He said it, as he hoped to say it, finally. He wanted to get away from these two, to escape from their distracting presence to a place where he could think. After all, Hartle Pike had not settled his problem, and he must try somewhere else—Platt Fields, perhaps. They had a sort of space.
But he could not escape—not, at least, till Anne had played her ace. Anne had not finished yet, though she had hoped ten years in the wilderness had been enough. It seemed that they were not, and she must wander still. Well, she could do what she must.
“Oh, aye,” she said dryly, “there’s Ada. There’s your bad ha’penny, and I reckon summat’ll have to be done with her. But if you’ll stop worrying, lad, and if worst comes to the worst, I’ll take Ada on myself.”
Effie started towards her. “No, no,” she cried.
“You hold your hush,” said Anne. This was Anne’s game, not Effie’s.
Sam was still staring at her. “You!” he said. “What can you do?”
“I can see you and Effie happy, and I dunno as owt else matters.” It did not matter what the cost was to Anne. “When you used to come home to your tea from Mr. Travers’ office, what you left was always good enough for me, and I can stomach your leavings still.”
It startled Effie, who had thought herself a specialist in sacrifice. This was the very ferocity of self-denial.
So far, tired and overstrained, Effie had found peace in resigning the leadership to Anne, but here was a lead she could not follow. It was not that she mistook Anne’s purpose or doubted her capacity. Her faith in Anne was young but adamantine, and she knew that if Anne replaced Sam with Ada, and made herself heir to the Marbeck plan, she would unquestionably do for Ada what Sam had undertaken to do. But the thing was simply not good enough.
“No, Mrs. Branstone, no,” she said firmly.