AT BREAKFAST PALMER BROUGHT the post on a pewter tray. The silver was used only when Mary’s father was in residence—this being one of a hundred idiosyncrasies that might have originated in some long-forgotten instruction from the family, or arisen spontaneously from the coppery circuitry in Palmer’s internal machinery that gauged what was fitting. If Palmer were lost to them, along with the stock of method and lore of which he alone was the repository, then Mary felt sure the family would be obliged to disband—to screech apart from one another as atoms released from their bond. Palmer, then: with the morning post, on the pewter tray that lent the white envelopes an oysterish hue.
“Oh!” said Mary. “Here’s another one from Zachary.”
“But look here,” said Hilda, “you are hardly the nigger’s mother.”
“No, I daresay I would have noticed.”
Hilda, who hadn’t Mary’s facility for overlooking Palmer’s hovering presence, colored slightly. Mary took Zachary’s letter from the envelope.
“I hope you don’t encourage him by replying?” said Hilda.
“Darling, I wrote to him first. Anyway, must you call him ‘nigger’? It doesn’t seem entirely big-hearted.”
Hilda yawned. “I’ll say ten Hail Marys.”
“The Negroes are no viler than we, you know. In faculty, fitness and faith they are our perfect equal.”
“Hardly!” said Hilda. “But I’ve nothing against them. I might even prefer them to other foreigners, since at least one knows where one stands.”
“Does one?”
“Well, one really oughtn’t to write to one.”
“Stop it,” said Mary. “Anyway, this won’t be writing so much as marking the child’s work. Honestly, look at this!”
Deere Miss Northe, I doe note licke the villije the uthae chilrene are verie meene. I doe note licke the howse waire I am staeine the woemane is verie verie meene.
Hilda squinted at the pencil work. “How old do you say the child is?”
“He is ten.”
“And is this him writing with his fingers, or his toes? Only I’ve heard they have equal facility with both.”
“Oh, tosh. His fingers are used for the extraction of nasal mucus, or for counting when under duress. His feet are reserved for football. He is no different from any other boy, you see, except that his spelling is quite original. He is a perfect spark, only no one bothers to teach the Negroes properly.”
Hilda sniffed. “He spells as if he has picked up a job lot of letters ‘e’ on the cheap, and now is anxious to offload them.”
“But wouldn’t you? If I had never been taught to spell, I daresay I might chuck in an ‘e’ whenever reasonable doubt arose.”
“You’re saying you can’t blam him?”
Mary gave an approving look. “Now you’re getting it.”
The uthere childrene chaese me and whene theye catche me theye tacke offe my claothes and theye hurte me wythe styckes ore nyves plese helpe me.
Mary’s smile froze.
“Yes,” said Hilda, reading over her shoulder, “but children exaggerate, don’t they?”
And I am soe colde it is soe colde hiere plese helpe.
Mary put the letter down on the pewter tray.
“I’m quite sure it can’t be so bad as all that,” said Hilda. “With my nephews, one simply has to remind them to jolly well wear a jumper.”
“Perhaps I ought to go to him.”
“Yes, and perhaps you should knit him balaclavas, and bake him flapjacks iced with your tears, and send him woollen socks.”
“Oh, do put a woollen sock in it.”
“But he is in the Cotswolds, darling, not the Crimea.”
Mary ignored her. “I will go to see the child’s father.”
Hilda snorted.
“No, really. I will talk to him, and express my concerns.”
“But what good will that do?”
“He probably doesn’t understand our system. He most likely does not realize that he has a perfect right to bring his son back home.”
“Sorry to nitpick,” said Hilda, “but you see, there’s a war.”
“Yes, but do you really think there’ll be bombing? This beastly thing has droned on for how long now?”
“Seven months.”
“And the only pasting we’ve had is with posters urging valor.”
“Even so, you’re hardly going to tell the father to bring the boy home.”
“Surely it is my duty to tell him that he could. This is the thing, you see: unless one more or less lives with the authorities, as I do, one probably doesn’t understand that one can simply say ‘no thank you’.”
“So you are planning to walk into a Negro family’s house—”
“I was planning to knock.”
“—and tell them what they should do with their child.”
“What they could usefully do, yes.”
“Notwithstanding your belief that they are just as intelligent as us.”
Mary frowned. “You are a mousetrap of a friend, all soft cheese and hard springs.”
Hilda beamed. “I use you for practice. One day I’ll have a husband.”