‘So, can I see ’em when we’ve finished eatin’? I like animals. We’ve gorra dog back at ’ome called Skippy!’ Bobby’s eyes were glowing with excitement. The only horses he’d ever seen before were the cart horses that delivered the milk. He had quite a nice little sideline going, following them about to pick up their mess before selling it to people to put on their roses, not that many people had roses where he lived.

‘Of course you can see them,’ Giles agreed and to his amusement Bobby began to eat even faster.

‘They’ve eaten more than Mr Willerby an’ Giles put together,’ the cook chuckled once Giles had led them away. ‘Not that I’m complainin’, mind. It’s nice to cook for someone with a hearty appetite.’

Edith nodded in agreement. She was going to visit the school in Church Road in the village later that morning to try and get the children enrolled there and she wondered how they would take to it. If she didn’t miss her guess, the teachers would have their hands full with Bobby, but hopefully they’d settle in soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Over the next few days Bobby followed Giles about like a little shadow. Edith had managed to secure the children a place at the village school and they were due to start there the following week but until then Bobby adored being in the stables and despite his earlier misgivings about having children at Treetops, Giles seemed to have taken to them.

Edith was in her element too. Peggy slowly seemed to be coming out of her shell, but Bobby still wouldn’t trust her with anyone other than Cook and Edith, so she now spent most of the time in the kitchen with them, while Bobby himself was off with Giles and the horses.

‘So, do you help your mammy with the cooking?’ Cook asked one morning as she and Peggy stood at the kitchen table. Cook was making a fruit pie and had given Peggy a little pastry to roll out.

Peggy frowned. ‘Me ma don’t cook,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘Oh, so what do you eat then?’

Peggy shrugged her slight shoulders. Already a little colour was creeping into her cheeks, but she was still painfully thin. ‘We just ’as bread an’ drippin’, or sometimes Ma gets us a pie on ’er way ’ome from work.’

‘Oh yes and what sort of work does your ma do?’

Peggy frowned. ‘I ain’t sure. She goes out at night a lot an’ comes ’ome late usually but I don’t know what she does.’

‘And what about your dad? What does he do?’

‘’E goes to the pub when ma comes ’ome wi’ any money, but I don’t fink ’e goes to work,’ the child said innocently.

Sunday breezed into the kitchen then and the conversation came to an end.