The lesson of dependence, subserviency, Mary found
harder in the learning; did not study it; therein
reaped disaster.
She arrived on a Tuesday. Upon that day of the
following week Mrs. Eyton-Eyton paid to the nursery
one of her rare visits, beautifully gowned, the hired
victoria waiting to take her a round of calls.
Lunch, delayed not to disturb the midday sleep of
Masters Thomas and Richard Eyton-Eyton, was not cleared—Master
Thomas still struggling with a plate of sago pudding.
Betwixt her children Mrs. Eyton-Eyton—beautifully
gowned, hired victoria in waiting—took
her seat; Mary hovered behind—and catastrophe
swooped. Master Thomas grabbed for a glass of
milk; Mary strove to restrain him. There was
an awkward struggle, her elbow—or his—caught
the plate of pudding, tipped the sticky mass into the
silken lap of Mrs. Eyton-Eyton, beautifully gowned,
hired victoria in waiting.
Infuriated, Mrs. Eyton-Eyton turned upon Mary.
“Oh, you little fool!”
The rebuke that should have been taken with downcast
eyes, murmured apologies, was otherwise received.
“Mrs. Eyton! How dare you call me a fool!”
Pause of blank amazement; sago-messed table-napkin
in the scented hand; sago creeping down the silken
skirt. That a nursery governess— not
even a servant—should so presume!
“Miss Humfray! You forget yourself!”
“No!-No! It is you who forget yourself.
How dare you speak to me like that!”
Another moment of utter bewilderment; small Eyton-Eytons
gazing round-eyed; the girl white, heaving; the woman
dully red. Then “Pack your boxes, Miss!”
She was upon the platform at Victoria Station, a porter
asking commands for her box, before she realised what
she had done. A few pounds in her purse, and
infinitely worse off now than a week before.
Then she had no “character”; now employment
was to be sought with Mrs. Eyton-Eyton as her “last
place.” She would not go back to Missus
and Tim. Though they had tried to conceal it,
secretly, she had seen, they were relieved when she
left. They had not accommodation for her; latterly
she had dispossessed of his bed a sailor son on leave
from his ship.
She left her box in the cloak-room; turned down Wilton
Road from the station; penetrated the narrow thoroughfares
between Lupus Street and the river; secured a bedroom
with Mrs. Japes at six shillings a week.
Miss Ram at the Agency would have no more to do with
her; had received a furious letter from Mrs. Eyton-Eyton;
showed in the ledger a cruel line of red ink ruled
through the page that began “Name: Mary
Humfray,” and ended “Salary:—”
“But I don’t know a soul in London.”
“You had a very comfortable place. You
threw it away. I have a reputation for reliable
employees which I cannot afford to risk.”
