Page 12 of Trouble

‘Yes,’ Grace agreed. She managed an entire ten minutes of silence, during which Emily intended to replace the book she was holding to look for other valuable tomes, and instead accidentally read an entire story about an unscrupulous princess, before Grace said, ‘Everybody in France seems to have a lot of feelings.’

‘That affliction is not contained to France,’ said Emily, closing her book irritably.

‘I must confess I do indulge in many myself,’ said Grace, ‘but I try to stay quiet about them, rather than running around the countryside in paroxysms of emotion. It makes Father uncomfortable when I cry, and Aster always seems to want todosomething about the problem, even when nothing can be done.’

‘Well .?.?.’ said Emily, but nothing else followed, and eventually Grace picked up the book again and engrossed herself in French feelings until Meera knocked on the schoolroom door.

‘What are we learning?’ she said cheerfully.

‘That feelings are an affliction,’ Grace offered.

‘Ah,’ said Meera, her smile faltering as she looked quizzically at Emily. ‘I am sure that I have missed some further context.’

‘No,’ said Grace happily. ‘Meera, have you ever met a nun? Do they really and truly exist? They aren’t like .?.?. leprechauns, or minotaurs?’

‘There is only one minotaur,’ said Emily, taking the rare opportunity to display some of her meagre academic knowledge.

‘Surely not,’ said Grace. ‘How did they make the first one? Surely the process could have been repeated.’

‘Grace, I think it might be prudent if you rest for a while before dinner,’ Meera said quickly.

Grace grumbled a little, but eventually acquiesced; she left, but Meera didn’t. Emily pointedly picked up her book again.

‘I am sorry about the eating arrangements,’ Meera said. ‘I know it must not be what you are accustomed to, and I hope you know it is not meant as a slight.’

‘Mmm,’ said Emily.

At the mill, she’d sometimes eaten outside leaning against the wall, watching rats gather the courage to come and wrestle for her crumbs.

‘You can join us for dinner,’ Meera said, ‘and you are very welcome to sit up with us afterwards if you like. We play cards. Oliver cheats. I’m sure we’d all like to get to know you better.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emily. ‘I won’t.’

Meera didn’t push the matter, but Emily saw the steely resolve in her expression and knew that it would not be the last time she was asked. She wouldnotbe press-ganged into socialising, no matter if Meera employed guilt or cajolery or even light weaponry. It was a waste of her time.

There wasn’t any point dressing for dinner, as she was already wearing one of her best dresses, and she was only sitting down with the servants anyway. She did re-pin her hair so that it wasn’t quite so lopsided, avoiding looking directly at her face as she always did, not particularly interested in what she might see squinting back at her. She was sure she looked tired, although she had hardly earned it, having spent most of the day sitting down and not even attempting any sort of real teaching. It seemed to Emily that the higher in position and wage you became, the less actual work you were required to do, which was such a fundamentally backwards way of doing things that it could only have been designed and enforced by the idle rich.

On her way downstairs she paused for a moment on the first floor landing, peering through an open door into a guest bedroom that looked to have a glut of expensive trimmings. She was just wondering if there was a market for stolen cushions when she heard footsteps coming from the other direction and moved quickly on.

It was Captain Edwards, whohaddressed for dinner, and looked strikingly different from the last time Emily had seen him: his jacket was dark and snug at the shoulders, the waistcoat a spotless cream, his stock crisp and white. If she had seen him inthisoutfit, there never would have been a moment of doubt about who was the master of this house.

He was walking directly towards her. She prepared herself for a proper introduction – to greet him, to try to say something that might placate him after the debacle of their first meeting. When he reached her she curtseyed, her gaze dipping to the floor, but by the time she raised her head again she realised that he had simply .?.?. walked straight past her.

As if she did not exist. Ifshewere part of the furniture that they seemed to be halfway through selling off.

Emily watched his retreating back, slightly agape, and then, for a brief and very serene moment, imagined taking a taper from the fireplace and setting the house alight, starting just outside his bedroom.

It was probably a sign of enormous and disappointing naivety that she was at all surprised.

She was resolutely silent when she sat down opposite Oliver the card-cheating valet in the servants’ dining room, and tried not to listen as he talked about the previous evening’s adventures, oscillating wildly between good humour and mild fits of pique.

‘And then they told me that itwasn’t that sort of pub. I was wearing my finest jacket! If you don’t want people to drink whisky, don’tprovidewhisky.’

‘And I s’pose if they don’t want people to stand on the tables,’ said Joe in a gravelly, monotonous voice, ‘they shouldn’t have tables.’

‘Yes,’ said Akia. ‘And if they don’t want people to change all the words toGod Save the Kingto be about the removal of stockings with one’s teeth, why write the song at all?’

‘Oh,’ said Oliver. ‘How did you hear about all that?’