Saturday's Child by Rosemary Morris

 

 https://books2read.com/Saturday’s-Child

Saturday’s Child works hard for a living.

 Anonymous

 

About Rosemary Morris

 

“Where do you get your ideas for your novels,” is a question I am frequently asked. I reply that many of my themes and plots result from reading historical non-fiction.

Fourteen of my classic historical fiction romances have been published by Books We Love. To write eight novels and my new novel, set in the ever-popular Regency era, to achieve historical accuracy I delved into the era. Frequently, I consulted three comprehensive historical non-fiction books written by Arthur Bryant, 18^th February 1899 – 22^nd January 1985; The Years of Endurance, 1793-1802, The Years of Victory 1812-1822 and The Age of Elegance 1812-1822.

In The Age of Elegance, the author explained. “Most people are not interested in history. They were bored by it at school because it was never made real.

“Yet it is important that most people should know something about their country’s past. Much of the greatness of British policy in the past rested on the fact that those who governed the country knew what the past was about. Today, Britain’s rulers are no longer a small group of fortunate aristocrats educated in their country’s history. They are the men and women who work in the factories and offices and fields – the ordinary men and women of this land. They are capable of acting rightly and wisely as any of those who governed Britain before. But they can only do so if they are in full possession of the facts on which political judgment has to be based.”

An extract from A. L. Rowse, historian, 4^th December 1903 – 3^rd October 1997, tribute to Arthur Bryant in The Broadsheet.

“…Dr Bryant has an extraordinary range of response; to the songs of the people as well as the poetry of the great poets, to soldiers and sailors – he is an excellent military historian – boxing and hunting, society, and women. It is his sense of life, the feeling for the past with which he writes, the poetry and vivacity of it, that mark him off from the dons.

“The clue to the enjoyment the author gives us is that he enjoys it so much himself.”

   

About Saturday’s Child

 

After the Battle of Waterloo, motherless ten-year-old Annie travels to London with her father, Private Johnson. Discharged from the army, instead of the hero’s welcome he deserves, his desperate attempts to make an honest living fail. Without food or shelter, death seems inevitable. Driven by desperation Johnson pleads for help from Georgiana Tarrant, his deceased colonel’s daughter.

Georgiana, who founded a charity to assist soldiers’ widows and orphans, agrees to provide for them.

At Major and Mrs Tarrant’s luxurious house, Annie is fed, bathed and given clean clothes. Although she and her father, her only relative, will be provided for there is a severe price. Johnson will work for Georgiana while Annie is educated at the Foundling House Georgiana established.

Despite the years she spent overseas when her dear father fought against the French, the horror she witnessed, and recent destitution Annie’s spirit is not crushed. She understands their separation is inevitable because her father cannot refuse employment. Annie vows that one day she will work hard for her living and never again be poor. It is fortunate she cannot foresee the hardship and tragedy ahead to be overcome when she is an adult.

 

Saturday’s Child

 

Prologue and first three chapters.

 

Prologue

London, 1813

On her way to Covent Garden with her father, nine-year-old Annie shivered with cold.

“I can walk. Don’t pick me up, Pa,” she said, so hungry that she struggled to walk on. Annie glanced up at his thin face revealed by the moonlight. Before Pa set out to beg outside the Haymarket Theatre, he insisted she eat the last of their food, a potato baked on the embers of a fire in an alley.

Poor Pa. He had served under the late Colonel Whitly’s command in the war against the wicked Frenchies. Three days ago, her pa’s attempt to ask the colonel’s daughter, Mrs. Tarrant, for a job failed. Two strong footmen prevented him from speaking to her. Saying harsh words and making threats they chased them away from the Tarrant’s house.

“Here we are.” Pa had chosen a place where people would wait for their carriages after the play.

When her teeth chattered, Pa drew her close and wrapped part of his large, dirty blanket around her. Some warmth crept back into her as she prayed. Please God, let people give my pa money. Annie peered through a hole in the blanket at the well-dressed the ladies and gentlemen coming out of the theatre.

“That’s her!” Pa exclaimed.

“Who?” Annie asked.

“Please, ma’am, please,” Pa implored.

Who was he talking to?

“Were you with the mob that threatened to torch Carlton House?” a man demanded.

“No, Major Tarrant,” Pa replied indignantly.

“What do you want, with my wife, fellow?”

“I’ll tell, her, sir.” Annie sensed her brave pa was close to tears. “Mrs. Tarrant, if your father were alive, God rest his soul, he wouldn’t be too hard-hearted to help an honest man who served under his command.”

“What is your name?” the major’s wife asked.

“Johnson, ma’am.”

“Have you been discharged from the army?”  Major Tarrant asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you receive a wound pension?”

“No, sir, I wasn’t wounded.”

Pa pulled the blanket away from Annie’s face. He saluted. “I need employment Major. I wouldn’t ask for myself. I’m begging for my daughter. Her ma’s dead. I’ve no relatives to help us. We’ve not enough to pay the rent for our shared room. I’m not asking Mrs. Tarrant for charity.”

“Up on the box with you, Johnson,” Mrs. Tarrant ignored her husband’s splutter. “Your daughter may ride in the carriage.”

Frightened because she would be separated from Pa, Annie clutched him around his waist.

“What is your name, child?” Mrs. Tarrant asked.

“Annie,” she replied and clung harder to her pa.

“How old are you, Annie?”

When Pa nudged her, hunger made her too dizzy to answer.

“My Annie’s nine years old, ma’am.”

Mrs. Tarrant nodded at her. “Please get into the carriage where it will be warmer than here on such a cold evening,”

“Let go of me, Annie,” Pa urged.

“When we reach my house, Annie,” Mrs. Tarrant began,” you shall have hot soup and-” she paused to look at her husband. When he did not object, she continued. “And you shall have clean clothes.”

 

* * *

 

After a night in the Tarrant’s house, her belly full of good food, a smooth linen shift against her sore skin scrubbed free of dirt, Annie followed Mrs. Moorton, the housekeeper. along a corridor. She had never imagined entering such a house. Everywhere she looked there was something to admire – carpets, pictures on the walls, fresh flowers, ornaments and much more. It’s so clean and smells so nice, Annie thought, and remembered her ma waging a war against dirt whether they were in tents or winter quarters.

“Don’t dawdle,” Mrs. Moorton scolded.

Annie peered at herself in the mirrors between tall windows. She admired her dress that replaced the patched, ragged one she wore yesterday. Pa still slept but she knew he would like it because his favourite colour was celestial blue, that of her eyes and her ma’s.

A footman opened a door. Mrs. Moorton dragged her forward. Annie winced when the woman propelled her into a room decorated in blue and gold, the colours of a light infantry regiment’s uniforms.

