Folly (9 page)

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"Nelligan, sir. James Nelligan."

"Well then, Nelligan--"

Someone snickered.

"What did you think of the crypt?"

"Uh, cold, sir."

"Why don't you tell us how these wrongdoers should be punished? Solitary confinement? Guillotine? One hundred lashes on a bare back?"

"They should go down in the crypt, sir. For an hour. Alone. At night."

"That's a jolly good idea."

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MARY 1877 Telling About Sweets

It were a pleasure to scrub the steps on a sunny morning in October, when we'd lost the smell of summer. To have a bright blue sky were a surprise, a present out of season, as if we could have strawberries at Christmas. I swept the steps every day, of course, first thing before starting the rooms, cinders and soot piling up in the corners almost as quick as sneezing. But whiting I used only once a week.

The sun were pale and low that day, warm, like someone's pipe resting, or a new wool chemise. I were aching to be outside, wishing for a garden or the lane, but settling for the steps instead.

I said aloud in the kitchen, "I'd best white those steps this morning. The sun will do half the work." I gathered up

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bucket and brush and went out to have fifteen minutes of that warmth across my shoulders.

This were only two days after Eliza's purse were swiped and you'll soon see how Mr. Caden Tucker had latched on to me saying "Neville Street" with both his ears. But at the time, I were startled, me being in a position that no girl likes a young man to find her in, backside to the street, skirts hooked up and sleeves rolled back to the elbow, in the unlikely chance of keeping the cuffs dry.

He were there a moment before I turned around. A shadow paused and I thought nothing until it lingered. I looked around and
Dammit!
went right across my mind. Yes, it did,
Dammit
, me looking particular unsightly. But he didn't smirk or sneer or say any of the cheeky things that Bates would have said, did say usually.

"Why do you start at the bottom and work up to the top?" he asked, seeming truly curious. "Why not the other way, so the dirty water drips onto the dirty stone instead of the clean?"

"I ... I ... it were the way Eliza showed me," I said, finally. "We never had steps, at home. But your way makes more sense, I see that."

He grinned and my ribs creaked in their effort to hold the heart's flutter.
Oh Lordy no
, I thought,
don't go falling for a young man only on account of dark curls and blue eyes
.

I worried my face were blazing, what with bending over and having the sun on me and sweating and being

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flustered all in the same minute. I bent back down, only then my bottom would be stuck up in his face, wouldn't it? So I had to kneel and the steps were wet and my skirt got sodden at once. I felt such a lummox, making a bad job worse.

But he were gazing up at the house, instead of at me.

"Neville Street." He were smooth as new butter. "I thought you'd said Neville, and here you are."

Now the blush tore up my neck and across my cheeks like fire catching paper.

"Number eleven." He grinned again, and the sun did shine a little hotter, I swear.

"So," he said. "Now I know."

"That you do," I said, scrambling not to be a stammery ninny. "And what'll you do with such valuable information?" Fancy me being so sassy!

"I'll know how far a pretty girl might need to walk to meet someone Thursday next at half past seven by the main gate to Russell Square."

Cheeky bugger!

"Good day." And he sauntered off with me watching his back, not thinking of a single clever word to say.

But then he stopped and spun around and caught me looking! If I were pink before, now I were the scarlet of a postman's uniform. I closely examined the scrubbing brush, as if it were misbehaving.

But he weren't tricking me on purpose, to tease. He came back to ask, "Are you fond of peppermints?"

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"I'm not ... I haven't ... I wouldn't know," I mumbled.

"Well, that's a situation must be corrected this very day," he said, and winked! Leaving me to lean against the railing, waiting for breath to reenter my body.

I won't pretend I didn't think about him every minute that whole day long. But it weren't until we'd served upstairs and were having our own supper that I knew I'd not been dreaming. Mrs. Wiggins sent Eliza to the cellar for a new jar of pickles, she being particular partial to having pickles with her mutton. There came a quick double rap on the kitchen door.

Mrs. Wiggins clapped a hand to her bosom. "Whoever can that ...? At this hour?" She motioned Nut to answer. We all could see that no one were there, but Nut scooped something from the ground and came back with a little paper cone, twisted closed, that had a note on it.

Bates leaned over. "It says
Mary
." He plucked the packet out of Nut's fist and gave it a sniff.

"Peppermint." He raised an eyebrow. "Or should I say, the scent of a young man lurking?"

I knew already, not being a fool. Not being a fool, I didn't grab for it either. I raised up some quizzical eyebrows myself and managed a shrug, while my mouth were fighting to laugh and my feet were wishing to skip a bit of a reel.

"Mr. Bates," scolded Mrs. Wiggins. "Not in my kitchen, if you please. And Mary? If you've got yourself a young man, you can get yourself rid of him as well. We've got rules here."

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Bates laughed, likely thinking of breaking those rules with Eliza.

"That'll be enough of that." Mrs. Wiggins were firm with him, the only one who could be. "Give Mary what's hers and leave it to me to talk sense to the girl."

Bates bowed and put the little twist on the table next to me. Eliza came up from the cellar just then, one hand holding BREAD AND BUTTER, the other holding DILLED.

She glanced at Bates and gave the packet a bit of a glare, reminding me I wouldn't be telling her, either, where the sweets came from, not giving her the satisfaction after all her hints and nonsense.

Eliza were staring at me, as were Nut, Mrs. Wiggins, and Bates. We finished the meal in utter silence. More of us than me, I am certain, were considering how a paper cone of candy might change my life.

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ELIZA 1877 Getting Fed Up

Eliza thought she might grind her own teeth to splinters by the end of that supper. Him giving her sweets out in front of everyone, that was as ill-mannered and hurtful as a fellow could think of. And nobody making so much as a comment of consolation to her after?

