“Why aren’t ye making the fires already?” he shouted at Emma, moving across the room, tripping over her bucket in his haste. After steadying himself against the table, he leaned over her and slapped her face. “Yer never on time and ye never do owt right.”

Cook instantly put a restraining hand on Blackie’s arm, as he jumped up and looked ready to punch Murgatroyd in the face.

Addressing the butler, she said in an icy voice, “Stop that right now, Mr. Murgatroyd! And just listen ter me. If I ever see ye so much as breathe on yon lass, I’ll have ye guts for garters. And I’ll be having a word about yer treatment of her ter somebody who’ll make mincemeat out of ye. Not Squire Fairley, but her father. And I don’t think ye’d like ter tangle with Big Jack Harte; ye might not be able to walk ever again when he’s finished with ye. Hark my words, Murgatroyd, and don’t touch her ever again. Hey, and remember, the kitchen is my territory, not yours. So don’t start being bossy in here.”

Murgatroyd snarled something at her that she didn’t quite catch, and then looked at Blackie, his eyes cold and hard. “You must be O’Neill, the navvy!” he snapped.

“That’s me all right,” Blackie responded, walking over to the butler, his expression now neutral. He said, “Squire Fairley gave me a list of jobs ter do, and I have my sack of tools in yon cupboard.”

“Fifteen shillings for the job,” Murgatroyd said. “Five days’ work.”

“Five days, true. But the price is one guinea,” Blackie replied.

“Fifteen shillings, not a penny more, O’Neill.”

Blackie chuckled as he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a letter. Opening it, he read, “‘One guinea for five days’ work, plus board and lodgings at Fairley Hall.’ This letter is signed by Adam Fairley, the Squire here. If ye don’t believe me, go and talk ter yer boss.” He waved the letter in front of Murgatroyd.

Murgatroyd grunted, and swung around, saying, “Get yer tools and follow me. I’ll show ye what needs doing first.”

Blackie put on his coat, cap and scarf, and picked up his sack. Turning around, he grinned at Emma and Cook, saluted them and followed Murgatroyd out of the kitchen.

Once they were alone, Emma said, “He tried ter cheat Blackie.”

“Aye, he did that!” Cook answered in a worried voice. “Murgatroyd’s in a bad mood this morning. Stay out of his way, Emma. And just so ye knows, I shall tell Mrs. Wainright Polly should be sent home. Otherwise, we’ll all be getting sick. She’s got a really bad cold.”

“I think ye should say summat,” Emma agreed, and picked up her bucket. “Ta-ta, Mrs. Turner. See ye later.”