Fourpenny Flyer Read Online Free Page B

because they were considerably higher in society than Harriet Sowerby, and whatever else might be said about Miss Pettie, she was acutely aware of the niceties of social etiquette.
    So it was nearly three o’clock before the chaise finally trundled to a halt in the narrow roadway outside the Sowerbys’ cottage. Harriet climbed out and stood beside her uncompromising front door, shivering in the chill air. There was a single candle burning in the front room and she could see the huddled shape of her father sitting disagreeably before the fire and her mother’s shadowy figure walking stiffly towards the door. The air of disapproval in the room was unmistakable, even at that distance, and yet when Mrs Sowerby opened the door she was unctuous with charm and polite gratitude.
    â€˜How can I
ever
thank you, my
dear
Miss Pettie, for the honour you do my humble family? You are too, too kind.’
    â€˜Not at all, Mrs Sowerby,’ Miss Pettie said, happily. ‘The child was excellent company. Oh, quite excellent. Drive on, Mullins. Straight home, if you please.’
    Mrs Sowerby’s tone changed the moment the front door closed. ‘I cannot imagine what sort of hour you call this!’ she said sternly to her shivering daughter. ‘Your father and I have sat up
four and a half hours
after we should have been in bed and asleep. I hope you realize what an
inconvenience
you have caused.’
    Harriet tried to deflect her mother’s wrath by an apology. ‘I am very sorry, Mama,’ she murmured, looking down meekly at the flagstones.
    It didn’t work. ‘After all the money we’ve spent on your education,’ Mrs Sowerby ranted, ‘all the trials and tribulations, all the scrimping and saving, I should have thought the very
least
we could expect was to be allowed to sleep sound in our beds at night. But no, you see how it is, Mr Sowerby, we give her an
inch
and this is how she repays us,
forcing
us to sit up all hours.’ She was well into her harangue by now and swollen with the pleasure of it, her small grey eyes glaring, her long face flushed with righteous indignation. ‘Well let me tell you this, my girl, you needn’t think we shall be so quick to allow you such a treat the next time you come a-begging for it. You’ll ask in vain if this is the way you intend to go on.’
    â€˜Unnecessary luxuries,’ her father said sternly from his seat before the fire, ‘invariably provoke selfishness in theyoung.’ His chin was covered in grizzly stubble and his cheeks were lined by fatigue, but Harriet felt no sympathy for him.
    It was horribly unfair, she thought, and quite untrue. She hadn’t begged to be allowed to go to the ball. She never begged her parents for anything. It was a point of honour with her. But she said nothing for fear of provoking a beating. She knew how easy it was to provoke punishment and her mother’s chastening rod was hanging beside the mantelpiece, ready for use and glistening blood-red in the firelight. Meekness and stillness were the only defence she knew, so she stood quite still before her mother’s renewed assault, listening to the click and rustle of the coals and watching the flickering pattern of the firelight on the flagstones, and taking great care not to let the slightest tremor of an expression appear on her face, as if she had been frozen to the spot. Only her thoughts moved, and although her mother couldn’t know it, her thoughts were boiling.
    â€˜What have you got to say for yourself, eh, girl?’ her father growled when Mrs Sowerby finally paused for breath.
    â€˜I am truly sorry, Papa,’ she said obediently, ‘to have been the cause of your distress. ’Twas not intended.’ But she didn’t look up at him.
    â€˜Let us pray!’ her mother ordered, slapping the family Bible onto the table with a crash that made Harriet flinch visibly, despite her self-control.
    The