And, as she did, there came a knock upon the door; and we both jumped. I stepped away. It was one of the parlourmaids. She had a letter on a tray. 'For Miss Maud,' she s a i d , w i t h a c u r t s e y . I l o o k e d a t t h e h a n d , a n d k n e w a t o n c e t h a t i t m u s t b e Gentleman's. My heart gave a dip. So did Maud's, I think.
'Bring it here, will you?' she said. And then: 'Will you pass me my shawl, also?' The flush had gone from her face, though her cheek was still red where I had pressed it.
When I put the shawl across her shoulders, I felt her trembling.
I watched her then, seeming not to, as I moved about her rooms, taking up books and cushions, putting away the thimble and closing her box. I saw her turn the letter and fumble with it— of course, she could not tear the paper, with her gloves on. So then she sneaked a look at me, and then she lowered her hands and— still trembling, but making a show of carelessness, that was meant to say it was nothing to her, yet showed that it was everything— she unbuttoned one glove and put her finger to the seal, then drew the letter from the envelope and held it in her naked hand and read it.
Then she let out her breath in a single great sigh. I picked up a cushion and hit the dust from it.
'Good news, miss, is it?' I said; since I thought I ought to.
She hesitated. Then: 'Very good,' she answered, '— for my uncle, I mean. It is from Mr Rivers, in London; and what do you think?' She smiled. 'He is coming back to Briar, tomorrow!'
The smile stayed on her lips all day, like paint; and in the afternoon, when she came from her uncle, she wouldn't sit sewing, or go for a walk, would not even play at cards, but paced about the room, and sometimes stood before the glass, smoothing her brows, 62
touching her plump mouth— hardly speaking to me, hardly seeing me at all.
I got the cards out anyway, and played by myself. I thought of Gentleman, laying out the kings and queens in the Lant Street kitchen while he told us all his plot. Then I thought of Dainty. Her mother— that had ended up drowned— had been able to tell fortunes from a pack of cards. I had seen her do it, many times.
I looked at Maud, standing dreaming at the mirror. I said,
'Should you like to know your future, miss? Did you know that you can read it, from how the cards fall?'
That made her turn from looking at her own face, to look at mine. She said after a moment,
'I thought it was only gipsy women could do that.'
'Well, but don't tell Margaret or Mrs Stiles,' I said. 'My grandmother, you know, was a gipsy-princess.'
And after all, my granny might have been a gipsy-princess, for all I knew of it. I put the cards together again, and held them to her. She hesitated, then came and sat beside me, spreading her great skirt flat, saying, 'What must I do?'
I said she must sit with her eyes closed for a minute, and think of the subjects that were nearest her heart; which she did. Then I said she must take the cards and hold them, then set out the first seven
of them, face down— which is what I thought I remembered Dainty's mother doing; or it might have been nine cards. Anyway, Maud set down seven.
I looked her in the eye and said, 'Now, do you really want to know your fortune?'
She said, 'Sue, you are frightening me!'
I said again, 'Do you really want to know it? What the cards teach you, you must obey.
It is very bad luck to ask the cards to show you one path, then choose another. Do you promise to be bound by the fortune you find here?'
'I do,' she answered quietly.
'Good,' I said. 'Here is your life, laid all before us. Let us see the first part of it. These cards show your Past.'
I turned over the first two cards. They were the Queen of Hearts, followed by the Three of Spades. I remember them because of course, while she had been sitting with her eyes tight shut, I had sprung the pack; as anyone would have I think, being in my place then.
I studied them and said, 'Hmm. These are sad cards. Here is a kind and handsome lady, look; and here a parting, and the beginning of strife.'
She stared, then put her hand to her throat. 'Go on,' she said. Her face was pale now.
'Let us look,' I said, 'at the next three cards. They show your Present.'
I turned them over with a flourish.
'The King of Diamonds,' I said. 'A stern old gentleman. The Five of Clubs: a parched mouth. The Cavalier of Spades— '
I took my time. She leaned towards me.
'What's he?' she said. 'The Cavalier?'
I said he was a young man on horseback, with good in his heart; and she looked at me in such an astonished believing sort of way, I was almost sorry. She said, in a low 63
voice, 'Now I am afraid! Don't turn over the next cards.'
I said, 'Miss, I must. Or all your luck will leave you. Look here. These show your Future.'
I turned the first. The Six of Spades.
'A journey!' I said. 'Perhaps, a trip with Mr Lilly? Or perhaps, a journey of the heart..."
She didn't answer, only sat gazing at the cards I had turned up. Then: 'Show the last one,' she said in a whisper. I showed it. She saw it first.
'Queen of Diamonds,' she said, with a sudden frown. 'Who's she?'
I did not know. I had meant to turn up the Two of Hearts, for lovers; but after all, must have muddled the deck.
'The Queen of Diamonds,' I said at last. 'Great wealth, I think.'
'Great wealth?' She leaned away from me and looked about her, at the faded carpet and the black oak walls. I took the cards and shuffled them. She brushed at her skirt and rose. 'I don't believe,' she said, 'that your grandmother really was a gipsy. You are too fair in the face. I don't believe it. And I don't like your fortune-telling. It's a game for servants.'
She stepped away from me, and stood again before the glass; and though I thought she would turn and say something kinder, she didn't. But as she went, she moved a chair: and then I saw the Two of Hearts. It had fallen on the floor— she had had her slipper on it, and her heel had creased the pips.
The crease was a deep one. I always knew that card, after that, in the games we played, in the weeks that followed.
That afternoon, however, she made me put the cards away, saying the sight of them made her giddy; and that night she was fretful. She got into bed, but had me pour her out a little cup of water; and as I stood undressing I saw her take up a bottle and slip three drops from it into the cup. It was sleeping-draught. That was the first time I saw her take it. It made her yawn. When I woke next day, though, she was already awake, lying with a strand of her hair pulled to her mouth, and gazing at the figures in the canopy over the bed.
'Brush my hair hard,' she said to me, as she stood for me to dress her. 'Brush it hard and make it shine. Oh, how horrid and white my cheek is! Pinch it, Sue.' She put my fingers to her face, and pressed
them 'Pinch my cheek, don't mind if you bruise it. I'd rather a blue cheek than a horrid white one!'
Her eyes were dark, perhaps from the sleeping-drops. Her brow was creased. It troubled me to hear her talk of bruises. I said,
'Stand still, or I shan't be able to dress you at all.— That's better. Now, which gown will you have?'
The grey?'
'The grey's too soft on the eye. Let's say, the blue . . .'
The blue brought out the fairness of her hair. She stood before the glass and watched as I buttoned it tight. Her face grew smoother, the higher I went. Then she looked at me. She looked at my brown stuff dress. She said,
'Your dress is rather plain, Sue— isn't it? I think you ought to change it.'