Annie bobbed a curtsy to the Tarrants who sat on a sofa.

“A miracle!” the major exclaimed. “Now the child is washed and dressed in fresh clothes, she bears little comparison to the ragamuffin we brought here yesterday.”

Annie touched her hair. Lovely to be so clean, but she would not forgive Mrs. Moorton. She pointed at the woman. “Me skin ’urts after the scrubbing that old witch made me ’ave.”

“There’s gratitude for me and the maids,” Mrs. Moorton grumbled.

The major raised his eyebrows. “Miss Annie, don’t be rude to our kind housekeeper.”

Miss! ‘E called me miss. So ’elp me God, e’s a proper gentleman, not like some officers. “She ain’t kind,” Annie insisted.

Major Tarrant looked at his wife. “As soon as the child puts on some weight, she will look like a well-to-do tradesman’s daughter.”

Suspicious, Annie glanced at him. He laughed. “Well now, Miss Annie, I wager you were less frightened of the French than you are of us.”

“Me and me ma weren’t frightened of the French.” She scowled. “’Ow do you know ma and I followed the drum?”

“The suntan has not completely faded from your face,” he explained.

Annie blinked tears away. As Pa had said, all the tears in the world never helped but, sometimes, she wanted to cry. “I wish we were following it now. If we were, me ma would be alive, sir.”

Mrs. Tarrant smiled sweetly at her. “Well, child, I am sure she would be pleased if she knew we intend to send you to a school where you will live and learn to cook.”

“You don’t know about us. Me ma taught me to cook on a campfire. Me da says I’m a champion little housewife.”

“But I daresay your father would like you to be properly taken care of,” Mrs. Tarrant said. “And I think you would enjoy being taught to cook in a kitchen, and to read?”

“I know ’ow to read. Me da’s friend was a reverend gent’s son. ’E taught me before ’e went and got ’imself killed. Silly man, popped ’is ’ead up when ’e should ’ave ’ad enough sense to keep it down.” Tears rolled down her cheek. She scowled and brushed them away with the back of her hand.

Mrs. Tarrant sighed. “I am glad you knew when to keep your head down.”

“Miss Annie, henceforth you must forget the war. At school I hope you will be happy and put the past behind you,” the major said.

She stared at him. “Lawks, sir, can you forget?”

There was a pause before he spoke. “No, I cannot but we must try to,” the major said. He clasped the hand Mrs. Tarrant held out. “Miss Annie, if you don’t go to school your father will have no one to look after you while he works for me.”

Work. Pa would do almost anything to earn money, even if she couldn’t live with him. Annie stared at Major and Mrs. Tarrant’s beautiful clothes, then around the room stuffed with things that must be worth more money than she had ever seen. One day, I’ll work hard for my living and never again be poor. And I’ll help me da, so I will.

She faced Major Tarrant. “If you ain’t lying to me about giving Pa a job, thank you sir”

Tarrant laughed. “Don’t thank me, thank Mrs. Tarrant.”

“Ta, ma’am.” Annie curtsied. “An’ if me pa and I can do anything for you please tell us and we will.”

“Thank you, Annie.” Mrs. Tarrant glanced at the housekeeper “Mrs. Moorton, if Miss Johnson’s father has woken up, please take her to him.

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy.

“And Moorton.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“She is an army child – one of our own. Think of the things she has witnessed and endured at such a young age. Remember that by God’s Grace we have not known such suffering.”

 

 

Chapter One

Church Street, Brighton, Sussex

1st February. 1824

 

 

A knock on the front door startled Annie. She put down the scrubbing brush and hurried up the back stairs from the kitchen to the ground floor of their house. Alone, during Pa’s long absence, she must be cautious. If Bert, a stallholder’s husky son, had brought another bunch of flowers, or some other small gift to win her favour, he would be disappointed.

At the top of the stairs she paused to wipe her reddened hands on her sackcloth apron. Should she change it? In response to a second, imperious knock she hurried through the hall and opened the door.

“Major Tarrant, Mrs. Tarrant,” she said, surprised to see the couple whose service Pa left two years ago.

“Miss Annie,” the major greeted her.

To look at him, standing steadily in the street, no one would guess his left leg amputated ten years ago had been replaced by an artificial one.

Annie curtsied to Mrs. Tarrant, founder of the institution for the protection of and aid for the widows and orphans of soldiers, and where she had received an excellent education.

Why were they here? Quality folk did not call on people like her. “Major Tarrant, Mrs. Tarrant, please come in.” She stepped aside for them to enter and led them to the parlour. A quick glance around the room revealed the wooden floor, with a brightly coloured rag rug in front of the hearth, and a leaded window with small panes that shone in the sunlight, were spotless. She gestured to the armchairs on either side of the fireplace. Upholstered in cheap crimson cotton that matched the curtains and splashes of colour in the whitewashed uneven walls.

Elegant in her cream pelisse and a hat adorned with pale pink roses, Mrs. Tarrant sat.

“Miss Annie, please join us.” The major gestured to the other chair as though he owned the house.

“Thank you, sir, I shall sit on a stool.”

The former hussar’s frown as he looked at her sent a nervous frisson down her spine.

Annie removed her damp, hideous apron and put it on a table in the corner of the room. She carried a stool across the parlour and placed it in front of the hearth.

The major sat on it and waved his gloved hand at the chair. “Miss Annie,” he said, his voice firm.

Tortured by inexplicable foreboding, she obeyed.

“Mrs. Tarrant and I are sorrier than words can express to bring the news that-”

“No!” Annie cried out. “Not Pa.” Since he went to India, to invest the money he had saved to buy goods which would yield a large profit in England, she had feared he would not return. How many times had she begged him not to leave the first home they shared?

The major sighed. “Miss Johnson, it is my sad duty to inform you that on your father’s way back to England the ship he took passage on sank.”

“I don’t believe it. How can you know that?” She glared at him holding back disbelief and tears.

“Before your father’s departure I gave him some commissions. Six months ago, he wrote to me. He informed me he had fulfilled them, concluded his own business. and that he would return on the Queen Charlotte,” he said, his voice very gentle. “I regret that there are no survivors.”

No, she could not imagine a world in which Pa did not exist. Never hear him praise her, tell her how much she looked like her mother or give her good advice. “How can you be certain?” she demanded, every bone in her body rigid.

“Another ship found the wreckage.”

Annie’s mind screamed denial. Her hands clutched a fold of her skirt. Maybe, by a miracle, Pa had survived. Reason dictated the odds were against it. Reluctantly, she accepted her pa would not be buried in the graveyard at St Nicholas Church at the end of the street.

