make no reply to that. Beyond the basic mechanics of intercourse, she had no idea what would be considered normal. She bit down hard on her lower lip and dropped her voice to a scandalized whisper.
âWhy are you saying these things?â
âI reckon I want you to understand Mr. Fairgrievebetterân you most likely do. Mrs. Fairgrieve, too, for that matter. You know one side of her, I think, and the mister, well, he knows another.â
âItâs hardly necessary for me to âunderstandâ Mr. Fairgrieve, and I knew Julia very well, thank you. Probably better than anyone.â But had she? Although her experience with people was limited indeed, Susannah knew people had many different facets to their natures and presented varying faces to varying friends, relations, and acquaintances.
âDonât get all tetchy now,â Maisie said good-naturedly. âThings ainât always what they seem. Thatâs all Iâm tryinâ to say.â
Susannah nodded. âIâm sorry. Itâs justâitâs just that Julia seemed so very unhappy.â
âAnd you canât help thinkinâ that was the misterâs fault?â
She hesitated, nodded again. Something about this woman, something about the cozy warmth of the kitchen and the snow falling beyond the windows, made Susannah feel safe. âIâve heard,â she ventured, then stopped and started again. âIâve heard that it hurts terribly, what men and women do together. Maybe Julia just couldnât bear it.â
Maisieâs eyes held a sort of pitying humor as she watched Susannah. She served the tea. âThereâs some hollerinâ that goes on, Iâll grant you that,â she said, âbut I donât reckon itâs pain that makes a woman cry out. Not with a man like Mr. Fairgrieve.â
Susannah was fascinated; she felt her eyes go wide. âSheâshe cried out?â
Maisie merely smiled and served the tea.
After theyâd shared the tea, and a confidence or two, they set out to accomplish the housework. Although Mrs. Butterfield had referred to Susannah as acompanion, she had, in effect, served as housekeeper and cook into the bargain. She found a welcome distraction in dusting, sweeping, making up beds, and doing dishes.
By mid-morning, the work was done. She returned to her room, and to Victoria, who was still sleeping. Although Susannah was not one to place great store in her appearance, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above her bureau, and she was nonetheless pleased to note the silver-blond shimmer of her hair, the stormy, changeable gray of her eyes, the trim agility of her figure.
No, she was not beautiful as Julia had been beautiful, but she was pleasing to look upon, a person of distinction and value. She could make a difference in Victoriaâs life.
She got out a book and sat down to read.
Luncheon was served in the kitchen, and Maisie was there, seated in the rocker close by the stove, a pile of knitting in her lap. âThereâs my sweetâums!â she cried, catching sight of the baby as soon as Susannah carried her into the room. âLet me have that darlinâ thing.â
To Susannahâs surprise, Aubrey was at the table, looking considerably more cheerful than he had earlier, when heâd complained about the noise Victoria was making. He had already pushed away his plate, but there was a cup of coffee steaming in his hand, and he seemed in no hurry to finish it.
He was dressed for businessâhigh time, Susannah thought uncharitablyâin a well-cut tweed suit with a waistcoat, now draped over the back of an extra chair. His brown hair gleamed, still damp from brushing, and his eyes showed a brief flicker of amused admiration before he forced a frown into them.
âGood morning, Miss McKittrick,â he said, rising momentarily out of simple good manners.
She took a plate from the table and went to
E.L. Blaisdell, Nica Curt