r.

She felt happier then. She could face them all. She had been bad to her
aunts, too. She had done them harm, and they had been nothing but
goodness to her. Apart from leaving Martin she would do all, these next
weeks, to please them.

She went up to her bedroom, and when she reached it she realised, with
a little pang of fright, that she was a prisoner. No more meetings
outside Hatchards, no more teas, no more walks ... She looked out of
the window down into the street. It was a long way down and the figures
walking were puppets, not human at all. But the thing to be thought of
now was the question of letters. How was she to get them to the Strand
Office and receive from them Martin's letters in return? After long,
anxious thought there seemed to be only one way. There was a
kitchen-maid, Jane, who came every morning to the house, did odd jobs
in the kitchen, and went home again in the evening. Maggie had seen the
girl about the house a number of times, had noticed her for her
rebellious, independent look, and had felt some sympathy with her
because she was under the harsh dominion of Martha.

Maggie had spoken to her once or twice and the girl had seemed
grateful, smiling in a kind of dark, tearful way under her untidy hair.
Maggie believed that she would help her; of course the girl would get
into trouble were she discovered, and dismissal would certainly follow,
but it was clear enough that she would not in any case be under
Martha's government very long. Martha never kept kitchen-maids for more
than a month at a time.

She sat down at once and wrote her first letter, sitting on her bed.

DARLING MARTIN--There has been an explosion here. The aunts have told
me to give you up. I could not promise them that I would not see you
and so I am a prisoner here until I leave them altogether. I won't
leave them until after the New Year, partly because I gave a promise
and partly because it would make more trouble for you if I were turned
out just now. I can't leave the house at all unless I am with one of
them, so I am going to try and send the letters by the kitchen-maid
here who goes home every day, and she will fetch yours when she posts
mine. I'll give her a note to tell the post people that she is to have
them. Martin, dear, try and write every day, even if it's only the
shortest line, because it is dreadful to be shut up all day, and I
think of you all the time and wonder how you are. Don't be unhappy,
Martin--t