Her lips quivered. I am an orphan. The words repeated themselves. Punishment for pride at Mrs. Tarrant’s institution because she was not one of the orphans. Pride because Pa worked for the Tarrants, so she was not sent away to work as a maid like most of the other girls when she was fourteen years old. She was paying the price of being guilty of one of the seven deadly sins.

“Please accept our condolences.” The major’s voice penetrated her agonised thoughts.

“Thank you.” Her head bowed; Annie held back her tears. “I am an orphan,” she declared, trying to accept it.

Mrs. Tarrant leant forward. “Yes, but you are not alone. The Major and I have discussed your future. We will ensure you have a suitable position.”

“Position, ma’am?” The bleak future without her pa stretched ahead. She wanted to live at home.

“You are braver than me,” Mrs. Tarrant began. “When my father died, I cried for days.”

“Annie, we cannot leave you with no-one to look after you. We will take you to our house above the Esplanade where you may either take charge of our children’s first lessons or be my companion. Alternatively, you could teach at the Foundling House for girls which I have opened.”

“Georgianne,” the major broke in. “I am sure Miss Annie appreciates your concern, but it is too early for her to make any decisions.”

“No, it isn’t,” Annie said. “Pa made a will. The house belongs to me. It must seem humble to you but…but-” she swallowed, “as soon as he could afford to leave your service, Pa bought it. When he went to India, he gave me enough money to live on for a couple of years and I’ve earned more.”

The major’s eyes narrowed as though he was suspicious. “How?”

Annie thrust her turmoil aside. “A stall holder at the market sells the pies and plum puddings I make and takes orders for them.” She would prefer to work for herself earning a pittance to being at the beck and call of even the most considerate employer.

Annie remembered Mrs. Tarrant’s kindness when Pa begged her for help. She took a deep breath almost able to recall the taste of that potato, which had been the last of their food before Mrs. Tarrant took them to her house. “I will always be grateful to you and the major, ma’am. Without both of you, Pa and I would have starved to death, but now-” her voice choked. She forced herself to continue, “despite your concern I shall live here.”

“With?” the major asked.

“No one. The maid Pa employed before he went to India left to keep house for her son after his wife died.”

“Folly, Miss Annie, it is inadvisable for you to live alone,” he said, a reproachful note in his voice. “You should have engaged a woman who knows how to protect you.”

“From whom, Major?”

He cleared his throat. “You are not a child. You must know your situation makes you vulnerable. Another person in the house, particularly at night, would deter thieves and other-” he cleared his throat, then concluded “miscreants.”

“I am grateful for your concern but there is nothing to worry about. Before dark I fasten the windows and lock the doors.”

Mrs. Tarrant stood. She patted Annie’s head. “Very well, but please consider Tarrant’s advice. We will call on you later in the week.”

The lady left the room with her husband before Annie could escort them to the front door. Alone, she bent her head and covered her face with her hands.  She would mourn Pa and Ma’s loss for the rest of her life.

Despite her anguish, due to her early years while she and Ma were camp followers when Pa served in the army, she understood that no matter how great her loss she must continue the business of living. Only God knew if her father survived. She clung to the hope that he had. Weary, her eyes damp with unshed tears, she put on the sacking apron. She would finish scrubbing the kitchen floor.

 

* * *

 

Annie snuffed out the candle. Exhausted she climbed onto her bed. Dry-eyed she sank into the welcome softness of her feather mattress and pulled up the bed covers. Images of herself with Pa, who had never said a cross word to her, flitted through her mind. Pa carrying her and his heavy kit in Spain. His praise of the plainest meals she cooked. Pa’s pride because she did well at school. Would anyone else ever love her unconditionally?

At school, her teachers ordered her to address her father as papa. To her, he would always be her beloved Pa never, ever to be forgotten. When she was younger, he teased her, saying; One day you’ll meet a man you love more than your old pa. He was wrong. If Lady Luck favoured her, she would love her future husband. Her devotion to him and Pa would be different yet equal.

Annie turned over unable to sleep. What did her future hold? A husband? When she was a child, she had protested when Pa said she would meet her Prince Charming. If she did, of course, he would have nothing in common with her admirer, brawny Bert Reed, who should bathe regularly and wear clean clothes. Annie sat and plumped up her pillow. Determined to be brave she lay down. She had always believed her husband would have her pa’s approval.

Unless, by some miracle, Pa came home, she would have to rely on her own judgement and hope he would approve of her husband-to-be. She turned over again. To distract herself from misery, she indulged in make believe. Her prince charming would be a tall, handsome man with rich brown hair. He would fall in love with her and-. She yawned and slid into sleep.

“Annie.”

The insistent voice woke her. Pa’s voice? He had come home. Intense joy flooded her. She opened her eyes. Yes, Pa really was here. Bathed in moonlight that made its way through a gap in the curtains, his face pale, he sat the end of her bed. “I’m so pleased to see you,” she cried out, her relief too overwhelming for her to move, although she wanted to cling to him.

“Annie, I’ve come to say goodbye. Sweet girl, always remember I love you.”

She must be dreaming. Instinct told her she was not. Pa’s figure disappeared. Why had he gone so suddenly? Annie slumped back onto the pillow. His voice seemed to float in the still air. “Don’t cry for me.” The realisation that Pa’s love survived after death comforted her, but at the thought of never seeing him again, tears trickled down her cheeks until sleep claimed her.

Accustomed to rising early, habit woke her at six o’clock on Friday morning, the memory of Pa’s wraith and farewell vivid. No, she would not dwell on her loss, which she would never recover from. Time to get up. Bert would arrive to collect the small and large pigeon pies that took two days to make.

Washed and dressed, Annie descended to the kitchen. By the light of tallow candles, she raked out the ashes from the large hearth, with three sides, which Pa had installed in a recess. On one side were two enormous iron cupboards. Fitted with doors they were close to the fire, which provided enough heat to cook baked puddings, biscuits, cakes and pies. Annie swept up the ashes and put them in a bucket. She laid kindling and coal in the hearth, then struck the flint. The kindling ignited. She applied the bellows. Soon, the coal caught fire.

Not hungry, Annie knew hard work required food. One after another, she speared three thick slices of bread on the long iron fork and toasted them in front of the fire. She spread them with butter and some of the blackberry jam she made last summer. Annie forced herself to eat although she found it difficult to swallow.

Today she would make plum puddings which would keep for a month or more and were popular with customers. With total concentration she cleared the table and assembled the ingredients for the puddings; flour, suet, currants, raisins from which the stones had been removed, candied peel and eggs. To survive, she must work very hard. Banish forlorn thoughts of Pa but live by the principles he taught her.

Annie fetched the pies she made yesterday from the pantry. She put them on large trays which she carried one by one upstairs to the hall. The muscles in her arms aching, she put them on the shelves Pa had fixed to the wall. The bells from St Nicholas’s church tower rang. Eight o’clock. The knocker summoned her to the door.

