never used the drive that led past The Little Manor, having been ordered not to pass the bailiff's residence. The party was due on the coming Tuesday evening; but this was Saturday, and there was no school on Saturday; and Saturday afternoon was a time for play, inside or outside the house. On this afternoon it was to take place outside the house. It was a bright but cold day, and Millie had had the children running around in the wood to keep themselves warm, and the game they all liked was to skip behind her the while following Patrick as he played on his whistle. In and out of the trees they went, and always in this game Millie herself became a child again, dancing and experiencing a particular kind of joy through the exuberance. It was in this state that Millie emerged from the wood behind the whistle player, followed by the four children, to come to a staggered halt when confronted by the tall lady and the gentleman. Not having seen the master and mistress of the house, Millie had not imagined what they were like. But she was immediately given their identity by Betty, stumbling over the grass verge and on to the road and dipping her knee and looking from one to the other as she said, 'Master ... Mistress, we were playing.' Berenice Crane-Boulder stared down on the girl and, her voice belying the slightness of her frame, she said, 'I should have thought you were beyond the playing stage, child. And this girl,' She flicked her fingers towards Millie; then stared hard at her for a good moment before she said, 'Who is she?' Before Betty could answer, Millie said, 'I am nursemaid to the children and helper to Mrs Quinton, ma'am.' Both the voice and the manner seemed, for a moment, to deprive the mistress of speech; but only for a moment: assuming further authority, she rose her tone to a bawl and cried at Millie, 'Speak when you're spoken to, girl! Apparently your training has been neglected.' Then looking at Betty again, she said, 'Tell your mother I wish to see her at ten o'clock tomorrow morning in my office.' 'Berenice.' It was the master speaking now; but his wife, seeming not to hear, looked at Patrick, saying, 'Boy! go to the stables and tell the men a wheel of the carriage needs attention. Away with you!' Millie watched the lady now walk away, the rustle of her voluminous skirts making a swishing sound, as if she were walking through dried leaves; and she imagined her to be a bird about to fly, for the feathers in her hat protruded from the back like wings. The tall man was now patting Betty's head and saying, 'It is nice to play. One's never too old to play,' and the child, wide-eyed and smiling, said, 'Thank you, master. Thank you, master,' dipping her knee with each statement. Then he turned and looked at Millie before taking two steps towards her and saying, 'You like to dance?' 'Yes, sir.' 'How old are you?' 'Thirteen, sir.' 'Thirteen. It is a very nice age. Your ... your dancing was so energetic, it has caused your cap to go awry.' And he put out his hand and pulled the small starched cap from where it had slipped almost to the back of her head and behind her ear, and bringing it into place again, he said, 'You have beautiful hair.' As his hand touched her cheek her head moved back just the slightest, and she looked up into his face. It was a thin face, but with a kindly expression. She remembered Jane telling her he was thin. His eyes were brown, the nose pointed; his top lip, too, was thin, but the lower pouted a little in its fulness. And when he smiled as he did now widely, he showed a mouthful of gleaming teeth. There then came a diversion, for Florrie's plump legs had seemingly given way beneath her and she sat down with a plop on the grass verge, saying, 'Oh, dear me,' which caused the children to titter, and the master to turn to Millie again and say, 'You have worn her out.' Without answering the man, Millie picked up Florrie, slightly inclined her head in acknowledgement towards the man, and turned away to go into the wood again, and one after the other the children dipped a knee to the master and then ran after her. Chattering among themselves they entered the house, and Daisy, quickly preceding the rest, ran into the sitting-room to her mother and father. Rose was sitting on the couch, William Quinton was at a table to the side, writing a report, and she cried at them, 'We saw the master and mistress! and the master straightened Millie's cap.' Her father stopped his writing to say, 'What are you talking about, child?' The rest of the family were now trotting into the room, and he looked from one to the other and Betty repeated Daisy's statement: 'We saw the master and mistress, Dada. The mistress was in a tear. She wants to see you in the morning, Mama, at ten o'clock in her office.' The husband and wife exchanged glances; then William said, 'Where did you see them?' 'Just along the road.' 'On our drive?' He was on his feet now. 'Yes; the carriage had broken down. It must have been outside the gates at the bottom. She went for Millie, but the master was nice. He straightened her cap and patted her face.' Rose was quickly on her feet, saying, 'He straightened Millie's cap? Why?' 'Well, we had been dancing through the wood and the jigging must have loosened the hair pins and it had fallen to the side and he straightened it and patted her cheek. And he talked to her.' William again exchanged a quick glance with his wife; then looking down on his family, he said, 'You're all getting too big for jigging and dancing through the wood, especially you, Betty, and you, Daisy. And Paddy, I'm going to burn that whistle of yours. And what's more, Millie should have more sense.' Patrick now said, 'If you did, Dada, I'd just make another. Taggard showed me how to whittle one.' William spread his arms now, saying dramatically, 'What kind of a family am I rearing?' Then looking at his wife, he said, 'What kind of a family are you bringing up, woman, when my son defies me and my daughters act like abandoned females, dancing in a woodland? ... Robert! you take that grin off your face before it is wiped off.' When Robert rubbed his hand all over his face, leaving his expression tight-lipped, the children all burst out laughing, bringing the immediate command from their father, 'Get yourselves away, everyone of you! Out of my sight!' And they scampered from the room, leaving their parents looking at each other. And then William said a strange thing:' I don't want to believe it,' he said, and his wife answered just as enigmatically, 'Perhaps it's because she's a dreadful woman.'

Aggie and Ben stood back and looked silently at the slim young creature standing before them in a blue brocade dress with its tiny stand-up collar and a sash waist, and at the skirt flowing down to the top of her black leather shoes. The sleeves were wide, and when Millie lifted her arms and swung round, it was evident that right down to the cuffs they were attached to the dress itself. 'Did you ever see anything so lovely as that frock in all your days?' 'Well, all I can say is, Charlie's wife's made a good job of it.' 'My! she has that. I knew it was a piece of good stuff when I first got the dress, but I never thought it would make up like that.' 'But look who's wearin' it, Aggie. Look who's wearin' it.' 'Oh' - Aggie tossed her head - 'that kind of frock would make anybody look good.' But her words were accompanied by a grin; and then she added, 'But you'll have to do something with your hair, lass. You can't leave it loose like that.' 'Oh, Mrs Quinton said she will gather it for me into a special kind of bun at the back.' 'She seems a nice woman, that Mrs Quinton.' 'She is nice, Mrs Aggie. Oh, yes, she is nice. And she's young.., well, I mean she's had six children but she's still young somehow, in spite of being twenty-nine.' 'Twenty-nine?' Aggie and Ben looked at each other, and Ben repeated solemnly, 'Twenty-nine. She's practically ready for the grave.' 'Oh, you! Ben. You know what I mean. But isn't it lovely?' She stroked her hands down the skirt. 'I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Oh, thank you, Mrs Aggie. Thank you.' When she threw herself on Aggie, Aggie pushed her away, crying, 'Look! It's ... it's been steamed and pressed and cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you; hail a dollar from beginning to end. So don't muck it up.' 'Oh.' Millie now gently caught at the two hands that were half extended towards her as she said, 'Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you. You know, you're wonderful, and you can't stop me saying thank you. And you know what? I told the children a story about you the other day. I keep them quiet at night telling them stories. Anyway, I was in the middle of this one and there wasn't a sound, and I think that's why Mrs Quinton came upstairs. She sat on the side of Betty's bed and listened, and afterwards, when we had gone downstairs, she said to me, '"That was a lovely story. It was about Mrs Winkowski, wasn't it?" ' 'Oh, God in heaven!' Aggie went into her flouncing attitude, and as she turned away she glanced at Ben, saying, 'Did you ever! What'll we hear next? She'll be in one of those ranters' chapels telling the tale, and praisin' God while she bangs the bairns' heads together.' As Aggie disappeared through the doorway and Ben, his body shaking with controlled laughter, was about to say something, Millie put in sadly, 'You can't thank her, can you? She won't take thanks.' 'Aw, me dear.' Ben went over to her and put his arm around her shoulder, only to withdraw it quickly, saying, 'Eeh my! I mustn't touch you, not with that on. But that's her way. If she had stayed a minute longer she would have been blubbing her eyes out. Don't you realise, me dear, that for her you're the sun that rises an' the moon that sets an' all that goes on in between.' Millie was smiling at him now: 'That was nice,' she said. 'Who's it by? Did you read it somewhere?' 'No! No! I didn't. It came out of me own thinkin'.' 'Really? The sun that rises and the moon that sets and all that goes on in between... That says it all, Ben.' And now she added, 'You're still liking the night classes?' 'Aye. Yes, I'm still liking them and still havin' me say. Most of them are scared to death to open their mouths in case they'll be stopped coming to the classes. I've told them that wouldn't happen. And anyway there are other teaching places round about now. It's catchin' on. In my mind, though, they're going wrong in one direction: they're not making us write enough. They read to us and get us to read bits back; but it's all snatches, if you know what I mean. This week he's gone back to 47, dealing with the Corn Laws, you know, and how some of the big blokes were scuppered when the corn dropped from a hundred and twenty-four shillings a quarter to forty-nine and six within a few months. Poor people benefited, but sympathy seemed to go to the corn dealers and the bill brokers because they were ruined. And not afore time, I said. From then, apparently, the trade began to boom. But here we are at the end of the fifties, and are we much better off? There were all those who scarpered to the gold dig, gin's in California and Australia. Have we heard of any of them making their fortunes? A lot of them died, that's known. Bill Watson's brother, for instance. And, you know, Bill didn't even know until nine months later. All this talk of prosperity gets up my bloody nose, 'cos while there's a lot gettin' on in the world there's a lot more dying of poverty and muck. And a sevenpenny loaf! That's certainly not saving them in Ireland dropping dead by the hundred. Eeh! there's a place for you. 'One teacher said a golden era has dawned on all the Northern Counties, and right up to Scotland, and even into Wales. You know, Millie' - he sat down heavily on the settle - 'I'm in another world when I'm in that room listening to that fella. Sometimes there's a woman teacher. Oh aye, there're women teachers an' all. But they get me a bit mesmerised, and I think, yes, things are gettin' better, aye, they must be; and then I walk half a mile back here to The Courts and I say to meself, what's up with you, Ben Smith, Jones, or Robinson? They haven't skimmed the skin off the top of the watery milk yet. And you know what I think, Millie,-I mean, who's the cause of most of this muck and filth in The Courts? It's the Irish. The teacher said their poverty over there was caused by religion and ignorance and she said we might think there were some bad slums here, but they were nothing compared to those in Belfast and such places. Well, I said to her after, you want to come down to Belling Court, not five minutes down the road from where I live. That's what I said to her. They've brought over their pigs and muck; the place's full of 'em. There's fourteen living in one of the cellars there and they've got pigs in with them an' all, I believe. And of course, what'd 'they do? They work for practically nowt, and if the bosses can get cheap labour like that they're not going to pay an Englishman a decent wage, are they? Oh, Millie' he shook his head from side to side now - 'I wish I was learned.' 'Well' - she laughed at him - 'you're going the right way about it. And you're telling me things I never knew. I'd like to go to those classes.' 'Oh, you'd have to grow up first.' 'I am grown up.' She was indignant. 'I'm coming on fourteen.' 'Aye, coming.' He rose from the seat, saying, 'Well, I'm off for a dander.' 'May I come with you?' 'No, you can't, not where I dander. And anyway you'd better get out of that frock if you want it to be fresh for the party.' 'You always go for a dander on Sunday. Where do you go?' 'Oh, different places. Talk to different people. It's amazing how on a Sunday places change from their week-day look, and people an' all. They talk differently; they come out with things differently. Oh, you learn a lot on a dander. ' He now gave her a form of salute with his fingers to his forehead, then went out. But the door had hardly closed on him when Aggie came back into the room, saying, 'I would get out of that if you don't want it crushed to bits and the hem soiled. As you've likely noticed, miss, this floor isn't as clean as it used to be when you were here.' 'Well, I can clean it.' 'You'll do no such thing. It suits me. So, get out of that frock. And where's his lordship gone? Oh, need I ask? His Sunday dander. And he's gettin' too big for his boots by half.' 'He's a good man, Mrs Aggie, and you know that.' 'Look, am I to take that frock off you?' Millie now hurried from the room and upstairs, where she changed into her Sunday dress; then she folded the beautiful garment and laid it in between two sheets of paper ready for its journey back to her happy place of work. When she again returned to the kitchen Aggie said, 'Come and sit down a minute and tell me about the gentry you ran into yesterday. What's this I hear about the big master straightenin' your cap?' 'Ben told you?' 'Well, use that napper that's supposed to be bright; how otherwise would I be speaking about it now?' 'Well, if he told you word for word, and that's what he likely would do, there's nothing more I can say. That's what happened: he straightened my cap, patted my cheek and smiled.' 'What kind of a man was he?' 'He was tall and had a nice face and seemed kind. But his wife sounded a bit of a terror. I understand she drinks.' 'So do I, in moderation.' 'Well, I think she doesn't know about moderation. From what I can gather from Jane and from what she picks up with her big ears from the kitchen jabber, there's skull and hair flying in that house at times.' 'And that's where you're goin' on Tuesday night?' 'Yes, Mrs Winkowski, that's where I'm going on Tuesday night, and I'm looking forward to it.' Aggie turned to gaze into the fire, saying softly, 'You'll move away from us and this quarter, like he's doin'.' 'What do you mean, move away? Look here.' She pulled at Aggie's arm. 'I'll never grow away from you. You know that. As for Ben, to say that about him, that's unfair.' Aggie sighed, then said, 'I know the secret that's between you. I found out some time ago. I made it me business to find out, anyway. He's goin' to school, isn't he? At his age, goin' to school!' 'Well, I thought you would have been proud of him.' 'Education, lass, is all right in its place for them that needs it, if you're goin' to do something with it, if it means your livelihood or some such, but otherwise what does it do? It just stirs the mind and never brings pleasure, because the more you know the more you realise you don't know, an' so you go on probin'. Change doesn't do anybody any good. As I see it, God sets you in a space, and He gives you work to do, an' you do it the best you can. But you don't say to Him, I don't like this job You've given me, I'm made for better things, when deep in your mind it tells you that you couldn't do better things, any better than you are doin', if you follow what I mean.' Millie followed what she meant, and it saddened her. She said, 'Then you don't like people getting on in the world, getting out of the rut?' 'Not if they're made for the rut, lass, not if they're made for the rut. Take Constable Fenwick. He was on this beat for years; then he goes and becomes a sergeant. I ask him how he feels about it and he answers truthfully, he doesn't know. He's missin' something 'cos his work now is different and he has to write a lot of things which keeps him indoors, whereas before, he knew almost all the people on his beat; and him being' Irish and a Catholic, he helped those he could, especially the bairns. He's had a lot of them re-housed in his time. But now, with his rise, he's lost touch. There's hardly a day went by when he didn't pass that gate, and if he didn't look in he'd give me a nod, as he always did if I was on the road with the cart. And I know that he did things that no ordinary policeman would do. But now he's a sergeant he'll have to watch his p's and q's. And he told me he was doin' what you call studying. Studying what? I said to him. And when he said bits of the law, I remember I made him laugh when I said, if he carried the bits out he'd better not show his face in The Courts round about or they would pinch his bits, and more than his bits. No, I'm not for education, not really.' 'Then why have you pushed it into me? Why have you sent me to school? Why did you put me under the nuns? Why did you insist that I go to Mrs Quinton's?' 'Oh, that's a different kettle of fish. There was a reason behind that. It was a lesser of two evils.-Oh aye, by God! the great lesser, and you know what I'm talkin' about.' Millie sat back from her, laid her head against the end of the couch, surveyed the fat bulk for a moment, and then said, 'Mrs Agnes Winkowski, you are a complex creature.' 'Is that what I am?' 'Yes, and more, and I love you. Oh, oh, I know you will term that slaver, but I will say again, I love you, Mrs Agnes Winkowski.' And quickly now she leant forward and placed her lips against the sagging cheek, then ended, 'And if I didn't love you for anything else I would love you for giving me that beautiful dress.' She now struck a pose. 'By! it's going to startle the staff and their betters when I make my appearance in The Grange on Tuesday night.' Aggie didn't smile, she didn't laugh, in fact, she said nothing, for if she had voiced her thoughts she would have startled and troubled Millie, for she would have said, 'I wish to God you weren't goin' to that party, love. I do. I do.' EIGHT

