“Yes, we are all perfectly well,” she said quickly. “Although of course we miss you terribly! But we have enough of everything, so I haven’t had to ask Mama or Emily for any help, although I’m sure they’ll give it if it should be necessary. No, I haven’t been back to the Yorks’. I’m leaving it to Mr. Ballarat, as you said. . . . Well, if he hasn’t sent anyone to see you yet it must be because he doesn’t need to.” She kept mastery of the conversation, permitting no time for interruptions, questions she could not answer.
“Where’s Emily? At home. They wouldn’t let her in here, she isn’t family—at least, not close enough. Sisters-in-law don’t count. Yes, Jack Radley is being very helpful. . . .”
Emily was in the laundry room doing the job she disliked most intensely: ironing the starched frills of cotton aprons, half a dozen of them. Somehow Edith had taken advantage of some absence of mind to maneuver Emily into doing her share as well. She looked up in surprise when Mary came to the door, glanced all round her, then slipped in and closed it, fingers to her lips.
“What is it?” Emily whispered.
“A man!” Mary said urgently, her voice so low her words were almost swallowed. “You got a follower!”
“I haven’t!” Emily denied fiercely. She certainly did not need that kind of trouble. And it was totally unjust; she had encouraged no one. In fact, she had given the butcher’s boy a flea in his ear when he had smiled at her, impudent creature.
“Yes you ’ave!” Mary insisted. “Scruffy, ’e is, an’ looks like ’e just bin up a chimney! But spoke awful nice an’ polite, an’ if’n ’e were washed ’e could be real nice, I reckon.”
“Well, I don’t know him!” Emily said fiercely. “Tell him to go away!”
“Won’t you even come and see—”
“No! Do you want me to lose my character?”
“ ’E’s awful keen.”
“I’ll be thrown out!” Emily exploded.
“But ’e says ’e knows you!” Mary tried once more. “C’mon, Amelia; ’e could be—Well, d’you want to stay a lady’s maid all your life?”
“It’s a lot better than being out on the street without a character!” Emily hissed back.
“Well, if you’re really sure. ’Is name is Jack suffink.”
Emily froze. “What?”
“ ’Is name is Jack suffink,” Mary repeated.
Emily dropped the iron. “I’ll come! Where is he? Has anyone else seen him?”
“You changed yer mind pretty quick!” Mary said with profound satisfaction. “But yer’d better be sharp! If Cook catches yer, yer’ll be in dead trouble. ’E’s at the scullery door. On wiv yer! ’Urry!”
Emily ran from the laundry room along the corridor, through the kitchen and scullery to the back door, with Mary close behind her, keeping watch for cook’s return.
Emily could hardly believe what she saw. The man standing in the rain on the back steps beside the coke scuttles and rubbish cans was dressed in a dark, ragged coat that came past his knees, and his face was all but hidden by a broad-brimmed hat and a lock of sooty hair that fell over his brow. His skin seemed grimy, as if he had indeed come down a chimney.
“Jack?” Emily said incredulously.
He grinned, showing startlingly white teeth in his filthy face. She was so glad to see him she wanted to laugh, but realized immediately her laughter would turn to tears. It all rushed through her in a torrent so fierce she said nothing at all.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “You look dreadful!”
Then she did start to laugh, a little hysterically, but stopped herself when she realized Mary could hear her. She controlled her voice with an effort. “Yes, I’m fine. I put a chair under my door at night. But I need to talk to you. How is Charlotte?”
“It’s very hard on her, and we’re not getting anywhere.”
There was a shout inside the scullery and Emily knew someone was back who would betray her, if not Cook then Nora.
“Go!” she said quickly. “I’ll go to the cobbler’s in half an hour or so—wait for the round the corner. Please!”
He nodded, and by the time Nora’s curious face came round the outer door he had slipped up the area steps and disappeared.
“What are you doing out ’ere?” Nora said sharply. “I thought I ’eard you talking to someone!”
“Well, you know what ‘thought’ did!” Emily snapped back, then regretted it; not that she had any compunction about Nora, it was just unwise to antagonize her. But it was too late to retreat now, or it would only make her suspicious. “For that matter, what are you doing out here?”
“Er ...” Nora had obviously come to catch Emily out, and now she was confused. She lifted her chin a little higher. “I thought if there was someone ’ere ’e might be bothering you! I came to ’elp!”
“How kind of you,” Emily replied sarcastically. “As you see, there is no one. I came to see how cold it is. I’m going on an errand; I shall need a greatcoat.”
“Of course you will!” Nora said waspishly. “What else do you expect in January?”
“Rain,” Emily replied with growing confidence.
“It is raining! Couldn’t you see that through the window?”
“Not much. I was in the laundry.” She stared at Nora’s handsome bold eyes, daring her to make an open accusation.
“Very well then.” Nora shrugged elaborately; she had elegant shoulders and she knew it. “Then you’d better be on your way, and don’t take ’alf the afternoon about it!”
Emily went back to the laundry room to finish the last apron. She folded it and put away the flatiron, then collected her hat and coat, and after telling Mary where she was going, she set out up the area steps and along Hanover Close towards the main thoroughfare, waiting with every footstep to see Jack, or hear him behind her.
She nearly bumped into him round the first corner. He still looked a sight, and he did not touch her but walked respectfully beside her as if they were both exactly what they appeared: a lady’s maid on an errand and a sweep’s man taking a short time off.
As they walked she told him about the extraordinary conversation she had overheard between Veronica and Loretta, and the only conclusion possible from her discussion with the tweeny.
He in turn told her what little news he had of Charlotte.
By the time that was completed she had Veronica’s boots and was on the way back to Hanover Close. It was raining harder, her feet and her skirts were wet, and the soot was beginning to run in black trickles down his face.
“You look fearful!” she said with a rather painful smile. She was walking less and less quickly. She was dreading going back into the house, not only because this was a moment’s freedom from duty and fear, but, surprisingly sharply, because she would miss Jack. “Your own mother wouldn’t know you!” she added.
He started to laugh, at first very quietly, then more heartily as he gazed at her straight, mud brown coat, her plain hat and sodden boots.
She began to giggle as well, and they stood in the street together streaming wet, laughing on the edge of tears. He put out both his hands and took hers, holding her gently.
For an instant she thought it was on the edge of his tongue to ask her to marry him, but whatever words he had were quickly swallowed back. She had all the Ashworth money, the houses, the position; he had nothing. Love was not enough to offer.
“Jack,” she said without giving herself time to weigh or judge. “Jack—would you consider marrying the?”
The rain was washing the soot off his face in black drops.