Rather to her surprise, however, Emma retired from battle on this particular point.
“Ay, you’ve earned it, that’s true,” she answered amiably, and almost eagerly, “and I’m sure I hope you’ll be right happy! I only meant it was lucky you hadn’t to go on with your job. Likely you’ll live to be ninety when you get up to yon house.”
“There’ll be a deal of folk put about if I hang on to it till then!” Mrs. Clapham chuckled, her natural good temper responding at once to the other’s change of tone. “I don’t know as it’d be quite nice to go on filling up charity-houses as long as that.... But it grubs me a bit, you piling it on as I’m over old for my job. Come to that, you’re only four or five year younger yourself!”
“I’ve had a deal easier life, though,” Emma returned, in the same unprovocative tone, “a deal easier, you’ll think on. I’ve never had to do a hand’s turn for anybody but my own. You was in service ten year or more afore you was wed, and then, after Jonty died, you took to this job. Things has been a deal softer for me than that; and then I’ve my bit of brass. I’ve good health, too—wonderful good health. Doctor says I’m as sound as a bell.”
“You look it, I’m sure!” Mrs. Clapham agreed as politely as she could, conscious as she was of a painfully jealous grudge. Emma had done her best to make her feel that she was done, and now she was boasting of her own good health! At all events, she would go out of Emma’s feeling a great deal older than when she came in; might, indeed, have to be carried out, if she stayed much longer! Her nerves were all to pieces, as it was; there were moments when she even wanted to scream. It was absurd, of course, seeing she could so easily get away; but then the trouble about Emma’s was that it sapped your courage for getting away....
But again she was visited by the vision on the stair, and again it flustered her into action. She got to her feet hastily, feeling as if in that dark house the night was already near, and that while she chattered and dallied her day had already passed. “I’d best be getting on; time’s going by,” she explained, edging her way to the door. “It’s a step to the almshouses, you’ll think on, and a bit of a pull an’ all.”
Emma, however, made no attempt to move, and in some mysterious manner her complete immobility had the effect of arresting the other’s progress. “What way did you think o’ taking?” she inquired coolly. “By t’ Post Office, or through the fields?”
“Nay, what, I hadn’t thought about it, I’m sure!” Mrs. Clapham’s voice was suddenly wholly joyous, as if even the question was a sort of release. “Likely I’ll choose t’ fields,” she added quickly; “they’ll be nice and fresh. Were you wanting anything at Post Office, by any chance?”
“Me?” Emma’s eyebrows rose to a great height above her beady eyes. Her arms were clamped like iron across her waist.... “Nay, not I. I was just curious-like, that’s all.”
“We haven’t much use for Post Offices, you and me!” Mrs. Clapham chuckled amiably, able even to bracket herself with Emma, in the sheer delight of getting away. “Not but what I must get a letter off to Tibbie, one o’ these days, to tell her of my luck.”