The Sweet Far Thing

Page 32

“You ain’t no lady, Mae. You ain’t never gonna be a fine lady like Miss Pip.”
“’Oo asked you?” Mae barks, and everyone laughs.
“Who asked you,” Pippa corrects.
“’At’s what I said,” Mae asserts. “’Oo asked ’er?”
There is more laughter, especially from Ann, who seems happy not to be the girl getting taunted for once. Little by little, our awkwardness slips away, easing into a new closeness, until it feels as if we have never been apart. I’ve not seen Felicity like this in months. With Pip she’s lighter, quicker to laugh than to challenge. And I feel a small pang of envy for the intimacy of their friendship.
“What are you thinking?” Felicity asks. I start to answer, but then I realize she’s talking to Pip.
“I was thinking how different my life would have been had I done as my mother told me and married Mr. Bumble.”
“Mr. Bartleby Bumble the barrister,” Ann intones, pronouncing the Bs hard.
The factory fire girls break into a fit of giggling. This is the only encouragement Ann needs to continue.
“This is my beloved, Mrs. Bumble,” Ann says in perfect imitation of Mr. Bumble’s plummy tones. “She wears a bright bauble bought from Barrington’s Baubles.”
We’re lost to the giggles now. Ann can scarcely carry on for her own laughter. “Beware barristers bringing baubles! Better the berries than barristers!”
Felicity shrieks. “Oh, Ann!”
Ann giggles. “Bite bitter berries before becoming Bumble’s beloved!”
Pippa’s lips tremble. “Was it the better choice? I wonder.” She buries her face in her hands and cries.
“Oh, Pip, darling. Don’t cry.” Felicity runs to soothe her—Felicity, who never offers kindness to anyone.
“Wh-what have I d-done?” Pip wails. Sobbing, she runs from the room.
Bessie Timmons gives us a hard look. She’s a big girl and, I daresay, a bit of a brawler. She could give us a good pounding if she wished. “Miss Pippa’s the kindest soul what ever lived. You best not make her cry again.”
I can see from the set of her jaw that we have been warned.
Felicity goes to Pip and returns a moment later. “She wants to speak to you, Gemma.”
I drift down a corridor thick with leaves and desiccated flowers.
“Gemma.” I hear my name whispered from behind a tattered tapestry. I pull it back amidst a flurry of dust. Pippa motions for me to come in. Felicity is right on my heels, but Pip stops her.
“I must have a word with Gemma,” she says.
“But…,” Felicity starts.
“Fee,” Pippa scolds playfully.
“Oh, very well.” Felicity turns on her heel, and Pip and I are alone in the grand room. An ornate marble altar sits at one end, and I surmise that this must have been the castle’s chapel. It seems a strange place for a private conversation. The emptiness of the room and its tall, arched ceilings make our words loop and echo. Pip sits upon the altar, her heels knocking gently against the moldy engravings there. Her smile vanishes, and in its place is an expression of utter anguish.
“Gemma, I can’t bear this anymore. I want you to help me cross over.”
I don’t know what I expected her to say, but it wasn’t this. “Pip, I’ve never actually helped anyone cross before—”
“Then I shall be the first.”
“I don’t know,” I say, thinking of Felicity and Ann. “Perhaps we should discuss it—”
“I’ve given it thought. Please,” she begs.
I know she should cross. And yet a part of me wants to hold on. “You’re certain you’re…ready to go?”
She nods. Only the two of us are in this room neglected by time and magic. It is as hopeless a place as one could find.
“Shall I get the others?” I ask.
“No!” she cries so sharply I fear that the chapel’s old stones will break. “They’ll try to stop me. Especially Felicity and Bessie. You can tell them goodbye for me. It was nice that we could be together one last time.”
“Yes, it was.” I swallow hard. My throat aches.
“Come back tomorrow alone. I’ll meet you just beyond the bramble wall.”
“If I help you cross now, Felicity will never forgive me,” I say.
“She need never know. It will be our secret.” Pip’s eyes fill with new tears. “Please, Gemma. I’m ready. Won’t you help me?”