Back behind closed doors Mrs Borden told her husband, ‘I just don’t think you should let it be a surprise.’
‘Like finding out John is visiting.’
‘I hadn’t a clue, Andrew.’ Mrs Borden’s defences were up.
‘That child has a nerve sometimes.’
‘You can’t stop them from seeing family.’
‘He doesn’t feel like that anymore.’
‘Being angry won’t help.’
I waited on the back stairs a little longer, waited to hear my name, waited to hear Mrs Borden’s anger, but there was nothing more and so I gave up, headed back to the kitchen. A turning of a key, the sound of a shoe kicking the bottom jamb of the front door as it opened. I stuck my head around the corner, saw Lizzie come into the house, remove white gloves, hang her parasol in the cupboard under the front stairs. I moved to the sitting room, said, ‘Hello, Miss Lizzie.’
‘Hello.’ Not a smiling face.
‘Somethin’ the matter, miss?’
‘Nothing. It’s hot is all.’ Her cheeks were red, rounded like apples.
‘Would ya like me ta fetch ya water?’
‘Sure.’ The way she said things, all dour. Lizzie was on the down. I got her water, got her a slice of fruitcake for extra. I handed her the water, held onto the plate. ‘Are Father and Mrs Borden here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are they?’
I jerked my head towards the back of the house. ‘In their room.’
‘Now I’ll have to listen to them all afternoon while I’m in mine.’ Sweat beaded along her hairline. Where had she been?
‘Maybe ya could go in Emma’s room?’
‘I’m not going to be cooped up in that shoebox.’
‘Sorry, miss.’
She looked at me and gulped her glass of water, didn’t stop for breath.
After she finished she said, ‘Bridget, do you have by any chance any prussic acid?’
‘I’m thinkin’ I don’t, miss. Why?’
‘I need some for my seal-fur cape. I was thinking while we’ve suitable heat I might clean it, dry it outside.’
Lizzie wasn’t great at cleaning such delicate things. Oh, she’d ruin it, then I’d have to fix everything. ‘Ya should see the pharmacist.’
Her eyebrows laced together. ‘Don’t you think I would’ve thought of that already?’
‘Yes, miss.’
Lizzie snatched the plate of cake from my hands. ‘You’re no use to me.’
She took herself up the stairs, slammed her bedroom door.
The door opened again. ‘You’ve left your garbage in my room.’
The rags, the bucket. I’d forgotten. ‘Feck,’ I whispered. I ran up the stairs.
Lizzie filled the doorframe. ‘Why were you in my room?’
I took a step in, thought she would move. Our shoulders touched. ‘Mrs Borden asked me ta dust. I knew ya’d not like it but she wouldn’t listen.’ I hated being this close.
‘She’s impossible.’ Lizzie stood her ground. We shared breath.
‘Then yer uncle knocked while I was up ’ere and I forgot all ’bout it.’
Lizzie brightened. ‘Uncle’s here?’
‘Earlier, while ya were out. He said he’ll be back this evenin’.’ The sun moved across the roof, cast a shadow in the room.
Lizzie shoved me away from her, clapped her hands. ‘Oh, goody.’ She smiled too wide for her own face.
She let me inside and I got the rags and bucket. I looked at the white aprons on her swooning sofa. She saw me. ‘I’ve got many things to do.’
‘Okay.’ I looked at the aprons again, couldn’t help it. What was she going to do with them?
‘Tell them I shan’t be down until much later.’
She pushed on my shoulders, got me out of the room, shut the door.
Evening. I went about my night-time jobs. Mr Borden sat on the sofa, talked of how his neck and shoulder ached. ‘It’s like a long cramp,’ he told Mrs Borden, rolled his neck from side to side. She sat next to him, put her hands on the sore spot. ‘Does it hurt when I do this?’
‘No.’
She kneaded him, her fingers in the dough of his skin. ‘Does it hurt when I do this?’
‘A little bit.’
She kept kneading and Mr Borden said nothing, closed his eyes and grimaced. I could’ve told him he had wood-chop neck, the pain from felling birds, the pain like my daddy would get from working farms, chopping wood for fires, the pain like my brothers had from blacksmithing. The way you fix that pain is to never begin in the first place. Oh, but the things that are done.
I kept at setting the dining table, polishing cutlery extra careful till I could see myself in the back of spoons, the pitches of forks. I’d catch the sight of Mr Borden with his hand on Mrs Borden’s knees. It almost hung there, like a mistake, but Mrs Borden didn’t shoo him away and she kept kneading. ‘It might be time for you to see Dr Bowen,’ Mrs Borden said.
‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’ll see him tomorrow morning.’
They agreed into each other, Mrs Borden murming, murming, Mr Borden clearing his throat and nodding. I was done with everything in the dining room and came out to tell them so.
‘Ask Lizzie to join us,’ Mr Borden said.
I thought of his slapping her, did not want to bring anyone down to that again.
He cleared his throat. There was something about his eyes, something that made him look like he wasn’t there. It put a chill in my back. I got myself busy then, went to the kitchen and took a pot of mutton broth off the stove, ladled into earthenware bowls. It was when I was about to head upstairs to fetch Lizzie that there was a knock at the front door. My stomach dropped and I prayed that I wouldn’t be asked to answer it. I heard the knock again, and Mrs Borden said, ‘That’s him.’
‘Perhaps he’ll have had a busy afternoon and not care to talk all night,’ Mr Borden said.
‘I hope so.’
I heard Mrs Borden pepper off to the entrance and open the door.
John’s voice filled the house and after they were done with niceties, the door closed and they came into the sitting room.
‘Andrew!’ John stuck out his arm for a handshake.
Mr Borden was slow to take it, said, ‘John.’
‘It’s been a while.’
‘Yes.’
‘I trust you’re well?’
‘Yes.’
They kept the handshake going.
‘Let us get your coat, John,’ Mrs Borden said before asking me to come out from the kitchen.
Out I came and John smiled at me. I saw his teeth, something caught between them, and he kneeled down to my height, made me take his jacket from his shoulders. They kept speaking while I hung the jacket up and on the way back through the sitting room, from the corner of my eye I thought I saw something outside. I looked towards the window, saw the evening begin to black through the glass, saw all four of us reflected, saw Mr Borden step away from John and wipe his hand along his trousers. I went to press against the window, saw nothing out there and so I stood about, waited to be told what my next move would be.
‘I trust you had a pleasant afternoon, John?’ Mrs Borden asked.
‘I always do. Although, sadly, I didn’t get around to carrying out all my business.’
‘What exactly are you doing in town?’ Mr Borden showed his teeth.
‘This and that. You know how it is.’
‘Man of secrets, are you?’
John laughed, Mr Borden stared him down.
‘You must be famished, John. Come and have supper,’ Mrs Borden said.
‘You spoil me, Abby.’