William Quinton had taken her to the back door, smiled at her and said, 'Enjoy yourself.' Then he had pushed the door open and said, 'Go on, or else they'll have started.' She had passed through the boot-room, lit by two candle-lanterns hanging one each side of the door leading into the pan scullery, which was illuminated in the same way. She walked slowly, taking in, first, the enormity of the room, and then, the amazing number of iron pans arrayed along a bench and the tubs of water standing to the side. Now she was in the kitchen. And here she stopped to gaze about her in amazement. She had never imagined such a place. There were two ovens flanking a large fire and, over it, a spit from which was hanging a huge piece of meat; and turning it with a twist of the handle was Ken Atkins. He looked washed and scrubbed and, glancing over his shoulder, he said, 'I've just slipped out to turn it. They're all in the dining-room. Come on.' He held a hand out towards her; then stopped and looked at her. She was wearing the brown cloak over the dress, but it was open at the front; and glimpsing the material, he said, 'That looks pretty stuff. Look, you'd better leave your cloak in the hallway here.' He led her up the long kitchen and into a short passage that opened out into a small hall and, pointing, he said, 'Leave it on that chair there.' After she had done so and stood before him, his mouth fell into a gape as he looked her up and down, then said, 'Eeh! My! Well!' and as if reluctant to take his eyes from her he stood gaping for seconds before he said, 'Come on.' She followed him along another passage, from the far end of which came a high buzz of voices and laughter, which continued for a moment or so after they had entered the room; then one face after another was turned towards her. Millie stared at these faces. She was shaking inside, for she knew she had made a mistake, or at least that the dress was a mistake. Nobody in the room was dressed in ordinary clothes; they were all in their household uniforms. Someone started to laugh, but this was quickly quashed by a voice saying, 'Be quiet! Carter,' and the owner of the voice stood up and pointed towards the end of the room, to a plank table with a form alongside it on which Amy Carter the kitchen maid and Jane Fathers were already seated. Ken Atkins made his way quickly to the form and sat down; but when Millie did not follow him, Mrs Roper, the housekeeper, cleared her throat before saying, 'Take a seat.' Millie did not immediately obey the order, but in a clear voice she said, 'I'm very sorry. I understood it was a party.' 'Of course it's a party! But we know how to dress for a party. Take a seat!' As she walked across the room to sit down next to Ken, her mind was crying at her: Mrs Quinton should have known, and she was given the answer. Perhaps she did, and she was going to tell me, but Mr Quinton stopped her, for it was he who had said: It's a party, Rose, and that dress is a picture. Let it be. And then he had said something that she couldn't understand: They want startling, that lot; and if it wasn't for one thing I'd be enjoying the effect. Now she knew what he had meant, except for that one thing. Slowly the conversation and the laughter rose again, and during it and between gulping her food, Jane Fathers gave Millie a running commentary on the hierarchy, from Miss McNeil, the lady's maid, and Mr Winters, the valet, and Mr Carlin, the butler, whose presence at the communal board appeared to her like visitors from heaven itself: if Queen Victoria and her Prince had been sitting here they could not have aroused greater admiration in the narrow breast. The food was served in turn by the three housemaids, helped with great laughter from John Tester, the second footman, especially when, bowing to Millie, he exclaimed loudly, 'And what is your desire, madam, beef or turkey? I am here but to serve you,' only for the laughter to die down somewhat as the immediate company was brought to another silence when the chit who was dressed in brocade, like a Chinese lady, dared to say, and in no small voice, 'That I should be served with civility, if you please.' When John Tester turned round and looked towards the housekeeper and the butler, this could have been the beginning of an awkward situation; in fact, could have put a damper on the whole party had not David Boswell, the first footman, chipped in with, 'Play acting at its best, if I've ever heard it. What d'you say, Mr Carlin?' Feeling it was his duty to keep the party going merrily, the butler joined with his underling, crying, 'Well said! serf. Well said!' which brought guffaws and laughter, and once again the meal continued except that Jane Fathers, her head down now whispered, 'Eeh! you shouldn't have spoke like that Millie. Nobody does. What's come over you?' Millie didn't know what had come over her; she only knew she didn't care for the company and she wasn't going to enjoy herself, and that the whole thing had been a mistake. Her mind was again blaming Mrs Quinton. She should have put her wise; yes, she should. She shouldn't have let her make a fool of herself. Yet, she didn't feel a fool: at this moment she felt.., well, she didn't like to put it even into a thought, but she felt superior. How many in this room, she wondered, had any learning at all, could even write their own name? Very few. How many would have the courage to go to night class Ben was doing? None of them, she told herself. It would have been beneath them; it would have shown up their ignorance. Once this meal was over and she could get her cloak, she would slip out the way she had come in... The meal was over, including the toast to Mr Thompson; and the exodus had started for the games room where, waiting for them, were two fiddlers and a flute player. This, she thought, would be her chance to escape, but she was baulked by the man who had come to her aid before. Noticing that she had not risen from her seat with the others and sensing her feelings, Mr Carlin, too, stayed his departure and made his way towards her. Taking her hand and bending down to her, he said, 'Never be ashamed of looking bonny, love. It might have been the wrong dress, but it had the right effect. Aye, it had that. Come on now and enjoy yourself.' And with this he led her through what seemed a maze of corridors to the two rooms that had been made into one by the pushing back of a partition. By the time they entered the room, most were already seated along three of the walls; at the far end, in front of a step-high dais, sat the master and mistress, their two sons, sixteen-year old David, and fifteen-year old Randolph, together with Mr Bernard Thompson, in whose honour this function was being held. The musicians were already in place on the dais. Although she was almost the last to enter the room her appearance certainly didn't go unnoticed by members of the family. The mistress herself had narrowed her eyes towards the girl, as if bringing her into focus, and had then turned to her half-brother, saying something which caused them both to laugh; her two sons apparently had the giggles, which was checked by their father; but he, too, was staring down the room at the young creature, whom he saw representing an exquisite piece of Chinese porcelain; and he could not keep the surprise from his voice when he muttered, 'My goodness!' It was David, his elder son, who asked of no-one in particular, 'Why is that girl rigged out like that? Did she think it was a fancy dress ball?' As he spluttered, his mother pushed him gently on the shoulder, saying, 'I dare you to go and ask her to dance.' 'What! Me? Oh, Mama; don't be funny.' She now turned to her half-brother, saying, 'You'd better get up and thank them for being here, and let them get on with it.' 'No; Raymond must do that,' he said quietly, but Raymond Crane-Boulder was quick to put in, 'Not me. It was your birthday, so get on your pins.' Slowly the young man rose to his feet and, holding up a hand for silence, began hesitantly, 'Thank you. Thank you all very much for your kindness to me, and for your good wishes, and particularly for that very fine saddle you presented to me. Now, as you have already gathered, I'm no good at making speeches, so I suggest the musicians start up and we dance. Eh?' And on this he waved his hand back towards the three men on the dais, then sat down, to loud clapping. The musicians struck up a lively polka; but no-one ventured on to the open floor until the valet took the lady's maid's hand and led her forward. From then, the rest soon followed, and the floor began to vibrate with the thumping of one, two, three, hop; one, two, three, hop. When Berenice Crane-Boulder rose to her feet, her husband said, 'Where are you going?' And she, turning a disdainful look on him, replied, 'Where do you think?' And turning to her son, she said, 'You coming, David?' 'Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama, I'm coming.' The boy was giggling and not too steady on his feet from the wine he had drunk at dinner, and he turned now and pulled his brother out with him. As the three went out of a side door to the right of where they had been sitting, Bernard Thompson muttered under his breath, 'We can't all leave.' 'No, no, of course not,' the older man nodded assent. 'But that's her, that's her. You've seen for yourself, haven't you, these last few days? She's got worse, much worse. Never sober. And she's got those boys ruined. It's a good job they'll be going back to school next week.' Bernard Thompson had been looking down the room to where, apart from three elderly couples, two young girls and a boy were sitting; and now, as if on impulse, he rose and, smiling, threaded his way between the dancers towards them. Looking at Ken Atkins, he asked, 'Why aren't you dancing?' and the boy, who now stood up, answered, 'Don't know much about dancin', sir.' 'Well, you'll never learn sitting there. Look, take her.' He put out a hand and brought Jane Fathers to her feet and, pressing her towards Ken, he said, 'Just hop. Just hop.' And when they joined hands and both started to laugh, those who were dancing nearby laughed too. And this drew them into the throng. Now he was left looking at the remarkable slip of a girl and, his voice changing, he said, 'Do you dance?' 'Yes, sir, I dance.., in my own way.' How odd: her manner was as strange as her dress. She wasn't like the rest of them. And why was she dressed like this anyway? 'What is your name?' he said. 'Millicent Forester, sir.' 'Well, Miss Forester, may I ask if you will give me the pleasure of joining me in this dance?' Without hesitation and, as was said later in the staff room, brazenly, she stood up and put out a hand to him. As he took it, his other hand he placed on her slender waist, and without pause she put her free hand on his shoulder. Then they were dancing. Their steps seemed to match, because he wasn't all that tall. She imagined, judging by Ben's height, which was a little over five feet, this man could be only six or seven inches taller. She had never done this dance before, but it was so simple, one, two, three, hop; one, two, three, hop. When he looked down at her she laughed up into his face. But when he said, 'You're as light on your feet as a nymph,' her smile disappeared, for the words recalled the face of the man who had called her the rag nymph. This man, however, was different: there was no evil in his eyes that she could see. He wasn't really handsome, but he was good-looking. And although he was the mistress's half-brother there was no resemblance between them; not in any way at least that she could see, especially not in his manner. The dance came to an end amid great clapping. He led her back to her seat, and when she sat down he bowed to her, saying, 'Thank you very much, Miss Forester. I hope I may have the pleasure again during the evening.' She did not answer him, just inclined her head towards him; and when Jane flopped down at her side, saying, 'Eeh! fancy. What was it like ... I mean, dancin' with 'im?' she answered, 'Just like you dancing with Ken.' Ken almost doubled up with laughter, and spluttered, 'But I stood on her toes; and I kicked McTaggart on the shins backwards.' Then he leant past Jane towards Millie, and whispered, 'I've always wanted to do that,' which set them all off. The music did not immediately restart and the room seemed full of chatter. Looking round, Millie realised that most of the staff were old.., well, in their thirties. In fact, some, she guessed, were in their fifties, as old as Mrs Aggie. Even the housemaids were fully fledged women. Jane, Ken, and herself, seemed to be the only young ones present. When the butler stood up the chatter ceased, and he called out, 'Will you take your partners for the quadrille, ladies and gentlemen?' There was more laughter now and bustle as some members of the company paired off and grouped into four couples, making a square. But when others Seemed laughingly reluctant to get to their feet, the master and Mr Bernard Thompson rose together; and when Mr Bernard approached Sarah Cross, the first housemaid, the master continued down the room till he came to the three young people, and there, standing in front of Millie, he said, 'Will you do me the honour, my dear?' Whereas she had accepted Mr Bernard Thompson's invitation without much hesitation, she now sat looking fixedly at the tall man, until he laughed down at her and, holding out his hand, commanded gently, 'Come;' then she allowed him to lead her to where there were only two couples standing. Having joined them, he turned round and looked towards his head gardener and cried, 'Come on, Benson. Don't tell me you're too old for a dance? And you, Mrs Benson, get him up.' The feeling engendered by the master's picking that chit of a girl, that stranger, that odd-looking creature, to dance, was somewhat placated by his enticing of the gardener and his wife on to the floor. As the fiddles and the flute struck up a lively tune, Millie now muttered, 'I don't know the steps;' and he, bending his head towards her, exclaimed loudly, 'What?' 'I don't know the steps.' 'Don't worry. Here we go!' And with this, he marched her briskly around in a circle; then turning her, he marched her back again. And so they progressed through the five figures of the dance. Each of the other three men would take hold of Millie and swing her round, but Raymond Crane Boulder always caught her under the arms and swung her off her feet. By the time the dance was finished everybody was gasping for breath but seemingly happily. On this occasion, she wasn't escorted back to her seat because her last partner in the dance was Fred Bateholm, and he turned from her to rejoin his wife, so leaving her to walk down the room to where Jane and Ken were sitting. When she flopped down beside them, Jane said, 'By! the master does dance, doesn't he? And he swung you off your feet. D'you know' her voice sank - 'your dress came up and you could see your blue petticoat and your white stockings right up to your calves.' Millie wasn't taking much heed of Jane's chattering because she was looking towards the doorway where the mistress stood. She had glimpsed her before watching the dancers, and now she knew she was looking at her. And when she turned away, she was struck by the thought that if she was in that woman's employ she wouldn't last long. But then she wouldn't be in her employ. She would never work for anyone like her. It was when the butler was announcing yet another polka that Flo Yarrow, the second housemaid, who had been out of the room, came in and hesitated a moment before walking across the open floor towards them. Bending down to Jane, she said, 'The mistress wants to see you in the study, and you've got to take her with you.' She nodded towards Millie. 