A Judgement in Stone Read Free

prepossessing appearance, Jacqueline forgot the questions she had intended to ask. And instead of examining the candidate, instead of attempting to find out if this woman were suitable to work in her house, if she would suit the Coverdales, she began persuading Eunice Parchman that they would suit her.
    “It’s a big house, but there are only three of us except when my stepdaughter comes home for the weekend. There’s a cleaner three days a week, and of course I should do all the cooking myself.”
    “I can cook, madam,” said Eunice.
    “It wouldn’t be necessary, really. There’s a dishwasher and a deep freeze. My husband and I do all the shopping.” Jacqueline was impressed by this woman’s toneless voice that, though uneducated, had no trace of a Cockney accent. “We do entertain quite a lot,” she said almost fearfully.
    Eunice moved her feet, bringing them close together. She nodded slowly. “I’m used to that. I’m a hard worker.”
    At this point Jacqueline should have asked why Eunice was leaving her present situation, or at least something about her present situation. For all she knew, there might not have been one. She didn’t ask. She was bemused by those “madams,” excited by the contrast between this woman and Eva Baalham, this woman and the last pert, to pretty
au pair
. It was all so different from what she had expected.
    Eagerly she said, “When could you start?”
    Eunice’s blank face registered a faint surprise, as well it might.
    “You’ll want a reference,” she said.
    “Oh yes,” said Jacqueline, reminded. “Of
course
.”
    A white card was produced from Eunice’s large black handbag. On it was written in the same handwriting as the letter that had so dismayed Jacqueline in the first place: Mrs. Chichester, 24 Willow Vale, London, S.W. 18, and a phone number. The address was the one which had headed Eunice’s letter.
    “That’s Wimbledon, isn’t it?”
    Again Eunice nodded. No doubt she was gladdened by this erroneous assumption. They discussed wages, when she would start, how she would travel to Stantwich. Subject, of course, Jacqueline said hastily, to the reference being satisfactory.
    “I’m sure we shall get on marvellously.”
    At last Eunice smiled. Her eyes remained cold and still, but her mouth moved. It was certainly a smile. “Mrs. Chichester said, could you phone her tonight before nine? She’s an old lady and she goes to bed early.”
    This show of tender regard for an employer’s wishes and foibles could only be pleasing.
    “You may be sure I shall,” said Jacqueline.
    It was only twenty past two and the interview was over.
    Eunice said, “Thank you, madam. I can see myself out,” thus indicating, or so it seemed to Jacqueline, that she knew her place. She walked steadily from the room without looking back.
    If Jacqueline had had a better knowledge of Greater London she would have realised that Eunice Parchman had already told her a lie, or at least acquiesced in a misapprehension. For the postal district of Wimbledon is S.W. 19 not S.W. 18, which designates a much less affluent area in the borough of Wandsworth. But she didn’t realise and she didn’t check, and when she entered Lowfield Hall at six, five minutes after George had got home, she didn’t even show him the white card.
    “I’m sure she’ll be ideal, darling,” she enthused, “really the kind of old-fashioned servant we thought was an extinct breed. Ican’t tell you how quiet and respectful she was, not a bit pushing. I’m only afraid she may be too humble. But I
know
she’s going to be a hard worker.”
    George put his arm round his wife and kissed her. He said nothing about her
volte-face
, uttered no “I told you so’s.” He was accustomed to Jacqueline’s prejudices, succeeded often by wild enthusiasm, and he loved her for her impulsiveness, which in his eyes made her seem young and sweet and feminine. What he said was, “I don’t care how humble she is or how pushing,