Cover Her Face Read Free Page B

his father as Simon Maxie had succeeded his. If only he could have enjoyed Martingale for its beauty and its peace without being chained to it by this band of responsibility and guilt!
    There was the sound of slow careful footsteps on the stairs and then a knock on the door. It was Martha with the nightly hot drinks. Back in his childhood old Nannie had decided that a hot drink last thing at night would help to banish the terrifying and inexplicable nightmares from which, for a brief period, he and Deborah had suffered. The nightmares had yielded in time to the more tangible fears of adolescence, but the hot drinks had become a family habit. Martha, like her sister before her, was convinced that they were the only effective talisman against the real or imagined dangers of the night. Now she set down her small tray cautiously. There was the blue Wedgwood mug that Deborah used and the old George V coronation mug which Grandfather Maxie had bought for Stephen. “I’ve brought your Ovaltine too, Miss Deborah,” Martha said. “I thought I should find you here.” She spoke in a low voice as if they shared a conspiracy. Stephen wondered whether she guessed that they had been discussing Catherine. This was rather like the old comfortable Nannie bringing in the night drinks and ready to stay and talk. But yet not really the same. The devotion of Martha was more voluble, more self-conscious and less acceptable. Itwas a counterfeit of an emotion that had been as simple and necessary to him as the air he breathed. Remembering this he thought also that Martha needed her occasional sop.
    “That was a lovely dinner, Martha,” he said. Deborah had turned from the window and was wrapping her thin, red-nailed hands around the steaming mug.
    “It’s a pity the conversation wasn’t worthy of the food. We had a lecture from Miss Liddell on the social consequences of illegitimacy. What do you think of Sally, Martha?”
    Stephen knew that it was an unwise question. It was unlike Deborah to ask it.
    “She seems quiet enough,” Martha conceded, “but, of course, it is early days yet. Miss Liddell spoke very highly of her.”
    “According to Miss Liddell,” said Deborah, “Sally is a model of all the virtues except one, and even that was a slip on the part of nature who couldn’t recognize a high-school girl in the dark.”
    Stephen was shocked by the sudden bitterness in his sister’s voice.
    “I don’t know that all this education is a good thing for a maid, Miss Deborah.” Martha managed to convey that she had managed perfectly well without it. “I only hope that she knows how lucky she is. Madam has even lent her our cot, the one you both slept in.”
    “Well, we aren’t sleeping in it now.” Stephen tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Surely there had been enough talk about Sally Jupp! But Martha was not to be cautioned. It was as if she personally and not merely the family cradle had been desecrated.
    “We’ve always looked after that cot, Dr. Stephen. It was to be kept for the grandchildren.”
    “Damn!” said Deborah. She wiped the spilt drink from her fingers and replaced the mug on the tray. “You shouldn’t countyour grandchildren before they’re hatched. You can count me as a non-starter and Stephen isn’t even engaged—nor thinking of it. He’ll probably eventually settle for a buxom and efficient nurse who’ll prefer to buy a new hygienic cot of her own from Oxford Street. Thank you for the drink, Martha dear.” Despite the smile, it was a dismissal.
    The last “good nights” were said and the same careful footsteps descended the stairs. When they had died away Stephen said, “Poor old Martha. We do rather take her for granted and this maid-of-all-work job is getting too much for her. I suppose we ought to be thinking of pensioning her off.”
    “On what?” Deborah stood again at the window.
    “At least there’s some help for her now,” Stephen temporized.
    “Provided Sally isn’t