Free The Ugly Sister by Winston Graham

mind and we should not go after all. She offered no explanation and no apology. I had rarely seen her so emphatic. Perhaps I should have suspected the newspaper but foolishly did not until much later. The suggestion that Tamsin and I should be allowed to go on our own was instantly rejected. Tamsin in fact was not too upset. There was to be a midsummer ball in Truro the next month, and she would greatly prefer to attend that. I was the one so deeply upset. I said, might I not be allowed to go alone? Fetch could come to chaperone me and need not attend the concert.
    A blank wall. The subject was taboo. All through the weekend I sulked and took Parish for long walks and went off my food. No one took the slightest notice. I began to regret the absence of friends of my own age. My mother would certainly not have refused me if I had been going with a Boscawen or Trefusis daughter.
    Sunday was Sally Fetch’s half day off, and when she came back about nine in the evening she said to me: ‘When I was visiting my sister this afternoon, miss, I chanced to meet – er – him – you know who, miss.’
    â€˜What? Who?’
    â€˜Mr Abraham Fox. He was coming out of Mrs Robert’s house and he recognized me and …’
    As she hesitated I said casually: ‘So? Did he speak to you? Why was he there?’
    â€˜I dunno, Miss Emma. Yes, he did … Oh, Miss Emma, I dunno whether ’tis right and proper to pass on what he give me … Because you d’know I think him hardly the gentleman—’
    â€˜ What did he give you? Something for Miss Tamsin?’
    â€˜No, miss. For you.’
    My heart missed a beat. ‘Well, what is it? Pray give it to me.’
    â€˜Look, miss, I don’t know if I done right, but when he spoke to me he says, how is Miss Emma, and I says very well, sur, and he says, are they coming to the concert next Thursday? And I says, I b’lieve not, sur, though t’was talked about. I b’lieve they aren’t going. Ah, he says, I can guess why not. It is because they have found out that I am one of the organizing committee. I am in bad repute with your family, Carry. (He always d’call me Carry, miss, for some little joke of his own.) So I wish you to take this message to your mistress, he says. Hold hard, while I go and get pen and ink, he says, stop just there, he says, don’t move a muscle until I come out again.’
    Sally Fetch gave a little twitch of the shoulders, which betrayed that she was not immune to Bram’s vitality and zest.
    â€˜I dunno whether I should’ve stayed, but I did, and in a few minutes he comes out shaking a letter to dry the ink on the address. Give this to your mistress, Carry, he says, and you shall have a groat. I dunno what he mean but that’s what he d’say. But I don’t think ’tis proper of me to – to carry letters, like. I dunno what your Mama would think of me, miss …’
    I held out my hand. ‘ It is – addressed to me?’ She fumbled in her bag and nervously extended an envelope with its sealing wax unbroken. I broke it and inserted a finger. Then, aware that the finger was unsteady, I said: ‘Thank you, Fetch. I’ll call you when I want you.’
    She said as she left: ‘I hope I done right.’
Dear Miss Emma, This concert is organized by the Society of Friends, and, although I belong to no society, friendly or otherwise, I have been helping in the seating and the organization. Therefore to this end I offer you a seat in the fifth row, surrounded by persons of eminent respectability, not me, not I, not Bram, but many other Foxes of unimpeachable reputation. I understand your family is not coming, but if you can take flight in some way on Thursday evening and flutter down in Arwenack Street, I believe the music will be worth hearing.
    Respectfully,
    Bram
    And enclosed was a printed ticket marked E 7.
    Did he know I was fascinated by music?