‘I’m all right, Cook, and thanks, I will have some soup, please.’ Emma smiled at Blackie. ‘Thank yer 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, ‘Ye are tired, mavourneen. 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 you, lad? Yer must be starving by now.’

‘I wouldn’t say no to a bit of your 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 colour 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 yer’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 yer, Emma?’

‘Thank yer, Mrs Turner.’ She laughed. ‘For once I feel quite hungry.’

‘Glad ter hear that, luvey.’ 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 a young girl from the village ter come and work here. Did ye know that?’ He sounded angry, and there was a nasty 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 ’er, waste of money—’

‘It’s not yer money, Murgatroyd, so yer don’t have to worry about it,’ Mrs Turner interjected, glaring at him. ‘And I’d watch yer step. Mrs W.’s a very practical woman, knows the world, and she was right put out, that she was, when she discovered the house was short on help. Right mad, if yer wants my opinion. I wouldn’t try her patience, oh no, not at all.’

‘The Squire runs this house. It’s what he says that goes.’

‘No, it’s not. He defers to Mrs W. That’s why he brought her here.’

‘Mebbe for other reasons as well,’ Murgatroyd muttered, a malevolent look in his eyes.