Free The Two Mrs. Abbotts by D. E. Stevenson

rooms and a kitchen. We were in business,” she added.
    â€œWhat kind of business?” asked Barbara.
    â€œStockings,” replied Pearl, adding defiantly, “Lots of nice girls go into business nowadays.”
    â€œOf course,” agreed Barbara.
    â€œWe had a good time,” continued Pearl, smiling reminiscently. “We went about a lot, but after a bit I got fed up with Joan. It would have taken a saint to live with Joan…always chipping at me, she was. Always on at me to keep the place tidy. I’d had enough of that sort of thing at home and I told her so.”
    There was a little silence. Barbara looked around the room. She had a feeling that she could sympathize with Joan.
    â€œAfter that I moved about,” continued Pearl. “Lodgings and hostels—there isn’t much to choose between them as far as I can see. In hostels the girls are so nosey you can’t call your soul your own. In lodgings there’s always a fuss about one thing or another.”
    It sounded incredibly dreary and Barbara was sorry for her. “Why don’t you go home?” she asked.
    â€œI should hate it,” Pearl replied. She humped herself about in the bed and added, “I don’t know why I’m so unlucky, I’m shore.”

Chapter Eight
Sophonisba Marks
    When Jerry stated that Markie was happy in spite of everything, she had said no more than the truth. Markie was elderly and deaf, she suffered from rheumatism and was poor in worldly goods but these disabilities, which might have affected the spirits of a woman of lesser breed, had no power to affect the inward happiness of Sophonisba Marks. To understand this enigma it is essential to know something of the history of Miss Marks. Very few people knew her history—practically nobody except herself—because, although friendly, she was reserved. She was one of those somewhat mysterious people that other people take for granted. There she was—elderly, plain, and kindly—as if she had materialized from the atmosphere full-fledged. Looking at her, one could not imagine her as a child, helpless and uncontrolled. One could not imagine her as a girl, young and pretty and slim. In short one could not imagine Miss Marks in any way different from what she was in the late summer of nineteen forty-two. But of course she had a history—even the most uninteresting people have histories and Miss Marks was not uninteresting. Her history was one of hard work and abnegation, of disappointments and anxieties.
    Sophonisba was the daughter of a minister in the Scottish Presbyterian Church. She was born the very day upon which Britain secured “peace with honor” by the diplomacy of Lord Beaconsfield, but, as Mr. Marks was a devoted follower of Mr. Gladstone, this interesting circumstance was only discovered by Sophonisba when she was in a position to discover it herself. She was an only child, at a time when only children were exceedingly rare, and was brought up in a small parish in East Fife. Later she went to St. Andrews University, where she took honors in Arts and History and on the strength of these attainments she was offered an extremely good post. The skies seemed bright and clear that summer. She was busy and happy and the path of life stretched out before her in the sunshine. Then Mrs. Marks died and Sophonisba gave up her career and returned to the manse to keep house for her father.
    It would not have been such a serious blow if she had had anything in common with her father, but he was a narrow-minded man and difficult to deal with. He missed his wife and Sophonisba did not fill the gap—she did not understand him. He did not understand her either, of course. He saw her going about her duties cheerfully with a pleasant smile, and it would have taken a more perspicacious individual than Mr. Marks to guess at the disappointment, the misery, the sense of frustration that warred in her bosom. Years