The Rose Garden by Maeve Brennan Read Free Book Online

blueberries?”
    â€œOh, I know, I know,” Mrs. Conroy said, laughing. “Don’t reproach me about it, Betty. He never let me forget about it. Turnover the page and never mind about it.”
    Betty bent to the book. A few minutes later she raised her head again. “Who was Miss Rorke, m’lady?” she asked.
    â€œA poor old retired schoolteacher, Miss Rorke was. She lived up the street from us. Never had a penny, but she loved to read. Mr. Conroy let her take what she liked. He had a soft spot for her. She died then, and we never got a cent of it back. She ended owing us thirty-two dollars and seventeen cents.”
    â€œSo far, she owes us two dollars and three cents,” Betty said.
    â€œPoor old Miss Rorke,” Mrs. Conroy said contentedly. “Betty, I’ve been thinking. I’d like a cup of tea in my room first thing in the morning. As soon as you make your own. Say eight-thirty. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
    Betty sat up straight. “Now then, m’lady, that’s out of the question, so it is—morning tea in your room!”
    Mrs. Conroy continued to watch the fire. “It was you who reminded me,” she said. “Miss Rorke was a great strain on the regular book, the one you have there. There was too much of her, she was always in and out, so Mr. Conroy had an extra little book, for her and one or two others like her. I’m not saying you need it, but it would be a great help to you.”
    â€œAll right,” Betty said without rancor. “Half past eight you’ll get your tea. Sugar and cream, the way you have it now.”
    â€œNo cream in the morning,” Mrs. Conroy said. “Cream makes me queasy in the morning. Just sugar, thanks, Betty.”
    They exchanged a glance. Betty’s eyes were wary and calculating.
    Liza burst into the kitchen. “I looked everywhere for you, Mother!” she cried. “You’ve turned your chair around again. And why aren’t you up in your own room? What are you doing here in the kitchen?”
    â€œI’m having my tea,” the old woman said calmly.
    â€œYou know the doctor says it isn’t good for you, Mother. Now please go on upstairs, and I’ll get Betty to bring you a glass of hot milk. I see you’ve lighted the fire, Betty. I don’t approve of open fires, but I suppose you’re accustomed to having one. Go on, Mother.”
    â€œI don’t want hot milk, Liza,” Mrs. Conroy said, pressing her handkerchief to her lips. “Tea never did me any harm before, and I don’t trust that country doctor of yours anyway. Of course, if you insist, I’ll go upstairs. I’m dependent on your charity now, I know that. But first I’ll take my book, please, Betty.”
    Betty snatched the book from the table. “No harm in Mrs. Conroy having a cup of tea, m’lady,” she said.
    â€œI’m the best judge of that!” Liza cried. “And what is that stupid old book doing down here? It doesn’t belong down here.”
    â€œIt does now,” Mrs. Conroy said. “And another thing. I’d like you to put a nice, old-fashioned stuffed armchair in here by the fire for me. These pipe things of yours are hard on my back.”
    â€œWe’ve had that all out before. I absolutely refuse to allow one of those atrocities in my— Is this a joke, Mother? Is this some terrible kind of joke? A kitchen is not the place for an armchair, and there’s no room anyway, and people at Herbert’s Retreat don’t sit around having tea in the kitchen with the servants. And I would like to point out, Betty, that you are here to work, not to entertain guests at tea.”
    â€œI have my contract, m’lady,” Betty said.
    â€œAnd you can’t very well afford to let her go anyway, can you, Liza?” Mrs. Conroy whispered. “Think how they’d love to laugh at you around here. And think how