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Back A Man of Honour Save as PDF
Chapters (73)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. PART ONE
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. PART TWO
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. PART THREE
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. PART FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. FIFTY-THREE
  60. PART FIVE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. SIXTY-ONE
  69. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  70. Keep Reading …
  71. About the Author
  72. Also by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  73. About the Publisher

A small bathroom opened off the end of the corridor nearby. After washing her hands and face, and smoothing her hair, Moira went downstairs to meet Mrs Caulfield, the housekeeper, who would give her a uniform composed of a black dress and a small white lace collar. And then her new life would begin until she could find a way to change it. Permanently.

As she went downstairs, Moira thought of the young man called Blackie, who had probed, asked her about herself. She had been startled he had spotted how different she was. And so fast.

As for the older man, Jack, he had been nice to her and tried to be protective. But it was Patrick Kennedy who had been the true gentleman. There was no question in her mind about that.

Mmmm, she thought, pursing her lips, we shall see. We shall see.

TWENTY-SIX

It was a mild Sunday afternoon at the end of June. The sky was pale blue, with puffball white clouds, the air balmy and soft.

A good afternoon for their mandatory walk after lunch, Patrick thought, as he and Blackie went up the hill, heading towards the moor and the Traveller’s Rest pub.

There was a companionable silence between them on this particular day. Usually Blackie was talkative, full of titbits of information, local gossip, or his opinions about a book he was reading.

Patrick’s thoughts turned back to their visit to the Ham Shank the day before. He still felt shocked himself by what he had seen: the filth, the horrific smells, the poverty, the soot-blackened houses packed together, the general air of despair and apathy about the place. A slum of the worst kind. Although his nephew’s life in Ireland had been desperately poor, his uncle knew that Blackie’s rural childhood had sheltered him from the crowded tenements and slums that were a stain on the cities, and for that Patrick felt very grateful.

As they reached the moor, Blackie took a few steps forward, hurrying up to a gate in front of a nice-looking house.

Patrick frowned, suddenly hearing the laughter that had obviously drawn Blackie to the gate. He increased his pace and joined Blackie at the white gate. Much to his surprise, Patrick saw a look of anger on the young man’s face. Following the direction of Blackie’s gaze, his eyes settled on two women sitting in chairs on the lawn.

Blackie was frozen on the spot, holding onto the gate, his body rigid. After a moment, he glanced at his uncle and said, ‘I can’t believe it! They lied to me.’

Patrick’s brows drew together in a frown. ‘I don’t understand … do you know these women? And what did they lie about?’

Blackie did not answer. Instead he opened the latch on the gate and strode down the path in long strides.