'The mistress wants to see me? What for?' 'How should I know? That's all she said, she wanted to see you, an'...' She nodded again towards Millie. 'But ... but, Miss Yarrow, I ... I don't know where the study is.' 'Come on out.' Jane rose immediately, but Millie hesitated, and she, too, now said, 'Why does she want to see me?' 'You had better ask her, miss, when you see her.' There was sarcasm in the voice; but then her tone changed and she said, 'Oh, come along.' Outside the room, she pointed to a wide corridor: 'It's the last door on the right side,' she said, 'and wait till you're told to enter.' Flo Yarrow stood watching the two young girls walking away from her, and she bit on her lip and turned her head to the side as if pondering over something. Then she swung about and went back into the room where once again she saw Mr Winters, the master's valet; but he was dancing with Miss McNeil again, so she stood aside and waited. In the meantime, the two girls had reached the end of the corridor, and before Jane tapped on the door she whispered to Millie, 'What d'you think she wants us for? She was watchin' you dance. Very likely it was because you showed your legs and your white stockin's.' 'Don't be silly,' Millie whispered back. 'Anyway, in that case, why should she want you an' all?' Jane's hand was wavering in front of the door when they heard a gust of laughter coming from the room. They exchanged glances; and when Jane's hand dropped away from the door Millie impulsively knocked twice, and then they waited. And in the waiting the laughter turned to giggling, then ceased, before the mistress's voice called, 'Come in.' When Millie stepped into the room the first thing she noticed was that it was a kind of library. There were bookshelves round the walls, and where there weren't books there were silver cups and shields. In the fireplace a log fire was burning brightly. The chairs were all of brown leather. The mistress was sitting in one to the side of the fireplace, her elder son in one to the other, with Randolph leaning against the back of it. Two decanters and three glasses were on a table to their hand; and it was obvious to Millie that the two young men were silly drunk. 'Come over here!' The voice was imperious; and in answer to it Jane scurried forward, but Millie remained where she was within a few feet of the door. And strangely, in this moment, she wasn't seeing the mistress of the house, nor her drunken sons, but Sister Cecilia, who was saying to her, 'Beware the evil that men do.' She heard her own voice, thin-sounding now, saying, 'What do you want with me, madam?' 'Come here, girl! and you'll find out.' The woman had pulled herself to her feet and, when Millie still did not move, she almost sprang across the distance to confront her. Grabbing a handful of Millie's dress at the shoulder, she dragged her forward and thrust her towards her son, the while still holding her, and saying, 'You're made to tempt men and I'm going to see you're not disappointed.' With a twist of her body, Millie freed herself and jumped backwards, and the woman only saved herself from toppling by falling against the long oak table in the middle of the room. And from there she now cried at her elder son, 'Go on! Davey boy. Make a start, and show your elders how it's done. Aye, by God! show 'em. And you, Randy, take that clot there.' 'What! Her, Mama?' The boy threw his head back now and laughed. 'She's a midden mucker; she empties the mess pails. Not her, Mama.' 'Anything to start on, boy. Anything to start on.' When there was a cry from the top of the room the woman turned and looked to where her son was warding off the girl's hands, and she cried at him, 'Strip her! boy. Strip her!' Millie had her back against a row of books, and, putting her hand behind her head, she grabbed one. It was a thick leather-bound volume and, swinging it, she levelled it at the boy, and immediately the laughing, drunken timidity he had previously shown vanished: for now he yelled, 'You bitch! you,' and the next moment he had his fingers in the front of the collar of her dress, and the ripping of the brocade and the under petticoat filled her ears. 'You! You beasts! Leave me alone,' she screamed at him, and, flailing her arms, she brought her knee up, and when it caught him in the groin he yelled out in pain before actually screaming, 'You bloody she-cat!' Then he was on her, his fists thumping her, between tearing at her clothes. When she fell with a thud to the floor, he on top of her, perhaps it was her screaming and the woman's laughter that covered the sound of the door bursting open. Raymond Crane-Boulder, followed by Bernard Thompson, came to a momentary halt at the sight before them. It was as if they couldn't believe their eyes. And then with a bound and a sweep of his arm Raymond knocked his wife flying against the further wall, for her again only to be saved from falling to the floor by her younger son. In a fury stronger than that which his elder son must have felt, the father whipped him off the prostrate figure of the girl and, holding him by his ruffled cravat, he took his doubled fist and levelled it against his face. His son's crying out seemed to enrage him further, for from the wall above a shelf of trophies he snatched a riding crop. He'd had to tug it from its hook, but once in his hand he brought it round his son's head, 'You young swine! You scum!' After the third blow his arm was caught by Bernard who yelled at him, 'Enough! Enough!' and pulled him aside; and as he did so Berenice Boulder's voice screamed, 'Hypocrite! Hypocrite! Can't stand them being natural, eh? Hypocrite! Bloody hypocrite.' The younger boy was crying and appealing to his mother: 'Be quiet! Be quiet! Please, please, Mama, be quiet!' which seemed to activate his father again: pulling himself away from Bernard's hold, he strode down the room and, grabbing the cringing boy, thrust him towards his brother, commanding them: 'Get out of here! And you, too.' He was now stabbing his finger at the petrified Jane. The door had no sooner closed on them than he advanced swiftly on his wife and, looking into her glaring, hate-filled face, he brought the crop across the side of it, crying, 'You filthy, evil, drunken slut! You're not fit to live. Do you hear me? Not fit to live. You would watch your son--' He now closed his eyes tightly for a moment; then his arm dropped to his side as he stared at his wife who, after flinching from the blow, was standing straight, glaring back at him. She hadn't even put her hand up to her face. And what she said now was, as if she were solid and sober, 'I'll see the end of you yet, Raymond. And it'll be a slow end. I prophesy it will be a slow end, you unnatural swine.' And on this she turned from him as if she were feeling no pain and walked out of the room. And, as if defeated, he stood with his head bowed, before swinging round to where Bernard was kneeling on the floor holding Millie in his arms. He hurried to him, saying, 'Is ... is she all right?' 'I don't know.' The words were brief and curt sounding. Bernard now rose from his knees; and bending, he lifted Millie and laid her in one of the leather armchairs, then pulled her torn garment over her bare chest before straightening and facing the man he thought of as his brother-in-law. 'But what I do know,' he said, 'is I no longer recognise Berenice as the half-sister I once knew. Nor can you be congratulated on your sons, Raymond, if you cannot control their drinking at their age.' 'You know nothing about it.' The words were ground out through Raymond's clenched teeth. 'Anyway, I don't need any criticism from you; this is my house.' 'It isn't your house yet, Raymond, it's your father's. And I wonder if, from his fastness up above, he knows what goes on down here. What would he say to this poor child being...?' He paused: 'Well, I don't know if she's been raped or not, but your son had a damned good try at it, by the look of things.' 'Yes; but who drove him to it? Ask yourself that. Anyway, get out of my road. I'll take her down to the Quintons.' 'No. No, Raymond; you've caused enough speculative gossip already tonight back in that room, when you almost exposed the girl's limbs in your form of dancing when there was no need for it. You didn't act the same way with the other maids. And please' - he held up his hand - 'say nothing more, else more will be said, and we'll both be sorry for it. Just one thing: I won't avail myself of your hospitality any longer than tomorrow morning.' Raymond Crane-Boulder stepped back from him, saying, 'That'll suit me.' Then he looked down at the dishevelled girl lying in the chair: her hair had become loose and part of it was hanging over one shoulder and lying across the bare nape of her neck; her small breasts were heaving, and in so doing were pushing aside her torn garment. And as he gazed at her his lower lip covered his upper one before being drawn in between his teeth. Abruptly he swung about and went from the room; and Bernard, bending over the chair, said softly, 'You're all right. You're all right.' Slowly, Millie opened her eyes. She had been aware of the men for some time, though at first their presence had been hazy. But the one thing she felt glad about now was that the master had gone. This one she didn't mind; he was different somehow. She looked at him, and as he said again, 'You're all right,' the tears slowly spilled over on to her flushed cheeks. 'Oh, my dear, my dear,' Bernard said. 'It's all right. You're going home. Here! let me dry your eyes.' He took out a handkerchief, and with it he wiped her face; and then he said, 'Sit quiet now. By the way, have you got a coat?' Her mind said, 'A cloak,' but her lips refused to voice the words, and he said, 'Don't worry. Don't worry. I'll find someone. Just stay quiet.' She was left alone. She did not move her head but her eyes took in the rows of books. And as they rested on them, she said to herself, 'Ben. Ben, I want to go home.' But that wasn't what she had meant, or meant to think; it was something to do with Ben and the books. He would love to be in this room with all the books. Why was she lying here? Her head was hurting. It was sore at the back. She had fallen, she had a bump. Had she danced too much? No. No, she hadn't danced too much. Why was she lying here? As if a door had been wrenched open in her mind she suddenly knew why she was lying there, and she began to gasp, muttering now aloud, 'Oh, no! No! Please don't. Please don't.' But she was alone now; they had gone. He had torn her frock, her beautiful, beautiful frock; and Mrs Aggie had paid all that money to have it unpicked, re-made and pressed. She would never wear it again. Oh, no, no, no! She could never wear it again. Not even if it was sewn up. She wanted to go home. If only somebody would come and take her home. 'It's all right. You're going home.' She opened her eyes and there he was again, the nicer one of the two; in fact, the nicest one among them. There was another man with him and he was holding her cloak; and the nice man said to him, 'I'll have to carry her, Winters. I don't know if I can carry her all the way, so you'll have to give me a hand.' 'She wouldn't be able to walk, sir?' 'You heard: she was rambling. I think she's been slightly concussed. I'll lift her up, you put the cloak around her.' She knew she was being lifted and that her head was lying against his shoulder. He was carrying her home. She was so glad. And tomorrow morning she would wake up and go down to the kitchen and set the breakfast for Mrs Aggie and Ben. Oh, that would be nice... Bernard Thompson managed to carry her through the house and down the drive to the Quintons' with the help of George Winters, who walked by his side, holding her dangling legs. And when at last he placed her on the couch in the Quintons' sitting-room before two amazed and anxious people, he said to them, 'I think if she hasn't fully recovered by tomorrow morning you should call in the doctor.' When William Quinton asked, 'What on earth happened? Look at her clothes!' Bernard said, 'Come outside for a moment.' In the hall William was given the. details as far as Bernard knew them, but they were enough for him to say, 'God Almighty! That woman will cause murder one of these days.' Then apologising, he said, 'I'm sorry: I forget she's a relative of yours, Bernard.' 'Well, I can tell you this much, William, I'm sorry that she can claim that distinction, even if it's only as half-brother. Anyway, I'm leaving in the morning.' 'I thought you were here for the rest of the holidays?' 'No. The. atmosphere's too strong for me.' 'The old gentleman'll miss you.' 'Oh, I don't think he cares very much one way or the other whom he sees these days.' 'Will you go home?' Bernard laughed gently. 'No, William. My father's third wife is expecting the first addition. What relation that will make me to it, I don't know. Still a half something or other. No, I think I'll return to Oxford. I have a number of friends there and I'll get down to work again.' He paused for a moment, then said, 'Are you happy in this job, William?' 'Yes. Yes, most of the time; but I know I wouldn't" have it if it wasn't for the old man and his association with my. grand-dad and my father. Anyway, being the runt of the litter of ten, I'm glad to have any post at all.' 'I've always thought you were worth something better than this. Yet still, if you're happy. But' - he looked towards the door - 'that poor child in there. I doubt you won't be able to keep her.' 'No; I can see that.' 'She's very beautiful. I don't think I've seen anyone so beautiful. She certainly caused a stir up there tonight. My! you should have seen the faces: the resentment, the bitterness. Odd, isn't it, how people hate beauty. She stood out like a princess on a dung heap.' 'Well, it's odd: she mightn't have come from a dung heap, but she lives pretty near it, for her guardian's an old rag woman.' 'Never!' 'Oh yes. An enormously fat old thing, a bundle of rags herself. She's got the famous taggerine place, such as they call it, on the outskirts of The Courts, beyond the market. She's well known in the town. She's got a nickname, "Raggy Aggie". For years she . used to push a barrow, and that child with her, I understand. Now they've risen to a horse and cart. There's a warped fellow comes for her on her days off and brings her back. I say warped.., well, he's only about five feet tall, but if his legs had been longer he would have been a massive individual, and good-looking into the bargain. But he, too, from what I can gather, was picked up and looked after by the old rag woman.' 'Amazing. But she seems.., well, educated. Yes, that's the word; she doesn't talk like the rest of them.' 'Oh, she's been educated in bits and pieces; she was under the nuns for one period, and later attended a pay school; and believe it or not, she asked to attend school, with my tribe. In fact, she did a little maneuvering. It was either she went to school or she left, and the children are crazy about her. Oh' - he put his hand to his head now - 'I don't know what's going to happen there: they've never been so good in their lives before; she can handle them and they love her. Dear! dear! Why had this to happen? By the way' - his voice dropped - 'do you think she was...?' He shook his head, and Bernard answered, 'I don't know. I just don't know. I heard her screaming. Apparently, Yarrow, one of the maids, was told off to tell the girls to go along to the study and she had sense enough to tell Winters, and he told Raymond. I happened to be there. There you have it. Well, I'll have one more look at her, then I'll go.' And that's what Millie remembered for a long time afterwards: the kind face above her, saying again, 'You'll be all right.'

