Fingersmith (6 page)

After the corset came a camisole, and after that a dicky; then came a nine-hoop crinoline, and then more petticoats, this time of silk. Then Gentleman had Dainty run upstairs for a bottle of Mrs Sucksby's scent, and he had me spray it where the splintered wood of the chair-back showed between the ribbons of the shimmy, that he said would be Miss Lilly's throat.

And all the time I must say:

'Will you raise your arms, miss, for me to straighten this frill?' and,

'Do you care for it, miss, with a ruffle or a flounce?' and,

'Are you ready for it now, miss?'

'Do you like it drawn tight?'

'Should you like it to be tighter?'

'Oh! Forgive me if I pinch.'

At last, with all the bending and the fussing, I grew hot as a pig. Miss Lilly sat before us with her corset tied hard, her petticoats spread out about the floor, smelling fresh as a rose; but rather wanting, of course, about the shoulders and the neck.

John said, 'Don't say much, do she?' He had been sneaking glances at us all this time, while Mr Ibbs put the powder to his Bramah.

'She's a lady,' said Gentleman, stroking his beard, 'and naturally shy. But she'll pick up like anything, with Sue and me to teach her. Won't you, darling?'

He squatted at the side of the chair and smoothed his fingers over the bulging skirts; then he dipped his hand beneath them, reaching high into the layers of silk. He did it so neatly, it looked to me as if he knew his way, all right; and as he reached higher his cheek grew pink, the silk gave a rustle, the crinoline bucked, the chair quivered hard upon the kitchen floor, the joints of its legs faintly shrieking. Then it was still.

'There, you sweet little bitch,' he said softly. He drew out his hand and held up a stocking. He passed it to me, and yawned. 'Now, let's say it's bed-time.'

John still watched us, saying nothing, only blinking and jiggling his leg. Dainty rubbed her eye, her hair half curled, smelling powerfully of toffee.

I began at the ribbons at the waist of the dickies, then let loose the laces of the corset and eased it free.

'Will you just lift your foot, miss, for me to take this from you?'

'Will you breathe a little softer, miss? and then it will come.'

He kept me working like that for an hour or more. Then he warmed up a flat-iron.

'Spit on this, will you, Dainty?' he said, holding it to her. She did; and when the spit gave a sizzle he took out a cigarette, and lit it on the iron's hot base. Then, while he stood by and smoked, Mrs Sucksby—who had once, long ago, in the days before she ever thought of farming infants, been a mangling-woman in a laundry—showed me how a lady's linen should be pressed and folded; and that, I should say, took about another hour.

Then Gentleman sent me upstairs, to put on the dress that Phil had got for me. It was a plain brown dress, more or less the colour of my hair; and the walls of our kitchen being also brown, when I came downstairs again I could hardly be seen. I should have rathered a blue gown, or a violet one; but Gentleman said it was the perfect dress for a sneak or for a servant—and so all the more perfect for me, who was going to Briar to be both.

We laughed at that; and then, when I had walked about the room to grow used to the skirt (which was narrow), and to let Dainty see where the cut was too large and needed stitching, he had me stand and try a curtsey. This was harder than it sounds. Say what you like about the kind of life I was used to, it was a life without masters: I had never curtseyed before to anyone. Now Gentleman had me dipping up and down until I thought I should be sick. He said curtseying came as natural to ladies' maids, as passing wind. He said if I would only get the trick, I should never forget it—and he was right about that, at least, for I can still dip a proper curtsey, even now.—Or could, if I cared to.

Well. When we had finished with the curtseys he had me learn my story. Then, to test me, he made me stand before him and repeat my part, like a girl saying a catechism.

'Now then,' he said. 'What is your name?'

'Ain't it Susan?' I said.

'Ain't it Susan, what?'

'Ain't it Susan Trinder?'

'Ain't it Susan, sir. You must remember, I shan't be Gentleman to you at Briar. I shall be Mr Richard Rivers. You must call me sir; and you must call Mr Lilly sir; and the lady you must call miss or Miss Lilly or Miss Maud, as she directs you. And we shall all call you Susan.' He frowned. 'But, not Susan Trinder. That may lead them back to Lant Street if things go wrong. We must find you a better second name—'

'Valentine,' I said, straight off. What can I tell you? I was only seventeen. I had a weakness for hearts. Gentleman heard me, and curled his lip.

