Трейси Шевалье - Falling Angel

“I think we should do something ‘bout it,” I say.

Mr. Jackson looks at the door like he’s scared someone might come in. He gets up and locks the door. “What do you mean?” he says.

So I tell him my idea.

He don’t say nothing for a time. Just looks at his hands laying on the desk. Then he balls his hands into fists.

“It is the bones that pose the problem,” he says. “We have to get the fire hot enough for long enough. Special coal, perhaps.” He stops.

I don’t say nothing.

“It may take some time to organize.”

I nod. We got time. I know just when to do it-when everybody’s looking somewhere else.

When she came in I didn’t say a word to Livy about the blue dress. I hadn’t noticed her wearing it this morning. Though it did surprise me, I managed to hide it behind burbling about the baby. I hope at least that she wears black on the day of the King’s funeral. They say it is to be set for a fortnight’s time.

But then, perhaps it is just as well that Livy is wearing blue. I don’t think just now that I could face the drama she brings to mourning. Dear Ivy May would have been appalled at how her sister has carried on over her, when she never did when Ivy May was alive.

I do miss her. That feeling never leaves, I have discovered, nor my guilt-though I have managed at last to forgive myself.

Perhaps I am being unfair on Livy. She has grown up quite a bit over this past year. And she said that she has made it up with Maude. I am glad. They need each other, those girls, whatever has happened in the past.

“Do you know, Mama,” Livy was saying just now, “the Colemans have had electricity installed? Maude said it’s wonderful. Really I think we should have it too.”

But I was not listening. I had felt something inside me that was no kick. It was beginning.

I confess I’d had a fair few. What with toasting Trudy’s health and the old King’s passing and the new King’s health, the pints did add up. And I was in there since midafternoon, when Trudy started. By the time Richard came in I was more or less propping up the Bull and Last’s bar.

He didn’t seem to notice. Bought me a pint when he heard Trudy was abed, talked about the cricket and which games would be canceled for the King.

Then he asked me something peculiar. Fact is, I still wonder whether or not he did say it or it was the pints talking in my ear. “Maude wants to go to university,” he said.

“Come again?”

“She came to me today and said she wants to go to a boarding school that will prepare her for the exams to get into Cambridge. What do you think I should do?”

I almost laughed-Richard always has trouble with his women-folk. But then, anything can happen with those Coleman women. I thought of Kitty Coleman holding my arm that time I took her home, and her ankles flashing slim and lovely under her skirt on her bicycle, and I couldn’t laugh. I wanted to cry. I studied the foam on my beer. “Let her,” I said.

Just then our char ran in and told me I have a son. “Thank God!” I shouted, and bought the whole pub a round.

Maude sat with me in the garden tonight while I smoked a cigarette. Then Mrs. Baker called for her and she went inside, leaving me alone. I looked at the smoke curling through my fingers and thought: I will miss her when she goes.

I shouldn’t have waited so long to bring Miss Maude into it. But I wasn’t to know, was I? I try to mind my business. And I couldn’t say anything while her grandmother was running the house. That stroke has been the biggest blessing in disguise. I could see Miss Maude blossom once her grandmother’s mouth was stopped.

I didn’t say anything straightaway after the stroke-it would’ve looked bad to go against a woman after something like that. But the other day a letter was returned I’d meant for Jenny, reading “gone away.” Of course the letter had been slit and the coins stolen. I’d been sending her the odd shilling when I could spare it, trying to help her out. I knew they were close to the edge, her and her mother and Jack. Now it seemed they couldn’t manage the rent.

Later when I was going over the week’s menus with Miss Maude, I decided I had to say something. Perhaps I should have said it more casual, but that’s not my way. We finished, and I shut the book and said, “Something’s wrong with Jenny.”

Miss Maude sat up straight. “What’s the matter?” We don’t speak of Jenny, so it was a surprise to her.

“I’ve had a letter returned-she and her mum have moved.”

“That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. Perhaps they’ve moved someplace-nicer.”

“She would’ve told me. And she doesn’t have the money for nicer.” I’d never told Miss Maude how bad it was. “Fact is, Jenny’s had a hard time of it ever since your grandmother let her go without a reference.”

“Without a reference?” Miss Maude repeated like she didn’t understand.

“Without a reference she can’t get another job as a maid. She’s been working in a pub, and her mum takes in washing. They’ve hardly a shilling between them.”

Miss Maude was beginning to look horrified. She is still innocent of many of the ways of the world. I didn’t dare tell her what working in a pub can lead to.

Then she surprised me. “How can she raise a son on that?”

I hadn’t been sure till then that she knew Jack was Jenny’s son. But she said it calmly, as if she wasn’t judging her.

I shrugged.

“We must find her,” Miss Maude said. “That is the least we can do.”

“How? It’s a big city-she could be anywhere. The neighbors would’ve given the postman a forwarding address if they knew it.”

“Simon will find her,” Miss Maude declared. “He knows her. He’ll find her.”

I was going to say something, but she was so trusting in the boy that I didn’t have the heart to dash her hopes.

“Suppose we do find her,” I said. “What do we do then? We can’t have her back here, what with the new maid making a good job of it. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“I shall write the new maid a reference myself.”

It’s surprising how quick a girl can grow up when she’s a mind to.

When Maude tells me to find Jenny I don’t ask why. Sometimes I don’t need to know why. It ain’t so hard to do-turns out she’s been to see our ma, who tells me where she is. When I go there her and her mum and Jack are in a tiny room with not a crumb of food ‘tween ’em-Jenny spent all her money on what our ma could do for her.

I take‘em to a caff and feed ’em-Maude’s given me money for it. The boy and his gran eat everything in sight, but Jenny just picks at her food. She’s gray in the face.

“I don’t feel well,” she says.

“That’ll pass,” I say, which is what our ma always says after a woman’s been to her. A few years back Jenny wanted nothing to do with what our ma does for women, but things is different for her now. She knows what it’s like to have a child don’t get enough to eat. That’ll change anyone’s mind about bringing another mouth into the world you can’t feed.

I don’t say nothing, though. Jenny don’t need me to remind her how things change. I keep my mouth shut, and get her to have a little soup.

Guess I’ve caught her just in time.

Well. I don’t know. Truly I don’t know what to think. Maude has often said I must try to be more open minded, and I suppose this is one of those moments when I should try. But it is very difficult. Now I have two more secrets to keep from her.