“Mornin,’ Annie.” Bert propped a large, empty tray against the wall near the front door and returned her empty tin pie-dishes.

She resented his use of her Christian name. He should address her as Miss Johnson. If Pa heard him making free with her, he would be furious. The thought struck her so hard that she nearly dropped the tray of pies she had picked up to give him.

“Won’t you smile at me?” His full lips parted as he grinned. “No. Why not? A smile don’t cost anything.” He took the tray and put it in his cart.

Annie turned, picked up the second tray and handed it to him. From the other side of the street, she noticed her friend, Mary Grey, wave and walk towards them.

Bert finished loading the cart. He counted out the money due to her and held it out. Their hands touched. He grabbed hers. “Give me a kiss, you know you want to.”

“I don’t. Let go of me. I’ve puddings to make.”

“Annie, Bert,” her friend said.

“How are you and you mother?” Bert asked the girl as he released Annie’s hand.

Mary fluttered her long eyelashes as though she was bashful. “We’re well.”

“Take your money, Annie.”

She slipped the coins into a pocket.

Bert picked up the, handles on the cart and pulled it down the street.

“Is he pestering you. Annie?”

“He annoys me,” Annie admitted.

Mary’s eyes glinted. “Ignore him. Your father should be back soon. He’ll swat him as though he’s a bluebottle.”

Annie sniffed and blinked her eyes. “I must go back to the kitchen to make puddings, goodbye.” She turned to shut the door.

Her friend caught hold of her sleeve. “Did Bert say something that upset you?”

Annie shook her head as she stepped indoors.

“Slow down.” Mary followed her. “Why do you look as if you’re going to cry?”

“I had some bad news.” After she made the puddings, she would dye her clothes black. How long should she wear mourning? Six months?

With her friend close behind her, Annie went through the door at the end of the hall and down the back stairs.

At the kitchen table she put the flour and coarsely chopped suet into a large bowl. The sleeves of her light brown cotton gown rolled up. she began to rub the suet into the flour.

“Annie, if Bert didn’t upset you, what did?”

She stared down at the bowl. The mixture needed to be the texture of fine breadcrumbs. “Pa won’t come back.”

Her mouth open, Mary slumped onto a wooden chair. “Has he run away?”

Annie shook her head. The suet and flour clung together in lumps. “No. Pa’s ship was lost at sea. He didn’t survive,” she forced herself to explain.

“Are you sure?”

Annie pounded the mixture.

“I don’t know what to say,” Mary faltered.

Annie’s hands stilled for a moment while she thought. Her friend helped her mother on the second-hand clothes stall in the covered market. “Is there a black gown I could buy from your mother to wear until I’ve dyed my clothes?”

“If there is, I’ll bring it here.”

“Thank you.”

“Annie, you shouldn’t be alone at this time.”

Annie tipped the dried fruit and candied peel into the bowl. “I’ve no family, so I am.”

Arms outstretched; Mary stood.

“Don’t hug me. If you do, I’ll…I’ll cry and, as Pa always said, tears can’t change anything. He wouldn’t want me to turn into a watering pot.”

“You’re very brave.”

“I must be. I’ve a living to earn.”

Mary’s head bobbed up and down. “Well…er…I’ll go if I can’t say or do anything to help.”

 

* * *

 

“Hard-hearted, that’s what Annie Johnson is,” Mary said to her mam, Bess, as she searched the used clothes stall for black ones Annie might buy. “She cared more about making plum puddings than she did about her father’s death.” She examined a black shawl and put it aside, while a woman bought a white muslin dress for her small daughter. She haggled, a price was agreed on and after paying it she left. “Hard-hearted,” Mary repeated. “And she treats poor Bert as though he ain’t good enough for her.” Her cheeks warmed as she spoke.

“Jealous?” Bess raised her eyebrows. “I know you’ve liked him since you played together in the streets.”

“Along with my other friends,” Mary said hastily.

“I hope you’re too proud to chase any man, no matter how much you like him,” Bess said. “Oh, don’t colour up, you might as well admit you wish Bert would court you.”

“Ah.” Mary removed a neatly folded, high necked black muslin gown from the pile. She shook it out. “This is good quality. It should fit Annie.”

Bess nodded. “Come to think of it, a lady’s maid sold me the mourning clothes her mistress, a widow, wore for a year. There are more at home.”

Good. One of the benefits of a lady’s maid’s situation were the cast-offs her mistress gave her when they were either no longer needed or went out of fashion. Her mother had profitable dealings with two dozen or more maids. “May I take these to Annie?” Mary looked around at the nearby greengrocer’s, butcher’s and fishmonger’s stalls, and many more selling a wide variety of different goods. At this hour of the morning there were only a few customers, grubby children and stray dogs seeking an opportunity to snatch something to eat. Later, the market, with all its familiar sights, sounds and smells, would be crowded with people, including pickpockets and other thieves.

“Off with you,” Bess said, “but don’t dawdle. Please tell Annie I’m that sorry to hear about her pa’s death, but don’t pass the time of day with her, I need you at the stall. Turn my back for a moment and some thieving rascal will make off with something.”

Mary wove her way through the market. Her stomach rumbled when she reached the pie stall. “Morning,” Bert’s younger brother George, greeted her and arranged cakes on a tray at the front of the counter. She paused to listen to Bert talk to a housewife. “You’ll not find a better pie with lighter pastry anywhere.” He held out a tin plate on which there were tiny pieces. “Try some and I’ll swear you’ll buy one every time you come here. And what about your son? He’s a fine young lad. Cooking for him must keep you busy.”

Mary smiled as she admired him. He and his father made as good if not better money than her mother. One day, Bert might have his own stall. She wanted to stay and exchange banter with him, but her mother would be cross if she didn’t hurry back to help her. Resentment swelled. Mam should pay her for her work. She waved a hand at Bert and hurried on past a stall of short, tall and fat candles made from tallow or, fragrant beeswax.

She reached Annie’s house. When the door opened, she gave Annie the dress. “Try this on. And here’s a shawl. There’s more where this comes from. Seeing as you’re a friend and Mam likes you, whatever you buy will be cheap.”

After she left, Mary congratulated herself. Given the chance, she would tell Bert that, although Annie was so hard-hearted, she had helped her.

 

* * *

 

Annie put the last uncooked pudding in a cloth. She gathered the edges of the material and tied them with twine. One by one she lowered the puddings into two cauldrons of boiling water suspended from hooks at the end of chains over the fire.

