Читать книгу This Shining Woman - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 5

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Margaret Wollstonecraft was putting away the crocks and pans. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hands and arms were red from cold water and coarse soap, a rough apron was tied over her woollen gown, her dark reddish hair was confined in a cotton cap. She had been lovely, and was still graceful, small, elegant. Well-proportioned bones made her face still pleasing, though she had faded rapidly through child-bearing, grief, anxiety and poverty. Her air of utter exhaustion gave her, when she closed her eyes, the appearance of a dying woman.

She greeted her daughter coldly and began to scold her for disobedience and for running away. Mary did not answer. She could always endure her mother's reproofs; it was those of her father that were intolerable. She began to help her mother prepare the room for another dreary day, drudging patiently with broom and duster by the light of the poor lamp fed by the coarse oil that gave a yellowish light. She was tall and had inherited the good looks of her family; her features were small, infantile for her years, her complexion was pure and rich, and heavy masses of bright auburn hair were gathered in a knot of penny ribbon.

When the work was ended Mrs. Wollstonecraft dryly dismissed her daughter, and Mary went up the crooked stairs to the bedroom where the rush-light burned between the beds of Everina and Eliza, who were lying awake, awaiting Mary's return. They were beautiful children, with something alert and nervous in looks and gestures. They lay tense and silent beneath the patched coverlets, gazing at Mary with grave brown eyes.

The elder sister kissed them in silence. They did not dare to speak—the mother's discipline was unyielding; no matter what the sufferings of the children were, no matter what upsets were caused in the wretched home by the caprices and cruelties of the father, the children must be obedient, quiet, punctual, neat, and always aware of their own insignificance.

Mary folded up her clothes carefully, put on her calico nightsmock and crept under the thin blankets with a sigh; then she put out her hand and extinguished the rush-light.