It was late by the time she wearily climbed the stairs to her room. She started work early each morning and didn’t retire until late each night and now all the hard work was catching up with her and she was realising just how easy a life she’d had back at Greenacres where all she’d had to do was care for Charlotte and all her meals were delivered to her. Her laundry was done for her too, but now her hands were red raw, her ankles were swollen from the many hours she was on her feet and there were dark bags beneath her eyes from the hours she lay awake at night feeling guilty and worrying about how unhappy Charlotte seemed to be.

Although Amber hated to admit it and tried to convince herself that things would get easier, she knew deep down that Charlotte was like a different child now. She never lifted her arms to Amber as she had to her father and her face never lit up when Amber entered a room as it had when the child saw him. Now, as she cuddled her baby’s warm little body close to her, tears slid down her cheeks. Perhaps it’s time I started to look for another position, she told herself, but even that would prove to be easier said than done. She was given no time off and she could hardly cart Charlotte for miles searching for work. And even if she did, would she find another post now that the people in the town were questioning Charlotte’s true parentage? Eventually she dropped into an uneasy doze and the tears dried on her cheeks.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

The following day, however, the decision was made for her. Every morning, once breakfast was finished and the men left to work about the farm, Amber went to collect the eggs from the hen coop and the barn where the chickens had a tendency to lay. Some time ago, Mrs Barstow had volunteered to give Charlotte her morning bottle of milk while Amber got on with the job, and hoping that this would help to endear the child to her Amber had readily agreed to allow it. On this particular morning, Amber was halfway through the task when she cursed softly as the handle on the wicker basket that she put the eggs in broke and some of the eggs spilled across the floor.

‘Damn,’ she muttered as she hurriedly placed them back in the basket before any more got broken. There were far too many eggs to put in her pockets so she lifted the basket gingerly with two hands and carried it back to the kitchen.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw that Charlotte was just finishing her milk and she crossed to take the empty bottle from Mrs Barstow.