A starvation day in the attic was a favourite punishment, as it combined economy with cruelty. At times I should have fainted away half-famished but for what Aunt Martha privily conveyed me.
Three evil passions, I soon found, held pride of place in Uncle Simeon; meanness, greed and cruelty. Sometimes, if at a meal-time Aunt Martha went into the kitchen for a moment, he would get up with a cat-like speed, scrape all the butter off her slice of bread-and-butter, and spread it on his own piece. Aunt Martha said nothing, to such depths of fear and obedience can women sink; though she flushed the first time she saw that I saw this husbandly deed. He was too mean to keep a servant; helped once a week by a charwoman, a tall funereal Exclusive Sister named Miss Woe. Aunt Martha did all the work of a house twice the size of Bear Lawn.
Cruelty came nearest to his heart. He flogged me brutally. The first time the trouble began over a letter, a few days only after I arrived at Torribridge. He came into the dining-room, sniffing spitefully. I knew something was afoot by the look of mean anticipated triumph in his eyes. He held out a letter for my inspection, placing his thumb over the name of the person to whom it was addressed. I could read "1, The Quay, Torribridge"; the handwriting was my Grandmother's.
"'Tis a letter from my Grandmother," I cried, "a letter for me."
"A letter from your dear Grannie, true, true; but who said it was for you? Who said that? ha! ha!"
"It is, I know it is. Give it me, please."
Sniffing and sneering, he handed it across. There was "Miss Mary Lee" true enough; but the envelope had been opened.
"'Tis mine then; who opened it?"
"Who opened it? One who will open every letter that comes if one chooses, in accordance with your dear Great-Aunt's wishes."