those abrupt, rather rough, shy but somehow friendly tones of hers, that she thought of taking a room here and finding a place in a public-houseâshe had worked in one before, she said, at home, and was quite used to them.
Lydia exclaimed in horror. The Reverend Charles had brought her up to have a rooted objection to public-houses, and to imagine the young, attractive figure beside her planted down in such an atmosphere of temptation made her shudder. And with the soldier in camp just over the hill, too! It was impossible, it was not to be thought of, she told the girl emphatically. The girl looked at her in a kind of respectful surprise, and after a while volunteered the information that she was quite used to the work; her elder sister workedin the one at the end of the street at home, and she had often helped her.
âBut it was a little one,â she concluded, in her manner of putting each word separately forth into the world. âNot a big place like the Grand.â
Lydia thought she understood better now how the child had come to be engaged at that hotel; and she realized still more thoroughly her complete unsuitability for the place. âYou must go back to your home,â she told her with all the persuasive moral force inherited by those who bore the name of Tolefree. âYou can wait at home till you find another place.â She went on to explain the purpose of registry offices, but the girl interrupted her by saying with some decision: âI shanât go home.â
Lydia sighed despairingly, but the combative moral side of her nature urged her on, and she pursued firmly: âWhere is your home?â
âI shanât go home,â murmured the girl; and she explained to Lydia that there were eight of them at home besides herself and her elder sister. The Grand had been her first real place, it appeared, though she had gone out by the day before. She had answered an advertisement and got the place. âI shanât go home,â she concluded with an air of finality.
Lydia was able to imagine for herself the joy of the family when they had found an economic niche for one of their number, and their dismay if she should be thrown back again upon their hands. âItâs a pity you didnât manage to keep theplace,â she hinted, feeling that such an opportunity for the inculcation of moral precepts ought not to be missed. Even as she uttered the words, however, she felt insincere, for she was sure that the girlâs outings with the soldier were only part of the dissatisfaction of the Grand with her as a maid; and when the girl replied, âIt wasnât the kind of place for me,â she felt justly rebuked. âWell,â she began again, and broke off, saying in a more sympathetic tone: âWonât you tell me your name?â
After her customary pause the girl said: âAnnice Lee.â
Something familiar in the cadence of this made Lydia ask her quickly: âWhere is your home? What part of England do you come from?â
The girl turned her friendly blue eyes full upon Lydiaâs face and named a mining district in the West Riding.
âOh!â cried Lydia. âOh!â The situation seemed somehow immensely simplified by the fact that the girl came from Yorkshire. Of course she would take her home with her as a maid for Louise. Now that she had thought of this plan she could not imagine why it had not occurred to her before. âOh!â she repeated. âI come from Yorkshire too,â she confided to Annice.
âYes, miss,â said the girl simply. âI saw it on your luggage in the train.â
Lydia was rather disconcerted by this piece of shrewdness, but she recovered herself and began to set forth her plan. Annice could return toYorkshire with her on the morrow; Mrs. Mellor would train her; Annice would be near home and able to see her family at regular intervalsâthe idea was simply splendid from every point
Learning to Kill: Stories