started working here. She – she got
whooping cough. Connie, Gracie and Timothy all got it, but she was so bad . . .’ Her voice faltered, still remembering the dreadful day when Mrs Grundy had sat her down on a kitchen chair and
broken the awful news to her that her little sister had died. ‘The mistress is giving you a week off to go home and help ya mam,’ the cook had said. ‘Isn’t that kind of her,
now?’
Kitty felt again the lump in her throat that she had felt then. It had been her first direct experience of her mistress’s thoughtfulness.
Now Edward did speak, the painful rasp of his breathing already easier. ‘I had whooping cough too, three years ago. That’s when this asthma started. Maybe Timothy too?’
Kitty nodded. ‘Yeah. Me mam said it left him with a weakness. Maybe you’re right, maybe . . .’
Heavy footsteps sounded on the landing and the bedroom door flew open.
Kitty twisted round and her heart thumped as the booming voice of Mr Franklin filled the room with anger. ‘What on earth are you doing in this room, girl? Out, at once.’
Kitty slid down from the bed and scuttled out of the room, but not before she had heard Edward’s breathing once again become harsh and agonizing.
Eight
‘I thought I told you that girl was never to work above stairs?’
Kitty, on her way down to the kitchen, her arms full of Miss Miriam’s laundry, paused outside the drawing-room door at the sound of the master’s voice raised in anger and knew
instinctively that she was the subject of their discussion. She held her breath. Now it would come. Now she would hear the master telling his wife what Miriam must, by this time, have told him
about their battle.
But Mrs Franklin was speaking calmly. ‘I didn’t think you would object.’ She was quite unruffled by her husband’s temper, adding, with mysterious but deliberate
intention, ‘In the circumstances.’
Mr Franklin grunted. ‘It’s one thing to employ the girl, quite another for her to have free run of the house where I might encounter her.’
‘Henry, the girl cannot help being who she is. She’s a good child and she has already shown that she can handle Miriam.’
Kitty winced as she continued to eavesdrop. Surely now, it was going to come out what had happened between her and Miss Miriam!
To her surprise, Mrs Franklin was saying instead, ‘I am thankful to have her here. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I am. She has always been a good little kitchen maid,
and now she’s worthy of something better. And she’s so good with poor Edward too.’
‘ “Poor Edward”, be damned! The boy’s a milksop, a mother’s boy. He’ll never amount to anything worthwhile if you continue to mollycoddle him.’
‘Edward will be a fine young man,’ Mrs Franklin said in a voice so quiet now that Kitty scarcely heard her words, ‘if he lives long enough.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Mr Franklin boomed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the boy that a day’s riding in the fresh air wouldn’t cure. Thank God for Miriam, I say.
Now that girl’s got spirit. Takes after me . . .’
Kitty had never imagined that the mistress – that lovely, gentle creature – could be so authoritative and towards, of all people in the world, her husband, but now, there was silence
as Mrs Franklin made no reply.
‘Clegg. Clegg! Where are you?’ Miriam’s voice echoed shrilly from the first-floor landing and Kitty nearly dropped the tea tray she was carrying down the
stairs from Mrs Franklin’s sitting room.
‘Coming, miss.’
She hurried up the steps into the kitchen and banged the tray down on to the kitchen table. ‘Wash them pots for us, our Milly. Miss Miriam’s shouting for me and she don’t
’alf sound in a temper. I’d best go straight up.’
‘But I’ve got all these taties to peel for Mrs Grundy. I can’t—’
But Kitty was gone, through the door and up the stairs two at a time.
Miriam was sitting at her
whooping cough. Connie, Gracie and Timothy all got it, but she was so bad . . .’ Her voice faltered, still remembering the dreadful day when Mrs Grundy had sat her down on a kitchen chair and
broken the awful news to her that her little sister had died. ‘The mistress is giving you a week off to go home and help ya mam,’ the cook had said. ‘Isn’t that kind of her,
now?’
Kitty felt again the lump in her throat that she had felt then. It had been her first direct experience of her mistress’s thoughtfulness.
Now Edward did speak, the painful rasp of his breathing already easier. ‘I had whooping cough too, three years ago. That’s when this asthma started. Maybe Timothy too?’
Kitty nodded. ‘Yeah. Me mam said it left him with a weakness. Maybe you’re right, maybe . . .’
Heavy footsteps sounded on the landing and the bedroom door flew open.
Kitty twisted round and her heart thumped as the booming voice of Mr Franklin filled the room with anger. ‘What on earth are you doing in this room, girl? Out, at once.’
Kitty slid down from the bed and scuttled out of the room, but not before she had heard Edward’s breathing once again become harsh and agonizing.
Eight
‘I thought I told you that girl was never to work above stairs?’
Kitty, on her way down to the kitchen, her arms full of Miss Miriam’s laundry, paused outside the drawing-room door at the sound of the master’s voice raised in anger and knew
instinctively that she was the subject of their discussion. She held her breath. Now it would come. Now she would hear the master telling his wife what Miriam must, by this time, have told him
about their battle.
But Mrs Franklin was speaking calmly. ‘I didn’t think you would object.’ She was quite unruffled by her husband’s temper, adding, with mysterious but deliberate
intention, ‘In the circumstances.’
Mr Franklin grunted. ‘It’s one thing to employ the girl, quite another for her to have free run of the house where I might encounter her.’
‘Henry, the girl cannot help being who she is. She’s a good child and she has already shown that she can handle Miriam.’
Kitty winced as she continued to eavesdrop. Surely now, it was going to come out what had happened between her and Miss Miriam!
To her surprise, Mrs Franklin was saying instead, ‘I am thankful to have her here. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I am. She has always been a good little kitchen maid,
and now she’s worthy of something better. And she’s so good with poor Edward too.’
‘ “Poor Edward”, be damned! The boy’s a milksop, a mother’s boy. He’ll never amount to anything worthwhile if you continue to mollycoddle him.’
‘Edward will be a fine young man,’ Mrs Franklin said in a voice so quiet now that Kitty scarcely heard her words, ‘if he lives long enough.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Mr Franklin boomed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the boy that a day’s riding in the fresh air wouldn’t cure. Thank God for Miriam, I say.
Now that girl’s got spirit. Takes after me . . .’
Kitty had never imagined that the mistress – that lovely, gentle creature – could be so authoritative and towards, of all people in the world, her husband, but now, there was silence
as Mrs Franklin made no reply.
‘Clegg. Clegg! Where are you?’ Miriam’s voice echoed shrilly from the first-floor landing and Kitty nearly dropped the tea tray she was carrying down the
stairs from Mrs Franklin’s sitting room.
‘Coming, miss.’
She hurried up the steps into the kitchen and banged the tray down on to the kitchen table. ‘Wash them pots for us, our Milly. Miss Miriam’s shouting for me and she don’t
’alf sound in a temper. I’d best go straight up.’
‘But I’ve got all these taties to peel for Mrs Grundy. I can’t—’
But Kitty was gone, through the door and up the stairs two at a time.
Miriam was sitting at her
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