Chapter Thirteen

Hannah put down the duster and eased the first volume of Ivanhoe off the shelf. She turned the pages until she found where she’d left off last time and began to read. Ivanhoe had disguised himself as a pilgrim and was determined to return to his father’s castle to win the hand of his beloved Rowena. Hannah was so hoping that he would succeed. She wished that she could read more than a few pages at a time, although the fear of being caught added to the excitement.

As she came to the end of a chapter she reluctantly closed the book and put it back to continue the dusting. She wondered if anyone would miss it if she borrowed it. Perhaps next time the Feildens were at their country house she might risk it. She was sure that none of the other staff would notice because she was the only one who dusted in here.

When she went back down to get Mrs Feilden’s breakfast tray ready, she was surprised to see Jane sitting at the kitchen table. Cook was sitting with her and there was an untouched cup of tea growing cold.

‘Jane?’

Cook shook her head to warn her and Hannah felt the horror of realisation. Eddie must have died. Why else would Jane have come back?

‘Eddie?’ she whispered.

‘Aye. Gone in the early hours,’ said Cook. ‘She’s in shock.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Hannah couldn’t think of any words that would be adequate.

Jane continued to stare at the floor. She was twisting a handkerchief around and around her fingers, but she wasn’t crying. She just seemed stunned.

‘I killed him,’ she said after a moment. ‘It were all my own fault.’

‘What nonsense tha’s talkin’,’ said Cook.

‘No. It’s true. I were on the market and there were a chap selling pills. Morison’s Pills, he called them. He said they would cure the cholera even when the doctor’s potions had failed. And I were that worried about Eddie, because he wasn’t getting any better, so I bought them and I gave him a dozen, like the man said, and he brought up such a quantity of bile that I was sure he’d be cured. He fell asleep straight after. He seemed peaceful for a while. But then he woke and he were that thirsty he pleaded and pleaded for a drink but the doctor had told me he hadn’t to have nowt or he’d never get well. Pitiful it were, but eventually he fell asleep again. Then when I went to check on him in the night he were that cold and I could barely hear his voice but he were still pleading for a drink, and then he just faded away …’

Mrs Feilden’s bell rang, and Hannah jumped up to get her tray. ‘Shall I say owt?’ she asked Cook.

‘I suppose she’ll want to know,’ she replied. ‘But spare her the details.’

Hannah climbed the stairs, balancing the tray carefully. She hoped, selfishly, that Mrs Feilden wouldn’t offer to take Jane back. She liked having the room upstairs to herself so that she could practise her writing. She didn’t want to share it again.