William Monk 03 - Defend and Betray

the stairs, Hester behind her. Almost immediately they saw them, the upright figure of Miss Buchan coming towards them, half sideways, half backwards, and a couple of yards away the rotund, red-faced cook, brandishing a carving knife in her hand.
    “Vinegar bitch!” the cook shouted furiously, brandishing the knife at considerable risk to the footman, who was trying to get close enough to restrain her.
    “Wine belly,” Miss Buchan retorted, leaning forward.
    “Stop it!” Edith shouted sternly. “Stop it at once!”
    “Yer want to get rid of ’er.” The cook stared at Edith but waved the knife at Miss Buchan. “She’s no good for that poor boy. Poor little child.”
    Behind them the kitchen maid wailed again and stuffed the corners of her apron into her mouth.
    “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you fat fool,”Miss Buchan shouted back at her, her thin, sharp face full of fury. “All you do is stuff him full of cakes—as if that solved anything.”
    “Be quiet,” Edith said loudly. “Both of you, be quiet at once!”
    “And all you do is follow him around, you dried-up old witch!” The cook ignored Edith completely and went on shouting at Miss Buchan. “Never leave the poor little mite alone. I don’t know what’s the matter with you.”
    “Don’t know,” Miss Buchan yelled back at her. “Don’t know. Of course you don’t know, you stupid old glutton. You don’t know anything. You never did.”
    “Neither do you, you miserable old baggage!” She waved the knife again, and the footman darted backwards, missing his step and overbalancing. “Sit up there all by yourself dreaming evil thoughts,” the cook went on, oblivious of the other servants gathering in the passage. “And then come down here to decent folk, thinking you know something.” She was well into her stride and Edith might as well not have been there. “You should ’ave bin born an ’undred years ago—then they’d ’ave burned you, they would. And served you right too. Poor little child. They shouldn’t allow you anywhere near ’im.”
    “Ignorant you are,” Miss Buchan cried back at her. “Ignorant as the pigs you look like—nothing but snuffle around all day eating and drinking. All you think about is your belly. You know nothing. Think if a child’s got food on his plate he’s got everything, and if he eats it he’s well. Ha!” She looked around for something to throw, and since she was standing on the stairs, nothing came to hand. “Think you know everything, and you know nothing at all.”
    “Buckie, be quiet!” Edith shrieked.
    “That’s right, Miss Edith,” the cook said, cheering her on. “You tell ’er to keep ’er wicked mouth closed! You should get rid of ’er! Put ’er out! Daft, she is. All them years with other folks’ children have turned ’er wits. She’s no good for that poor child. Lost ’is father and ’is mother, poor little mite, and now ’e ’as to put up with that old witch. It’s enoughto drive ’im mad. D’yer know what she’s bin tellin’ ’im? Do yer?”
    “No—nor do I want to,” Edith said sharply. “You just be quiet!”
    “Well you should know!” The cook’s eyes were blazing and her hair was flying out of nearly all its pins. “An’ if nobody else’ll tell yer, I will! Got the poor little child so confused ’e don’t know anything anymore. One minute ’is grandmama tells ’im ’is papa’s dead and ’e’s gotter ferget ’is mama because she’s a madwoman what killed ’is papa an’ will be ’anged for it. Which God ’elp us is the truth.”
    The footman had rearmed himself and approached her again. She backhanded him almost unconsciously.
    “Then along comes that wizened-up ol’ bag o’ bones,” she continued regardless, “an’ tells ’im ’is mama loves ’im very much and in’t a wicked woman at all. Wot’s ’e to think?” Her voice was rising all the time. “Don’t know whether ’e’s comin’ or goin’, nor ’oo’s good nor bad, nor what’s the truth about anything.” She finally took the damp dish towel out of her apron pocket and hurled it at Miss Buchan.
    It hit Miss Buchan in the chest and slid to the floor. She ignored it completely. Her face was pale, her eyes glittering. Her thin, bony hands were knotted into fists.
    “You ugly, interfering old fool,” she shouted back. “You know nothing about it. You should stay with your pots and pans in the kitchen where you belong. Cleaning out