At the table she sank onto a chair and drank coffee. Time to set the kitchen to rights. The table must be scrubbed, the bowl washed, and the floor swept. Instead, she poured another cup. Her stock of dried fruit needed to be replenished, but she had enough flour, suet and eggs to make more puddings tomorrow. Should she change into the black gown before she went to market while the puddings simmered? She cringed at the thought of questions acquaintances would put. Annie did not want to explain she was in mourning for Pa. Condolences and sympathy would tear apart her carefully guarded heartstrings. Annie straightened her shoulders. Well, she couldn’t stay at home forever. Best get it over and done.

She sighed. How would she manage? Annie had spent five out of the forty guineas Pa gave her before he went to India. She didn’t want to dip into the rest of the money. Yet she needed more than the income from pies and puddings. Elbows on the table, she propped her bent head on her hands. Pa had said it was useless to panic. Maybe she could accommodate lodgers or boarders.

Annie went to the first storey and hesitated before she opened the door of Pa’s bedroom. She stared at his old, battered trunk. What was inside it? Her hands trembled. She thrust up the lid and stared at his ragged army uniform and the tattered blanket she had sheltered under when he begged Mrs. Tarrant to help them. The hard wall she built around her heart crumbled. His jacket clutched against her chest, curled up on the cold, bare floorboards, Annie succumbed to a torrent of grief.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

When Pa appeared to her last night, he told her not to cry but after she saw his uniform and the tattered blanket that once covered her, she wept uncontrollably. Bathed in perspiration her shift clung to her skin. Annie wiped her face with the back of her hands. How long had she lain on the hard floor? Although her body ached, she sat up and pushed back tendrils of hair clinging to her damp face. What time was it? The puddings! Did the cauldrons need more water? She stood, gained her balance, and hurried to the kitchen.

Light-headed, Annie glanced at the clock on the dresser with shelves crammed with mismatched crockery, tin ware and pots and pans. Nearly one o’clock. She peered into the cauldrons. Thank the Lord, they hadn’t boiled dry. A pail in each hand she climbed the back stairs. Outside, she pumped water from her well. Annie returned to the kitchen and added water to the cauldrons. Her stomach rumbled. She must eat and drink before she washed and put on a clean shift and the black gown.

Mint tea sweetened with honey and a wedge of pigeon pie would suffice. At the table, Annie watched steam rise from the cup and stared at the food. Anything was preferable to dwelling on her loss. She ate, drank, and tried to decide whether to provide lodgings or put up boarders. She could offer two suites of rooms and some single rooms on each of the first and second storeys. The demand for accommodation was so great between June and August that she should prosper.

To take advantage of this year’s summer months, her house must be painted, decorated, and furnished. To do so, she would have to dip into the money Pa gave her. She ate the last piece of pie. Lodgers or boarders? If she didn’t cater for lodgers, or allow their servants to use her kitchen, they could have food brought in from a coffee house or inn. Servants? Female servants, her own or her guests, could sleep in the attic, and male servants could be accommodated above the stable.

Maybe it would be preferable to cater for boarders, use the largest room on the ground floor as a dining room and reserve the two smaller rooms on the other side of the hall for herself – a bedroom and parlour.

Unafraid of hard work, now calm because she had a plan for her future, Annie finished her tea. Time to wash and change her clothes. She carried a jug of water to her bedroom and filled the china washbasin. Tired of hauling water indoors she decided to have water pumped into her house from the well.

Washed and dressed, Annie peered into the mirror. Her eyes, with dark circles under them, were still red from weeping. The black gown drained the colour from her face. Exhausted she needed help. She would ask her friend, Kitty Carter, to work for her.

Someone rapped on the front door. Annie hurried down the front stairs. Cautious, she opened the door a little and peered out.

Mary held out a bundle wrapped in an old cloth. “Here you are – three black gowns, two for every day and one to wear to church on Sundays, a spencer and a pelisse which should fit you. They belonged to a lady of quality. You won’t find a better bargain anywhere. Have a look at them. You can pay later. We can trust you not to run away with our money,” she joked.

Too overwhelmed by her loss Annie couldn’t smile in response to the jest. She put the bundle on the table and opened it. “Please sit down, Mary.”

“Mam says she’s that sorry to hear you Pa’s dead.”

Dead! A horrid word. She clamped her teeth together. Pa’s mortal body was lifeless, but he lived on. What were the words so often spoken by the clergyman when soldiers were buried? The reverend gentleman who taught her to read had quoted Lord Jesus Christ’s words. ‘Verily, verily, I say unto you. He that believeth on me hath everlasting life.’

Pa had been a good Christian man whom she believed to be in heaven. One day, she might join him and Ma.

Mary stood. “Annie, look at the clothes. If you don’t want them, I’ll take them back to the stall.”

Annie did not want to wear black for six months, but she would out of respect for Pa. She examined a gown.

“That is best quality bombazine.” Mary picked up another gown. “So is this although, like the others, it’s not in the latest fashion.” She put it down then held up the third. “Look, this one has black crape over bombazine. You could wear it to church on Sundays. Do you want the gowns?”

“Yes, thank you, I do.” Annie examined the lightweight wool spencer which would ward off the chill on a cool day and the ankle length kerseymere pelisse lined with satin. “You and your mother are very kind.” Grateful for the clothes, she paid Mary.

Her friend hugged her. Annie wrinkled her nose. Mary smelt of perspiration mingled with sickly sweet perfume. She wriggled free. “On your way back to the stall would you stop at Kitty’s house and ask her to come here?”

“Yes, I will.” In the hall, Mary looked at her curiously. “Got some work for Kitty? If you have, she’ll be glad to get away from her mam. If you asked me, I’d say the woman ain’t half as ill as what she pretends. Kitty will be glad of a few shillings. Although she keeps house for her mam and brother, she never has a penny to spend on herself.”

Annie opened the front door. “Goodbye and thank you again.”

Mary stepped out into the street, crossed to the other side, and waved once.

Annie returned to the kitchen. In two hours, the puddings would be cooked. She fetched a ladder. A damp cloth in her hand, she stepped up and began to clean the shelves at the top of the oak dresser.

 

* * *

 

 

Mary smiled as she hurried down Church Street. Maybe Bert pretended to love Annie because her father’s pockets must have been well-lined to buy a large house with a stable for four horses, an outhouse, and a small garden. If Annie had inherited it, she would be a good catch. She scowled. What did she have to offer other than her face which was her fortune? Oh, when she married, Mam would provide a bit for her but only a fraction of what Annie must be worth. Jealousy led her past Kitty’s house. She retraced her footsteps and knocked on the door.

“Message from Her Highness,” Mary said, when Kitty opened it. She twisted an imaginary knife into pretty Kitty whom she suspected wanted to marry Tom Wilson, another one of Annie’s admirers. Well, neither Bert nor Tom would praise Annie when they saw her ghostly white face and reddened eyes.

