Figgins raised her eyes to heaven, gave the girl a hunk of bread and a piece of cheeseâsheâd been sent away without a morsel to eatâand gave her directions to Maâs house. âYou tell her what happened and that Martha sent you to her, do you hear me?â
Figgins watched the forlorn figure dwindle into the distance, shrugged her shoulders, and went on toward Tyrrwhit. She reckoned the girl would never make it to Maâs; with those looks and that ignorance of how many beans made two, sheâd be snapped up long before she got to that part of town.
It had given her an idea, however. Where one maidservant had been turned off, another would be sought. Moreover, the hapless Meg Jenkins had mentioned that they were short-staffed up at the house, they always were. Figgins knew that when Napier turned her off on his wedding day, it was not for dislike of her; heâd no more noticed her than he would a cur in the gutter. No, it was because she was part of his brideâs former life, and he wanted to cut her off from that as completely as he could. She felt she could count on his making no connection between his wifeâs former servant and a lowly new maid called Susan Peters.
Â
Lucky for them both that her brother was apprentice to a tailor, to a man in a good way of business near the Corn-Exchange. He didnât cut and sew for the smart of smarts, but he did well enough by his prosperous and social-climbing customers, and Joseph Figgins had a flare for the work and had happily made several suitable outfits for Alethea, as well as more ordinary garments for his sister.
âI donât know what your game is, Sis,â heâd said to her. âBut moneyâs money, and I dare say you come by it honest, for if you didnât youâd be looking over your shoulder for Ma to strike you down, and you ainât got any such shifty look in your eyes. I reckon itâs some prank to do with that Miss Alethea you was used to work for, and what tricks that sort of lady gets up to isnât anything to do with me. I donât ask, and I donât want to know.â
âJust as well, young Joe, for I wasnât about to tell you. And if Ma starts asking where I am, which she may, you tell her that Iâve gone back into service with my last lady, and weâre away inâoh, I donât know, tell her Yorkshire.â
âAre you? You donât look like youâre in Yorkshire to me.â
âDonât be cheeky, Joe, and look lively about getting those shirts done for me. Then Iâll hand over the ready for the coats and for you to pay the seamstresses for the other work, and you forget you ever had this little job to do. Seeing itâs outside your regular work, and your master would hang you up by the fingers if he knew youâd been sewing on your own account, thatâs best for both of us.â
âItâs not like making for strangers,â Joe said uneasily. âItâs my own flesh and blood, after all. Thereâs no harm in that.â
âNo, there isnât, and no harm in keeping your trap shut, neither.â She was busily tucking away coats, shirts, and small clothes into a large bag sheâd brought with her. Finished, she bent forward and gave her brother a peck on the cheek.
âMind you visit Ma regular and donât let her get worrying about me.â
âAnd you did come by that money honest?â he asked again as he opened the door for her.
âIt belongs to the person as will be wearing those coats and trousers, and every penny of it rightfullyââa slight pauseâârightfully his.â
And it was honest come by, too, Figgins reflected. Most of the roll of soft, as the gents called it, and a heap of clinking gold coins besides were now tucked away about Miss Aletheaâs person, with a reserve entrusted to Figgins, more money than sheâd ever seen in her life.
âEggs in
Christiane Shoenhair, Liam McEvilly