Miss Havershams Daughter
Cook said I was the spit and image of her. There are no mirrors clear ever in the house so I could see if it were true.
‘My face is ruination’ she would mumble in her sleep as I lit the morning fire by blowing embers into life.
She slept in the chair by the fire. My job to clean the grate.
‘No noise girl. Mind. No noise when you’re up there,’ said cook
Hard to do, it was, with in the silence of the house. I jumped at every sound except for birds outside. I liked to hear the freshness of the dawn birds.
Cook said she birthed me in her chamber pot holding the fourposter curtain with her screams of rage. Still in her rucked up wedding dress tearing tatters at the seam.
‘Take her from my sight’ she whispered afore she fainted quite away thereafter, cook said.
Cook didn’t see it coming nor did she.
‘My stomach pains me sore’ she summoned cook.
’Must be your mutton stew was off!’ and took to her bed.
The doctor shook his head and told cook ‘boil water’ so she did.
‘I took you away and washed you in the scullery’ cook said and put you in an apple box.
‘She never asked for you,’ said cook.