NINE

Three days later William Quinton drove Millie home in his trap. It was a Friday and the yard was quiet. Ben was dealing with a man who had brought in some scrap iron, and Aggie was in the barn watching two women sort through a pile of oddments and making sure that they didn't stuff any up their coats. She had lost a few good pieces of late and she felt she knew where they had gone, and one of the two customers was under suspicion. But when, glancing out of the door, she saw a well-dressed man helping Millie down from a trap she almost sprang across the yard, as did Ben. And they both called out together, 'What's up? What's the matter?' 'Oh! Mrs Aggie.' Millie put out one hand towards Aggie and the other towards Ben and muttered weakly, 'I'm home. I'm home for good.' Then turning to the well-dressed man, she said, 'This is Mr Quinton. He's been so kind, like Mrs Quinton. I... I must sit down. I'm still a bit dizzy.' In amazement, one on each side of her, they helped her into the house, and William Quinton followed, his eyes growing wider as he passed through a room filled with odd furniture and into another which, he observed straightaway, was used as a kitchen-cum-dining-room-cum-sitting-room. And there the enormous woman turned to him and said, 'What is this all about? Is she ill? What's been done to her?' 'She... she had a fall and slight concussion, but she is all right. I can assure you, she's all right. And more so, I can assure you she is so glad to be home with you. But her return is my loss and that of my wife and children, because, I may say, she brought order and a cheerfulness and happiness into my home. The children loved her and my wife found her a very great help.' 'Yes, I'll bet she would.' Aggie was nodding at him, not sure how to take him, when Ben turned from bending over Millie and, looking at Mr Quinton, he said, 'Will you be seated, sir? And could we get you a drink of something?' 'No. No, thank you. I... I must return as quickly as possible.' He smiled at the shorter man, adding, 'I have a job to do. As you know, I'm bailiff to Mr Crane-Boulder.' He gave this last piece of information in turning towards Aggie; and, still addressing her, he said, 'I would consider it a favour if I could call now and again and bring one or two of my children to see Millie. They would love that.' With a forearm Aggie now heaved up her sagging breasts and glanced at Ben, and whatever expression she saw on his countenance, tempered what she now said to the visitor: 'Well, if that's your wish, sir, you'll be welcome. And ... and thank you for bringing her back home.' He now walked over to Millie and, taking her hand, he said, 'I'll come and see you soon, and bring the girls and Patrick. If I promise them such a treat it might keep them tolerably quiet for a time.' He pulled a small face at her, and she said, 'Thank you, Mr Quinton. I would like that. Yes, I would like to see the children again. Will you give them my love?' And she smiled faintly now as she ended, 'And tell Paddy to keep playing his pipe.' 'I will. I will.' He straightened up, then turned and looked from Ben to Aggie, saying, 'Goodbye, then.' And as Aggie answered, 'Goodbye, sir,' Ben said, 'I will see you out.' In the yard Ben demanded, 'What's all this about, sir?' And after taking in a deep breath, William Quinton gave him a brief outline, finishing by saying, 'That's as much as I know, and from what Bernard ... Mr Thompson told me, he didn't think she had ... well, been touched. You know what I mean?' Ben's answer was a growl. 'Yes, I know what you mean. My God! You're telling me that the son of the house tried to... Good God in heaven!' 'They were very drunk, the young men, and I'm afraid their mother was the instigator of the whole incident. Unfortunately, her drinking is habitual, and nobody is more sorry than my wife and I that all this has happened, because we became very fond of Millie. And my children, well, they adored her. She was like a child with them, yet she could control them.' He nodded his head now while adding, 'In a strange way the other side of her seemed very adult. Well, I hope to see you again, Mister... I'm sorry I don't know your actual name. Millie has spoken of you, and often, but by your Christian name.' The name's Smith.' 'Oh, Smith. Well, I think I prefer Ben.' Did Ben detect a little slackening of class, a slight condescension? Whatever it was he retorted quickly, The name's Smith.' William Quinton's expression changed, and stiffly now he said, 'Well, good day, Mr Smith;' then he mounted the trap and left the yard. Ben re-entered the house; but he did not immediately go into the far room, he stood with his hand gripping the back of an old couch and his head bowed to his chest for some minutes before he pushed the door open, there to see Millie with a cup of tea in her hand. She looked at him as if she had been waiting for him, and as he approached her, she said, 'Oh, Ben. Oh, I'm so pleased to see you again. I've ... I've said to Mrs Aggie that.., that I never want to leave home, leave either of you ever, ever again.' 'Well, that'll suit us both down to the ground. But ... but how you feelin', really?' 'Not too bad; but I have a headache most of the time. The doctor said it would go if I rested for a week, say.' Then her head drooping and her voice low, she said, 'My dress is ruined, Mrs Aggie,' which brought no harsh retort from Aggie; instead, she put her arm around the thin shoulders and pressed her into her side as she said, 'Who cares about a frock? There'll be another where that came from. If that's all that's worryin' you, you can stop. But can you give us the rights of what happened? I mean... ' Millie raised her head and looked from Aggie to Ben, who was on his hunkers before her, and hesitantly she said, 'I ... I shouldn't have gone dressed like that, but ... but they said it was a party. Yet every one of them was in uniform.' 'Is that a fact?' Ben poked his head towards her. 'All in uniform at a party?' 'Yes. Except' - she nipped at her lip now before adding - 'the mistress, of course. And ... and I seemed to stick out. And then Mr Thompson, him whose birthday party it had been on the Monday, you know. He was twenty-one. He asked me to dance and we did the polka. He was ... he was very nice; and yet' - again she bit on her lip - 'he is the half-brother of the mistress, they say. But... but he's not a bit like her. Then... then they had a quadrille and the master asked me to dance.' 'The master asked you...?' Aggie's expression was one of disbelief and she drew her head back into her thick shoulders, repeating, 'The master asked you?' 'Yes. Well, he didn't ask me, he sort of took me into the dance, and ... and he swung me round. And I didn't know my petticoat and stockings were showing, but Jane said they were. You know, I've told you about Jane. She has all the dirty jobs, and she was so excited about the party. She told me yesterday when she came to see me that the mistress had been watching from the doorway, and it was after that that she sent for her and me to go along to the study.' With a quick movement she thrust her head into the back of the couch and opened her mouth wide, and Ben said, 'It's all right. It's all right. You needn't go on if you don't want to'. It's all right.' But she went on haltingly, and told them as much as she could remember, and when she had finished they were both gaping at her. Presently, Aggie said, 'This Mr Thompson carried you from the house?' 'Yes; and I understand Mr Winters, the valet, helped him, and they brought me home ... well, I mean, to the Quintons'. And Mr Thompson came the next day to see how I was. He was leaving the house. And Annie said there was a lot of talk about that because he had come for the holidays.' She raised her head again and said quietly, 'Oh, you've got no idea how wonderful it is to be home. But do you think, Mrs Aggie, I could go and lie down for a time?' 'Lie down, me dear? You're goin' to bed and you're goin' to stay there for the next few days, as that doctor said. And what's more, I'll have old Partridge come and see you.' 'Oh, I don't need a doctor, Mrs Aggie.' 'Leave it to me, girl, to know what you need. Anyway, old Partridge has been wantin' to get his foot in this door again for years. The last bill I paid him was sixteen years ago when me father died. Two shillings a visit he charged. Daylight robbery. And I told him that.' She smiled softly and, holding her hands out to Millie, she drew her gently up from the couch, saying, 'Come away. Come away.'... It was the same evening. The yard gates were closed. They'd had their evening meal. Millie was asleep upstairs and Aggie and Ben sat facing each other, Ben with a mug of beer to his side on the settle and Aggie with a glass of gin resting on a shelf to her hand. They had been sitting in silence for some time. When Aggie spoke her voice was quiet. 'I know what you're thinkin',' she said. 'It's such as my own thoughts. We did what we thought was best: we sent her away to save her being picked up and from the outcome of what that would mean; yet she walks straight into it; and all arranged by that bitch of a woman. Have you thought what would have happened to her if the men of the house hadn't come in at that moment?' 'Aye, I've thought what would have happened to her. And aye, me thoughts have just been similar to your own. Well, here she is and here she stays. And she won't get out of me sight if I can help it.' 'Huh! -And how long d'you think you can keep your eyes on her? She's growing fast. The solution for her is to be married, that's the only safeguard... ' She hadn't finished the last word before he sprang to his feet, crying, 'Married? She's only thirteen, woman!' She stared at him for a moment and, her voice deceptively quiet now, she said, 'She's near fourteen and she's an old fourteen.' 'Aye, all right, she's near fourteen, but you're marryin' her off.' 'I'm not marryin' her off now, but in two years' time she'll be ready for it, aye, if not before.' 'What's come over you, woman? You want rid of her?' Aggie now heaved herself up and on to the edge of the sofa, and her words were ground out: 'Yes, I want rid of her because she's brought into me life the only happiness that I've ever had. Of course I want rid of her: I want rid of her because I love her; I want rid of her because I won't know a minute's peace until I see her safely married. Yes, I want rid of her.' Ben was standing, his feet apart, his arms away from his side, his stance giving the suggestion that he was about to spring; but bending his thick body forward, he said, 'And where do you propose to find her a husband? Someone from The Courts? Or are you thinkin' someone from that big house will come riding down and offer to take her off your hands? Say, this Mr Thompson who carried her from the house? You were asking her about him, weren't you? Well, which is it to be?' Aggie wriggled herself back on to the couch, and in a subdued tone now, she said, 'I wasn't thinkin' of anyone from The Courts or a big house, but somebody in between, like one of those teachers you learn from at night.' 'Oh. Oh, you've had your spies out, have you?' 'No, I haven't had me spies out. I don't have to; in my business I just keep me ears open, and I hear everything. Rosie Dillon, she's an old customer, her brother apparently is caretaker for that, what do they call it? national school, and for the rooms that are used at night. She said, "I hear your Ben's goin' to school again." You would have told me sometime, I know. Anyway I have it in me mind that one thing she'll be wantin' is to take some kind of learnin' again and that it would be safe for her to go to the night class along of you. And you never know who she might meet there, not among the learners, oh no, but one of the teachers, perhaps. And, you know, with her head on her shoulders she could become a teacher herself.' 'It hasn't taken you long to get it all worked out.' 'Well, there's a sayin' about desperate needs need desperate measures. And--' She paused, reached out, lifted up her glass, took a sip of the gin, then placed the glass back on the shelf before ending, 'I want to see her settled before I take me last journey, because where would she be then? Any day now I'm likely to hear you're goin' to go off and marry your Annie.' 'What did you say?' 'You heard what I said right enough. And I'll add this: it's not before time, the years you've been hangin' on.' Walking over to the couch and bending over her, Ben said with emphasis but quietly, 'Get this into your head, Aggie. I'm not gonna marry Annie, sooner or later. She knows that. Right from the beginning she's known that. I can't get it into your head that she's a friend. She's good company, she's good chat. She took notice of me when nobody else did... I mean, as a lass might. How old was I when I first came to your dad? Eight? And she was then sixteen. She seemed grown up to me, but she was kind and she was lonely and lost, like I was. Behind all me chatter there wasn't anybody more lonely an' lost than me. I'd known her for more than a year before I came into the yard here, and what you don't know and what I've never said is that she gave me shelter many a night when I would have frozen to death otherwise. She had only one room. Her mother was in bed in the corner, had been for years, her body like a balloon. She lay there all day by herself while Annie was at the mill. Each night Annie would dose her with laudanum to keep the pain down, and when she went to sleep she'd let me in and I'd lie on the mat in front of the banked-down fire till early next mornin'. For two winters she did that. An' then her mother died and she let me carry on, sleeping there on the mat, until your dad offered me the room above the stable. And for the first time in me life I had a place of me own.' When Aggie's head began to wag and she was about to speak, he held up his hand to silence her, and went on, 'Now that I've started I'll give you the whole story. There were times when, lonely, we comforted each other. And I was still a lad, mind; but I told her that I'd never marry anybody and she understood that. She's still nothin' to look at, just skin and bone, mostly; but I had noticed over the last few years that she had started to titivate herself up a bit, and then when she got the chance of moving from The Courts to one of the New Buildings, she took it. It was then I found out the reason. A man she's worked alongside for years in the mill, he's a widower and much older, but he must think something of her for he comes a-courtin', you might say. And I'm happy for her.' 'My! My! My! But tell me, if that's the case, why you still go along there.' 'For the simple reason, Aggie, as I've tried to pump into you before, we're friends. We can play cards, we can chatter, we can discuss the gossip of the day. And she's got a lot to gossip about because, as you know, her cousin's the best-known whore on the street. And sometimes she pays a call on her and we have a laugh at her tales.' He paused. 'Not always, though, because there's some things that happen down on the street that turns even Nancy Pratt's stomach. And, I can tell you, that takes some doing. So there you have it, Aggie, and you've no need to pry any more. But to go back to your ... what the teacher would call, demise, and what would happen to Millie should that come about. There'll always be me here until my demise, which, not knowin' the Lord's intention, deal I'll have a few years ahead of me yet, being but twenty-three.' Once more Aggie pulled herself to the edge of the couch and, thrusting her face close to his, she almost spat her next words at him: 'And you expect her to grow up an' to go on livin' here under your ... what? your guardianship? A girl like her, growin' into a woman that'll bring men round her like flies? Oh, be your age, Ben Smith. And let me tell you somethin'.' She now thrust her doubled fist into her chest. 'I'm willin' to let her go, and by God! I'm goin' to see that you do the same, because, where she's concerned, your head's not recognising your short legs. I know what's in the back of your mind. I know what all this education business is for. I know what the new overcoat and the high hat is for. Well, all the high hats in the world won't put inches on you, nor smart overcoats see you any other than you are, So, get that into your head, Mr Ben Smith.' He couldn't speak for a moment; his Adam's apple was jerking up and down in his throat; when he did, his voice was quiet: 'Aggie,' he said, 'I'll never be out of your debt, for I know I owe you what I am today, and never for one minute in all the years I've known you have I ever wished you any harm. Just the opposite. Oh, just the opposite. But in this minute I could take me fist and land it between your eyes, not because you've tried to read me mind with less than a man.' They stared at each other as they had never done in all their acquaintance; then he turned and went from her. PART THREE

