Chapters (71)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Part Two
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part Three
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Part Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Part Five
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
He nodded, and followed his cousins who had already crossed the room, gone ahead of him to hang up their topcoats, as they did every day.
Cups of steaming porridge were waiting for them when they returned to the kitchen. Cook beckoned them forward, and Siobhan and Michael sat down, followed by Blackie.
The cook fussed around Blackie, reminding him there were currants in her porridge, unlike the porridge made by others not so talented with food as she was.
“That I know, Cook,” he said, lifting his spoon. “And yours is the best I’ve ever tasted.” He began to eat, and Cook went over to the ovens to look inside, nodding to herself, and then she closed the doors. “His Lordship is taking the family to London town tomorrow,” Cook whispered, hovering over the kitchen table. “So dinner will be one of me best specialties,” she confided. “Now, what about a mug of tea? Do ye all want one?”
“Yes, please,” the three of them said in unison; a moment later, Cook was serving them. She then brought a small plate of three warm tea cakes to the table. “Help yerself, Siobhan,” she ordered, and looked across at Blackie and Michael. “Don’t be shy. Enjoy a tea cake, me boyos. I’ve made a large batch for the family for later.”
They did as she asked, their mouths watering at the sight of the tea cakes. This week was turning into a good one for food.
Once breakfast was over, Michael and Siobhan went to change into their work clothes, and Blackie remained seated at the table.
“I’ll join ye for a second,” Mrs. O’Rourke said, and smiled at Blackie. She had worked for the Lassiters for many years, and as a local woman she had watched him grow up, and was fond of him and his cousins.
She pursed her lips, and said in a low voice, “I’ve a suitcase for ye, Blackie. It belonged to my son, Conor. I don’t think ye knew him. He was the one in the Indian army. He got killed there in an accident.” She shook her head, and a flash of sadness slid across her face. “Not even fighting for Queen and Country, and he had to go and die like that! In an accident. In a foreign land.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Rourke. Ye have told me much about Conor, and he must have been a lovely young man.”
“Aye, he was that.” She stood. “Well, we must get on; talking about him won’t bring him back. I’m going to get ye the suitcase. Back in a tick.”