Resentment itched Eliza. After her teaching Mary to be a proper tweenie--a maid between stairs, meaning up and down and everywhere in between ... covering her mistakes, of which there were plenty she could think of ... Imagine! Going at the grates without gloves! All the laundry lessons, all the nights in the same iron-posted bed ... Eliza wished Mary would have the courtesy to explain, or apologize, or
flaunt
even, so there'd be a natural reason to tear at her hair until it ripped right out.

But to pretend the moment hadn't happened? That just burned Eliza's bonnet, that did.

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JAMES 1884 Remember the Forsaken Poor

James felt clever on Saturday night in the chapel, but come Sunday morning on the same spot, he didn't feel so clever anymore. On Saturday night, Mr. Chester had polished his round spectacles on his waistcoat and smiled at James with his crooked mouth before sending the bullies to the crypt and the little boys back to their beds.

On Sunday morning, however, it was the Big Chaps who surrounded him before the service began.

"You will pay for the rest of your days."

That was what Tubbs said in James's ear, digging his knuckles deep into James's neck. Harvey Hooper rammed his hand under James's collar and let loose a fistful of salt, saved especially from the breakfast table.

Those thick, tall boys slid away right quick. Quick as snakes, all gone. James saw why, with Mr. Byrd's eyes watching and Mr. Florence, the choirmaster, waiting. All

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the masters stood in a special place, with the lady teachers from the girls' side too. Mr. Chester was there, but too far away to notice that those same menacing Big Chaps were at it again.

James and the other Infants sat in the front row where he could mostly see only railing. The bench was hard. The boys behind must have had fire in their eyes because the heat on James's neck was most distracting. The boys behind were supposed to tell a master if any small foundling moved one bit during chapel. His eyeballs ached from holding in misery. He counted curses for distraction.

Devil's fart.

God's bum.

He needed a new one. Or two. Something to do with ...

Coram!
Coram's skull!

Coram's breath ... Yes, the crypt could supply an endless list!

But then Mr. Florence tapped a stick on his music stand and the choir began to sing. There was a rush of air in James's ears like the whole huge chapel was fluttering with a thousand birds. His ears flew up higher and higher and he forgot to breathe. He looked at the other boys to see if they were marveling as he was, or if he was the only one who'd never heard such songs before. That was an hour he would remember, probably forever.

The next hour too, but for a different reason.

They lined up like always outside the boys' refectory.

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They each were wearing a new Sunday collar, which James already hated; stiff, tickling thing.

They marched slowly into the dining hall, in time with the striking mallet. James went to his place and stood behind the bench. This part he already knew. But today, Sunday, there were strangers clustered near the walls. Some of the gentlemen kept their hats on and some held them under their arms. The ladies wore dresses in beautiful colors, like a row of biscuit tins with pretty labels.

Like the tins in the Peeveys' shop.

The mallet rapped. James bowed his head and clasped his hands in front, as all the others did.
Rap!
He closed his eyes and listened to one of the Big Chaps--which one? He opened one eye and tried to see without turning his head. It was Monty Clemens, who had carroty hair, even under his arms, according to Frederick. Monty said the grace, using words fast.

"Father of mercies, by whose love abounding all we Thy creatures are sustained and fed, may we while here on earth Thy praises sounding, up to Thy heavenly courts with joy be led."

The servers carved roast beef and spooned out boiled greens. James held on to both sides of his plate, sniffing, hopeful. Maybe food tasted better on Sundays. There seemed to be more of it. The visitors began to move between the tables, pointing at the food and looking closely at the boys. Was he supposed to stop and look at them? No, the others were ignoring the waving and watching.

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They were just eating. James just ate, though his throat was clogged.

Some of the spectators said things.

"Fancy giving beef to charity children!" That was a lady with blue gloves, holding a man's arm.

"No wonder they gobble it up like goats," said the man.

James shut his eyes and tried to chew loudly enough not to hear the talking.

"The boy who spoke the grace," one lady said. "With the red hair? You can see his mother was an Irish slut!" That made laughter ripple around.

James kicked Frederick's ankle, not hard, just to get his attention.

"What?" said Frederick.

"Why are they here?" whispered James.

"They come to see us," said Frederick. "Sometimes they give us pennies."

"But
why
?"

"Because we're poor."

"Poor," said James. "Not deaf."

A lady wearing a violet dress swished along their row. She leaned over with her gray bonnet right next to James's face. Close enough that he could have bitten off one of the silky little rosebuds on the hat's brim. Her nose was bumpy but her eyes were soft brown and worried-looking. James stopped chewing. You can't chew or swallow when someone's bumpy nose is nearly touching yours.

"Hello," she said. "Aren't you a pretty one!"

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Frederick made a rude noise and pretended it was a cough. The lady kept peering at James. The stupid collar was going to choke him. He lowered his eyes, awkward with staring.

"Ohh! The lashes!"

Frederick snorted again. James booted him. He felt roast beef in his throat, mixed with the smell of the lady, which made him think of cake. He might be sick, he really might. Two Big Chaps watched from the other side of the table.

"Are you new, dear?" asked the lady. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"Yes, he's new," said one of the older boys. "He doesn't talk much, but he likes pennies."

James flinched. "I do not!" Of course he did, really, but it was bad manners to say so!

The lady smiled, showing edges of buckteeth and crinkling her friendly eyes. "I am Lady Bellwood," she said. "What is your name?"

Frederick booted him this time.

"James," he whispered.

"Hello, James. You little dear." She opened her purse and tucked something from her hand into his. "That's for you, mind, not for those other boys." And she
winked
.

Her skirt was twisted by the bench leg when she tried to stand up but she got free and went away. James slid his fist below the table to glimpse his prize: three sweets wrapped in waxy paper.