Free A Broken Vessel by Kate Ross

when she was on her pins again, now would you?”
    The door that connected the two houses suddenly opened, and Harcourt swept in, Margaret hurrying after him. “I’ll be in my office,” he said, without so much as breaking his stride or looking back to see if she was listening. “Tell Mrs. Fiske when she returns that I can’t see anyone—unless one of the trustees should come early. And remember, on no account is anyone to speak to any journalist, on any subject, until I give leave.”
    “Yes, Mr. Harcourt,” the Irish girl said soulfully.
    Harcourt suddenly stopped and peered down the basement stairs. He must have especially keen eyes, or perhaps the light was growing brighter. “What are you doing there, Florence?”
    “Please you, sir, I come up to change my apron. It has porridge spilled on it.”
    “Change it at once, and go back to breakfast. Who is that with you?”
    Sally had no choice but to come upstairs. Harcourt raked her with his pale blue eyes. It gave her the shivers. Men often looked at her as if they could see through her clothes, but Mr. Harcourt’s gaze seemed to pierce her very skin.
    “Who are you?” he said. “What do you want?”
    For once Sally’s tongue was tied. Florence stepped into the breach. “She’s come to be an inmate, sir.”
    “You had no business speaking with her. You know you’re forbidden to talk to strangers.”
    “Yes, sir. But there wasn’t nobody to look after her, and I—I—”
    “Never mind. I’ll overlook it this once, seeing that things are somewhat—irregular—today.”
    Irregular? thought Sally. Is that what you calls it when a poor gal hops the twig right under your own roof? But she held her tongue, thinking she might get Florence into trouble by revealing she had talked to her about Mary’s death. One thing was certain: she was not going to breathe a word about Mary’s letter to these people. Mr. Harcourt was a cold fish; she did not trust him. And the inmates seemed completely under his sway.
    Harcourt turned to Margaret. “As Mrs. Fiske is absent, I’m relying on you to keep order among the inmates. Have them go on with their work as usual. The trustees will be here in a few hours, and I wish them to see that our normal routines are unshaken. Not that we’re not greatly saddened and sobered by this event, of course.”
    “It breaks me heart, Mr. Harcourt!” Margaret pressed her hands to her breast. “Sure, if she’d only listened to you, and repented of her evil ways—! It’s a lesson to us all, a bitter lesson! The wages of sin is death!”
    “I’m glad to see you’ve profited by her example. I hope you will encourage the other inmates to do likewise.”
    “There’s never a day goes by when I don’t strive to shine on me fellow sinners a bit of the light that’s fallen upon me.”
    “I perceive that, Margaret. Be assured, your efforts do not go unappreciated.” He started up the stairs, waving his hand dismissively at Sally. “Send this young woman away.”
    “Yes, Mr. Harcourt.”
    The Irish girl stood looking after him till he was out of sight. Then she turned to Sally, with a smile that transformed her face. Her long eyes turned up at the corners, her chin and cheekbones sharpened, till she looked just like a fox. “Well, you heard what Himself said. You’ll have to go. Come back another day, if you can stomach this place after seeing him—the great bloody ass!”
    “Well, I’ll be blowed!” marvelled Sally. “You’re a reg’lar out-and-outer, you are.”
    Margaret tossed her head complacently. “I know a trick or two. Faith, isn’t it Wideawake Peg they call me? I should live to see the day when I couldn’t bamboozle a stiff romped pulpit-thumper like Himself! And lucky for you I do, Florrie Ames,” she added, rounding on Florence. “Where would you and the other girls be if I didn’t play up to Himself, and piss down his back, and make meself out to be the greatest penitent since St. Mary Magdalene