'Perfect,' he said;'—if we were about to put you on the stage.'

'I know real girls named Valentine!' I said.

'That's true,' said Dainty. 'Floy Valentine, and her two sisters. Lord, I hates those girls though. You don't want to be named for them, Sue.'

I bit my finger. 'Maybe not.'

'Certainly not,' said Gentleman. 'A fanciful name might ruin us. This is a life-and-death business. We need a name that will hide you, not bring you to everyone's notice. We need a name'—he thought it over—'an untraceable name, yet one we shall remember… Brown? To match your dress? Or—yes, why not? Let's make it, Smith. Susan Smith.' He smiled. 'You are to be a sort of smith, after all. This sort, I mean.'

He let his hand drop, and turned it, and crooked his middle finger; and the sign, and the word he meant—fmgersmith—being Borough code for thief, we laughed again.

At last he coughed, and wiped his eyes. 'Dear me, what fun,' he said. 'Now, where had we got to? Ah, yes. Tell me again. What is your name?'

I said it, with the sir after.

'Very good. And what is your home?' •

'My home is at London, sir,' I said. 'My mother being dead, I live with my old aunty; which is the lady what used to be your nurse when you was a boy, sir.'

He nodded. 'Very good as to detail. Not so good, however, as to style. Come now: I know Mrs Sucksby raised you better than that. You're not selling violets. Say it again.'

I pulled a face; but then said, more carefully,

'The lady that used to be your nurse when you were a boy, sir.'

'Better, better. And what was your situation, before this?'

'With a kind lady, sir, in Mayfair; who, being lately married and about to go to India, will have a native girl to dress her, and so won't need me.'

'Dear me. You are to be pitied, Sue.'

'I believe so, sir.'

'And are you grateful to Miss Lilly, for having you at Briar?'

'Oh, sir! Gratitude ain't in it!'

'Violets again!' He waved his hand. 'Never mind, that will do. But don't hold my gaze so boldly, will you? Look, rather, at my shoe. That's good. Now, tell me this. This is important. What are your duties while attending your new mistress?'

'I must wake her in the mornings,' I said, 'and pour out her tea. I must wash her, and dress her, and brush her hair. I must keep her jewellery neat, and not steal it. I must walk with her when she has a fancy to walk, and sit when she fancies sitting. I must carry her fan for when she grows too hot, her wrap for when she feels nippy, her eau-de-Cologne for if she gets the headache, and her salts for when she comes over queer. I must be her chaperon for her drawing-lessons, and not see when she blushes.'

'Splendid! And what is your character?'

'Honest as the day.'

'And what is your object, that no-one but we must know?'

'That she will love you, and leave her uncle for your sake. That she will make your fortune; and that you, Mr Rivers, will make mine.'

I took hold of my skirts and showed him one of those smooth curtseys, my eyes all the time on the toe of his boot.

Dainty clapped me. Mrs Sucksby rubbed her hands together and said,

'Three thousand pounds, Sue. Oh, my crikey! Dainty, pass me an infant, I want something to squeeze.'

Gentleman stepped aside and lit a cigarette. 'Not bad,' he said. 'Not bad, at all. A little fining down, I think, is all that's needed now. We shall try again later.'

'Later?' I said. 'Oh, Gentleman, ain't you finished with me yet? If Miss Lilly will have me as her maid for the sake of pleasing you, why should she care how fined down I am?'

'
She
may not mind,' he answered. 'I think we might put an apron on Charley Wag and send him, for all she will mind or wonder. But it is not only her that you will have to fool. There is the old man, her uncle; and besides him, all his staff.'

I said, 'His staff?' I had not thought of this.

'Of course,' he said. 'Do you think a great house runs itself? First of all there's the steward, Mr Way—'

'Mr Way!' said John with a snort. 'Do they call him Milky?'

'No,' said Gentleman. He turned back to me. 'Mr Way,' he said again. 'I should say he won't trouble you much, though. But there is also Mrs Stiles, the housekeeper—she may study you a little harder, you must be careful with her. And then there is Mr Way's boy Charles, and I suppose one or two girls, for the kitchen work; and one or two parlourmaids; and grooms and stable-boys and gardeners—but you shan't see much of them, don't think of them.'

I looked at him in horror. I said, 'You never said about them before. Mrs Sucksby, did he say about them? Did he say, there will be about a hundred servants, that I shall have to play the maid for?'

