Alias Grace (36 page)

Nancy frowned at herself in the mirror, and said all the same her waist was getting too big, and if it kept on she would need a new pair of stays, and soon she would be a great fat fishwife.

I bit my tongue, and did not say that if she would keep her thumbs out of the butter she’d stand less chance of it. Half a loaf of bread she’d gobbled before breakfast, and spread with butter thick as tar, and plum jam on top of it. And the day before I’d seen her eating a slice of pure fat trimmed off the ham in the pantry.

She’d asked me to lace her stays just a little tighter, and then fit the waist again; but as I was doing so she said she felt unwell. It was no wonder, considering what she’d been eating, though I’d set it down as well to the tightness of the lacing. But this morning she’d also had a spell of dizziness, or so she said; and this after hardly any breakfast, and no tight lacing at all. So I was beginning to wonder what was the matter, and thought that perhaps the doctor had been summoned for Nancy.

When I saw the doctor coming, I was outside in the yard, pumping another pail of water for the wash; for it was a fine morning, with the air hard and clear, and bright hot sunlight, and a good drying day. Mr.

Kinnear went out to greet the doctor, who tied up his horse to the fence, and then they both went into the house by the front door. I went on with what I was doing and soon had the wash hanging up on the line, which was a white wash, consisting of shirts and nightdresses and petticoats and the like, but no bedsheets; and all the while I was wondering what business the doctor had with Mr. Kinnear.

The two of them had gone into Mr. Kinnear’s little office, and shut the door; and after a moment’s consideration I went quietly into the adjoining library to dust the books; but I was unable to hear anything from inside the office except a murmuring of voices.

I was imagining all sorts of things, such as Mr. Kinnear coughing up blood and gasping his last, and I was working myself up into a state over him; so when I heard the office door handle turning I went quickly along through the dining room into the front parlour with my duster and cloth, as it is always best to know the worst. Mr. Kinnear showed Dr. Reid to the front entrance, and the doctor said that he was sure they would have the pleasure of Mr. Kinnear’s company for many years to come, and that Mr. Kinnear had been reading too many medical journals, which gave him ideas, and caused him to imagine things; and that there was nothing wrong with him that a healthy diet and regular hours would not cure; but for the sake of his liver he should limit his drink. This speech relieved me; yet I reflected that it was a thing a doctor may say to a man who is dying, to spare him the worry.

I looked cautiously out of the parlour, through the side window. Dr. Reid went over to his horse and gig, and the next thing I knew there was Nancy, with her shawl clutched around her and her hair half down, in conversation with him. She must have crept down the stairs without my hearing her, which meant she didn’t wish Mr. Kinnear to hear her either. I thought she might be trying to find out what was wrong with Mr. Kinnear, if anything; but then it came to me that she could also be consulting him about her own sudden illness.

Dr. Reid drove off, and Nancy turned towards the back of the house. I heard Mr. Kinnear calling for her from the library; but as she was still outside, and might not want it known what she’d been doing, I went in to him myself. Mr. Kinnear did not look any the worse than usual, and was reading a copy of
The
Lancet,
from the large pile of them he kept on a shelf. I’d sometimes peered into them myself while cleaning the room, but could not make head nor tail of a great deal that was in there, except that some of it was about bodily functions that ought not to be set down in print, even with all of the fancy names.

Well, Grace, said Mr. Kinnear. And where is your mistress?

I said she was not at all well, and was lying down upstairs, but if there was anything to be brought to him, I could do it myself. He said he wanted some coffee, if it was not too much trouble. I said it was not, although it might take a time, for I would have to build the fire up again; and he said when it was ready I should bring it in to him; and he thanked me, as always.

I went across the courtyard to the summer kitchen. Nancy was there, seated at the table and looking tired and sad, and quite pale. I said I hoped she was feeling better, and she said she was, and then asked me what I was doing, as I was stirring up the fire, which was nearly out. I said that Mr. Kinnear wanted me to make him some coffee, and to take it in to him.

But I always take in his coffee, said Nancy. Why did he ask you?

