The Typewriter Girl Read Free Page B

and sticky, and she was in the midst of it.
    “They’re looking for you,” he said to her after he’d directed the children into the house.
    Behind him in the narrow doorway, her head not quite clearing Richard’s shoulder, Caroline asked, “Who? Who is looking for her?”
    “Some of the Baumston and Smythe managers. Has she told you what she’s done?” When Caroline didn’t answer, and Betsey offered no confession, he continued. “She broke a man’s fingers today in her temper.”
    She’d broken Wofford’s fingers? No wonder he’d howled like a lost child.
    “I was not in a temper,” she corrected, because truly, it wouldn’t do to smile just now, Richard’s censuring brow directed at her, Caroline peeping over his shoulder with dismay.
    But dear Caro. What she said was “Elisabeth, what had he done to you? Are you all right?”
    Richard swung round to her so fast she fell back a step. “He caught her at theft and forgery, Caroline! And after she’d assaulted him and run away, it’s me Mr. Hutchens seeks out to find where she lives.” To Betsey, he said, “You might have gotten me dismissed. To be sure, I’ll be a laughingstock at best and suspect atworst, now that everyone knows I’ve the misfortune to be related to you by marriage.”
    “Richard, I am sorry—I would never want to cause you—”
    “What did you tell them?” Caroline interrupted to ask Richard. “When they asked where Elisabeth lived, what did you say?”
    Richard cast unwilling looks at Betsey and then his wife. “What do I know of where she lives? I told them it was likely some jerry-built hovel somewhere in the East End, where neither I nor my wife were wont to be found.”
    “’Tis not a hovel,” Betsey said softly.
    “Do you think someone will come to see if she’s here?” Caroline asked.
    “Don’t you imagine it’s quite possible?”
    A moment passed. Betsey tried to smile at her sister, to say, I suppose I’m off, then, but the words caught in her throat when she saw Caro’s eyes fill. Caroline pushed past her husband to catch Betsey’s wrist and draw her back inside the house.
    •   •   •
    Caroline gave Betsey hairpins for her falling hair; she gave her a length of twine because she knew Betsey’s ancient valise had a troublesome latch. She tried to press other things on Betsey as well: a tin of lavender-scented powder, a bottle of ink, a pair of stockings darned but once in one toe. Betsey promised she had no need of any of it, and Caroline led her to the kitchen and took the next day’s loaf from the bread box. She ignored Betsey’s protests and wrapped it into waxed paper.
    “And what will Richard say when you run out of flour too soon?” Betsey asked.
    “I shall remind my beloved we might have had to give you an entire plate, meat and all, had you been able to stay to dinner. He’ll feel fortunate it was only a bit of bread then.”
    Richard did not look as if he felt fortunate, however, and even less so when Caroline informed him he would see his sister-in-law to the omnibus and pay her fare, too. Caro’s voice sounded as softand sweet as that lavender powder as she told him this, but her tone was this-is-how-it-will-be. Betsey loved that tone, so rarely used, yet employed on her behalf tonight, despite the fact that she wanted neither Richard’s escort nor his money.
    She told him so as they started down the lane, saying she would walk to her flat. He pointed out the failing twilight and the descending fog that would make the journey treacherous for a woman alone. She assured him she would be fine, shook her head at the coins he was counting out: “Consider it a payment toward what I owe you if you must, but I shall not be taking it.”
    He snatched out for her arm, jerking her to a halt. “You’ll take it. You’ll take it, and get yourself away from here safe enough, and keep your sister from that worry at least.” He smashed the pennies into her hand, pressed it closed, and