The Cook

ONE

From the day Mr Quinton had returned her home and she had entered the kitchen, Millie knew that, although she never wanted to be separated from these two people again, her outlook was changed with regard to her surroundings. As the days passed and she filled her time with cooking and cleaning, she knew there was a want in her. Even though she now accompanied Ben to his class on three evenings a week, there was always the nagging question: what was really to become of her? How could she earn a living? At first, she had thought it could be through cooking, only to reject this immediately. Her experience at The Grange had left her with no desire, and a real fear, of ever finding herself in service again. Yet, she was faced with the fact that cooking was the only thing at which she was any good. When she had put this to Aggie, Aggie had added, 'And talking. Why don't you think of learning to teach children, like?' To which her answer had been, 'You have to have a special education.' Yet at times, she felt she knew more than Mrs Sponge, who took one of the classes, but then not anything near what her husband, Mr Sponge, knew. He was a clever man, Mr Sponge, not only with dates and history but about things that went on in the mind. It was he who had said there was a solution to every problem; you only had to sit down and spread your problem out before you, as it were, like cards on a table, then look to see if there was an outlet through any part of the pack that would present a solution to your problem. Well, she had thought about it, and she had spread her cards on the table, and most of them pointed out to her that she could make good meat pies, scones, and currant buns. She could also make a very good nourishing stew. Another card pointed out to her that she had a craft at her hands that would enable anyone to start a cook shop. But at the idea of a shop she turned the card face down, as it were. Almost immediately another card pointed out that she already lived in a shop. That yard outside was a shop; well, a kind of one dealing with the residue of many trades. And the card seemed to jump from the table and confront her with a picture of an absolutely clean yard and, at the open gates, a long wooden bench on which were arrayed her pies, scones, and currant buns. And at the end of the bench, a big kale pot full of hot stew, with herself standing at the other side of the table, dealing with customers. But what about customers? Why! the mill workers: most of those who worked at Freeman's passed the gates to reach their particular Court, At six o'clock every night there was a stream of them. And then, too, during the day, all types of people were passing up and down the road; although she had to admit they were mostly the ragged, filthy children and those adults emitting the stench of gin and filth, that made the smell rising from the yard seem like that from a herb garden. But it was an idea, and who knew, it might in the end lead to something. Although she never wanted to leave either Aggie or Ben, she knew that Aggie, at least, would die sometime, and Ben would likely marry Annie; and although she liked Annie as ... a nice little creature, she could not imagine Ben living with her. But then, on further thought, she could not imagine Ben marrying her. What would they talk about? Annie had no conversation. She had noted she could listen, but she didn't talk or discuss anything ... well, not when she was present anyway. It was one evening when they were sitting round the kitchen table and enjoying Millie's new dish, a rabbit pie, not stewed in the old way, with potatoes round it, but baked in the oven in a thick gravy, dotted with sliced apple and covered with a pie-crust. She had seen the recipe in the Sunday magazine. It was a nice paper and had lively stories in it, more so than The Band Of Hope and The Good Words Magazine, both of which Mrs Sponge kindly passed on to her every week. The pie had caused much pleasant comment. It was after the dishes had been cleared away, and they were sitting round the fire that she dropped her bombshell. And a bombshell it was. When Aggie got over her surprise, the first words she said were, 'Are you thinkin' of pushin' me out?' 'Don't be silly, Mrs Aggie. But, you know, you say yourself you're tired of doing the rounds, and Laddie is twice as old as you thought he was when you bought him.' Then she had asked Ben." 'Well, what do you think? Don't just sit there staring; tell me what you think.' 'I think it's a fine idea. You're a cook. No matter what else you'll be in your life, you'll always be a cook. And aye, I can see the yard being' cleaned up, and a bench at the front gate. But, I'll say, like Aggie, what's goin' to happen to me? Where do I come in this? Are you willing to pay me eight shillings a week?' 'I won't pay you anything; it will be Mrs Aggie who will pay you.' She inclined her head towards Aggie. 'And likely twice as much because, you know that shop we pass on the way to the school, well, the pies in there are tuppence ha'penny each.' 'Aye well, be that as it may. But again I ask you, what's to become of me in this new business venture? What am I to do?' 'Well, you don't think I can do it all on my own, do you? It'll take me all my time cooking with Mrs Aggie here, and somebody will have to look after--' she laughed now as she said, 'the shop.' 'Oh, I can't see meself servin' in a shop. Never!' He wrinkled his nose. 'Well, all right then, I would do the cooking at night; well, in the evening, and I would stand at the table the next day.' Aggie and Ben looked across at her now, and Aggie said to him, 'She's got it all worked out. My God! I can't believe it. This place has been a taggerine yard for as long as I can remember, but now she proposes to make it dainty with pies and buns, and such like. But would you tell me, miss' - she had turned now to Millie - 'how many pies et cetera, et cetera, do you think you can cook in that at once?' She was now thumbing towards the round oven. 'Twenty-one, twelve on the top shelf and nine on the bottom. And if the meat's cooked beforehand they'll take only about half an hour. And at the least I could do four lots in the evening. Of course I'd want someone to stoke up the fire and someone to go for the stores' - she glanced from one to the other now - 'because I'd need a lot of fat, and flour, and meat, and currants, and things like that. And I had thought of peas. There's a place in the market that sells mashed peas. You pointed it out to me once.' There was a rumbling sound from Ben; then he was doubled forward on the settle, his laughter filling the room. And Aggie, looking at him, endeavoured to keep her face straight, too, as she said, 'He's findin' it funny.' And Millie, gazing at the old woman, asked quietly, 'Aren't you?' For answer Aggie said softly, 'Aw! love; I can't see it happenin'. It would take an earthquake to move that lot in the yard. And then, look at the weather. How about that? You couldn't have a table out there in the wind or rain.' 'Yes, I've thought about that. It could come under the arch, or the barn could be cleared. Quite easily the barn could be cleared.' Aggie said nothing to this, but she looked to where Ben was lying back against the settle, his hand now held tightly against his side. His face was wet with his laughing until Aggie, looking at Millie, said, 'Lass, have you ever thought that you won't be in this place for ever. Sixteen, comin' up. And who knows? you could be married.' They both gave a start as Ben sprang to his feet, all laughter and fun now gone from his face as he cried, 'Don't start putting things into her head. You would damn well think, the way you talk, that sixteen was the limit for any lass marrying. She'll marry when she's ready, and she'll know when she's ready. And who she wants to marry an' all. So you get that into your head, woman.' And on that, he turned about and marched from the room, leaving Millie greatly perturbed; but not so Aggie. 'Gets worked up, doesn't he?' she said. 'But you know, me dear, what I say is true. Come sixteen, if not afore, that's the way your thoughts'll be goin'. By the way, how long is it since that Mr Thompson called?' 'Three months.' 'Yes; yes, it'll be that. And I thought you would remember. That was the third time he's looked in, wasn't it?' Millie was on her feet looking down into the wide, sagging face, and her voice was just above a whisper as she said, 'No, Mrs Aggie. No, never; he's.., he's just a kind man. He's a gentleman and, what's more, don't you remember who he's related to? That... that awful woman.' 'She's just a half-sister, so you said.' 'Mrs Aggie, please, don't ever think such a thing. I ... I wouldn't be able to look at him or speak to him ordinarily if I thought he'd imagine that I ... Well, it's as Ben said, sixteen is no age and I've never thought about being married. Well, not really. I'll not marry for years and years. And then it would have to be someone I was at ease with, never anyone like Mr Thompson. Anyway' - her voice was louder now 'I wouldn't like the way they live, and they certainly wouldn't tolerate anybody.., well, like me, coming into the family. I know that. Oh, yes, yes, I know that. You've just got to listen to Mr Sponge at the school. He was speaking the truth, and that's why they stopped him teaching. But he just pointed out the gulf there is between them and us, I mean, the middle classes and the working class. And not only just ... well, like the people around here, but the artisans.., you know, those men with trades whom the middle class still think of as scum. Do you know what? They won't allow working men on to the station when the gentry's there because the sight of them might offend their eyes, not until the train is about to go, when they can scramble into the third class, and have to stand up most of the way. Oh! Mrs Aggie. And you think that Mr Thompson...?' It was she who now turned about and hurried from the room, leaving Aggie sitting quietly nodding to herself. Then as if she were speaking to someone, she said aloud, 'Well, we'll see what we shall see. I hope I live long enough.'

