Major Mallison gaped, Teresa screwed up her face and stared at her sister with a vivid kindling of interest. At last! At last! the dormant spirit had roused itself from its lethargy. Teresa felt a sympathy, an excitement, which had no element of self. She braced her knees under the table, and sent forth a telegraphic message of support.
“Go it, Mary!”
“Mary,” gasped Mrs Mallison deeply, “have you gone mad?”
“Oh, no,” said Mary calmly. “I may have been mad before. I’ve sometimes fancied I was, but I’m sane now, I’m more than sane... I’m free! I’ve been only a slave—a white slave.”
Mrs Mallison cast an agonised glance at the sideboard and bookcases, as if terrified of offending their susceptibilities. She held up protesting hands.
“Silence! Mary... Have you no decency?”
“I’m sorry if the word shocks you. Perhaps it would be better to say a useful maid. I’ve been a useful maid at thirty pounds a year, and no holiday nor nights out. I’ve done what I’ve been told to do, from morning till night, and from night till morning when it has been necessary, but I’ve had no life of my own. I’m thirty-two, and I’ve never even invited a friend to tea without first having to ask permission. I have no corner of my own to which I can invite a friend—not a corner in the world—except a tireless bedroom. Every servant in the house has had more freedom than I have had. I have not been free even to think. It was useless, for what I thought was never noticed. Nobody troubled about what I thought. I was just Mary—a useful machine. Nobody takes any notice of a machine, except to keep it oiled. Nobody expects it to be sad, or in pain, or lonely, or discouraged, or tired of turning round and round in the same small space. Nobody suspects it of having a heart... but it has all the same, and when it has a chance of breaking free—it does not let it go. This money is my chance. A woman brought up as I have been is powerless without money, and I have had none. I’ve never had a penny piece in my life for which I’ve not had to say thank you. The money you have given me has never been looked upon as my right, as payment for work... yet I have worked hard. I have given you my whole life.”
“You have done your duty in the position in which it has pleased God to place you,” said Mrs Mallison with dignity. As Mary’s excitement had increased, she had grown quieter, and her face showed signs of mental shock. Not the news of the legacy itself had been so startling as this sudden outbreak on the part of the silent, patient daughter. Nor was her distress in any sense affected. According to her lights she had been a good mother, careful of colds and draughts, of food and raiment. Five minutes ago she would have declared her conscience to be free of reproach so far as Mary was concerned; it was paralysing to discover that she had been looked upon as a heartless task-mistress. Her exultation of a moment before was replaced by pain and discomfort, and her voice took the deeper tone of earnestness.
“You have fulfilled your duty in the place in which it has pleased God to place you... and have done the work He set you to do.”
“Are you so sure of that?” Mary asked, and Mrs Mallison had an agonised conviction that the girl was going to turn atheist into the bargain!