I said I was sure it was because she herself was not there. I was only trying to spare her the work, I said, as I knew she was ill.

I will take it in, she said. And Grace, this afternoon I would like you to scrub this floor. It is very dirty and I am tired of living in a pigpen.

I did not think the dirtiness of the floor had anything to do with it, but that I was being punished by her, for having gone into Mr. Kinnear’s office by myself; which was most unjust, as I had only been attempting to help her.

Although the day had begun so fine and clear, by noon it had become very oppressive and glowering.

There was no breeze moving anywhere, and the air was damp, and the sky had covered over with clouds of a sullen yellowish grey, but bright behind them, like heated metal; and it had a blank and foreboding look to it. In such weather it is often hard to breathe. But nonetheless, in the middle of the afternoon, when if things had been as usual I would have been sitting down, outside perhaps to catch a breath of air, with some mending, to give my feet a rest as I was on the two of them the most part of every day, I was down on my knees instead, scrubbing the stone floor of the summer kitchen. It did need a cleaning but I would just as soon have done it in cooler weather, as it was hot enough to fry an egg; and the sweat was pouring off me like water off a duck, if you’ll excuse me for putting it that way, Sir. I was worried about the meat in the meat safe in the pantry, as there were more flies than was usual buzzing around it. If I was Nancy, I would never have ordered such a big slab of meat in such hot weather, as I was sure it would go off, which would be a waste and a shame; and it ought to have been put down in the cellar, for the coolness. But I knew it was no use my making any suggestions to her, as I would only get my head bitten off.

The floor was dirty as a stable, and I wondered when it had last been given a good cleaning. I’d swept it first, of course, and now I was washing it in the proper way, kneeling down with each knee on an old clout because of the hardness of the stone, and with my shoes and stockings off, because to do a good job you have to get right down to it, and my sleeves rolled up past the elbows and my skirt and petticoats pulled back between my legs and tucked behind into the sash of my apron, which is what you do, Sir, to save your stockings and clothes, as anyone knows who has ever scrubbed a floor. I had a good bristle brush for the scrubbing and an old cloth to wipe up, and I was working from the far corner, moving backwards towards the door; for you don’t want to scrub yourself into a corner, Sir, when doing a task like this.

I heard someone come into the kitchen behind me. I’d left the door open to get what air there was, and so the floor would dry faster. I thought it must be McDermott.

Don’t walk on my clean floor, you with your mucky boots, I said to him; and I kept on scrubbing.

He didn’t answer, but neither did he go away. He stayed standing in the doorway, and it came to me that he was watching my bare ankles and legs, dirty as they were, and — if you’ll excuse me, Sir — my backside moving back and forth with the scrubbing, like a dog waggling its rump.

Don’t you have anything better to do? I said to him. You’re not paid to stand there and gawp. I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder, and it wasn’t McDermott at all, but Mr. Kinnear himself, with a smirk on him as if he thought it a good joke. I scrambled to my feet, tugging my skirt down with one hand, with the brush in the other, and the dirty water dripping onto my dress.

Oh I am sorry, Sir, I said. But I thought, why couldn’t he have the decency to say who he was?

No harm done, he said, a cat may look at a queen; and at that minute Nancy came in through the doorway, with her face as white as chalk and green around the gills, but her eyes as sharp as needles.

What is it? What are you doing here? She said it to me, but she meant it for him.

Scrubbing the floor, I said. Ma’am. As you ordered me to. What does it look like to her, I thought.

Dancing?

You’re talking back, said Nancy, I am sick of your insolence. But I was not, I was only answering her own question.

Mr. Kinnear said, as if he was apologizing — but what had he done? — he said, All I wanted was a second cup of coffee.

I will make it, said Nancy. Grace, you may go.

Where am I to go, Ma’am? I said. With the floor only half done.

Anywhere out of here, said Nancy. She was very angry with me. And for God’s sake pin up your hair, she added. You look like a common slut.

Mr. Kinnear said, I will be in the library, and he went away.

Nancy poked at the fire in the stove as if stabbing it. Close your mouth, she said to me, you’ll catch flies.

And you’ll keep it closed in future if you know what’s good for you.

