Darkwater Read Free Page B

hesitating?” Mrs. Hubbard snapped.
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œGood. Don’t forget you’re just a menial here, girl. What are you?”
    Sarah was silent.
    Suddenly she saw the door at the back was open. There were footsteps, a rustle of silks. The visitors had finally arrived.
    And with them stubbornness, that swept over her like a wave, so that she straightened her shoulders and drew up her chin. She was a Trevelyan, and all the pride clamped down inside her for so long came scorching up, a wave of heat in her neck and face. She glared at Mrs. Hubbard’s rolls of fat. And didn’t answer. The instant was huge as it passed; the terrible instant when Mrs. Hubbard—and the class—realized the usual echo wouldn’t be coming.
    Mrs. Hubbard’s chest swelled with wrath. Appalled, the class watched. Emmeline’s hand, wavering with weariness, descended and came abruptly up again.
    Mrs. Hubbard snatched the cane. “I had high hopes of you. Thought you’d go far. But I know what this is, this is pride!”
    She spat the word like venom. “Always thought yourself a cut above the rest, haven’t you, dearie. A snobby little madam. Miss Sarah Trevelyan of Darkwater Hall, that’s what you think you are. But your family were all drunks and tyrants and womanizers. And all I see is a scruffy little pupil teacher on three shillings a week. Your face is red, your clothes stink, and there’s a leak in one of your boots. That’s the truth. That’s all you are.” And at the back of the room, suddenly, Sarah saw him watching her, the stranger from Darkwater Hall, the one they called Lord Azrael. Their eyes met; he looked sympathetic. She jerked her gaze away, silent with fury. “Give the cuts,” Mrs. Hubbard barked, “or take them yourself.”
    Sarah smiled, spiteful. “I’ll take them.”
    Mrs. Hubbard was sweating. Two threads of hair had unpinned from her glossy bun. She didn’t know that behind her the doorway was dark with fascinated faces. Three ladies, four gentlemen, a faint breeze of perfume and cigar smoke heralding them like footmen. The class knew, without turning.
    â€œYou bare-faced, stinking little . . .”
    A masculine throat cleared, noisily. “Is there a problem here, ma’am, eh?”
    Mrs. Hubbard froze. Her face drained; only Sarah saw her struggle, the rigorous contortion of all hostility down to a single cold gleam in the eye. When she turned, she wore a sickly smile. For a moment Sarah almost admired her.
    â€œMajor Fleetwood! How wonderful to see you! Ladies! Please do come in.”
    The red-whiskered man gave a beery laugh. “Don’t let us interrupt the necessary, ma’am. Discipline, eh! Know all about it. In India kept a fella just for whipping-in.” He strolled down between the tables and eyed Sarah blearily. “This one blotted her copybook, eh?”
    â€œThis ungrateful wretch . . .” Mrs. Hubbard took out her snuffbox, glanced at it, and thrust it back. “. . . was my pupil teacher. I have considered her conduct unsatisfactory for some time.”
    â€œBad show.” Major Fleetwood scratched his greasy hair. “Trevelyan girl. Got anything to say?”
    She had plenty. But she shook her head grimly. Lord Azrael pushed forward. If he said anything, she thought, she’d die.
    â€œGet on with it, ma’am. No use prolonging the agony.”
    â€œThe ladies?” Mrs. Hubbard whispered.
    â€œWon’t be too shocked. They have maids, Mrs. H. And dogs.”
    Sarah thrust her hand out, furious. It was even dirtier than Emmeline’s.
    â€œLook,” Lord Azrael said quietly. “Whatever it was, I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
    â€œShe’s a fat bully,” Sarah said immediately. “And I mean that.”
    Mrs. Hubbard went white. Then she brought the cane down, hard.
    It whistled.
    The pain