the crimson petal and the white by Michel Faber

Author:Michel Faber [Faber, Michel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-02-23T18:12:50+00:00

"You deduce rightly--as always," he says, daring to stand closer to her now. "Yes, Beatrice Cleave has handed in her notice, bless her fat heart. She's still convinced Sophie needs a governess, she's champing at the bit to move to Mrs Barrett's, and I'm sure she's not at all pleased to be in a house that's in mourning, either." "And is a governess so very difficult to find?"' says Sugar, her heart beginning to beat heavily. "Well-nigh impossible," he scowls. "I have my work cut out for me, you can be sure, for the foreseeable future. Bad governesses are legion, and there's no way of weeding them out. Offer a pitiful wage, and only the most wretched specimens apply; offer a handsome reward, and every member of the female sex is galvanised by greed. Tuesday evening my advertisement was in The Times, and I've had forty letters already." "But can't Agnes be the one who chooses a governess?"' ventures Sugar. "No." "No?"'

"No." Sugar sways dizzily on her feet, her heart pounding so much that she feels her rib-cage shudder, and hears herself say in a weak voice: "William?"' "Yes?"' "Do you truly regret we can't live together?"' "With all my heart," he replies at once, in a tone not so much sentimental as wearily annoyed, as though the impediments to their perfect union were irksome trade restrictions or senseless laws. "If I could wave a magic wand ...!" "William?"' Her breath wheezes, her tongue feels swollen with lavender, the earth on which she stands is slowly beginning to revolve, like a giant piece of flotsam on an ocean too vast and dark to see. "I--I believe I have your solution, and ... and our solution. Let me be your daughter's governess. I've all the necessary skills, I think, except music, which-which I could learn from books, I'm sure. Sophie could do worse, couldn't she, than learning reading, writing, arithmetic a-and manners from me?"' William's face is distorted in the firelight, his eyes reddened by the conflagration; his flame-yellow teeth are bared, in amazement--or outrage. Desperately, Sugar pleads on: "I--I could live in whatever quarters Sophie's nurse has now ... No matter if they're plain; I should be happy, more-merely to be near to you ..." Her voice gives out on the final word, a feeble bleat, and she stands swaying, gasping in expectancy. Slowly, oh how slowly! he turns to answer her. Dear Heaven, his lips are curled in disgust ...! "You cannot possibly be--"' he begins to say, only to be interrupted by a gruff rustic voice: "Mr Rarck'm, sir! May Oi speak wi'ye?"' William turns to deal with the intrusion, and Sugar can stand no longer. A sickly hot flush shoots up through her whole body and, as the inside of her skull is flooded in darkness, she faints to the ground. She doesn't even feel the blow of impact; only--strangely enough--the cool blades of grass pricking the flesh of her face. Then, after a measureless lapse, she has the distant sensation of being lifted up and carried, but to where, or by whom, she cannot tell.

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