This was written in answer to the drabble challenge about Madge refusing to take Juliet (because of getting Dick's telegram in time), but I didn't read it properly
and wrote this instead. So I will do both. But for now, here's this one.
Juliet Carrick sat silently on the straight-backed chair as the man behind the desk read the letter. He did so deliberately, with much stroking of his chin and nodding of his head, and she clenched her fists as she fought the urge to fling herself across the desk and slap him, again and again and… No, that was silly. It wasn’t his fault, after all.
It wasn’t Miss Bettany’s fault either, though Juliet badly wanted to blame her former headmistress for her current predicament. No headmistress wanted a schoolgirl left on her hands, previous experience had taught Juliet that. They always made her parents take her back, only Miss Bettany hadn’t been able to track them down – though Juliet knew she and Mr Bettany had been cabling back and forth. Juliet had felt guilty about that, because she knew cabling India wasn’t cheap, and she had haltingly offered Miss Bettany the few schillings she had, but Miss Bettany had said of course she wouldn’t take Juliet’s money, and she wasn’t to worry about it. Juliet had seen how much Miss Bettany pitied her, and couldn’t stand it, so she shrugged, and was as insolent as she knew how, hating herself even as she did it.
Eventually, Miss Bettany had come to her, and said she couldn’t find her parents, and was very sorry but couldn’t keep her, which Juliet had been expecting, honestly, every day, and it was a relief to have it finally said, out loud. And if she had secretly wished inside that Miss Bettany would let her stay, and be sort of like family, that was stupid, and she knew it was stupid.
Mr Bettany had found the Carricks’ solicitor, in London, and Miss Bettany had arranged for one of the old English ladies visiting Briesau to escort Juliet to London. It would be fine, Miss Bettany said. She had explained to Miss Linsdell that Juliet would be going to the solicitor, and had arranged a room in a hotel, and everything. Everything was going to work out perfectly well, Miss Bettany said. Juliet didn’t believe her, and was fairly certain that Miss Bettany didn’t believe it either.
The journey to London had been horrible. Miss Linsdell had been horrible. She had said brusque goodbyes to her fellow pupils, and had brushed aside Grizel Cochrane’s tentative hug. They were glad to be rid of her, Juliet knew. Everyone was always glad to be rid of her.
And now here she was, sitting in Mr Brown’s office as he read Miss Bettany’s letter, stroking his chin and nodding his head. And Juliet waited for him to pass judgement on her.
Pass judgement he did. Henry Brown eventually put down the long, thoughtful letter Miss Margaret Bettany had written, and surveyed the girl sitting in front of him. A bad business this, especially as he knew full well the state of the Carricks’ finances, and it wasn’t good. There was no money at all, and here was a fifteen year old girl, abandoned. A bad business indeed. He studied the girl. Attractive enough, with long blonde hair tied back neatly, and dark eyes. She’d grow up to be a looker, no doubt about it. She looked up suddenly, and he saw her expression, sullen and disinterested, and his sympathy lessened. Moody kid. He wondered if she was like her father.
“Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish, all right,” he said jovially. The girl didn’t answer; one shoulder twitched in something that might have passed for a shrug. He pressed on. “You understand, I have no information about your parents’ whereabouts, none at all. The last I knew, they were in India, but it’s clear from your Headmistress’s letter that that is no longer the case.”
“They left India,” said Juliet abruptly. “Father… he couldn’t stay.” Her face twisted unpleasantly, and Henry Brown wondered what on earth he was going to do with her.
“Hrmm, yes. Now, you’re fifteen, that’s right?” At her nod, he carried on, “In which case, I think the most straightforward approach, until your parents come to get you” – he ignored blithely the unlikelihood of this – “is to find someone who can take you in. Maybe as a companion, or a nursery maid. You like children?” The girl shrugged again. He wondered if she even cared what was going to happen to her – surely she must?
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Where are you staying.”
“At Walsingham’s Hotel, near the station,” said Juliet. “Miss Bettany arranged it. But I don’t… I mean, I can’t…” Her face was strained, and Mr Brown felt a little more sympathy. Poor devil! Stony broke, if he was any judge – she was lucky her teacher had sent her over as she did: some women would have left her to her own devices.
“I know a boarding house. I’ll have my clerk give the landlady a message. Go and fetch your things, and then go to Number 21, Eaton Square. Mrs Andrews will see you all right. Off you go.”
Summarily dismissed, Juliet left the office, and slouched her way back to Walsingham’s, trying desperately not to think about anything. Anything at all. She quickly packed up the suitcase which had served her, and her mother before her, for many years, and handed the key back to the marcel-waved lady sitting behind the wide mahogany counter in the hotel lobby. She consulted a policeman about the best way to get to Eaton Square, and then set off for her new life, trying not to think about anything.
.
