Ruby Flynn by Nadine Dorries

bread dough down on the table with such a thud that it became difficult for Mrs McKinnon to see her through the cloud of flour.
    ‘Mary, in the name of Jesus, why is it taking ye so long to pluck the chickens? Get a move on, girl.’
    ‘Yes, Amy,’ shouted Mary. She was a slight girl who hardly spoke, but she responded to the wink from Mrs McKinnon with a wide and near toothless grin.
    ‘Ah, the new girl,’ Amy continued. ‘I don’t suppose she’s been brought to help me in the kitchen, has she?’
    ‘No, I’m afraid not, Amy. She’s for the nursery.’
    ‘God in heaven, why would that be? There is no child in the nursery. He’s dead. They’re all dead, God rest their little souls.’ Amy blessed herself as she spoke.
    Amy had worked in the castle since she was a girl and had acquired a degree of confidence typical in a woman who rules her own domain. Amy’s realm was the kitchen and woe betide anyone who helped themselves to so much as a cup of buttermilk or an oat biscuit without first seeking permission.
    ‘Aye, they are all dead,’ said Mrs McKinnon. ‘God bless them. Lady FitzDeane was asleep in the nursing chair when I popped my head in this morning. Heartbreaking it is. She’s lost so much weight. I’m feared she will snap in two if we don’t have someone to help her. Someone who could do a bit of everything including writing the odd letter because she is far too melancholy to write any herself.’
    Amy looked dumbfounded. ‘Does Lord FitzDeane know?’
    ‘How could he Amy? He’s back in Liverpool. He’s gone into a new business and bought a ship, so Mr McKinnon tells me. He is living in the big house in Sefton Park now too, so I’m told. He has had it decorated from top to bottom. I don’t like him staying in Liverpool. There has been a telephone in this castle for almost five years now, he should be able to work from here.’
    ‘’Tis all changing if you ask me,’ said Amy. ‘Things are so different here now altogether. No fishing parties, no shoots, no balls. It’s as if the lady has been in mourning forever and him, Lord Charles, they were his babies too but no one frets about him do they? I’ve seen the difference since the last one died, he’s moving further and further away from us and I will tell you something else too: I reckon that if they had a baby girl, it would live. There is a woman in Waterford, lives in the same village as my mammy’s cousin, ten dead boys she had until the girl came along and now she’s going as fit as you like. They have her milking and cutting the turf too and they say she’s as strong as the ten boys would have been.’
    ‘God help her,’ Mrs McKinnon replied wryly. ‘I cannot imagine how the mother kept going, losing ten boys. We had five years and five losses and a funeral for each one of them here and I can see the effect it has had on the lady.’
    ‘Mary, stop earwigging and pluck!’ Amy shouted.
    She turned and filled the kettle at the enormous stone sink and as she did, she thought she heard the sound of the cart in the distance. She immediately stood on tiptoe to look out of the window.
    ‘God in heaven, you don’t think he has another woman do you, Mrs McKinnon? I mean, in Liverpool? Maybe that’s why he is setting up a new house there. He wouldn’t take a mistress in Liverpool, would he?’
    Amy turned back and put the kettle onto the range. She had meant to whisper her question. It was one that had been playing on her mind for some time. She felt for Lord FitzDeane. It appeared to Amy that all the attention and sympathy focused on Lady FitzDeane and that the man they all knew with affection as Lord Charles, was forgotten about.
    ‘I don’t think so, no,’ Mrs McKinnon said impatiently. She looked towards the servants’ stairs nervously, to see if anyone was hovering.
    ‘Mr McKinnon is off to Liverpool sometime soon with two chests and papers from the study for Lord Charles. We had thought he was returning to Ballyford