Pandora(79)

Lottie’s face is a purple bruise, one eye partially closed.

Dora places Hermes on the floor, and he begins to peck at the blue and white shards.

‘What happened?’ she asks gently.

The housekeeper stares hard at her lap, takes a shuddering gulp.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I said I fell again.’

‘You know I wouldn’t,’ Dora says quietly. Lottie shakes her head; a fat tear falls onto her apron.

‘He was …’ She trails off, voice trembling. She sniffs, tries again. ‘He was so angry you had gone out, that you’d taken it. I tried to comfort him. That’s always worked before, but this time …’ Lottie rubs her fingers across her cheek, her irritation at being found vulnerable evidently clear.

I have done this, Dora thinks guiltily. No, she may not have made the physical blow, but if she had not attended the soirée …

Hermes pecks lightly now at Lottie’s skirts. Dora makes to shoo him away but to her surprise Lottie stills Dora’s hand.

‘No,’ she hiccups. ‘Leave him.’

Dora blinks. Lottie keeps her hand on hers. This is the first time, it occurs to Dora, that she has ever touched her. She offers Lottie a handkerchief from her pocket. The housekeeper hesitates, takes it, then blows her nose loudly into the cotton.

‘I couldn’t see what I was doing,’ Lottie says after a moment. ‘Bumped into the table. Dropped the plates.’ The housekeeper touches the handkerchief to her lip; it comes away blood-spotted. ‘He never used to be like this, you know. He was my favourite customer, way back then. Long before your time.’

Dora watches her, sees the trouble it takes for Lottie to say the words.

‘Why did you leave it all?’

For a long time the housekeeper does not answer. They listen to the spit of the fire, the magpie’s talons against flagstone. Eventually Lottie shrugs, folds the handkerchief into a tiny square.

‘He offered me a home, safety. Money of my own. Women like me … It’s no life, missum. I’d wish it on no one. I didn’t have much of a choice.’

Dora bites her lip. There are other questions she wishes to ask, but now that her tears have stopped Dora senses that Lottie is likely to keep her cards close – to push for more will not entice her to reveal them.

‘I’m sorry, Lottie,’ Dora says instead.

The housekeeper squints at her. ‘What for?’

‘This is my fault.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense. He’s responsible for his own fists.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Help me up.’

That old stoic. Lottie shifts her position; the broken plates tinker and scrape. Dora offers a hand; Lottie’s fingers pinch as she holds on and Dora must put her arm around Lottie to steady her. On the floor, Hermes tilts his head.

‘You must go to bed,’ Dora poses. ‘I’ll fetch for a doctor.’

Lottie shakes off the hold Dora has on her. She will not now meet her gaze.

‘I’m not ill. I don’t need no doctor.’

‘Please, let me fetch someone,’ Dora tries again. ‘Or if you won’t let me fetch someone then let me stay. I can finish off here …’

The housekeeper manages to scoff, and her voice is harsh when she says, ‘Do you even know how to cook?’

‘Do you?’ Dora returns sharply – instinctively defensive – but she immediately regrets the words, touches her tongue to the roof of her mouth. ‘I can help, at least,’ she adds, more gently. ‘Your eye—’

But Lottie turns from her, ambles over to the fire, its steaming pot.

‘I’m fine, missum. I don’t want no help.’

There is no arguing, it seems. With one last troubled look at her, Dora retrieves Hermes and turns to go. But at the door Lottie calls Dora back.

‘Yes?’

‘Guinea-fowl soup for dinner. Tatties too. Curd for pudding.’

The words are said quietly, no scorn in them, and Dora recognises the gesture – the housekeeper is trying to express her thanks.

‘Oh, I … I won’t be here for dinner.’

Lottie hesitates. ‘Off out again?’

Dora understands clearly the words she does not say.

‘I can stay if you want me to.’

And she will, if Lottie asks. But the housekeeper is shaking her head.

‘You’ll be no use here. No, you’d best stay clear.’ She busies herself with stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. Then, ‘Where you going this time?’

‘I’ll be dining with Lord and Lady Hamilton tonight. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. But thank you, all the same.’

‘Lord and Lady? What high circles you travel in now! Well, no matter,’ she adds, over-brisk. ‘It won’t go to waste, I’m sure.’

Uneasily Dora watches her. Lottie’s face is blotchy from tears and even from a distance, her bruised eye looks appalling. For years Dora has felt only dislike for the woman. For the way Hezekiah always favoured her over his own niece, how he always let Lottie speak down to her, her nonchalance in the upkeep of the shop, the neglect of her attic. But something has shifted …

‘Will you be all right, Lottie?’ Dora asks quietly.