Mary looked from one woman to another, in mute amazement.
"Well, really," she said, "anyone would think that John had to do all the work himself from the way you talk! Why, at present things are going on as much as usual. We have Shepherd and Foreman and Mike O'Flynn and one or two Irish harvesters who have been with us for several years. The only difficulty will be the leading, and then we've planned to join up with the Willerbys and Glebe Farm people, and get each other's corn in by turns."
Instinctively she turned a little in her chair and looked back towards Sarah. Sarah was evidently engrossed in the delicate operation of pouring out a second cup of tea for Louisa and paid Mary no attention.
Mary tried to finish her cake. The icing broke off into hard, jagged pieces in her mouth. It was difficult to swallow. Oh, but this was a dreadful place, she thought. What business was it of these women to torment her? Of course they wanted her and John to come and live in Market Burton. They were probably jealous, because she was still young enough to appreciate life at Anderby.... Trees of the valley, they were jealous of those who stood out upon the hill-tops and battled with the storm. They would try to draw her down, woo her with warmth and ease, and whisper that the fight was too hard, the uplands too bleak—hold out as a threat the danger to John.... Knowing perhaps, that her conscience was already over-burdened, and that when she thought of her possible complicity in John's illness she lost all sense of reason and proportion.
"Oh, we know of course you'd never let him do that sort of work," smiled Ursula ingratiatingly. "It's just the strain of working with unfriendly people, and knowing that at any moment there may be more trouble. Of course, when you're down amongst it all, I don't suppose you have quite the same chance of realizing what it all means as we have here. You're very busy, I know—always such a good manager. Naturally you haven't much time for fussing about other things—but we really have been wondering a little how John will stand the strain."
Mary rose. To herself she said, "I can't stand this much longer." Aloud, she laughed lightly.
"Well, you must all remember we've got to get the harvest in somehow—and, after all, Ursula, I have the best opportunity of knowing what's right for John. Sarah, I wonder if you'd let me take one or two tomatoes from your greenhouse. John does like them, and we have none at Anderby.... No, don't bother to come, please."
She had to escape from the room somehow. It was intolerable, full of jagged glass ornaments, and crude woolwork and tongues that cut like glass. These women would drive her mad. As though she had never contemplated the possibility of retiring!
"I'll come with you." Sarah spoke to her for the first time that evening.
"No, please don't bother," begged Mary desperately. "I really know where they are, and I only want a few."