Saturday's Lady

Seven-August 1878

"There's a letter here for you, Emma." Hannah tossed it onto the pile of linens Emma was folding. "From your sister, I think."

It was certainly Mary's handwriting, and Emma decided to read it as quickly as she could. Mary wasn't big on writing, so it wouldn't take long.

Emma-

I know there's no way Anne would ever have mentioned it to you, but she's very upset with you. You haven't hardly gone home on the weekends all summer, and she's completely gone mad over the whole thing. She thinks you hate Charles or something, because he's been coming down to help on the farm, and she knows you weren't thrilled with their courtship. She's been pestering me, as if I could do anything.

For the love, Emma, just go home every once in a while, would you?

Much love (and also frustration) 

Mary.

PS- can't believe I had to pay postage for this.

PPS- all is well here, thanks for asking. Nobody dead. 

"I thought your family didn't speak English at home?" asked Hannah from behind her.

Emma snatched up the letter. "We never learned to read and write Irish, just English."

"Thank goodness for that."

Emma ignored her.

*****

She sat at the table with the candle lit and the pen inked, thinking about what to say to Anne. 

Dear Anne,

I'm sorry I haven't been home. I didn't know it was bothering you so much, but if you got Mary on my case it must have hurt you. I really am sorry. It isn't that I hate Charles, or that I hate the farm, it's just that I've been so busy here--

She paused a moment. How much could she say? Where even to begin?

Mrs. Remigrant has been active on the social scene, and there's so much preparation, and the parties are almost always on Fridays and Saturdays; she needs me for them.

Yes, that was good. It wasn't a lie, it just sounded like she was a maid at her mistress's parties, helping to bake tarts and serve champagne.

I also have started to feel terribly ill on the trains, and it's so much hassle to ride them so often that it's better if I just send the money to you. There's more of it, too, when I don't need to pay so much train fare.

Give everyone my love. I'm well here and will ask a weekend to visit you soon. Tell Charles there's no ill will-- he always was so sensitive, I'd hate for him to think I didn't like him. (How are things going with that, by the way? Should I expect any announcements?)

Fondest wishes,

Emma.

It sounded so stiff and aristocratic, but she didn't feel like writing any more. She folded it up and resolved to send it in the morning.

*****

Emma was polishing silverware in the dining room when the doorbell rang. She put down the rag, but then she remembered that she wasn't allowed to answer the door anymore, in case one of Mrs. Remigrant's high- society friends came by and recognised her. She picked the rag up again and started on a salad fork.

"Oh, yes, I'll tell her," came Mrs. Remigrant's muffled voice from the foyer, just one wall away. "She's likely reading, I'll tell her you're here... Hannah, would you tell my niece that a Mr. McDonald is here to see her, once you've put those in the kitchen?"