Jane Slayre by Sherri Browning Erwin Read Free Book Online Page A

that she is to expect a new girl so that there will be no difficulty about receiving her. And how is Miss Abbot getting on?"
    "Abbot continues to serve me well. No cross words, never any trouble, and she has saved me much in the cost of food."
    "You're careful, then, that she never gets a taste of meat?"
    "Oh, no. Never. She does fall asleep rather too frequently, and there's the problem with her fingers occasionally breaking off in my hair arrangements, but otherwise I am most pleased with her. Thank you for recommending her."
    "Very pleased to do so. We're preparing new girls for entering service should you ever want for more. Some of our past errors have been corrected with improved technique. We've learnt to harvest them sooner. It cuts down on the difficulties you mention. If you should like to trade Abbot for--"
    "Trade Abbot? No, sir, I wouldn't hear of it. We're all quite comfortable with Abbot now. I thank you again. Good-bye, Mr. Bokorhurst. Remember me to Mrs. and Miss Bokorhurst, and to Augusta and Theodore, and Master Broughton Bokorhurst."
    So Mr. Bokorhurst was to credit, or blame, for Abbot's presence? It made me a tad nervous about what sort of school he ran. What
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    was he harvesting? Still, it was a school and a chance to get away from the Reeds and learn something of the world.
    "I will, madam. Little girl, here is a book entitled the Child's Guide. Read it with prayer, especially that part containing 'An account of the awfully sudden death of Mary, a naughty child addicted to falsehood and deceit."
    With these words Mr. Bokorhurst put into my hand a thin pamphlet sewn in a cover, and having rung for his carriage, he departed.
    Mrs. Reed and I were left alone. I thought she might be in a hurry to return to her bed, but the heavy drapes were drawn and I suppose she was not ready to go back to sleep with the excitement of arranging my permanent departure from Gateshead Hall. She picked up her sewing. I watched her. Some minutes passed in silence.
    Mrs. Reed was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese. She had a somewhat large face, the under jaw being much developed and solid. Her brow was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular. Her skin was pale, if a little grey, and her hair nearly flaxen. Under her light eyebrows glimmered ink-black eyes, as hard in expression as they were inhumanly opaque. Her menacing expression no doubt helped her to remain an exact, clever manager. Almost no one would dare thwart her. Her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control. Her children only at times defied her authority and laughed it to scorn. She dressed well and had a presence and port calculated to set off handsome attire.
    I turned my attention from her to the tract I still held in my hand outlining the sudden death of the liar, to which narrative my attention had been pointed as to an appropriate warning. What Mrs. Reed had said concerning me to Mr. Bokorhurst, the whole tenor of their conversation, was recent, raw, and stinging in my mind. I had felt every word as acutely as I had heard it plainly, and a passion of resentment fomented now within me.
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    As if she could read my thoughts, Mrs. Reed looked up from her work. Her eye settled on mine, her fingers at the same time suspended their nimble movements.
    "Go out of the room. Return to the nursery." My look or something else must have struck her as offensive, for she spoke with extreme though suppressed irritation. I went to the door and came back again. I walked to the window, across the room, fingered the drapes, and returned to stand in front of Mrs. Reed.
    "I am not deceitful. If I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare I do not love you. I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world except John Reed, and this book about the liar, you may give to your girl Georgiana, for it is she who tells lies, and not I."
    Mrs. Reed's hands still lay on her