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Mavis had the afternoon all to herself, as Claire
took young Phoebe off to see her father.
As maid, Mavis had (of course) stayed out of the recent laments (no one
having asked her opinion), but in her heart of hearts she was glad Mr. Briding
(Lord Briding, now, it was) had come to his senses and convinced his wife that
he had. Elliott Briding could be
strange, a bit improvident, but he was never unkind, and he did dearly love his
wife and child.
And didn’t Mavis know how much the child missed him. (Better than anyone, she supposed.) For she would watch Phoebe talk to his
invisible form as she played. Over and
over, she would pick up her crayons and draw her father’s face.
And now, who was waiting for Mavis in the winding
queue of fine shops in Regent’s Street, but her own sister Tess. They hadn’t seen each other in a few years,
and there were entire worlds to fill the spaces that letters couldn’t
speak. Strolling slowly past the glazed windows
and doors, alone in the crowd, they exchanged their intuition about the
children born into the families they worked for, the weddings, funerals,
affairs, and domestic squabbles they oversaw.
"No one is supposed to know, but everybody
does," Tess was saying, her voice lowered.
"Marigold’s the second maid they’ve sent off to the country
house. Lady C. spends her nights in her
rooms lamenting when she’s not gone out to her spiritual advisors, which she
does too often if your askin’ me. Sister,
I’m not happy in a house without little ones—and Master Philip getting big enough
to send off to school." She
sighed. "Don’t everyone wish Master
Reggie would get married and have proper brats he could keep at the Streatham
house."
Mavis agreed that would be best. With a bit of quiet, Tess went on. "I was back in the old country to visit
—and Francis told me that Cornelius Buckley put hisself on the emigration ship." She nodded her quick little nod, and watched
to see her sister’s reaction.
"Did he now," Mavis said, quite matter
of fact. "He always talked about
it. There’s no work to be had in
Ireland. He’ll be better off in
Australia."
"But sister.
He didn’t go there. He went to
Alaska—looking for gold."
"Well, the great bastard fool." She’d
heard Elliott say these words often enough and they slipped out easy as a
sigh.
Her sister straightened very tall, all of five
feet. "Bastard I wouldn’t know
about. Fool, he ever was." But Tess always thought this. Over time, Mavis had almost convinced herself
of it, too. She knew she’d been right
not to run off with him all those years ago.
Yet there were renegade moments, late at night, when she knew that part
of her did go off with him. Maybe, the
best part of her of all.
The sisters spent the afternoon in the park and
never returned to the subject of Buckley, though his shadow silently trailed
along behind them. Later, they’d have a
small supper, and walk to the station so Mavis could get back to mind her
charge.
