‘Thank you,’ said Thea, pulling back to look at Martha. ‘You always know what I need, even if I cannot see it.’ She looked around them before placing a quick peck on Martha’s lips. Martha couldn’t control the smile on her face. But then Thea heard a bubble break the surface of the water and looked down.
‘Good god,’ she said, turning her face back to Martha.
Martha looked down. ‘What?’ she asked, eyeing the sponge.
‘It’s getting bigger.’
‘They do that,’ said Martha. ‘It was three times as big when I got it, and it was wet.’ Then to Thea’s horror, she began to reach into the bucket. She couldn’t stop her hand slapping Martha’s arm away.
‘Ow,’ said Martha, rubbing the back of her hand. ‘What was that for?’
Thea stared at her, wondering if she had gone stark raving bonkers. ‘What if it has your arm off? It’s massive.’
Martha rolled her eyes. ‘Unlikely,’ she said, but retrieved some tongs from the fireside instead, picked it out of the bucket and placed it on a tray they had stolen from the kitchen.
Mrs Phibbs chose that moment to back in through the door, dragging a sack of linens and swearing under her breath as she noticed the trail of water Thea and Martha had splashed from the sink.
‘Sally,’ she hollered in a bark Thea wasn’t used to. ‘Have you been at that bloody–’ she stopped abruptly as she turned and saw Thea and Martha, the latter looking shocked too. ‘Oh, I am sorry Your Grace, Lady Foxm-’ Mrs Phibbs started, but went silent again, sentence truncated. ‘What on earth is that?’ She peered at the sponge on the tray.
‘Looks like a brain, doesn’t it?’ asked Thea.
Mrs Phibbs looked horrified. ‘That’s never what a brain looks like?’
‘Afraid so,’ said Thea.
‘Then what’s it doing on the scullery bench?’ asked Mrs Phibbs, visibly gathering herself. ‘Whose is it?’
‘It isn’t actually a brain,’ clarified Thea. ‘It just looks like one.’
‘This is a sponge,’ said Martha.
‘It is alive though,’ said Thea.
Mrs Phibbs backed away a little.
‘Not dangerous,’ said Martha, and then eyed the sponge again. ‘Probably.’
‘It got three times bigger when we put it in water,’ said Thea.
Mrs Phibbs’ eyebrows raised further, and her bottom hit the sink as she stepped further backwards.
‘What now?’ asked Thea, both wary of it but beside herself with excitement to be experimenting with Martha again. ‘Will it wander off?’
Mrs Phibbs made a little noise.
‘Nope,’ said Martha. ‘But I do want to test its irritability.’ She disappeared into the kitchen.
Thea stepped back again. ‘You think it’s cross?’ She raised her voice so Martha could hear her in the next room. ‘Because we put it in water or because it’s below stairs?’
Mrs Phibbs looked horrified. ‘What you anger it for?’
Martha rounded the door again, kettle in hand which, from the look of the cloth she handled it with, had just boiled on the stove. ‘Not intentionally,’ she said kindly, lifting the kettle onto the bench.
‘Is there only one?’ asked Mrs Phibbs, looking around her as if a herd of angry sponges might descend from the ceiling.
‘Just one, Mrs Phibbs,’ Martha reassured.
Then Mrs Phibbs looked straight at her. ‘Won’t it get lonely?’