“Her Highness?” Kitty asked, her voice puzzled.

“Annie Johnson. She’s well educated so she speaks like quality people. The title is a good one for her although she’s no better than she should be.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a flirt. I glimpsed her, all smiles, standing very close to your brother while she talked to him. And, the other day I saw her about to kiss Bert.” Mary sighed. “What’s more, I wouldn’t be surprised if she lets Tom kiss her.”

Kitty’s cheeks paled as she looked down at the pavement.

“But I shouldn’t speak ill of her. Poor, dear Annie’s father died. To judge by the look of her she’s been sobbing her heart out. Anyway, I haven’t got time to chat. By the way, seeing as I’d pass your house on the way to Mam’s stall, Annie asked me to tell you to go and see her.”

 

* * *

 

A cup of tea in front of each of them, Annie faced Kitty across the scarred but spotless kitchen table.

“Although we are friends, it is sensible to make sure you know what I want you to do. This week, I’ll pay you for helping to cook pies and puddings, clean the kitchen and fetch water from the well. If you can find someone trustworthy to look after your mother, I might have more work for you if you want it.”

“Yes, I do.” Kitty tucked a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “And, Annie.”

“Yes?”

“I know I said it before, but I really am very sorry about your loss.”

Annie looked at Kitty’s elfin face. “Thank you.” Did she imagine her friend seemed more reserved than usual? Maybe their relationship changed because she had employed her. In future would Kitty be less affectionate and frank with her than Mary?

 

* * *

 

Annie arranged the last of sixty-five plum puddings on shelves in a section of the basement next to the kitchen. Stone walls and a thick oak door kept it cool even on the hottest summer days. Tomorrow, when she knew how many orders had been placed, she would make mutton pies. After Bert collected them on Friday morning, she would have several days to concentrate on her plans. She returned to the kitchen where Kitty stood at the wood sink washing the iron cauldrons.

“Thank you for your help. Will you come back tomorrow?”

“I shall.”

Annie put Kitty’s wages on the scoured table. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Kitty fetched her small cloth bag. She slid the coins into it and tightened the drawstrings. “Do you want me to do anything else before I go?”

“No, but please sit down, I have something to ask you” Annie poured a glass of home-made dandelion wine for each of them.

Kitty glanced at the clock. “What time is it? I can’t stay long, I’ve the evening meal to make before me brother comes home from work.” In common with many other illiterate people, Kitty relied on church bells chiming the hours to tell her the time.

“It’s nearly five o’clock. Don’t look so worried. I only want to know if, as well as helping me in the kitchen, you are willing to help me clean the house? It must be spotless before I refurbish it.”

“Re…what?”

“Fit new floors, repaint and paper it and do other work,” Annie explained. “I heard the builder died before Tom finished his apprenticeship, so I’ll ask him to work for me.”

Kitty gasped. Her bag clutched tight in one hand; she sprang up from the table so fast that she knocked over her glass of wine. “I’m sorry, I forgot something I have to do,” she gabbled and rushed to the door. “Yes, I’ll work for you. Goodbye, Annie. See you at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, what is wrong?”

 

* * *

 

 

Kitty fled up the back stairs. She shoved open the front door and ran into the street. She tried to catch her breath. How could she bear to watch Annie flirt with Tom while the three of them worked in the house?

‘Oh, Kitty, if only things were different,’ Tom had said when he gave her a bunch of bluebells last spring after the builder retired. She believed he meant that if he still had a wage, he would ask her to marry him. Was she mistaken? Had Tom only meant he wished he were still working? She took deep breaths until she went indoors.

“Is that you, Kitty?” Mam called out. “I’m hungry,” she whined.

Kitty longed to escape. She yearned to live happily with Tom, who took her for walks along the Grand Parade on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes they looked for shells and pretty stones on the beach and, once, he encouraged her to have a ride on a donkey. Had she imagined his tender expression when he looked at her? Did he think of her as no more than a childhood friend?

She blinked. Traces of tears would lead to Mam cross-questioning her without mercy. To admit she loved Tom, who Mary claimed Annie flirted with, would twist the wound in her heart. Kitty pressed her lips together in a firm line. If she saw Annie batting her eyelashes at him, she would…would scratch her eyes out.

Kitty looked down at her second-hand fawn-coloured muslin frock. With some of the money she earned she would buy a sprigged muslin gown from Bess’s stall. She would also buy a bonnet trimmed with artificial flowers, as well as gloves to hide her work-roughened hands. Maybe Tom would admire her when he saw her wearing them.

 

* * *

 

Annie paid the butcher’s boy who delivered mutton. She took the meat to the basement and put it in a cool storeroom. Upstairs, she put the ingredients and utensils she needed to make pastry tomorrow on one end of the scrubbed kitchen table.

Hungry, she ladled soup that simmered near the fire, into a bowl, cut a wedge of cheese, and two thick slices of bread. Seated at the table, Annie realised she had been too busy since she got up in the morning to think of Pa more than once or twice. Spoon in hand, she stared at the barley and diced vegetables in rich broth. How could she forget him even for a moment? She should not feel guilty. Her Pa would not want her to surrender to raw misery. Annie’s hand shook. Maybe it was better not to dwell on memories of Pa. A hussar’s daughter should charge ahead and meet any trials with the same courage that he galloped into battle. As she well-knew, it was hard to fight with an empty stomach, so she ate.

Annie finished her meal then took the crockery and cutlery to the sink. No water in the bucket. The sooner water was pumped from the well to the kitchen the better. Her thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

Bert stood in the street, a bunch of daffodils in his large hands. She gazed at his dirty fingernails instead of the flowers.

“Mary told me about you father. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Please tell me how many pies have been ordered?”

“No smile for me?” He held out the flowers.

Annie ignored the gesture. “How many pies?” she repeated.

Bert put a foot across the threshold. “Aw, Annie, don’t be so cruel.” He pushed the door wide open and stepped indoors, forcing her to step back.

“Annie, love-” he began.

“I am not your love.”

“Yes, you are.” Bert pushed the door back. He put the flowers on a shelf. “Maybe you don’t understand that I’ve chosen you to be my wife, so give us that kiss I asked you for the other day when Mary interrupted us.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him.

“Let go of me!”

Bert grinned. “No, if you won’t marry me, I’ll kiss you anyway.”

She raised a fist to punch him in the eye. He gripped her wrist. His sour breath fanned her face. She gagged. He was too strong for her to escape. Would he rape her? Over his shoulder she noticed the door was ajar and screamed for help.

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

If Pa were alive, he would murder Bert for assaulting her.

“Let go of me,” Annie yelled as she beat his chest with both hands.

