London in Chains Read Free

and blood. She shut her eyes hurriedly: God forgive her this sinful anger!
    â€˜Keep your surly look to yourself!’ commanded Agnes. ‘What, did you think you could step into our daughter’s place? There’s no undoing what’s done, girl: you must make the best of things, not puff yourself up with sinful pride, as though you were still a wealthy maiden! If we’re to keep you, we need to get some profit from it. Charity ’s fine for them that have money.’
    So she was to become her uncle’s maidservant ? She clenched her teeth and stared down at her feet, motionless on the stairs. Her old shoes poked out from under her petticoat; the hem of the petticoat was splashed with mud from the street. She made herself concentrate on that stain: imagined scrubbing it off and throwing out the wash-water. Her soul was stained, too, with rage: she begged God to cleanse her. A woman should be humble, modest and obedient, and if she wasn’t, she should at least pretend to be. If she offended Thomas and Agnes, she had nowhere to go but home again, and no one there would be happy to see her.
    Agnes waited a while, but Lucy said nothing and did not look up. At last there was a creak of floorboards, and Lucy, glancing up quickly, saw that her aunt had moved off. Lucy followed, moving stiffly, afraid that the fury inside her would burst out and break anything she touched.
    To get to the loft they had to climb a ladder fixed to the stairwell above. Half of the loft held bales of fabric for Thomas’s customers; the rest was bare under the roof-beams. A window above the stairwell provided reasonable light. The chimney, brick and solid, ran up the right wall, and the maid’s bed stood next to it. A shift and some petticoats hung from a nail in the wall beside the bed, and there was a small chest at the bedfoot with a washbasin and pitcher. Lucy told herself that it was no worse than her bed at home, and she was used to sharing that, with her cousin, with the occasional visiting relative or friend.
    But not with the maid !
    â€˜There you are!’ said Agnes. ‘Space aplenty!’
    Lucy clenched her hands together to keep them still and kept the angry words tight-locked behind her teeth.
    â€˜Susan is at the market,’ said Agnes. ‘She knows to expect you. Your things are on the mule? Then you can bear them up later. I’ll leave you to refresh yourself from your journey.’
    Lucy stood where she was and listened as her aunt descended the ladder. When the footsteps and the huff of breath had gone, she went over to the window. It was unglazed, the panes covered with waxed paper in place of glass, but it was hinged. Lucy flung it wide and leaned out. The scream of rage was still caught in her throat, and she took deep breaths of the smoky air, trying to dislodge it.
    From the window she looked out on to a jumble of tiled roofs, with, further away – across the river? – the stone bulk of a church. As far as her eyes could see, there were houses. So many people!
    London. She had wanted to come here to start a new life – not to take Cousin Hannah’s place but to regain her own. Before the war, she’d been ( a wealthy maiden, yes!) a prosperous freeholder’s only daughter, able to look forward to a house and husband and children. She’d lost all that through no fault of her own and she’d hoped that in London she might be able to make a fresh start. It seemed, though, that she’d been naive. There’s no undoing what’s done.
    The hurt and rage grew as the full measure of the blow made itself felt. She’d expected to help Uncle Thomas and Aunt Agnes, in the house and in the shop. She’d hoped to make herself useful, even valuable. She’d never in her life been idle and she was perfectly willing to work hard – but this, this was a humiliation ! She was Thomas’s niece . She’d expected to be treated as family .