Crooked Pieces Read Online Free PDF Page A

Who understands me? Of course there is no need, for I am Maggie Robins. The clever one. The fortunate one. The favoured one.
    The door closed. I stood in the dark street outside the house that was no longer my home, listening to the voices of the family I was no longer part of. I thought, yes, I am Maggie Robins, and I am clever and fortunate and favoured. But most of all, I am alone.

    The Wednesday of the meeting I thought I should go mad. First Cook had a turn and could not walk for feeling dizzy and feverish. Mrs Roe said she should go to bed and she would make her a poultice. I was desperate I should have to cook the lunch and dinner
and
help Miss Sylvia, but Mrs Roe said I need not do so. She would fry up some chops for herself and the master and they could make do with the cold bacon and some pickles for their supper. I was heartily grateful for Cook had said I must be sure and polish the fender in the parlour and lay a neat fire and wipe the windows over with vinegar and water as well as all my usual chores.
    At four o’clock Miss Sylvia returned from college. When Mrs Roe explained that Cook was ill the very first thing she did was boil a kettle and take her in some beef tea, although Mrs Roe had twice sent me up with soup and some porter ale, which Cook had drunk to the last drop, declaring all the while that she would be dead by morning. I did not think this likely as she asked if I could bring her some of the visitors’ jam pastries, for she fancied they might cool her head.
    Then Miss Sylvia and I set to making sandwiches, enoughfor an army. There was paste and beef brawn and chopped egg and salmon. Next we made scones and some syrup cakes and a great jug of lemonade, and I laid out plates and glasses and little pretty bits of cloth for them to wipe their hands on. Mr and Mrs Roe dined early and retired to the parlour which was a great blessing, although Mrs Roe kept coming out to see if we needed anything and kept suggesting things, till in the end we wished she would go away and leave us alone to our muddle.
    At seven o’clock the doorbell chimed. Miss Sylvia ran up the stairs to change her dress and came back within a minute but it was all buttoned wrong.
    The first lady to arrive was very old. I thought she might have been a queen or something once for she was so stiff and noble and wore only black lace in her hair which was quite white like a snowball, and her hands were all crinkly and had brown spots on them like a tiger. I was very afraid, but when she had been shown a chair and was settled she seemed contented enough and took a glass of lemonade. Next came a very smart lady, though somewhat stout, who spoke most kindly to me, asking my age and how many children my mother had at home. I replied, ‘Four, ma’am, with one in the grave and one in the making,’ at which she gave me a very kind smile and said she hoped I was happy here.
    More ladies came, most old like Mrs Roe but a few of Miss Sylvia’s age. They wore fine pretty garments and all had hats, though some were smarter than others. Last of all came Miss Christabel and Mrs Pankhurst and with them a tiny woman in very dull clothes but with the most sparkling dancing eyes and a laugh like a string of cans clattering.
    At nine o’clock I took up the refreshments. The ladies looked mighty pleased to see me. I do not know what they had been speaking of, but they were very pink-cheeked and Miss Christabel leapt up from her seat when I entered, crying, ‘Manna from heaven, eh, Maggie?’ To which I replied, ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s mainly sandwiches.’ Everyone laughed and I wished I had never spoken. Miss Sylvia came to my side and said in a nice still voice, ‘Maggie has positively slaved to get this ready for us. I am very grateful for her help,’ whereupon they fell quiet and gave me many smiles. I think, perhaps, ladies are nicer than men.

    Three Wednesdays the ladies have now met at our house. Cook is recovered and we have served