With one arm around her waist, he grabbed her chin with his free hand. He kissed her. Repulsed, Annie bit his lip.

“Why did you do that?” Blood streamed down his chin.

“Only a simple-minded fool would ask that,” she retorted.

“Let go of the girl,” a man said.

Annie continued her struggle to free herself.

Bert ignored the order as he crushed her against him.

Annie gasped for breath. Bert was too tall to look over his shoulder, but it was unnecessary because she recognised that voice. Faintly she remembered Major and Mrs. Tarrant said they would return in a week. But how could a gentleman, whose leg had been amputated, force Bert to let go of her?

“Georgianne, please tell Luke to come here. Wait outside whilst I tackle this problem,” the major said to his anxious wife.

The front door opened wider. Evening sunlight streamed into the hall.

“Sir?” A deep voice enquired.

“Luke, persuade that brute to release Miss Annie.”

“At once, sir.”

The footman’s large hands pressed around Bert’s thick neck. He grunted. After a brief struggle he crashed to the floor.

Annie leant against the wall. She breathed irregularly and looked at Luke, a giant in dark blue livery, who had rendered Bert unconscious.

The major pointed at Bert’s limp body. “Luke, please be good enough to remove that rubbish.”

“With pleasure, sir.” The footman bent over. His wide shoulders straining against the back of his coat, he seized Bert under the armpits and dragged him outside.

Major Tarrant went to the doorway, murmured something, and returned with his wife.

Annie stared at them. What would have happened if the major had not intervened? Would Bert have raped her as if he were a brutal French soldier? Scenes from Spain flashed through her mind. Once, separated from Pa, she had witnessed the aftermath of Napoleon’s troops who pillaged and raped. Thank God Wellington had needed the Spanish people’s good will. Soldiers serving under his command were shot for theft, rape, and other crimes.

“Come, Annie.” Mrs. Tarrant opened the door to the parlour. “You need to sit down.”

Shocked by Bert’s onslaught, Annie stumbled forward. Although he had plagued her, she had never suspected he would force himself on her so brutally. Aware of the Tarrants’ concern, she sank down onto the nearest chair.

“You need some brandy.” Tarrant took a small silver flask from the pocket of his chestnut brown coat. He looked around. “There are no glasses. Georgianne, please hand this to Miss Annie and make sure she drinks some brandy.”

Annie shook her head. “No, I’ll recover without it. Pa disapproved of females who drank strong spirits.” She forced herself to smile. “As you know, sir, there were many camp followers who swigged them.”

“Miss Annie, I think, he would approve of brandy when taken as a medication.”

Her hands tremulous, Annie accepted the flask.

Mrs. Tarrant patted her shoulder. “Please take a few sips.”

She winced at the taste but, after a minute or two, the fiery liquid warmed and revived her.

The major looked down at her, his grey eyes as sombre as the sea beneath a dark sky which heralded a storm. “Miss Annie, if only you had not insisted on remaining here alone, that brute would not have had an opportunity to take advantage of you.”

“I never thought I would be harmed in England in my own house.”

“Who is the fellow?” he asked.

“Bert Reed, the son of the stall holder who sells my pies and puddings.”

Major Tarrant’s forehead creased. “If I summon the constable or speak to Reed’s father your good name might be damaged.” His jaw clenched. “You must stay with us. We will wait while you pack whatever you need.”

She shook her head. “You are very kind, but in spite of the …er…what happened, I prefer to stay here.”

The crease on Major Tarrant’s forehead deepened. “Miss Annie please don’t be stubborn. Mrs Tarrant and I have your best interests in mind.”

“Yes, we do. You are an intelligent young woman. Surely you will agree it is foolish to live alone. I shall send Jess, one of my older maids, to stay with you for the time being.” The major’s lady waved her hand at her. “Don’t protest, I won’t accept a refusal.”

Annie stared into petite Mrs. Tarrant’s cornflower blue eyes. The beauty, her trim figure, dressed in the latest fashion, did not look as though she had borne a son and two daughters. People unacquainted with her would assume she did little other than enjoy life in town and country. They would be mistaken. Mrs. Tarrant worked tirelessly to organise and promote several charitable institutions she had founded for the benefit of unemployed former soldiers, their widows, children, or orphans. A devoted wife and fond mother, an iron core underlay her charming exterior.

Mrs. Tarrant maintained contact with many she had assisted and, if necessary, continued to give them aid. Whether the major wanted her to help or not his wife was determined to help. “Thank you, ma’am,” Annie said, with reluctant meekness. Her benefactress’s tender smile rewarded her.

“Good.” Mrs. Tarrant leant forward. “Your father served us well. It will be a pleasure to do whatever is necessary for you.”

“Luke,” the major began, “You will put up here until other arrangements can be made.”

Annie gazed at the former hussar with grudging gratitude. Grudging because she did not want the Tarrants to control her life. Grateful because the footman would protect her if that mass of brawn and blubber called Bert was stupid enough to return and- No! She did not want to think about what he might attempt.

Mrs. Tarrant smoothed her mauve kid glove. “For now, there is nothing more to be said. We will return tomorrow to discuss your future.”

“I’ll be busy making pies,” Annie said.

The major’s wife shrugged. “Very well. We will come here on Friday morning.”

Annie stood prepared to usher them out of the house.

The Tarrants departed, Annie returned to the parlour. She sank down onto a chair and cursed herself for not realising Bert was dangerous. She pressed her hands against the sides of her temples wishing Pa could come back from the dead to help her. He could not. She must rely on herself. Furious, Annie stood. She would complain to Bert’s father and tell him that in future someone else must collect the pies and puddings.

 

* * *

 

Open on every day of the week except for Sunday, the market would be busiest on Friday. Nevertheless, today, trade seemed brisk when Annie inhaled an unmistakeable whiff of leather goods as she edged her way through customers to Mr. Reed’s stall.

“Annie, love, what brings you here?” Bert’s father asked, as he took money for a sugar cake from a customer.

“Bert!”

Mr. Reed took a deep breath. “I was wonderin’ where he is.” His hand trembled when he put the coin away. “Don’t you be telling me he’s had an accident.”

“His mouth has,” she said dryly.

“Oh, is that all? He was always one to talk too much.” He served a man with a pastry.

“Talking is one thing, trying to force on me and being bitten by me is another.”

“Do you mean Bert-?”

“Yes, and if you want to continue selling my pies and puddings send someone else to deliver the orders and collect them.” She stepped back as a dog slunk past her to search for food under the stall.

Mr. Reed scratched his bald head. “Don’t take on. My son wants to marry you.”

“Does that mean you think I should allow him to pester me?”

