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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“The luggage. A lot of it,” Mrs. Turner said in a low voice. “Also, the Squire likes having her here. For company. The missus is … three sheets to the wind most of the time.” She whispered the last few words.
“Sure and I know that,” Blackie whispered back, and sat up straighter as Emma walked into the kitchen.
Fifty-Three
The minute Blackie set eyes on Emma he jumped up and rushed across the kitchen. She was carrying two buckets, and he took them from her immediately, worried by her apparent tiredness.
“Let me get you a cup of soup, Emma,” Cook said, also alarmed by the whiteness of the girl’s face, the strained expression in her eyes. “Ye look done in, love.”
“I’m all right, Cook, and thanks, I will have some soup, please.” Emma smiled at Blackie. “Thank ye for taking the buckets. One’s full of ashes from the fireplaces; the other has my cleaning stuff. Pop them over there, and I’ll take care of them later.” She hurried over to the fireplace and stood with her back to it, warming herself. “It was a bit cold upstairs until I got the fires going in the bedrooms,” she said to Cook.
Joining her near the fireplace, Blackie looked at her keenly, and said, “Yer tired, love. Can’t ye take a rest now?”
“She will if I have anything ter do with it!” Cook exclaimed. “She needs soup and food ter keep her strength up. And how about ye, lad? Ye must be starving by now.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a bit of yer fine grub, Mrs. Turner,” Blackie replied, and then led Emma to a chair in the corner where they always sat at a small table.
Happy to see that a little color was coming back into Emma’s pale cheeks, Cook bustled around, ladling soup into two bowls and cutting thick slices of newly baked bread.
She took a tray out and put everything on it, and went to the table in the corner. “When ye’ve had the soup, I will give you both helpings of my mutton pie. It’s nice and light, but nourishing. How does that sound ter ye, Emma?”
“Thank ye, Mrs. Turner.” She laughed. “For once I feel quite hungry.”
“Glad ter hear that, lovey.” Cook sailed across the kitchen and opened the oven door. There was still a second mutton pie inside, left over from the family’s lunch. It was warm; she could serve it now.
At that moment, Murgatroyd came into the kitchen and glanced around. Clearing his throat, he addressed Cook. “Mrs. Wainright’s hired two women from the village ter come and work here. Did ye know that?” He sounded angry, and there was a bad expression in his eyes.
“She mentioned it in passing,” Cook answered, closing the oven door with a bang, not happy to see him.
“We don’t need ’em, waste of money—”