TWO

It took nine months for Millie's suggestion to bear fruit in the form of pies at tuppence and fourpence each. Plain scones at a ha'penny each, currant ones at a penny each, or three for tuppence; mutton soup at a penny a ladleful, the implement being of a generous size; peas to be served as required, a ha'penny or a penny a scoop, with the Saturday being the currant teacakes and light pastry squares day, both at a penny each, yet the latter thick enough to be split and hold some form of preserve or a slice of meat. But the business had brought with it a disappointment, at least for Millie: there was no chance now of her attending the night school; and although there had been no pressure on Ben to give up his free time, he had done so. One thing, however, he would not do was to accompany her into the adult Sunday School in the Methodist Hall. No; they weren't going to get him among the ranters, he said. Millie was happy; at least she appeared so most of the time. And Aggie was happy, very happy, particularly on a Friday and Saturday night when she reckoned up the takings. But always Millie had to remind her that the cost of the ingredients, and of Ben's eight shillings and her own wage of five shillings, had to be taken into account before she could say what amount was profit 'Well, Miss Smarty,' said Aggie, 'what d'you make of it tonight?' 'If you give me a few minutes I'll tell you, but it won't be as much as you think.' 'Well, there's seven pounds, four shillings here. How much have we made?' 'You, my dear Mrs Aggie, have made one pound, seventeen shillings and two pence.' 'Well, I suppose I can pay meself, say ten shillin's, takin' all in all, so that leaves a profit of one pound, seven shillin's and tuppence. Well, that isn't bad. And what we've made durin' the rest of the week, how does that answer?' Millie started to scribble on the slate on which she had worked out the accounts, and then after a few minutes she said, 'Well, altogether the profit for the week looks to have been four pounds, eighteen and sixpence.' 'Not bad, not bad. I would have had to travel the town for nearly three weeks before I touched on that. A little gold mine this, isn't it? But' - she now put her hand out and touched Millie's - 'you can't keep it up, lass. You're at it from early mornin' till late at night, except like tonight, when we've sold out. And it's no use talkin' about gettin' a two-oven grate in, 'cos you've only got one pair of hands, no matter how Ben an' me help. You've got to make the stuff, and you're gettin' as thin as a rake where you should be filling out. You're as flat as a pancake.' 'I'm not.' 'Well, if you're not you've got it well hidden, both up your front and in your rear. No, dear, I can't see you goin' on like this. In a fortnight's time you'll be sixteen; and a great age will have come upon you; and I'm not being' funny now either, because then you'll be really enterin' womanhood.' When a bell clanged she turned round impatiently towards the door, saying, 'Can't they see that we are closed? Why he had to go and stick a bell outside, God alone knows.' 'Because,' Millie put in, laughing now, 'you complained about them walking practically into the kitchen here after we were closed. That's why he put the bell outside, Mrs Aggie. Anyway, I'll go and see who it is.' 'You'll do nothin' of the sort. You'll sit there. You've never been off your feet since first thing. An' the more you sit the more chance there'll be for you to grow a little bit of shape. Look at me.' She went out laughing at the joke against herself. And Millie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. It was true; she did feel tired. It was also true that in a fortnight's time she would be sixteen, when Aggie had suggested she would enter into womanhood. But hadn't she entered that area some time ago? At what stage did one become a woman...? When one lay thinking in the night how wonderful it would be if... if... if, yet had sense enough, when daylight came, to deny every night thought, with such terms as, 'Keep your head on your shoulders', or 'Have sense'. As if she had been suddenly transported back into the night she saw with a gape of surprise the man who had been in her thoughts. There he was in the flesh, standing by Aggie's side and smiling at her. When she sprang to her feet, she toppled the chair over, and he came rapidly forward and straightened it, saying, 'I'm so sorry. Were you dozing?' Before she could answer, Aggie put in, 'She's tired, sir. She's never off her feet. This business was her idea, but it's wearin' her out.' 'Oh, be quiet, Mrs Aggie, and don't talk nonsense.' Millie now put her hand out and indicated the settle, saying, 'Won't you sit down?' 'Yes. Yes, for a moment or so, but I won't stay, as I'm putting you out.' 'You're not. You're not at all, sir,' Aggie put in. 'Can I offer you a drink?' 'No, thank you. I... I had a meal a short while ago, and it was washed down. You understand?' Aggie's head was bobbing now and she was smiling widely as she said, 'Oh, yes, sir, I understand that all right. It's a habit of me own. Mine's called cream of the valley. Eeh!' She swept her arm towards Millie, saying, 'Look at us both! Saturday evening and not changed out of our old duds. Well, if I can't offer you a drink I won't offer you my conversation, 'cos it wouldn't be what you would call edifying. But I'll away and change meself into something better. If you'll excuse me; I won't be all that long.' Millie made a sign of protest with a half-open mouth and a gesture as if to halt Aggie's departure; but Aggie was not to be stopped; she was already disappearing through the door leading to the hall. As Millie stood staring at him he rose to his feet, saying with a smile, 'I can't sit while you stand.' 'Oh.' As if coming out of the night dream, she turned and lowered herself slowly down on to the couch, and he resumed his seat on the settle. 'How are you? You look fired. As Mrs Winkowski says, you're working too hard.' 'It's natural. One is always tired towards the end of the day and Saturday is an especially busy day.' 'Yes. Yes. Is the business still going well?' 'Very well indeed.' 'Have ... have you ever thought of taking a shop?' She looked to the side before she said, 'Yes. Yes, I have, but that would mean leaving here and Mrs Aggie and Ben.' He did not reply saying, Yes, I understand, but sat staring at her, all the while wondering how she could tolerate these surroundings after having, for a time at least, lived in the more refined, even though boisterous, atmosphere of the Quintons'. This room for instance: it was really dreadful. Of course, it was a working room, but it was taken up mostly with the couch on which she was sitting and the two tables, one under the window on which was laid out the various flours and substances for her cooking; the other, at which, he imagined, they would have to eat, was also used by her for writing, for on it were sheets of paper and a pencil, besides a slate. And that room which he had just come through; it smelt; not a bad smell, but a stale smell as one would get from old people. And here she was, this beautiful lily-like creature who, besides looking so beautiful, had also a mind, which had been so apparent in the short conversations they'd had previously. God! If only things were different. If only.., if only. How often, over the past months, had he said that to himself, whenever the picture of her had sprung like a vision unheralded before his eyes, that picture which had brought him here tonight. How long could he go on and what would she say? 'You have a birthday soon,' he said now; 'I remember you telling me it was in September.' 'Yes. In a fortnight's time.' 'And then you will be sixteen. Do you feel grown up?' She did not answer him immediately, but she was looking him straight in the face across the narrow space when she said, 'In a way, I can't remember not feeling grown up. Yet, in another way, I resent the feeling and want to remain, if not a child, then young.' He laughed gently, saying, 'But you are young; and you're the type of--' he stopped here, not knowing whether to say lady, or woman, but tactfully substituting, 'personality that will always retain a youthful freshness right until you are a very old lady like my Aunt Chrissie. Yet--' He waved his hand now before his face, saying, 'that was a bad comparison, because although, at sixty-five, she still has that girlish vitality, unfortunately she has become a little troubled in her mind. She lives not so very far away from here in a sweet little house, with an old retainer. I would dearly like you to come and meet her some day.' To this he added playfully, 'When you are sixteen and allowed to go out.' 'I'm allowed to go out now, Mr Thompson; no one stops me.' 'But I've never been allowed to take you out, have I?' She stiffened slightly as she replied, 'As yet you have never extended the invitation.' He had a nice laugh; what she called a clean laugh. 'This conversation,' he said, 'could be taking place in a drawing-room with tasselled mantelborders there' - he pointed to the bare wooden mantelpiece, bare except for a pair of brass candlesticks and two ornamental jugs - 'and the windows almost obliterated with heavy brocade drapes, the table with an ivory marquetry top. Oh, and that one' he laughingly now pointed to the table under the window - 'oh, that one is carved Indian style. And over there' - he indicated the far door - 'is a piano, but you can't see the top of it because it's covered with a huge Spanish shawl. And the walls are thick with paintings, all by great painters. Oh yes. And the floor? Well, nothing less than a Brussels carpet for the floor. And under my feet here' - he now tapped his feet on the home-made mat - 'is a bearskin rug, an actual bearskin rug that once kept the poor old bear warm somewhere out in the snows. And you know' - he now leant towards her - 'your reply just suited that room.' 'I don't know whether to take all that as a compliment or the reverse.' Her answer evidently surprised him, and he was definitely nonplussed when she said, 'Well, you've described the drawing-room you are used to, so how do you find this in comparison?' She watched him blink two or three times, wet his lips and then say softly, 'I don't draw comparisons. It was a picture to match your voice at that moment; although, I may add,' his tone dropped still further, 'that you would fit admirably into my description.' He rose from the seat as if about to come towards her, but at that moment the door opened and Ben entered, to pause, then slowly walk towards the kitchen table. 'Hello, there.' Bernard Thompson's voice was light. 'I ... I was just passing and popped in to' - he inclined his head towards Millie - 'to see how our young friend was getting on.' 'Oh, aye. Were you makin' for The Courts?' 'The Courts?' It was a puzzled question. 'Aye, the only destination past our gate is to The Courts; you know, Nelson Court and the like.' 'Ben!' Millie's voice was quiet. 'Mr Thompson called in to see me as he has done before; he knows what The Courts are like.' 'Huh! I doubt it. Have you ever been along there ... sir?' The word seemed to come as an afterthought. 'No, I haven't been along there, but the stench proclaims the condition of the houses.' Bernard Thompson's expression was stiff now, as was his tone. 'And although you might not believe it, I'm well aware of the disparity between one end of this town and the other. In fact, I could say that, in a way, I'm as much concerned as Mr Engels is. And now that I'm part-owner of a mill I shall do my utmost to alleviate the situation wherever possible.' He now turned and looked at Millie - his face was flushed - and by way of explanation he said, 'Mr Crane-Boulder senior, my godfather, died recently and in his will was kind enough to leave me co-owner with his son. So' - he now jerked his head towards Ben - 'whereas before I was somewhat restricted in my efforts, not having anything to do with the mill, I hope now to make some favourable changes, at least where I can within the law.' There was silence for a moment before Ben spoke, and the sarcasm in his tone was evident as he said, 'Aye, of course, within the law. Well, I hope when you count the young 'uns who die between five and ten in your mill that you'll pop up to London and have a word with Mr Disraeli, or Gladstone, or one of 'em. Of course, they're all in deep mournin', aren't they? up there and all over, because since Prince Albert died, everybody is in black. Even I've read about the piano legs changing their stockin's to black. One fella dies and, after all, he was just a human being' like the rest of us, only he, of course, was brought up with some form of sanitation. But who mourns for those who are thrown into paupers' graves by the dozen, aye, by the dozen? Or them, too sick to work at nine years old, pushed up the hill to the workhouse from where they can view the stinkin' river? And... ' 'Are you quite finished?' 'No, I could go on; but of course I can't explain as well as Mr Sponge. Now he's a teacher along at the Methodist Hall and he's been educated as much as you, or more, and he's had first-hand knowledge of both sides of the line. He was born over your side, so he tells us, but that didn't stop him living in The Courts for a while just to taste their bit of comfort, you know.' 'Ben!' 'Aye, Millie?' He raised his eyebrows towards her in mock enquiry. 'You want to stop me tongue? Well, you should know better than that by now. You know, as Mr Sponge has told us, once you start thinkin' there's no more rest for you. It's like a blackbeetle in a walnut shell; you know, tied on a bairn's belly to make it cry in order to get sympathy. It nags at you, scratches.' 'Perhaps your instructor, Mr Smith, has not yet come by the axiom that a little learning can be a dangerous thing. Now I will bid you good evening.' After inclining his head towards Ben, he now turned to Millie, saying in a most stilted and polite manner, 'Will you do me the kindness to walk wit me to the gate?' Millie did not answer, but she rose from the couch and, as she passed Ben, she turned her head and levelled at him a look that held disdain; then, walking forward, she opened the door and led the way through the other room and into the yard; and it wasn't until they reached the locked gate and she stood staring through the rusty bars that she said, 'I'm sorry. I... I must apologise.' 'There's no need. And do you know? I understand how the.' He was about to say, 'the fellow', but went on, 'How he feels in more ways than one, believe me. Well now, look at me.' She turned slowly and looked into his face, and again it was brought to her notice that he wasn't all that tall and that her eyes were almost on a level with his; and in his eyes was a look that was bringing into her throat that tight restriction which she could describe as having risen from some place behind her breast bone. It was like a pain. 'I'm sorry I won't be here to wish you a happy birthday; I'm due in London over the next two or three weeks. There is so much business to be attended to. At another time I might have enjoyed the free hours, after dealing with the business side of my visit, but as our friend' - he turned his head now and looked back across the yard towards the house door - 'so aggressively put it, London is in mourning and is likely to be for some time, as the Queen is so distressed. However, as soon as I return I'm going to come and ask leave of Mrs Winkowski to drive you out to Aunt Chrissie's little house. I feel sure you will like her, as dithery in all ways as she is. And also, you may be taken with the house. If permission were granted would you be agreeable?' The answer was simple: 'Yes,' she said; 'yes, I'd be agreeable.' And immediately he was comparing it with the reception his proposal would have received had it been offered to any other female of his acquaintance. There would have been a little simpering, a little hesitation and the answer would have been coy, implying, how adventurous, if not even naughty it was. But this girl's answer had been straightforward. There was nothing false about her, nothing frivolous, yet there emanated from her something that was really indescribable, like joy. The only thing he knew was, he longed to hold her, and had done, he thought, since the time he had carried her to William's house. William, too, had sensed the quality in her. Thinking of William, he recalled their last conversation, in which he had told him that Raymond had asked if he had heard anything further of the fair child, and had probed him as to where she lived. And William had answered that she used to live in one of The Courts, the unsavoury Courts, but that she had since moved, and he didn't know where. William was wise. Oh, yes, William was wise. As had been his godfather in leaving the Little Manor to William, together with an acre of freehold land: he had known that once he was gone Raymond would have got rid of him, because there was no love lost between them, for William could never be subservient. She had opened the gates, and he was now holding out his hand to her; and when she placed hers in it he held it tightly, saying, 'When we next meet you will have come of age, at least a certain age. Goodbye, my dear.' The last words were soft and deep with feeling. But she didn't reply to them, she just stood and watched him walking away, a gentleman in a fine grey suit, high hat and carrying a silver-mounted walking stick. And he had said he was coming back when she became of age. Not until he was out of sight did she leave the gate. Then she almost marched across the yard and into the kitchen, where she found that Mrs Aggie, too, was present. But as if Mrs Aggie weren't there, she went straight for Ben, crying, 'If it wasn't that we live almost in the same house, I would never speak to you again. Your behaviour was simply dreadful, atrocious! Spouting your theories. He knows more about them than you do, and he can do more for the people than you can ever do.' 'Finished?' 'Yes. But I could go on.' 'Well, why don't you? I'm all ears. But I'm not finished, because I'll tell you this much: he's no good; none of his type are; in their own class, yes, but not when they come from yon side of the track to this side and smile at a young lass, and talk fancy to her, and fill her head with ideas, and her knowing nothing about life' - his voice was rising - 'but what she's learned in this muck-hole. Because that's how he saw it, isn't it? A muck-hole.' As Aggie went to say something, he rounded on her, crying, 'Shut up! I'm goin' to have me say and I can start with you.' He stabbed his finger at her. 'You've got big ideas for her, haven't you? You think that bloke's on the square. You think he's goin' to come and say: "Mrs Winkowski" - his voice had altered now - "May I ask you for the hand of your ward.., in marriage, that is, Mrs Winkowski, and not just leading her up the path with ideas of takin' her behind the bushes?" Oh no.' Aggie's voice was almost a scream now as she, too, yelled, 'Ben Smith, shut your mouth! And get yourself outside before I level something at you. You'll be sorry for this night. Yes, you will. Oh, yes, you will.' Ben put up his hand and pulled his bootlace tie tight under his collar. Then it appeared as if he had now to force himself to speak, for his jaws clamped two or three times before he brought out, 'Aye, I might be; but there's two people that'll be sorrier. That's a prophecy, and you'll live to see it.' And on that, he did not hurry or march from the room but turned slowly about and as slowly walked out, closing the door behind him. Blindly now, Millie stumbled towards Aggie and threw herself into her arms; and as she sobbed, Aggie stroked her hair, saying, 'There now. There now. What does he know about it? He's an ignorant pig, that's all, an ignorant pig.' Then after a moment she gently pressed Millie from her and, looking into her streaming face, she said, 'Did he say anything to you ... well, you know?' Millie shook her head, and then stammered, 'He's ... he's not like that. I mean, Ben's impression, it's all wrong. Mr Thompson's a gentleman, kind and... ' 'D'you like him? I mean, a bit more than like him?' Millie bowed her head before she muttered, 'Yes. Yes, I do, Mrs Aggie. I... I more than like him.' 'Well, me dear, if that's the case, we'll take it from there an' see what happens. But look, you haven't got to hold it against him; I mean, Ben, 'cos he can't help it. He's jealous.' Millie was drying her eyes on the end of her white apron, and when she stopped, her face screwed up and she said, 'Jealous? Ben, jealous.,;?' 'Aye, lass. He's a man. His legs might be short but he's all man. You take it from me.' 'But . . . but well, he's practically brought me up and . . . and been like a brother.' Aggie gave a short laugh as she said, 'Get it into your head, lass, that no man will ever look on himself as a brother to you. The mirror in our bedroom is cracked; I think I'd better look out for a bit of decent glass so you can see yourself.' 'Oh, Mrs Aggie. Life is not easy, is it?' 'No, lass; life's not easy. And you've been very lucky so far, you know, because you're late in learnin' that. With the majority, especially around here, it comes soon after they can crawl.' And this elicited no further remark or question from Millie; instead she walked slowly to the couch and sat down, the while thinking, she's saying the same thing as Ben said, only she's not bawling it. She had said Ben was jealous. How silly! How silly! Ben jealous of another man? Then he must think... She almost sprang up from the couch, saying, 'I'm going to change my frock,' and went hastily from the room. And Aggie, taking the gin bottle from the shelf, poured herself out a generous measure and sat down to the side of the fire, looked down into the mug and sipped at the liquor, then said to herself, 'Aye, change your frock, my beautiful dear. Change your frock.'