Mrs Sucksby had a baby and was rolling it like dough. 'Be fair now, Gentleman,' she said, not looking over. 'You did keep very dark about the servants last night.'

He shrugged. 'A detail,' he said.

A detail? That was like him. Telling you half of a story and making out you had it all.

But it was too late now, for a change of heart. The next day Gentleman worked me hard again; and the day after that he got a letter, from Miss Lilly.

He got it at the post-office in the City. Our neighbours would have wondered what was up, if we'd had a letter come to the house. He got it, and brought it back, and opened it while we looked on; then we sat in silence, to hear it—Mr Ibbs only drumming his fingers a little on the table-top, by which I knew that he was nervous; and so grew more nervous myself.

The letter was a short one. Miss Lilly said, first, what a pleasure it was, to have received Mr Rivers's note; and how thoughtful he was, and how kind to his old nurse. She was sure, she wished more gentlemen were as kind and as thoughtful as him!

Her uncle got on very badly, she said, now his assistant was gone. The house seemed very changed and quiet and dull; perhaps this was the weather, which seemed to have turned. As for her maid— Here Gentleman tilted the letter, the better to catch the light.—As for her maid, poor Agnes: she was pleased to be able to tell him that Agnes looked set not to die after all—

We heard that and drew in our breaths. Mrs Sucksby closed her eyes, and I saw Mr Ibbs give a glance at his cold brazier and reckon up the business he had lost in the past two days. But then Gentleman smiled. The maid was not about to die; but her health was so ruined and her spirits so low, they were sending her back to Cork.

'God bless the Irish!' said Mr Ibbs, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his head.

Gentleman read on.

'I shall be glad to see the girl you speak of,' Miss Lilly wrote. 'I should be glad if you would send her to me, at once. I am grateful to anyone for remembering me. I am not over-used to people thinking of my comforts. If she be only a good and willing girl, then I am sure I shall love her. And she will be the dearer to me, Mr Rivers, because she will have come to me from London, that has
you
in it.'

He smiled again, raised the letter to his mouth, and passed it back and forth across his lips. His snide ring glittered in the light of the lamps.

It had all turned out, of course, just as the clever devil had promised.

That night—that was to be my last night at Lant Street, and the first night of all the nights that were meant to lead to Gentleman's securing of Miss Lilly's fortune—that night Mr Ibbs sent out for a hot roast supper, and put irons to heat in the fire, for making flip, in celebration.

The supper was a pig's head, stuffed at the ears—a favourite of mine, and got in my honour. Mr Ibbs took the carving-knife to the back-door step, put up his sleeves, and stooped to sharpen the blade. He leaned with his hand on the door-post, and I watched him do it with a queer sensation at the roots of my hair: for all up the post were cuts from where, each Christmas Day when I was a girl, he had laid the knife upon my head to see how high I'd grown. Now he drew the blade back and forth across the stone, until it sang; then he handed it to Mrs Sucksby and she dished out the meat. She always carved, in our house. An ear apiece, for Mr Ibbs and Gentleman; the snout for John and Dainty; and the cheeks, that were the tenderest parts, for herself and for me.

It was all got, as I've said, in my honour. But, I don't know—perhaps it was seeing the marks on the door-post; perhaps it was thinking of the soup that Mrs Sucksby would make, when I wouldn't be there to eat it, with the bones of the roast pig's head; perhaps it was the head itself—which seemed to me to be grimacing, rather, the lashes of its eyes and the bristles of its snout gummed brown with treacly tears—but as we sat about the table, I grew sad. John and Dainty wolfed their dinner down, laughing and quarrelling, now and then firing up when Gentleman teased, and now and then sulking. Mr Ibbs went neatly to work on his plate, and Mrs Sucksby went neatly to work on hers; and I picked over my bit of pork and had no appetite.

I gave half to Dainty. She gave it to John. He snapped his jaws and howled, like a dog.

And then, when the plates were cleared away Mr Ibbs beat the eggs and the sugar and the rum, to make flip. He filled seven glasses, took the irons from the brazier, waved them for a second to take the sting of the heat off, then plunged them in. Heating the flip was like setting fire to the brandy on a plum pudding—everyone liked to see it done and hear the drinks go hiss. John said, 'Can I do one, Mr Ibbs?'—his face red from the supper, and shiny like paint, like the face of a boy in a picture in a toy-shop window.