Mr. Reed looked across the stall. “Mary, love, how are you?” he called out as she made her way towards him. “Did you mother send you to get something for your supper?”

“Two pork pies, please,” she said, her voice gruffer than usual.

“How are you, Annie?” Mary asked, the expression on her face seeming wary. “Wish I could do more than finding those clothes for you.”

“And I should have said I was sorry to hear about you father’s death.” Mr. Reed patted her shoulder.

“Ta, Mr. Reed. I’ll be back on Friday, to buy one of Annie’s pies.” Mary faced her. “Annie, you look worn to a bone. I’ll visit you this evening to find out what I can do to help.” She walked away very slowly.

“Mr. Reed-” Annie began.

“Yes, love?” he interrupted.

“I am neither your love nor your son’s. Make sure Bert understands I won’t marry him.” Indignation caused her to speak more loudly than she had intended and attracted unwelcome attention. “Good day to you.”

 

* * *

 

Mary wended her way through the market. Poor Bert. She assumed hard-hearted Annie had flirted with him, made him believe she loved him, then refused to marry him. Furious because Annie probably considered herself too good for Bert, and relieved because Annie hadn’t snared him, she halted. Mary stood still as an island in the narrow space between the grocer’s and ironmonger’s stalls. Her face tightened. Bert deserved the best wife in the world. How could she convince him she would be?

“Get out of my way.” A stout man jostled her. Mary moved forward. Somehow, she would find a way to make Bert return her love. If she wanted something badly enough nothing was impossible. And she wanted nothing more than Bert.

At the stall, she gave the pies to her mam.

“Your smile means you planning mischief,” Bess said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why do you look like a cunning cat plotting to steal cream?” Mam asked, hands on her hips.

“Can’t I smile because I’m happy?”

Bess noticed Kitty. “How are you, love?”

“I’m in good health thank you and I hope you are.” Kitty picked up a pale pink muslin gown, with sleeves that fastened at the cuff with tiny mother of pearl buttons. “How much is this?”

Bess pursed her lips and cocked her head to one side. “Seeing as you’re Mary’s friend, sixpence instead of ten.” When Kitty hesitated, she added. “Time you had a pretty dress. The colour will suit you. Take it home. Try it on. If you don’t like it bring it back.”

Kitty fingered her grey frock with a darn on the bodice. She opened her drawstring bag, took out six pence and handed them to Bess.

“Thank you love. Mary told me you’re working for Annie. Don’t let your mother wheedle your money from you. It’s time to get rid of your old clothes.” She folded the gown. “Take it. When Tom sees you in a new gown, he’ll realise you’re more beautiful than my Mary or Annie.” She frowned. “But you can’t roll up those sleeves to keep them clean when you work in the kitchen.” Bess selected three gowns with high waists and puffed sleeves. These are suitable for work, even if they’re old-fashioned. You can have them for a shilling.”

As though Kitty was a person starving for good food, she eyed the pastel coloured dresses. “Ninepence?”

“Yes. Although it’s a hard bargain.”

 

* * *

 

Dwarfed by Luke’s height Annie stared up at him. Broad shouldered and muscular she didn’t doubt that if Bert dared to come to her house again, the footman could grab him by the collar and throw him out onto the street.

Luke’s smile softened his square face marked with a broken nose. “Major said as I’m to make myself useful.”

“You can sleep in a room in the attic on one of the beds left behind by the family my pa bought this house from,” she said, hesitantly. “Tomorrow, I’ll have the attic cleaned.”

Pa had blocked all the mouseholes in the old house. She had seen no signs of an invasion, but the creatures might have invaded the attic. She hoped they were not nesting in the mattresses. She pursed her mouth. Would any of the old beds be big enough for Luke? Would one collapse under his weight?

“Lord love you, Miss, give me a broom, a bucket of water and some rags and the room will soon be clean.”

His size made her nervous until she remembered her father’s sergeant, who noticed she lagged on a march because her legs ached. He had been another giant. His hands were gentle when he settled her on a baggage cart.

Someone rapped on the door. Annie stepped forward to squeeze past Luke and open it.

“No, Miss, I’m here to protect you.”

A round-faced, neatly dressed woman with a shawl around her shoulders and a wide-brimmed bonnet worn over a white cap with a narrow frill around the edge stood outside.

“You’re here, Jess,” Luke said.

Jess chuckled. “As you see.” She peered around him. “And you must be the poor lamb my mistress sent me to look after.”

“Er…yes…Mrs. Tarrant said you would stay with me,” Annie said unused to anyone thinking of her as a poor lamb.

Luke grinned. “Put your bag down, Jess. We’ve work to do. The attic has to be cleaned to make it fit for you to sleep in.”

“But-” Annie began.

“Don’t you worry, Miss.” Luke raised bunched fists. “Be a pleasure to greet anyone with these who comes banging on the door at night.”

Where could he sleep? There were four rooms on the ground floor, a parlour, a dining room, although, since Pa left Annie rarely used it, and two unfurnished ones. Luke could sleep in either of them.

“Very well, Luke.” She showed him the room. “After it’s dusted, you may bring a bed downstairs.” She looked at Jess, who had entered the hall. “And you may sleep in the attic.”

Supplied with brooms, a mop and rags, the pair whom Major and Mrs. Tarrant had foisted on her, set to work.

Annie went into the parlour and sank onto a chair. Her shoulders slumped. Pies to make tomorrow with Kitty’s help, and two extra mouths to feed. What would Luke and Jess do tomorrow? If Jess knew how to cook, she could bake bread and prepare meals. Gruel for breakfast, mutton stew at midday – she would put a little less mutton in each pie to sell in the market, and bread and cheese for supper.

Another knock on the door. She hurried into the hall to answer it, but Luke preceded her. When he stood aside, Annie glimpsed Mary, mouth agape, staring, at him.

“This way,” Annie led her friend into the parlour.

Mary’s green eyes gleamed like a curious cat’s. “Who is that man? A relative? No, he can’t be, you said you don’t have any.”

“Um… someone my father knew sent him to help me.”

“You are sly.” Mary smirked.

“Sly?”

Mary sat down. “You and that handsome man you call a servant together in the house at night.”

Annie tensed. She did not want any mischievous chi-chat about her, but although Mary enjoyed gossiping, she was too nice to be intentionally malicious.

“The same person sent a respectable woman to stay with me.”

“Oh. I hope no offence has been taken.”

“None,” Annie fibbed, a little shocked by her friend’s assumption. She should not be because Mary had a lively and sometimes amusing imagination. Besides, Mary was too kind to deliberately hurt anyone.

 

 

 

Saturday’s Child is available at all your favourite bookstores from:  

 

https://books2read.com/Saturday’s-Child

 

Rosemary’s Website www.rosemarymorris.co.uk