‘On business?’
‘I’m always on business.’ He laughed. ‘I had things to take care of. Had I known Emma was there, I would’ve popped in to say hello.’
‘She’s been away for two weeks.’
‘Must be lacklustre around here with her gone.’
‘It’s unusual.’
‘Yes, I suppose it would be, used to having both of them around you all day.’
‘Not many days go by without seeing one or the other.’ Mrs Borden’s tongue clicked.
‘You’re lucky in many ways.’
‘How so?’
‘To have them at home. To have people to talk to.’
‘Yes.’
‘It can become rather lonely for men like me, I’m afraid. Living alone.’
I picked up the serving tray, took it into the dining room.
‘Sounds like your meal,’ Mrs Borden said.
‘Splendid.’
I stood back from the table as they walked in, and Mrs Borden pulled a chair for John, was red-faced, hands a little shaky.
‘I’ll be in later ta collect dishes,’ I said.
John sat at the table, bent forwards over the bowl and breathed in deep. ‘This will hit the spot.’
Mrs Borden took a quick look at me, like she didn’t want me to leave. ‘Perhaps, Bridget, you may like to wait around, pour Mr Morse some tea?’ Mrs Borden used her sweet voice, the one that pulled me in.
John slurped his broth. We watched him.
‘As ya like, Mrs Borden.’ I stood with my back against the wall, waited to be useful, waited for it to be over.
‘Tell me, Abby: how’s Andrew’s business going? He serving on any more boards? Acquiring any more property?’
Mrs Borden shook her head. ‘That may be a question you ask him.’
John slurped. ‘Quite right, Abby. You’ll have to excuse me.’
‘That’s alright.’ A polite smile.
‘But he is doing well? He’s in health?’ He rammed the spoon in his mouth, hit his teeth.
‘You know Andrew, he shan’t be slowing down anytime soon.’
John gave the table two quick knocks with the spoon. ‘Good old man!’
Mrs Borden smiled. ‘Care for tea, John?’
John raised his eyes towards me, looked me up, looked me down. ‘Splendid.’ Him looking at me like I wasn’t a real person, Mrs Borden saying nothing about it. I’d the mind to take his spoon, poke his eyes.
I went to the table, poured tea, my arm right close to his arm. ‘Sugar, Mr Morse?’
‘Two scoops.’
I spooned them in. His breath on my hand, on my arm through sleeves. I caught Mrs Borden watching me. ‘Thank you, Bridget,’ she said. I went back to the wall.
They sat in silence.
In the scullery, I washed their dishes, my fingers wrinkled as I got to thinking about getting my money tin from Mrs Borden. There was no polite way of getting it. Depending on where Mrs Borden hid the thing, I’d have to break locks throughout the house, break open her secret places until I found it.
Since the daylight robbery last year, she’d taken to hiding valuables in the basement in a safe, in little wooden boxes in the scullery, in locked dressing table drawers. I once found a bottle of Calcarea carbonica in an old soap box under a sack of flour. For her, everything out of sight, out of mind.
A hot breath on my neck. My neck shuddered like someone was pulling on my skin.
I spun around. John stood, arms by his side, leaned toward me, eyes big.
‘You left my napkin behind.’ His voice the sound of a stone road, he held up the dirty cloth, jiggled it in front of me.
‘Thank ya, Mr Morse.’ I went to reach for it and John pulled it away. I didn’t want to have to go after it.
We stood for the longest time. Just us. The creases around his mouth, a piece of mutton resting in his beard. Wrinkles pinched around his eyes. Slowly his hand, the napkin, came at me, winter-twig fingers ready to snap. I kept at the dishes, swirled the cloth in the water as quiet as I could. John jiggled the napkin and dropped it at my feet.
‘There somethin’ else ya needed, Mr Morse?’
‘Not at all.’ John smiled at me, walked from the scullery, through the kitchen and into the rest of the house. My legs were stiff, started to shake a little. I looked at the napkin, the stewy outline of his mouth.
I went to the stove, put the napkin inside, and watched the flames blacken linen, raise smoke.
Mrs Borden sent John with me when I went upstairs to prepare the guestroom. His boots clomped, hand sliding over the polished-wood banister.
‘Thank you, Bridget,’ he said coming into the room.
‘That’s alright, Mr Morse.’
John put his hands on his hips. He went to the dressing table, wiped his finger across it. ‘No dust.’
‘Yes.’
‘You certainly do your job well, don’t you?’ John admired himself in the vanity mirror, picked up the wooden-handled horsehair brush on the dresser, ran it through his hair. I didn’t care to answer him. He put the brush down, came towards me by the window, stared out onto the street.
‘Look at them down there. Everyone so busy.’
I glanced down, saw men storm the footpath, their summer coats flocking behind them. John wheezed beside me. It was enough for me to forget my mind, want to jump out the window and get outside. I saw Dr Bowen across the road in the front of his house, talking to a woman. She opened her mouth lion-wide and Dr Bowen put his fingers inside, took a look.
‘I wonder if anyone can see us?’ John asked.
‘They could if they stopped ta look up.’ Oh, how I wished they would, see what was going on in the house.
He was quiet for a time. Then he said, ‘Tell me, Bridget: are there any spare keys to the house?’
I turned to him. ‘No, Mr Morse. I’ve my set, the Bordens theirs.’
He rubbed his short beard, tapped his chin. ‘I see. I wonder if perhaps you might let me borrow yours while I’m here.’ He cupped his hand like a beggar. The corners of his mouth turned up.
I placed my hand in my apron pocket, felt my key. ‘I’m not able ta do that, Mr Morse.’
He stood closer to me, wheezed, ‘Not even for a few hours?’
‘Mr Borden likes everythin’ locked, even when we’re home. I need me key.’ He was so close, made everything hotter.
‘What Andrew doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’ His teeth rested on top of his bottom lip.
My ears burned. ‘Mr Morse, yer standin’ too close ta me.’ I said it before I could think about the trouble I might get.
John pulled away. ‘I see. My mistake.’
‘There’s always someone here ta let ya in.’
‘That’s handy to know.’ His body pulled tight and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.
‘I’ll be goin’ now.’
John stood aside, off I went, and he followed, told Mrs Borden, ‘I’ll be back this evening.’