She’d resigned herself to that fact. It didn’t matter that Judith ushered her into a front salon as if she were regular company. The walls of the luxurious room were covered in a white-and-gold damask silk. The table Daisy sat at was laden with goodies: biscuits, sandwiches, scones. Once, Judith had lived just across the street from Daisy. At first Daisy had felt she was the luckier of the two. Her father might have failed as a grocer, but he’d had a bit of an annuity, and her mother had been frugal enough, and genteel enough, to teach Daisy everything she had needed to know. Then Daisy’s life had jagged down. Her father had died; his annuity had disappeared. Her mother had become ill. Alongside that, Judith’s luck had jagged up, and then up again. She’d married a wealthy, powerful man she had known from her childhood. Now, instead of exchanging bread recipes and household tips, the two women sat at a table where three years of Daisy’s labor would not pay for all the china.
