Theft of Life Read Free Page A

and hated it when Graves shouted at him. Stephen Westerman was chewing toast and sitting sideways in his seat to stare out into the Square behind him. Mrs Martin thought, not for the first time, that it was very sensible of Mrs Service to take her own modest breakfast in her room.
    The door opened and Lady Susan entered, her back ramrod straight. She was shaping up to be a very pretty young woman, fair like her brother and with large blue eyes and clear skin, but quick and lively as a monkey. She had a talent for play-acting and loved to make the servants laugh with her impressions of their friends and neighbours. They were horribly accurate, but Mrs Martin had begun to try and persuade the staff not to encourage her. Susan would soon be entering the world of drawing rooms and assemblies, and her talents for mimicry would earn her no friends there. As soon as she saw that her guardian was not present, the girl seemed to relax a little and even smiled at William when he put down a plate in front of her and poured her tea. He winked at her, which Mrs Martin pretended not to notice.
    ‘Is there a kipper, Mrs Martin?’ Stephen asked.
    ‘I shall ask Cook to make you one, Master Stephen,’ she said, smoothing down the cloth.
    ‘Oh, may I have one too, Mrs Martin?’ Jonathan said.
    ‘Certainly, My Lord.’ The child blushed a deeper pink. They had been asked to address the children more formally now, and no one much liked the change, least of all the little aristocrats. Graves came back into the room, no stains of coffee visible.
    ‘And for me please,’ he said.
    Mrs Martin nodded to William and took his station by the buffet as he left the room with the order.
    ‘I’m sorry I fell over, Graves,’ Jonathan said quietly.
    ‘I seem to have survived, Jon,’ he answered with a smile, then looked at Stephen Westerman and raised his eyebrows. Jonathan nudged him.
    ‘What? Oh, I’m sorry for running, Graves,’ the boy said quickly.
    Graves leaned back while Mrs Martin shook out a napkin and placed it over his lap. ‘Good, the servants have enough to do without you two creating more work. Thank you, Mrs Martin.’ He looked at Susan. ‘And may I expect any apology from
you
this morning, Susan?’
    The girl said nothing. Mrs Martin wanted to shake her. Any fool could see the girl was upset. Her eyes were damp and Anne Westerman’s nurse said Susan had been weeping since the letter from her headmistress had arrived, but she was proud as the devil himself.
    ‘I see. Jonathan, Stephen, we shall go to the balloon-raising as promised.’ The boys let out whoops, then sat very straight and quiet when Graves’s eye rested on them again. ‘Susan, I have spoken to Mrs Service. She goes to see an acquaintance of hers this morning who knows a great deal about female education. You shall go with her, not to Barbican.’
    The girl turned towards him, her eyes wide. ‘Graves, no! It is Monsieur Blanchard! It is the same machine with which he crossed the Channel! I so want to go!’
    Mr Graves only shook his head. ‘I want an apology and an explanation from you, Susan. There will be no more treats and excursions until I receive both. How can I take you into the civilised world until you know how to behave in it?’
    It broke Mrs Martin’s heart. The girl stared back at her plate, breathing hard against her stays. Go steady, my dear, Mrs Martin thought, or you shall faint. After a few moments Susan spoke very quietly. ‘I have had all I wish to eat, Graves. May I leave the table?’ A bite of bread and butter was no breakfast for a growing girl, Mrs Martin thought, but it was not her place to speak.
    ‘You may.’
    Susan left with an attempt at dignity, nodding to Mrs Martin as she did, but they all heard the choking noise she made as she began to cry the moment she was through the door, and her steps as she raced back upstairs to her room.
    She must have passed Mrs Westerman on her way, for the latter came into the room looking