“Oh, now, Miss Royer, you do look smart,” Mrs. Howell greeted her. “No wonder your mother feels proud; indeed, anyone could be proud of you; you might even be taken for a . . .”she was going to say “bishop’s daughter”, but realised just in time how demeaning that would be to the bishop; therefore she finished by saying “a police inspector’s daughter”, Fortunately Mrs. Royer was thinking too much of Flo, and Flo was thinking too much of Mrs. Howell, for either of them to notice the hesitation or to wonder why in the world the police had been dragged in. The awkward moment passed very satisfactorily, Mrs. Howell thought, and she went on in a loud, elaborate manner: “Go over there, my dear, in the light. Oh, wouldn’t she make a picture, Mrs. Royer? If only I had time to paint her.” Mrs. Howell raised her large rather coarse hands in a gesture meant to indicate the extreme of regret, and then waved for Flo to come closer. “Let me feel the material, dear; I don’t want you to have to pay for poor stuff, you know.”
She picked up the hem of the skirt and tested its thickness and strength while Flo stood uncomfortable and stiff like a child.
“She’s vests an’ everything,” said Mrs. Royer.
At once Mrs. Howell lifted the petticoat and exclaimed how beautiful Flo’s underclothes were, and how beautiful her shoes were, and then told her to stand away again and went on about how beautiful her hat was. “Artistic, don’t you think, Mrs. Royer? Sets her off so; she has features just perfect for a vignette.”
Flo had never listened to such a gush.
“Oh, I’m so glad you were wise and decided to take advantage of the scheme,” Mrs. Howell went on. “And I’m sure you ought to feel very happy, Miss Royer; happy and grateful.”
Flo murmured that she did.
“Of course, you must be good and always do your best, and think of your mother and try to be a credit to her, dear. And remember that I recommended you, which, of course, means that the Vicar is interested. You wouldn’t let him down, I’m sure. You must be a little credit to us all,” and Mrs. Howell smiled benignantly, not directly at Flo, but over her head. It was as though she were addressing a class. “Of course, you mustn’t expect everything to be easy; it isn’t for any of us; we all have our trials, even your mother here, I know . . .”
“I do,” said Mrs. Royer solemnly, thinking of cook.
“. . . but you know what trials are for. They are sent to test and try us; and according to how we meet our trials, so we are rewarded. You know what it says in the Bible . . .”
But Flo wasn’t listening. She wished that Mrs. Howell would let her go. She felt so helpless; as if she had done something wrong already and was being reprimanded. Suppose that her new mistress were to turn out to be like this.
“You will be a long way away, but that will be all the better,” Mrs. Howell was now saying. “You won’t always be able to run home when something goes wrong, and so you’ll learn to depend on yourself, and that is what we all have to do, isn’t it, Mrs. Royer?”
Taken by surprise Mrs. Royer nodded vigorously and spasmodically clasped her hands, holding on to herself as it were. As Mrs. Howell went on the thought came to Mrs. Royer that what had been said wasn’t quite right about the Vicar, at any rate, because he certainly depended on his wife. “Blow ’is nose for ’im, if she could, she would.” And Mrs. Royer smiled without knowing.
Mrs. Howell did not notice because she had just become aware that her talk hadn’t yet been rounded off as it should be.
“And, of course, my dear, when I say we all must depend on ourselves, you know I mean also that there is an Ever-present Friend to help us.” The capital letters were those of a born elocutionist. “Yes, you must never forget your prayers, Miss Royer, promise me that, won’t you, and I’ll tell the Vicar, and He will pray for you, too.”
There was a pause. Mrs. Royer cleared her throat. Flo wondered if she might go. Mrs. Howell wondered whether she had said all that her husband would have liked her to say.
“How do we pay for these ’ere things?” asked Mrs. Royer, self-consciously jerking her thumb at Flo. “That was what I wanted ’er to be told, mum. I’m honest an’ I don’t want there to be no charity an’ no mistakes.””
“I’m quite sure you don’t, Milly,” Mrs. Howell took the opening promptly. “The clothes have been given you, my dear, so that you can go away decently dressed, so you won’t feel inferior . . . you’ve heard of an inferiority complex, of course. Well, that’s it. The society have seized on this as the best method of helping you because, although, as the Vicar says, there is nothing degrading in waiting on others . . . it should really be, indeed, of course, it really is, a privilege, to serve . . . but there has unfortunately grown up a . . . a, well, shall we say, a foolish idea that it is demeaning to go out to service. So in order that their girls shall not feel menial, the society have decided . . .”