She turned, a welcoming smile pinned on her face…and barely suppressed a groan when she saw her sister sauntering toward her. Merciful heavens, a visit from Delilah was thelastthing she needed. Especially with Patty present. Her sister and sister-in-law were mortal enemies.
“So ’ere’s where you be ’iding, Maggie.” Dressed in a low-cut sateen frock more suited to a lightskirt than the widow of a successful fishmonger, Delilah smirked at Hypatia. “Oh, ’ello Hypatia. Didn’t notice you standing next to ’em old bones. You blend in so well.”
“And you stick out like a sore thumb.” Patty sniffed the air. “I say, does something—or someone—smell fishy around here?”
Delilah growled.
Maggie’s temples began to throb. “I haven’t been hiding, Delilah. I’ve been working.”
Delilah turned back to Maggie. In some ways, it was like looking in the mirror for her older sister was the same height and shared her reddish-brown hair and green eyes. Yet Delilah’s face was harder, distinctive lines fanning from her eyes and bracketing her mouth. Ever since Maggie could recall, Delilah had been peeved about something…and that something was somehow always Maggie’s fault.
“Not on your looks, that’s for certain.” Delilah’s lips curled with disdain. “Why are you still wearing those widow’s weeds? Your husband cocked ’is toes afore mine did, and oi been out o’ mourning for months.”
It was true that Maggie could have transitioned out of mourning. The reason she continued to wear black was more economic than sentimental: when Paul died, she’d saved money by dying her old dresses black instead of buying new ones. Now she had no lighter colors to wear.
Since she didn’t think her sister actually cared about the state of her wardrobe, she asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”
Eyes narrowing, Delilah snapped, “You can clean up your mess is what you can do.”
“What mess?” Maggie asked with a sigh.
“Our brothers, Jeremy, Jacob, and Jimmy, that’s what. They’ve been sniffing at my ’eels for ’andouts e’er since you cut ’em off.”
The rare point of contention in Maggie’s marriage had been her family. Paul disapproved of the Goodes and refused to interact with them. Yet Maggie couldn’t cut herself off from her own kin; what little pin money she could save, she’d given to her brothers, who were forever short of the ready. Since Paul’s death and the revelation of her own debts, however, she’d had nothing extra to give.
“I told you giving your brothers money was a mistake,” Patty muttered.
Like Paul, she disapproved of Maggie having anything to do with the Goodes.
The throbbing at Maggie’s temples increased. “Patty, would you mind giving my sister and me a moment alone?”
“Yes. This befamilybusiness,” Delilah said cattily.
With a huff, Patty strode into the backroom. Maggie would have to smooth her sister-in-law’s ruffled feathers later.I’ll deal with one crisis at a time.
“I didn’t cut our brothers off,” she said. “I simply have no money to give them. The shop…it hasn’t been doing well, Delilah.”
“Well, serves you right. Thought you were so much be’er than the rest o’ us marrying that snobbish bone collector. Should’ve married a real man like my Wilson; he might ’ave spent his life knee-deep in fish, but he brought in the blunt, ’e did.”
Indeed, Maggie knew that Wilson had left Delilah with a comfortable living and a large house in town. “If that’s the case, why don’t you help our brothers?”
The instant the words came out, she regretted them.
Delilah’s face turned scarlet. “Why should oi share what’s mine? Unlike those worthless gits, oi worked ’ard for my life.”
By working hard, Delilah meant on her back and with all and sundry…but Maggie kept that uncharitable thought to herself.
“Then don’t help them,” she said. “But don’t blame me if I cannot.”
“O’ course oi be blaming you,” her sister shot back. “Think you’re be’er than the rest o’ us, with your fancy speech and fancy life. You ain’t e’er done a real day’s work in your life.”
The unfairness of the accusation tore through Maggie’s restraint.
“I’ve been working since I wasthirteen. I helped our mother with the dockside wash when she was alive. After she died, I tried to support the family by working at the butcher’s—butyougot me sacked by having an affair with him!”
Chest heaving, Maggie could still recall her shame when the butcher’s wife had screamed at her, calling her the sister of a harlot. She’d found herself tossed out the door—with no references, either.
“Can oi ’elp it if old ’Arper wanted a bit o’ a tickle? ’E wasn’t getting any married to that old prune.” Delilah slapped a hand on her hip. “We can’t all be perfect angels like you.”
