“No other maids like ye?” Blackie asked, surprised at the answer Emma had just given. Low on staff seemed odd to him.

“Just Polly, but she’s got a cold. She’s in bed. I have ter do her work.” Emma grimaced. “Well, we’re there.… Welcome to Fairley Hall,” she announced in a scathing tone.

“The monstrosity,” Blackie muttered, and looked at Emma, then put his arm around her shoulder. “What is it, mavourneen? Ye’ve got such a strange look on yer face.”

“I’m frightened of this place,” she murmured. “Like when I walk past the cemetery at night.”

“Don’t be afraid, Emma. It’s just a lot of bricks and mortar. The house can’t hurt ye.” As he spoke, he suddenly thought, But those who occupy it can. He shivered inside at the idea of the Fairleys or their servants hurting this lovely young girl.

The warmth of the kitchen, the sight of a roaring fire in the huge hearth and the delicious smells of bacon frying, chicken broth bubbling, changed Blackie’s dour mood immediately, his spirits lifting.

Following Emma into the large kitchen filled with sparkling copper pots and utensils, bunches of herbs, onions and sausages hanging on a big rack dropping from the ceiling, gave him an unexpected feeling of well-being.

Standing next to a huge black pot, holding a wooden spoon, was a little plump dumpling of a woman. She had apple-rosy cheeks and a bunch of graying hair piled on top of her head; she wore a dark-blue dress covered with a huge blue-and-white pinafore.

“Late again, Lady Emma, I see,” the cook said. “Best hurry and change, pet, afore Murgatroyd see ye.”

“Right now, Mrs. Turner,” Emma answered, and dashed over to a large cupboard.

“And what’s this the cat’s dragged in?” Mrs. Turner asked, her beady black eyes settling on Blackie, hovering near the doorway.

“He’s the navvy come ter do the repairs!” Emma shouted from behind the cupboard door. “I met him on the moors. He was lost.”

“Got a name have ye, lad?” the cook asked, still eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.

“I do indeed, Mrs. Turner. Shane O’Neill’s me name, but the whole world calls me Blackie. And I’m pleased ter meet ye, Cook.”

“So don’t stand there gawping like a sucking duck in a storm. Take yer coat and cap off, and come ter the fireplace. Nay, lad, ye looks right nithered. A cup of hot broth is what ye need. And ye too, Emma. Come on, Yer Ladyship, get a move on.”

“I’m dressed, just about!” Emma called, and a moment later emerged from the big cupboard.