Marrying Mary. Бетти Нилс

      CHAPTER THREE

      IT WAS days later, when Mary took the household bills to her father, that he told her that he didn’t intend to pay them. ‘That is to say, of course, they will be paid, but they can easily be left for a few weeks. My credit is good...’

      ‘I do need some petty cash, Father—Polly’s bus fares and Mrs Blackett—and the window cleaner is due this week.’

      He frowned. ‘Yes, yes, of course, Mary. Your mother had a cheque this morning; ask her to let you have whatever you need—I’ll repay her.’

      Her mother, absorbed in the painting of Christmas elves in a snow scene, told her to find her handbag. ‘It’s somewhere in the bedroom, Mary—there’s some money there. Take what you need, dear, and let me know how much so that I can get it back from your father.’ She paused for a moment and looked up. ‘Are we short of money?’

      ‘No, Mother. I need some petty cash and Father hasn’t enough.’

      She didn’t like running up bills at the local shops but, as her father had pointed out, they were known to the local tradespeople and his credit was good. All the same, at the end of another week, when the butcher asked for something on account Mary waylaid her father as he prepared to leave the house.

      ‘I’m already late,’ he told her testily. ‘I have an important appointment—very important.’ His testiness was suddenly replaced by a broad smile. ‘Be sure that I’ll give you the money you require this evening, Mary.’

      With that she had to be content. There was no need to worry, she told herself. It would be some weeks before her father received Great Aunt Thirza’s bequest, but when he did she could settle up the bills.

      She frowned, for even without that money there had always been enough—just enough—for her to run the household. It hadn’t been easy, but with careful management she had contrived, but now, mysteriously, her father’s private income seemed to have dwindled; she had been told to borrow from her mother’s purse once more, and she knew for a fact that until the next batch of cards was sent away there would be very little money left in it.

      She went along to the kitchen and found Mrs Blackett scowling.

      ‘Met yer pa in the hall,’ she said angrily. ‘Told me I don’t need to come no more—give me the sack, ’e ’as.’

      ‘The sack? Mrs Blackett you must be mistaken .. ’

      ‘Course I’m not; I got ears, ain’t I? What I wants ter know is, why?’

      ‘I’ve got no idea. Could you forget about it? For I’m sure he didn’t mean a word of it. I’ll see him when he gets home this evening and I’m sure everything’s all right’

      She glanced at Mrs Blackett’s cross face. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea before you start on the kitchen. I’ll get the washing machine going and make the beds.’

      Mrs Blackett, mollified, drank her tea—strong with a great deal of sugar—and began on the kitchen, and Mary loaded the washing machine and went upstairs. There was something wrong, something amiss somewhere, and she wished she had someone in whom she could confide.