Chapter Ten

March 1914

It was a bright sunny day early in March when Kitty entered the drawing room following her singing lessons to tell Sunday, ‘There’s a lady at the door asking to see Tom.’

‘Oh? Did she say who she was?’ Sunday asked curiously, looking up from the housekeeping ledgers that she checked each month for Mrs Brewer. She had never come across a single discrepancy but the woman still insisted she should check them.

Kitty shook her head. ‘No, but Tom is out in the manège. I saw him with the new pony on a training lead. Shall I ask him to come in?’

Although Tom’s leg had healed, just as the doctor had predicted, he now had quite a severe limp and was no longer able to tackle some of the jobs he had used to do. Nowadays much to his frustration he was having to occupy himself with lighter duties, although he was building up a good reputation for being a talented horse-breeder. Riding the horses and driving his beloved car were a couple of things he could still do without putting too much pressure on his weak leg.

Kitty was now seventeen years old and right up until her sixteenth birthday the money for her keep had been left in the porch, more or less regularly every December, although Sunday had never once managed to get a glimpse of the person who left it there. Kitty had turned into a stunning young woman. She was tall and slim and carried herself with a grace that made Sunday sigh with envy. Like Ben, who was now George’s right-hand man, Kitty too had asked to stay on at Treetops and Sunday couldn’t envisage a life without her although she knew that one day some handsome young blade would come along and sweep her off her feet.

‘If you would please, pet,’ Sunday answered now. ‘And on your way through, would you ask the visitor to come in here?’

‘Of course.’

Once Kitty had left the room, Sunday leaned back in her chair and absently gazed out of the window. She saw a car rattling down the drive and smiled. It was Mr Dewhurst who had recently become betrothed to her mother – and not before time, the way Sunday saw it. They had been ‘walking out together’, as Lavinia termed it, for a few years now and Sunday hoped they wouldn’t leave it too much longer before they finally became man and wife.

Her thoughts were interrupted when there was a tap at the door and the mistress of the workhouse popped her head around it.

‘Ah, Mrs Conway, how lovely to see you, do come in,’ Sunday encouraged, then glimpsing Ethel in the hallway over the woman’s shoulder she ordered two mugs of hot chocolate and ushered the visitor to the chair by the fire. These early March mornings could still be nippy and Tom’s leg pained him when he got cold, so she ensured the fires were always lit.