THREE

The hostility between Ben and Millie came to an abrupt end three days later, and the bond that had existed between them before became stronger. It was brought about by the arrival of a stranger. Being a Tuesday, the inhabitants of The Courts were short of money for all commodities, so there were only half a dozen people standing on the far side of the long table. And two of these were small children, each pushing a thin plate across the table for a ha'porth of peas. And after Millie had put a generous ladleful on each plate, the dirty and ragged mites did not immediately pick them up and run, but stared at her, until she smiled and, moving along the table, took up a square of pastry and, breaking it in half, dropped the two pieces beside the peas, whereupon the urchins grinned at her, grabbed up their meal, but without a 'ta', and ran off. The next customer was a woman who said, 'Lucky, those 'uns. It's a scandal. She's got five workin', but the most of it goes in the gin shop, an' two of them with her, an' they just ten. I ask you.' 'What can I serve you with, Mrs Bright?' 'Four pies, lass.' 'The fourpenny's?' 'Oh, no. No; not on a Tuesday' - the woman laughed - 'he's lucky to get the tuppeny's. An' I'll have a scoop of the broth. It sticks to your ribs, that does. I can say this, I've never tasted better, 'specially when you find a nice lump of fat mutton in it.' Millie took the hint and saw that there was a piece of mutton in the ladleful of stew she poured into the woman's basin. But as the woman moved away and made room for the next customer, Millie became aware of the man standing across the narrow roadway. She had never seen him before, and she knew a great many inhabitants now by sight, because it was a close quarter and very few strangers made their way here, at least to pass the gates and towards the main Courts, unless they were unfortunate enough to have just come to live there. Yet there could be a man, or many men, who lived in The Courts whom she hadn't seen. This man, however, appeared different: he was dressed differently from any of those round about. He was wearing a black suit and a white collar; at least, it looked a lighter shirt from this distance, and he had a high hat on his head. By the time she had served another four customers there was no-one in sight but the man; and now he was approaching the table. As he came closer, she saw that he was tall, almost six foot, and he was very thin and his suit appeared baggy. When he reached the other side of the table he stared fixedly at her and when he spoke his voice, too, was strange: it did not hold the rough and loud hoarseness that she was used to among the working class. Yet it wasn't the voice of a gentleman of whatever station. 'Millicent Forester. That's your name, isn't it?' 'Yes, that's my name.' 'Well, my name's Forester an' all. Reginald Forester. I'm your father.' The ladle slipped from her hand on to the wooden table. Then she took two steps backwards, saying, 'No; my ... my father's dead.' 'Well, she would tell you that, wouldn't she? But ... but I'm your father all right. I didn't expect to find you so soon: the parson's wife said she had last heard of you here; but then you could have been anywhere by now. I recognised you as soon as I saw you, you're the spitting image of your mother.' Again she said, 'No, no,' because instinctively she didn't want this man to be her father. She didn't like his face. There was a thin scar running down one side of it. The top of it was lost in the shadow of the hat brim, although she could see where it ended at his chin. She turned swiftly and ran across the yard, and as she did so Ben came out of the barn. Seeing him, she turned and rushed towards him and, clinging to his arms, she whimpered, 'There's ... there's a man at the gate, Ben. He... he says, he's.., he's my father. He... ' "What?' He looked across the yard to the figure standing beyond the table, then said, 'He what?' 'He... he said he is my father. I... I thought he was dead. Will you come and see?' 'Stay where you are.' Ben now walked slowly towards the gates and the man who was standing there, and demanded, 'What's your game?' 'Who are you?' 'I'll tell you when I know who you are. You say you're her father. Well, to her knowledge an' my knowledge, he's dead.' The man placed his two hands on the edge of the table as if for support, and his head drooped as he said, 'That's what she would want her to know, her mother. I've been away for a time.' It was some moments before Ben said, 'Aye, and I can guess where you've been an' all.' The head came up sharply. The voice, too, was sharp: 'Well, if you can, then you'll know why I haven't come for her sooner,' he said. 'Come for her? You've got no claim on her. She's Aggie's, I mean Mrs Winkowski's.' Ben turned his head as he heard Aggie's voice in the yard, and he called, 'Come here a minute, will you?' When Aggie shambled up to them, Ben said, 'Here's a do that'll have to be tackled. This fella says he's her father and he's come for her. What d'you make of that?' Aggie stared at the man, and she seemed to see somewhere in the thin face a resemblance, and it was as if she had been waiting for this moment for years. She said quietly, 'Let him in.' Then she turned away and, hurrying as fast as she could towards the house, she caught hold of Millie who was standing under the porch, her eyes seeming to be staring out of her head, and she said, 'Come away in. Don't worry; we'll get this sorted out.' 'But he said, Mrs Aggie, he... he said... ' 'Yes, and likely he is. Yes, likely he is your father, so calm yourself down.' A minute later, the man was standing in the kitchen looking about him in as much amazement as Bernard Thompson had done, and when Aggie turned to him and said, 'Well, get off your legs,' he sat on the settle. Then, looking towards Millie, who was standing to the side of the window as if to keep her distance between them, he said, 'I... I knew it would come as a bit of a shock but ... it isn't my fault that the truth's been kept from you for years. It was hers: she should have put you in the picture from the beginning. I heard yesterday that she did herself in. Well, I'm not surprised.., nervy.' He was nodding at Aggie now. 'Her mother was always nervy. She'd had it too soft, you know. Well' - he laughed now - 'we both had it too soft at one time.' He passed his lips one over the other, before saying, 'D'you think I could ask you for a drink of something?' 'Is it in the way of tea or beer you would like?' 'Oh, beer, please. Oh yes, a beer.' Aggie nodded towards Ben, and he went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle of beer and a mug and placed them none too gently on the settle by the side of the man, who looked up at this odd-shaped fellow and said, 'Ta. Thanks.' They watched him fill up the mug with beer, which he then swallowed, almost it seemed in one draught, then take out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his mouth. It was an odd gesture from someone of his appearance; it would have been more natural had he wiped his mouth with the side of his hand. He now placed the mug and the empty bottle on the hearth and, looking towards Millie, he said, 'Come here. I'm not goin' to eat you. I think it's about time we got to know each other, don't you?' Millie made no move to comply; and what she said now altered the man's expression, for she spoke sharply: 'I don't know. I've always understood you were dead; so why has it taken you so long to claim the relationship? That's what I'd like to know.' 'Oh well, you see, that's got to be explained. I was away.' 'He was in gaol,' Aggie said flatly. The man half rose from the settle; then sank back, saying, 'Yes. Yes, I was in gaol; but it wasn't my fault. It was self-defence. I was nearly killed. Look at this! I've got the mark of it.' He was pointing to the scar on his face. 'It was to save her, your mother. I could have swung for it, only they brought it in as self-defence.' 'The man died then?' He turned to Aggie, saying, 'Aye. Aye, he died some time after.., well, a week or so; and I nearly did an' all. But still, they gave me twelve years. My God!' They watched him grind his teeth now and droop his head and look to the side, and his eyes moved over the floor as if he were watching something crawling. Then, his head snapping up, he said, 'They cut me time a bit for good behaviour, and I couldn't wait to get out to see you.' He nodded towards Millie. 'But it's not much of a welcome I'm gettin', is it?' 'What d'you expect?' Aggie was standing in front of him. 'Well... well I could say that at least she could give me a civil word and let me explain to her how all this happened. Let me tell you, missis, I wasn't always like this.' He drew his hand down from his shoulder to his knee. 'I was in a good position once, and she was brought up well until the trouble. But anyway, as we're talkin' plainly, because there already seems to have been a lot of plain speaking--' he glanced now at Ben, then went on, 'I've got a claim on her: she's mine and... ' 'My God! mister,' Aggie interrupted him, 'you've got to get your ideas straightened out, and I'd better do it right away for you. You've got no claim on her. I signed a paper years ago. She's what you'd call my ward, and it was done by a legal man, and a friend, who is now a police sergeant, was a witness.' 'Oh my God!' The man was on his feet now. 'Don't tell me I've stepped from one gaol to another. Bloody police!' He was shaking his head in frustration. 'What d'you think it's like to see nothin' 'Well, if that's the case, I'll have to look about, won't I, for some place to lay my head?' The last words were spoken almost in a whine, and they weren't lost on Millie, nor yet on the other two. And so no-one was surprised when he said, 'Since I came out last week I haven't been able to pull myself together - you can probably understand that - and ... and the bit that I had is... is gone. I wonder if you could loan me a few shillings until...?' Before his voice trailed off Aggie had gone to the sideboard, and there, lifting the lid of the tin cash-box, she took out a florin, which she handed to him, saying, 'That should see you berthed for a couple of nights.' He looked at the coin in the palm of his hand and the sound he made was like a huh! or a slight laugh; then he picked up his high hat from a chair, put it on, pulling the brim slightly to the side of his face where the scar was. His eyes now on Millie, he said, 'Be seem' you, daughter. I'll be poppin' in, naturally, 'cos we've got to talk, haven't we? Settle things, like.' On this he went out, followed by Ben; but Millie and Aggie remained where they were. When the door was closed Millie almost threw herself on to the couch and, thumping the seat with her fist, she said, 'I ... I've dreamed of what he was like for years, and years, and years, Mrs Aggie, I've dreamed of what he was like. He had a lovely face, his manner was kind. He... he, in a way, was a gentleman. The only resemblance left is that man's height.' 'Girl! ... Listen. You've got to face up to it, he's not that man; he is your father, as he said. And, you know, there's one thing: we can't pick our parents. Oh, I wish to God we could. What different lives we'd lead. Now, there's none of you in him; rather, I should say, there's none of him in you. You're on your mother's side.' On this Millie sprang straight up and, thrusting her face out and up towards Aggie, she hissed, 'And she was a street woman! Sister Mary said that; she was a street woman. I didn't know what it meant then, but I know now. I've known for a long time. I've a prostitute for a mother and a murderer for a father. Oh, Mrs Aggie. Mrs Aggie.' The tears were spurting from her eyes. Taking her by the shoulders, Aggie shook her, the while crying at her, 'Your ma was no prostitute! She was a young woman who was reduced to doin' the only thing she could do to keep you alive. But she found she couldn't stand it. So don't you ever despise her. Whatever you come to think about him, leave your mother out of it... ' Aggie suddenly found her arms pulled away from Millie's shoulders, with Ben yelling at her, 'What d'you think you're up to? Knockin' her brains out! That's all she needs is some rough handling after seeing that individual.' 'She was goin' into hysterics.' 'Well, it's not to be wondered at.' He sat down on the settle beside Millie and, putting his arms about her, he brought her head to rest on his shoulder, saying, 'Stop it now. Come on. It's goin' to be all right. You won't have to go near him again if you don't want to.' 'Oh, that's marvellous advice you're givin' her. Marvellous! Now, you get it into your head, Mister clever bugger, the man's her father. He'll have a right to see her. You won't be able to do anything about that. And I should imagine he's here for some time unless he gets up to something and goes along the line again. And that really wouldn't surprise me.' Millie drew herself from Ben's hold and, looking from one to the other, she said, 'It's awful. It's awful for me to say this, but.., but I don't want to see him. Yet, he is my father, I know he is, so why should I be repulsed by him? But... but I can't help it. I... I can't see me ever getting to like him.' 'Oh my God! there's that bell again. But don't you worry, lass, I'll go and see to it. Just sit there and calm yourself down.' As Aggie left the room Ben stood for a moment and looked at Millie; then, turning swiftly, he went out and caught up with Aggie as she was entering the yard, and, ignoring the customer standing waiting to be served, he said, 'Look here; how long is it since you saw your friend.., the sergeant?' 'Oh, I don't know; weeks. Why?' 'Well, I think I would take a toddle down and have a word with him, because, you know, I don't believe that bloke's story, him gettin' twelve years for protectin' his wife. No; there's something slimy, sly, about that bloke. Now, people like your sergeant should have ways and means of connectin' with... where was it? Durham, and he could likely get the ins and outs of the real story. I think it would pay you to take that little walk. What d'you say?' 'Aye, well, there might be something in it. And if he can help, I know he will. But I can't see it'll make much difference what he got the twelve years for... 'Funny--' She now looked around her while nodding to herself as she said, 'I've never gone more than a few miles from this yard in me life, yet troubles walk in from different quarters of the country; and, when you come to think of it, none of it concerning me. Life's funny. It is that. All right. All right!' she yelled towards the impatient customer. Then giving Ben her last words, she said, 'It was a mistake, you know, startin' this game. You're at people's beck and call from Monday mornin' till Saturday night, and it's not me... not my way.' FOUR