I thought about throwing the scrubbing brush at her, and the bucket too for good measure, the dirty water and all. I pictured her standing there, with the hair streaming down over her face, like someone drowned.

But then all at once it came over me what was the matter with her. I’d seen it often enough before. The eating of strange foods at odd times, the sickness and the green tinge around the mouth, the way she was plumping out, like a raisin in hot water, and her quirkiness and irritation. She was in a delicate condition.

She was in the family way. She was in trouble.

I stood there gaping at her, as if I’d been kicked in the stomach. Oh no, oh no, I thought. I felt my heart going hard like a hammer. It cannot be.

That evening Mr. Kinnear was at home, and he and Nancy took their supper in the dining room, and I carried it in. I scanned his face, looking for a consciousness there, of Nancy‘s condition: but he did not know. What would he do when he found out, I wondered. Boot her into the ditch. Marry her. I had no idea, and could not rest easy with either of these futures. I wished Nancy no harm, and did not want her cast out, a waif on the common highway and a prey to wandering scoundrels; but all the same it would not be fair and just that she should end up a respectable married lady with a ring on her finger, and rich into the bargain. It would not be right at all. Mary Whitney had done the same as her, and had gone to her death. Why should the one be rewarded and the other punished, for the same sin?

I cleared the things off the table as usual after they had gone into the parlour. By this time it was hot as an oven, with grey clouds blotting out the light, although it was not yet sunset; and still as the grave, with no wind, but heat lightning flickering on the horizon, and a faint growling of thunder. When the weather is like that you can hear your own heart beat; it is like hiding, and waiting for someone to come and find you, and you don’t know who that person will be. I lit a candle so I could see to eat my own supper, which I took with McDermott, cold roast beef it was, as I couldn’t bear to cook anything hot for us. We ate it in the winter kitchen, and with it we had beer, and some of the bread which was still fresh enough and very nice, with a slice or two of cheese. Then I washed up the supper things and dried them, and put them away.

McDermott was cleaning the shoes; he’d been sullen during our supper, and said why couldn’t we have proper cooked food, like the steaks with new peas the others had eaten, and I said new peas did not grow on trees, and he ought to know who would have the first choice of them, as there had only been enough for two; and in any case I was Mr. Kinnear’s servant, not his; and he said that if I was his I would not last long, as I was such a foul tempered witch, and the only cure for me was the end of a belt; and I said ill words butter no parsnips.

I could hear the sound of Nancy’s voice from the parlour, and I knew she must be reading out loud. She liked to do it, as she thought it was genteel; but she always pretended that Mr. Kinnear required it of her.

They had the parlour window open, even though the moths would get in that way, and that is why I could hear her.

I lit another candle and told McDermott I was going to bed, to which he said nothing but only gave a grunt; and he took up his own candle and went out. When he was gone I opened the door to the passageway and looked along it. The light from the globe lamp was falling through the half-open parlour door, making a light patch on the passage floor, and Nancy‘s voice was coming out into the hall as well.

I went quietly along the passageway, leaving my candle on the kitchen table, and stood leaning against the wall. I wanted to hear the story she was reading. It was
The Lady of the Lake,
which Mary Whitney and I had once read together, and it made me sad to recall it. Nancy read it well enough, though slowly, and sometimes stumbling over a word.

The poor madwoman had just been shot by mistake, and was expiring, while speaking several lines of verse; and I thought it a very melancholy part; but Mr. Kinnear did not agree, for he said it was a wonder anyone could move an inch in romantic landscapes such as those of Scotland, without being accosted by madwomen, who were always jumping in front of arrows and bullets not intended for them, which had the virtue at least of putting an end to their caterwauling and misery; or else they were constantly throwing themselves into the ocean, at such a rate that the sea soon would be so clogged with their drowned bodies, as to constitute a serious hazard to shipping. Then Nancy said he lacked a proper feeling; and Mr. Kinnear said no, he did not, but it was well known that Sir Walter Scott had put so many corpses into his books for the sake of the ladies, because the ladies must have blood, there is nothing delights them so much as a weltering corpse.