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
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There was always one bugger who wanted to invade another country, seeking power, money and so-called glory. But, it seemed to him, there were none of those devils around at the moment. I pray to God this gentle peace lasts, Robert thought, getting up and going to the circular table near the fireplace. There were newspapers and magazines on it, and a book about the Boer War. He picked it up, took it over to the bookshelves and put it back in its place. His eyes caught another history book, one about Wellington, who had defeated the Emperor Napoleon in the little Belgian town Waterloo in 1815. He had enjoyed reading it. Taking it out, placing it on the table, he thought he would give it to O’Neill later. He was well aware Blackie liked reading about great achievers.
Leaving the library, Lord Robert strolled down to his study to join Adrian, Moira and Harry Peterson, who had worries about his newly acquired Cézanne. This did not surprise Robert at all.
His eyes rested for a moment on Moira. He thought of her like a niece. Her position in polite society was less assured than most of his family, her illegitimacy an open secret, but with his backing and her inheritance he knew she would be accepted in London society.
She would need a chaperone, and he would sponsor her, so that she would never again need to run to strangers for help.
Fifty
It was an icy cold winter’s day, and Blackie wished he did not have to cross the moors to get to Fairley Hall. He had no alternative.
Squire Fairley was expecting him, and the latter had made a contract with Blackie’s uncle Patrick many months ago. Blackie had been taught that his word was his bond, and he had promised his uncle he would tackle the job.
Because he was building the guesthouse for Lord Lassiter, Blackie had been able to push the Fairley job to one side, and his uncle had agreed. But now he must keep the commitment to the Squire. His uncle insisted on that. Over the past few years, the Squire had sent some good jobs their way for people he knew in Leeds. Uncle Pat would go to Harrogate to oversee Blackie’s builders. He knew his uncle would be on top of things. No worries there. Bolton Manor was in safe hands.
Blackie glanced up at the long stretch of moors above him, dark, somber and always windswept. A harshly beautiful, desolate, grim place all year round.
Not quite true, Blackie thought. In August, the heather bloomed and turned those rolling hills into a sea of purple. But for such a short time, he added to himself.