The man did not put in an appearance the next day; nor the day following; and they began to question the probable reason. It was not until the Sunday, and then just as Millie was about to leave the house, and escorted by Ben, to attend the Methodists Adult Sunday School, that he came. When he confronted them in the kitchen he looked different altogether from on his first appearance there: he was wearing a new suit which fitted him; his boots, also, showed a newness; and one could say his manner, too, was new; it was alert and cheery. 'Hello, there,' he said, addressing Millie. 'Off some place?' 'I'm... I'm going to Sunday School.' 'Sunday School?' The words came from high in his throat as if in surprise. Then he said, 'Oh, well then, this will give me an opportunity to walk with you. It will be like old days. I used to take you out on a Sunday, you know: we would go along by the river at Durham. Ah yes.' He nodded, as if recalling those happy times. Then looking from Ben to Aggie, he said, 'I hope I find you well?' 'Well enough, thank you.' And she added, 'You seem to have fallen on your feet since your first visit.' 'Well, I said then I was lookin' for work, and I've found it. Anyone can find work if they want to. I knew that years ago, and it still seems to be so.' And the manner of his speaking was another surprise for Millie. Aggie was saying, 'Well, what's this marvellous job you've got that's provided you with a new rig-out?' 'Oh, it's a kind of hotel, eatin' house. By the way' he turned quickly to Millie again- 'there's a concert in one of the main halls in the town. I see it's well advertised. Up-to-date singers and entertainers, it says. My knowledge of them, of course, is now naturally scanty; but I used to like a concert. How about comin' along?' However, before Millie could answer, Aggie put in, 'As you've just been told, she's ready to go to Sunday School; so I shouldn't imagine one of them concerts would hardly fit in. And anyway, she doesn't go out at night.' The man's whole manner and tone altered as he confronted Aggie again, saying., 'Well, from what I understand she hardly goes out any time, and she's going on sixteen years old. You cannot keep her tied up here for life. She is my daughter, and to my mind she should be outside away from here seem' and being seen.' An odd quietness followed on this statement: it was as if they were preparing themselves for a verbal attack. Ben was the first in, crying, 'See an' be seen! What the hell d'you mean by that? And where, may I ask, did you get your information about tying her up. The only tyin' up she's had is protection from the likes of--' He swallowed deeply, and instead of adding, 'you', he said, 'scum. And they're not all to be found among this, quarter, let me tell you. See an' be seen? As for being her father, you, mister, have waived any right to that title. What's more, you have no jurisdiction over her. It's Mrs Winkowski, there, whose word goes with regards to her.' Ben had used the word jurisdiction. Amid her confused and mixed feelings that were not without fear, Millie felt a certain pride at what he had achieved from his reading and his learning. Then it was as if she were aiming to show her learning, too, when she said, 'Listen to me, all of you, and particularly you, sir.' She could never call this man 'father'. 'I don't wish to go out to see or be seen, and I haven't been restricted by these kind people. I may say I have been lucky to have, been brought up in this house and under the protection of Mrs Winkowski. You, sir, were irresponsible enough to do something that caused you to be imprisoned. I can't see that you could have been concerned about your wife and child, although you tell us it was because of my mother you committed the deed. I remember my mother, very clearly. She was a loving person and a gentle creature, and she would not have wished you to go to such lengths in her defence.' She felt that last bit to be silly because her mother would not have had an opinion on what her husband should do in her defence. 'Well! Well! Well! I'm being' put in me place. I can see that. My God! After all the years I sat in that stinkin' cell just countin' the days when I'd be free and be able to pick up me life again, a family life. Yes, I thought of it as a family life, and this is what it comes to.' He now pointed his finger accusingly towards Millie. 'You've never given me one kind word or shown me one scrap of sympathy for what I've been through. Well, I can tell you now, you're not a bit like your mother inside. Oh no. To my mind you're a hard young bugger.' 'We'll have none of that language, not in my house,' said Aggie. 'And now I'll ask you to get on your way. And when you decide to call again, see that you're sober. But then I'll be pleased if I'm not to see your face again.' 'Oh, missis, you'll see me face again all right. I'm goin' to take up the case. I might as well tell you I haven't let the grass grow under me feet this past week. I've had a word with a man who knows about this kind of thing. He told me to take the matter to court and she'd be mine until she's twenty-one.' 'Out!' Ben's threatening stance in front of him made the man back two paces; even so, he sneered down at Ben, saying, 'And what would you do?' 'Have you flat on your back before you know where you are; and that would only be the beginnin'. Take your choice.' The man turned towards Millie and in a thick voice he said, 'You know, I used to sit thinkin' of the reception I'd get when we met; but never did it strike me it would be like this. This fella here' - he thumbed disdainfully towards Ben - 'has just said "Take your choice". That's what the bobbies used to imply in Durham, only they used to say, "Which way d'you want it? Quietly or otherwise?" Well, good day, daughter. We'll be meetin' again, and shortly,' at which he turned from them and walked out; and as if of one mind, Aggie and Millie dropped down on to the settle. Aggie was breathing heavily, and she had her hand pressed tight against her side. 'That man upsets me,' she said. 'I've never known anyone get under me skin so much, and--' She reached out and patted Millie's arm. 'Don't worry, me dear,' she said; 'you'll not have to see him if you don't want to. And you don't want to, do you?' 'Oh no, Mrs Aggie. I ... I'd be happy if I never saw him again. Yet... yet he is my father.' She now looked towards Ben, adding, 'I can't believe that, you know. I keep telling myself he can't possibly be, yet all the time I know he is, and I feel--' she paused, then shrugged her body as if throwing something off as she ended, 'well, ashamed.' 'You've nothin' to be ashamed of. Anyway, if you don't want to miss half the class we'd better be gettin' along.' 'I don't feel like going, Ben.' 'Now, we're goin' to have none of that.' Aggie was pushing her from the settle. 'It's the only break you have in the week and you enjoy it. So, go on, get yourself off and away. And once Ben sees you safely inside, he'll take his usual dander round the town, forgettin' to mind his own business and pokin' his nose in here and there.' She accompanied these last words with a tight smile as she looked towards Ben. 'So go on; let me see the back of you both. I want a little peace, because, you know, I don't get much of either in the week.' 'I'm very sorry for you.' Ben took his cap off the knob of a chair, pulled it on his head, and buttoned up his coat; then with an effort at lightness he grinned at Aggie, saying, 'Instead of puttin' your big fat legs up, what about giving them a little exercise and you comin' along to the Sunday School? It's for adults, and you're an adult all right. And you would learn something; and they would an' all, wouldn't they?' Aggie's answer took the form of her hand snatching up a tin plate from a shelf to the side of the fireplace and, with an adroit swing, letting it fly at him. But just as adroitly, Ben lifted his hand and caught it, saying, 'You never could see straight;' then threw it on the table before pushing Millie towards the door. As they walked side by side the disparity in their heights was hardly noticeable, for Millie was a little taller than him; but he was wearing a long overcoat that touched his calves and which made him appear to be just a normal smallish man. They had walked some distance before either spoke; and then it: was Millie who asked quietly, 'What's going to happen, Ben? What's going to be the outcome?' 'I'd be a relation of God's if I knew that, Millie. But there's one thing I can assure you of: nothin' I can prevent is goin' to happen to you. As for him, your so-called father, leave him to me. If he tries any of his tricks, he'll find himself back in one of them cells.' 'Oh, Ben, don't: say that. It must have been terrible.' 'Aye, it must be terrible for some men if they're innocent. But I have no pity for them who set out to murder a bloke.. And that's what he must have done. And we haven't really got the rights of the case; just his version. But, you know, Aggie saw her dear friend.' He turned towards her, grinning now, and interposed what he was going to say with, 'I don't dislike the bloke, it's just what he stands for, I suppose... Anyway, he'll do some investigation. An' then, I hope one day we'll come by the truth.'... When they reached the hall, she said, 'Won't you come in? It's just like the night class, except that they sing a couple of hymns.' 'That would be the finishin' touch to the meetin' because, you know, I've got a voice like a corncrake. No, you go on. I'll do me usual dander and I'll be back in ample time to pick you up. Enjoy it, and if you get the chance to ask any questions, put it to them that you'd like to know what happened to the rest of the apples in the Garden of Eden. I hate to think of them all goin' rotten.' She pushed him as she laughed, then turned from him and went into the hall. He then made his way purposefully towards the centre of the old town.

It was about five o'clock when he brought Millie back into the house. Aggie had prepared a high tea, and after they had eaten and cleared away, they sat round the fire and talked, as they had done over the years. Prior to the baking business, they might have discussed what was happening in the rag and scrap-iron world; or if Ben and Aggie should be on their own, the discussion would be mostly about Millie and her learning and, of course, her future life. But it had become a sort of rule that Ben would never leave them on a Sunday night. He would go to his classes during the week or visit Annie, which visits were becoming rarer, but Sunday night was always for the house, so, naturally, Aggie showed a little surprise when, about half-past seven, he rose from his chair, saying, 'I'll be leavin' you for a little while. I'm goin' to take a dander. I want some fresh air; that's if I can find any roundabouts.' 'Where are you going?' asked Millie. 'Nowhere in particular; just as I said, a dander. Want to come with me?' 'No.' She laughed. What surprise Aggie felt she kept to herself. She didn't even ask him where he was going, but she knew he'd be going somewhere, and not just taking a dander. She had learned that Ben Smith, Jones, or Robinson never did anything without it had some meaning, some purpose. So, after Ben had left the house she chatted for a while with Millie until nine o'clock, when Millie went up to bed, and she promised to follow her in a very short while. She didn't. She sat waiting, for she knew when he returned he wouldn't make for his rooms above the barn but would come to her. It was ten o'clock when he knocked on the door and she shambled quickly through the room to let him in. Seated opposite to her, he said, 'Is there any beer left in that jug? I'm as dry as a fish.' And when she answered, 'No, I'm sorry; but there's a drop of gin there,' he said, 'Well, you know what I think about gin; but nevertheless, let me have it.' She waited until he had drunk the gin; then she said, 'Well, out with it!' 'I know where that fella's workin' ... Reilly's Meat House.' 'Reilly's? You mean...?' 'Aye, Reilly's, Slim Boswell's place, where he feeds all his pimp's and harlots, and his faggots; all the ladies and gents of the street. They say Big Joe's got shares in it an' all. Well, he would, wouldn't he? 'Cos his lot must have some place to eat.' 'How did you find out?' 'Well, on me dander round, you know, this afternoon I got talkin' to one and another. Fred Miller, you know, in the fish market, an' Randy Croft, he deals with the vegetables. They're two decent blokes, and I described the fella to them and asked if he had been round there for work. Fred couldn't place him but Randy did straightaway. He said, "I think he's workin' at Reilly's, 'cos he came through here yesterday with one of their suits on. Boswell, give him his due, always dresses his crew decent, male or female." He laughed; so I laughed with him. But it's a fact, he is workin' there...' 'You didn't go in that place? They would have set their bullies on you.' 'I didn't need to' - he laughed - 'there's a big glass window and you can see the bar through it, but not the eatin' place. They tell me it's very plush behind there. Anyway, one of the ladies came out of the door an' spies this handsome fella, not over-tall, but standing glancin' through the window, and she comes up to him and says, "Good evening, sir. This is a good meat house, an' would you...?"' Ben stopped and chuckled deeply before going on, 'Then I turned to her and said, "Not at the present moment, Nellie, but I wouldn't mind some other time." And she pushed me an' said "Oh! Ben, Ben Smith, Jones, or Robinson... " Aye she did, she gave me me full title. Then she asked what I was doin' there, and so I asked her if she knew of a new fella, a waiter, in there called Forester.' '"Oh aye," she said. She knew him all right and who he was. And then, to use her own words, Aggie, she said, "He says he's father of Raggie Aggie's darlin' fair nymph over in the woods." She said he was somethin' of a big-mouth an' he liked his duckie and the more he drank the more his mouth opened. And something else she said.' Ben paused here, nodding his head. 'And Aggie, this sets the seal on him for me, because he'd told them he hasn't turned up before because he's been to sea and was stranded with some shipmates on some foreign coast. Can you believe it? Well, apparently they do, they've swallowed it, at least some of them; but not Nellie. You know what she said? "He may be her father but I think the faraway foreign coast where he was stranded was some clink or other. The first time I saw him," she said, "I noticed he had a pallor on him that spoke of the clink, an' you don't get that unless you're stranded on that particular shore for a long time." And then she asked me what I thought. I said I thought along of her. And then she asked me to walk along with her because, as she said, laughing, in her business they don't stand about. Lie, aye, but not stand. She's a good 'un really, you know.' He now grinned at Aggie. 'Then you know what? She walked as far as Bale Street, Aggie. They're not small houses, an' that street's on the fringe of respectability. Anyway, the first three, she said, belonged to Boswell; in fact, the end one was where she and the lasses are apparently housed. There are six of his specials. But the other two.., well, by then it was getting dark and I couldn't see her face when she was speakin'. There was enough in her voice, though, to tell me that she wasn't quite in favour of what they were used for. She said they were kept for special customers. Known as guests, relations or visitors. As she laughingly said, nature had to have its way, and one way or other it did: rich men havin' strange pastimes had to be provided for.' He drained his glass of the gin, then said, 'I was daft enough to ask her why she stayed on the game, for, after all, she's been picked up by the coppers more times than I've got fingers an' toes. And, from what I've heard, there's no gentle examination by the police doctors. You know, Aggie, she can't be thirty.., well, she might just be that. But the answer she gave me dried up me mouth: "I started young, Ben," she said, "even before I was made into a woman. You understand what I mean? So, after twenty years in the business, you haven't any time to learn anythin' else." And Aggie, I knew she wasn't laughing then.' Aggie made no comment for some time; and then she asked practically, 'Did you give her anything?' 'Yes. Yes, I did. I... I slipped her half-a-dollar.' 'Oh, half-a-dollar! That was generous. Enough for two and a half tries.' 'You've a mucky mind, Aggie. But anyway, I know this, an' we can both be grateful for it, it's good to know somebody workin' on the inside of that lot.' 'Huh! Don't bank on it, lad. They don't give their own away; they know if they did, they would wake up in a gully somewhere. Look at the young lad who stood as witness against Big Joe. He was supposed to've hung himself. Well, if he did, it was because he decided he was for it in any case an' he might as well do it himself. So don't bank on any help from Nellie Pratt, or go soft in the head 'cos she relates her life story to you. I've got little time for any of them; an' less for them that live off them. But I don't like what you tell me about that fella workin' in Reilly's, although it does fit in with him somehow.' She now pulled herself up from the couch, saying, 'Well, here's one off to her bed. I'll let you out. I hate Sundays. There's something about Sundays; they're weary days. I'll be glad when the mornin' comes.' She paused as she was opening the back door and, turning and looking at him in the dim light from the candle lantern hanging from a nail in the wide wall, she said, 'But can you understand him breedin' her?' 'No, Aggie. No, I can't. But it's been known afore that a pip from a rotten apple can start a good tree. Good-night to you.' 'Good-night, lad.' She bolted the door top and bottom, then took the lantern from the nail; and went back into the kitchen, where she turned down the wick of the oil lamp. As she pulled herself wearily up the stairs with the aid of the banister, she thought, She must get married. She must get married. We've got to get her married; and he's there ready and waitin'.

FIVE

Millie's birthday came and passed without much fuss. Aggie gave her an envelope in which there were two sovereigns: enough, she said, to get her a new coat and bonnet; only to feel outdone in her generosity when, after breakfast, Ben went back to his room and returned with a box, a fancy box with stripes on the lid and tied with a brown cord; and Millie, in some excitement, opened it to reveal a really beautiful large, pale-blue, silk shawl with motifs of flowers worked in each corner and edged with a deep fringe, and she held it up, saying in genuine amazement, 'Oh, Ben. It's beautiful. I've never seen anything so beautiful.' 'Well, it's for a bonny lass.' 'Look, Mrs Aggie, look.' 'Aye, I'm lookin'.' Aggie now turned to Ben, saying, 'You must have travelled a bit up to the top end to come across that.' 'And... and it must have cost.., oh... oh... ' Millie shook her head, then impulsively rushed at Ben and placed her lips against his. It was the first time she had ever kissed him. She had, on occasions, hugged him, and on occasions he had held her when aiming to soothe her crying, but never before had she touched even his cheek in a kiss. His arms hanging limply by his sides, he made no attempt to return the embrace; but when she drew herself back from him, saying, 'I'll treasure it all my life; and when I'm very old I'll still wear it,' he managed to gain a little of his composure and say, 'Well, it'll likely be in shreds by then.' After the excitement of the shawl the day was to pass as any other: there was baking to be done, the customers to be seen to, then more baking to be done; and then the short sit round the fire, and so to bed...