“Anything to get away from the house,” Becky told him when she returned downstairs and she didn’t open her mouth again until she felt certain that Mrs. Trentham was well out of earshot.
“What does she expect of me?” Becky finally asked.
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Guy insisted, taking her hand. “You’re overreacting. Pa’s convinced she’ll come round given time and in any case, if I have to choose between you and her I know exactly which one of you is more important to me.”
Becky squeezed his hand. “Thank you, darling, but I’m still not certain I can go through another evening like the last one.”
“We could always leave early and spend the rest of the day at your place,” Guy said. Becky turned to look at him, unsure what he meant. He added quickly, “Better get back to the house or she’ll only grumble that we left her alone all afternoon.” They both quickened their pace.
A few minutes later they were climbing the stone steps at the front of the hall. As soon as Becky had changed back into her house shoes and checked her hair in the mirror on the hallstand, she rejoined Guy in the drawing room. She was surprised to find a large tea already laid out. She checked her watch: it was only three-fifteen.
“I’m sorry you felt it necessary to keep everyone waiting, Guy,” were the first words that Becky heard as she entered the room.
“Never known us to have tea this early before,” offered the major, from the other side of the fireplace.
“Do you take tea, Miss Salmon?” Mrs. Trentham asked, even managing to make her name sound like a petty offense.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Becky.
“Perhaps you could call Becky by her first name,” Guy suggested.
Mrs. Trentham’s eyes came to rest on her son. “I cannot abide this modern-day custom of addressing everyone by their Christian name, especially when one has only just been introduced. Darjeeling, Lapsang or Earl Grey, Miss Salmon?” she asked before anyone had a chance to react. She looked up expectantly for Becky’s reply, but no answer was immediately forthcoming because Becky still hadn’t quite recovered from the previous jibe. “Obviously you’re not given that much choice in Whitechapel,” Mrs. Trentham added.
Becky considered picking up the pot and pouring the contents all over the woman, but somehow she managed to hold her temper, if only because she knew that making her lose it was exactly what Mrs. Trentham was hoping to achieve.
After a further silence Mrs. Trentham asked, “Do you have any brothers or sisters, Miss Salmon?”
“No, I’m an only child,” replied Becky.
“Surprising, really.”
“Why’s that?” asked Becky innocently.
“I always thought the lower classes bred like rabbits,” said Mrs. Trentham, dropping another lump of sugar into her tea.
“Mother, really—” began Guy.
“Just my little joke,” she said quickly. “Guy will take me so seriously at times, Miss Salmon. However, I well remember my father, Sir Raymond, once saying—”
“Not again,” said the major.
“—that the classes were not unlike water and wine. Under no circumstances should one attempt to mix them.”
“But I thought it was Christ who managed to turn water into wine,” said Becky.
Mrs. Trentham chose to ignore this observation. “That’s exactly why we have officers and other ranks in the first place; because God planned it that way.”
“And do you think that God planned that there should be a war, in order that those same officers and other ranks could then slaughter each other indiscriminately?” asked Becky.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Salmon,” Mrs. Trentham replied. “You see, I don’t have the advantage of being an intellectual like yourself. I am just a plain, simple woman who speaks her mind. But what I do know is that we all made sacrifices during the war.”
“And what sacrifices did you make, Mrs. Trentham?” Becky inquired.
“A considerable number, young lady,” Mrs. Trentham replied, stretching to her full height. “For a start, I had to go without a lot of things that were quite fundamental to one’s very existence.”
“Like an arm or a leg?” said Becky, quickly regretting her words the moment she realized that she had fallen into Mrs. Trentham’s trap.
Guy’s mother rose from her chair and walked slowly over to the fireplace, where she tugged violently on the servants’ bellpull. “I do not have to sit around and be insulted in my own home,” she said. As soon as Gibson reappeared she turned to him and added, “See that Alfred collects Miss Salmon’s belongings from her room. She will be returning to London earlier than planned.”