“But then, God knows, there’s not a better-hearted sort of people in the world! There’s no one I’d rather work fer than Mrs. Jack. They’ll give ye everything they have if they like ye. I’ve been here twenty years next April, an’ in all that time no one has ever been turned away from the door who needed food. Sure, there’s far worse that go to Mass seven days a week—yes, an’ would steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes if they got the chance! It’s a good home we’ve been given here—as I keep tellin’ all the rest of ‘em,” she thought with virtuous content, “an’ Nora Fogarty’s not the one to turn an’ bite the hand that’s feedin’ her—no matter what the rest of ‘em may do!”
All this had passed in the minds and hearts of the two women with the instancy of thought. Meanwhile, the maid, having set the tray down on the little table by the bed, had gone to the windows, lowered them, raised the blinds to admit more light, slightly adjusted the curtains, and was now in the bathroom drawing the water in the tub, an activity signalised at first by the rush of tumbling waters, and later by a sound more quiet and sustained as she reduced the flow and tempered the boiling fluid to a moderate heat.
While this was going on, Mrs. Jack had seated herself on the edge of her bed, crossed her legs jauntily, poured out a cup of black steaming coffee from the tall silver pot, and opened the newspaper which lay folded on the tray. And now, as she drank her coffee and stared with blank, unseeing eyes at the print before her, there was a perplexed frown on her face, and she was slipping one finger in and out of a curious and ancient ring which she wore on her right hand. It was a habit which she performed unconsciously, and it always indicated a state of impatience and nervousness, or the troubled reflection of a mind that was rapidly collecting itself for a decisive action. So, now, her first emotions of pity, curiosity, and regret having passed, the practical necessity of doing something about Nora was pressing at her.
“That’s where Fritz’s liquor has been going,” she thought. “He’s been furious about it…She’s got to stop it. If she keeps on at this rate, she’ll be no good for anything in another month or two…God! I could kill her for being such a fool!” she thought. “What gets into these people, anyway?” Her small and lovely face now red with anger, the space between her troubled eyes cleft deeply by a frown, she determined to speak plainly and sternly to the maid without any more delay.
This decision being made, she was conscious instantly of a sense of great relief and a feeling almost of happiness, for indecision was alien to the temper of her soul. The knowledge of the maid’s delinquency had been nagging at her conscience for some time, and now she wondered why she had ever hesitated. Yet, when the maid came back into the room again and paused before going out, as if waiting for further orders, and looked at her with a glance that now seemed affectionate and warm, Mrs. Jack felt acute embarrassment and regret as she began to speak, and, to her surprise, she found herself beginning in a hesitant and almost apologetic tone.
“Oh, Nora!” she said somewhat excitedly, slipping the ring rapidly on and off her finger. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Yes, Mrs. Jack,” Nora answered humbly, and waited respectfully. “It’s something Miss Edith wanted me to ask you,” she went on quickly, somewhat timidly, discovering to her amazement that she was beginning her reproof quite differently from the way she had intended.
Nora waited in an attitude of studious and submissive attention.
“I wonder if you or any of the other girls remember seeing a dress Miss Edith had,” she said, and went on quickly—“one of those dresses she brought back last year from Paris. It had a funny grey-green kind of colour and she used to wear it in the morning when she went to business. Do you remember—hah?” she said sharply.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Nora with a solemn, wondering air. “I’ve seen it, Mrs. Jack.”
“Well, Nora, she can’t find it. It’s gone.”
“Gone?” said Nora, staring at her with a stupid and astonished look.
But even as the servant repeated the word, a furtive smile played round her mouth, betraying her sullen humour, and a look of sly triumph came in her eyes. Mrs. Jack read the signs instantly:
“Yes! She knows where it is!” she thought. “Of course she knows! One of them has taken it! It’s perfectly disgraceful, and I’m not going to stand it any longer!”—and a wave of indignation, hot and choking, boiled up in her. “Yes, gone! It’s gone, I tell you!” she said angrily to the staring maid. “What’s become of it? Where do you think it’s gone to?” she asked bluntly.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Jack,” Nora answered in a slow, wondering tone. “Miss Edith must have lost it.”