Minor Indiscretions by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page A

the
on dits
columns together, judging from the conversation during the meal.
    "A lady does not bring unpleasantness to the dining table, my dear." Lady Ashton rejected Melody's pleas to have some of her questions resolved. After luncheon, of course, Mama needed a nap; the strain of her day was so fatiguing. Felice disappeared without a by-your-leave, and Melody went in search of her answers.
     
    Mathematics was not Melody's strong suit; obviously, it was not Mama's either. Lady Ashton's bookkeeping system consisted of a rat's nest of bills, receipts, demand-due notices, and more bills jammed into the pages of an accounts ledger marked Dower House Home for Children.
    Melody sat at Aunt Judith's rickety old walnut desk, the dog Angel—now Angie at Mama's dread of the vicar's visit—lying under the desk with her head on Melody's kicked-off slippers. Newly washed and constantly refed, the pup's ribs still looked like a scrub board, and Melody was still her personal deity. "All that wriggling and tail wagging is fine," Melody told the dog, rubbing Angie's head with one bare foot. "But can you add?"
    There were slips from mantua-makers and London linen-drapers, jumbled among those from every local merchant in Copley-Whitmore. None were marked paid. The rough sum Melody arrived at in her head was staggering; her addition must be at fault. She turned to the ledger.
    On the last marked page, in the credits columns, were sets of initials, dates, and amounts, haphazardly listed in Mama's spidery hand next to the names of children Melody knew to be at Dower House. Heavens, Mama could not be sending the children out to work, could she? Five pounds for Harold. That would be Harry, who never seemed to stay at any of the homes or schools Mama found for him. Perhaps, Melody thought, trying to find some humor in this bumblebroth, Harry had turned thief at the age of twelve and was handing his bounty over to Lady Ashton. Ten pounds, four shillings for Philip. Dear Pip was quite Melody's favorite of the recent Dower House residents, a serious, studious lad of what? He must be all of fourteen by now, unfortunately rendered shy and awkward by a disfiguring port-wine birthmark on one side of his face, which also kept him from attending school, where other lads would make his life a misery. Regrettably, Pip was a natural scholar. The last time Melody was home he had already absorbed all the vicar's teachings and was devouring the library at the Oaks. Maybe Pip was earning his keep by tutoring, but fifty pounds for Ducky?
    There was no polite way of putting it; Ducky was a wantwit. His moon face was always smiling and drooling, and he was happy to play with a wooden spoon or a shiny stone or a sunbeam. Nanny doted on him, finally having a baby who would not grow up. No foster parents would ever take him, nor little Meggie, the next entry. Why should anyone pay another ten pounds for a sickly, spindly slip of a thing? For each of Meggie's six winters, Melody recalled, there were fears for the little girl's life, and every minor childhood ailment almost carried her off. No likely family had come forth to adopt the twins yet either, the last entry. Laura and Dora were identical five-year-old imps who resisted all attempts to send them in different directions. Together they were hellions, often talking gibberish that no one understood, except the other twin.
    Turning back toward the beginning of the accounts, Melody found many more listings in Aunt Judith's precise script. Some of the names were familiar from her own earlier years, many were not. Various notations indicated dame schools or seminaries. A few were marked His Majesty's Service or Trading Company; most of the latest were simply crossed through in Mama's wavery lines, as though Lady Ashton trembled to do it. Some of the monies cataloged were substantial, many were smaller amounts repeated over years. None of it made sense.
    And the blasted dog had chewed up Melody's slippers.
     
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