by Elizabeth Brassington

'What a perfect fright, my dear.'
        Mrs Chetwood accepted a finger of shortbread, balancing the plate on her knee.
        'Wherever did you find her? Those eyes!'
        'The cap does her no favours, I'm afraid,' said Mrs Heafford with a smile, 'but what else can one put on a maid's head?'
        'A paper bag, I should think,' said her friend, and they shook with laughter.
        On the other side of the door, Avis turned away to go downstairs. She went into the kitchen and pulled off her cap and frilly apron. Her black-woollen arm-pits smelled strong today. They always did when she was upset. She never showed her feelings, though. Never. Not even when the children at school called after her.
        'Boss-eye,
        Go and cry.'
        There was a knock at the door. It was a boy with the vegetables. His smile turned to a snigger as he handed over the basket. The tradesmen were the worst. but they would soon get used to her. She put on an overall and took carrots and potatoes over to the sink. At least there were no other servants to tease her, that's why she'd taken the post.
        The drawing-room bell rang. She hastily wiped her bands and changed back into her cap and apron.
        Avis was a hard worker. She'd heard Mrs Heafford say that she was a gem, but that she had still to prove herself trustworthy. Mr Heafford had said that they were lucky to find someone who wouldn't lead the boys astray.
        Avis enjoyed working hard. It took her out of herself. She could think about becoming a housekeeper one day. Then she would be called 'Mrs', and would buy smart clothes with the extra money. A fox-fur perhaps. Boss-eye would show them!
        It was Wednesday: drawing-room day. When she'd cleared away the breakfast things, Avis picked up a brush and dustpan and made a start. She brushed the hearthrug, then rolled it back. Had the last maid been as thorough as she was? She found a curl or two of fluff and something else: a sovereign. She picked it up and laid it in her hand. It felt cool and solid. She thought of the little blue hat she'd seen in town. She held the coin for a moment, then quickly put it down. It was probably a trick. Pick up the coin and you'd be out of the door with no reference. She laid the rug flat again.
        Later that morning, Mrs Heafford told her to go to the chemist's shop in the High Street to fetch some oil of cloves for a toothache which had just come on. The Heaffords owned the shop, and Mrs Heafford had said that her husband was a pharmacist. She said that he had a position to keep up in the town.
        Avis hated going to the shop because of Evelyn, the girl who worked behind the counter. She always smirked when Avis came in, and last week she'd deliberately crossed her eyes and grinned at the other girl who worked there. If the wind changed, she might stick like that. Then she'd be sorry.
        Evelyn flounced over to a cabinet to get the bottle of medicine, leaving behind a waft of strong perfume. Stuck-up little cow! She was probably no better than she ought to be. Then Mr Heafford came out from the back of the shop and actually pinched the little tart's bottom as he walked past her. He hadn't noticed Avis standing there. When he turned round and saw her staring at him, he looked angry and went straight back into the stock-room.
        The following Wednesday, Mrs Heafford told Avis not to bother with the drawing-room because she was expecting a visitor. She said that it was her solicitor, so they mustn't be disturbed. The solicitor was young and dashing, and was in such a hurry that he didn't even notice Avis's cross-eyes. When the drawing-room door was closed and Avis was standing outside, she couldn't resist pressing her ear to it. She heard Mrs Heafford say, 'No Arthur, you mustn't, really,' and then let out a high-pitched giggle. Then the key was turned in the lock.
        An hour later, when Mrs Heafford had shut the front-door behind her visitor, she said that Avis could get on with the drawing-room. Avis went in, straightened out the crumpled cushions, then rolled back the hearth-rug and smiled.
        Mrs Heafford was in the hall, looking in the mirror and patting her hair.
        'I found this under the rug. Madam.'
        'Oh, thank you, Avis.'
        'I expect your gentleman dropped it.'
        'Yes, I expect so.'
        Mrs Heafford tried to avoid the stony, cross-eyed stare, and then an unbecoming flush spread over her face. She looked away from the girl.
        'I'm sure he would like you to keep it, Avis. It's the done thing to tip servants, you know.'
        'I'm very grateful, I'm sure, Madam. Will you thank the gentleman for me when you see him again?'
        Next time the solicitor called, Avis had to tell Mrs Heafford that her gentleman friend had dropped another coin.
        When her half-holiday came round. Avis walked into town as usual. She liked to look at the shops, but today she pushed open the door of Brown and Harper's and went boldly in. When she came out again, she was wearing a little blue hat with a saucy brim. From it hung a lacy half-veil.
        She strolled down the street, admiring herself in the shop windows. Before she realised it, she was staring into the window of Heafford and Co. She would march straight in and show that saucy Evelyn a thing or two.
        Evelyn was serving a customer. When she looked up, she said, 'Oh, it's you! I didn't recognise you in that funny hat.'
        Avis gave her a stony stare. 'I'11 have a large bottle of California Poppy,' she said, and handed ever sixpence.
        Just then, Mr Heafford came out of the stock-room. He didn't seem pleased to see her.
        Avis thought for a moment and said, 'I'll take that fancy box of face-powder, too, Mr Heafford.' She fumbled in her purse for a few seconds, then fixed him with her cross-eyed stare. 'Oh dear. I'm a little short this week.'
        Mr Heafford frowned, then wrenched his lips into a smile and handed over the packet. 'Look upon it as a little reward for hard work, Avis.' Then he went hack into the stock-room and slammed the door behind him.
        Over the next few weeks. Avis was able to buy a smart pair of shoes and a handbag to match. She had her eye on a little fox-fur in Staples's window.
        More weeks passed. Avis now wore a fox-fur, and with the veil on her hat pulled down, she turned heads. She even turned the head of the lame errand boy from the fish shop. One day he might even walk out with her.
        On her next half-day, Avis was a little late starting out and noticed Madam's solicitor walking up to the house as she left. She gave a satisfied smile, but a few minutes later she saw Mr Heafford. He was walking briskly towards the house. She must warn her Mistress! If Mr Heafford discovered her guilty secret, the game would, be up for Avis.
        She took a short-cut, but she was too late. Mr Heafford was already opening the front door. Avis hid behind a bush in the front garden and. after a few minutes, she could hear angry shouting. Then Mrs Heafford screamed out. 'Don't you accuse me. I dare say that little tart in the shop could tell a tale or two.'
        It was like the Pictures, but more frightening.
        The shouting went on for a bit, then Mr Heafford and the solicitor came marching out of the house and went off in different directions. Avis waited a little while, then went back into the house. As she walked past the drawing-room door, Mrs Heafford called out, 'You'd better come in, Avis.'
        She was slumped in a chair, her face stained with tears. She looked up at Avis. 'Get out of this house!'
        'But my reference. Madam?'
        Mrs Heafford saw the hurt, cross-eyed stare with disbelief. 'Get out!'
        'But Madam, I've worked hard and you can trust me.'
        'Trust you?' Mrs Heafford's voice shook.
        'Yes, Madam. I never stole that sovereign you hid under the rug, but your gentleman was ever so good with them tips.'
        An angry flush spread over Mrs Heafford's face.
        'You can trust me, you see. I won't never go telling no tales.'
        Mrs Heafford walked slowly over to the desk and pulled out note-paper and a pen.
        At the corner of the street, Avis put down her canvas hold-all. She settled her blue hat firmly on her head and tucked the fox-fur round her neck. It didn't matter who you were. Falling into temptation was a wicked thing. As her grandmother used to say, 'Honesty always pays off in the end.'

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