I thought she would be pleased. I imagined servants loved charwomen. I know I should were I a servant—so nice to have someone to talk to, and into whose willing ear to pour tales about the mistress. But Amelia snorted so violently she made me jump.
"Charwoman!" It would be difficult to convey the scorn in her voice. "Charwoman helpful?"
"Aren't they?" I inquired.
Amelia flung herself towards the door.
"You'd never seen a flue-brush, mum, and now you asks if a charwoman is helpful."
I remained silent, overwhelmed by my own ignorance.
Amelia fetched a piece of wet, soapy flannel, and applied it to some of her own finger-marks on the white door. I felt glad she was working off her feelings in this way.
"What do they go out for?" I said at length.
"Just to rob the silly folks who engages 'em," she replied laconically.
"Are they all like that?"