Sons and Daughters by Margaret Dickinson

Warren – is a good man. His father, who preceded him in the job, trained him from a young age. I can confidently leave everything to him. Of course, he consults me, but I have great faith in his abilities.’ He waved his hand benevolently. ‘If you have any problems, speak to Warren.’
    Miles inclined his head politely but said nothing. Only the tightening of his mouth told his sons of his outrage at Osbert’s superior attitude.
    Georgie, spooning pineapple pudding into his eager mouth, broke the tension. ‘I say, this is jolly stuff. We must get Mrs Beddows to make this, Papa.’
    Miles Thornton’s mood lifted and he chuckled. ‘You should know, Georgie, that a lot of cooks guard their secrets very jealously. Perhaps Mr Crawford’s cook wouldn’t want to hand out her family recipes.’
    Osbert laughed, but it was a humourless sound, sarcastic and with a bitter note. ‘Cook? Mary Morgan?’ Again he laughed but then nodded towards Georgie. ‘But if you like her pudding, my boy, I’ll see she sends the recipe to the manor.’
    The boy scraped the spoon on the plate, criss-crossing it until every drop was gone. He stood up and turned towards their host. ‘Thank you for my dinner. Please may I leave the table?’
    At least the little rascal has manners, Osbert thought, as he inclined his head giving permission.
    Georgie pushed back his chair and marched towards the door, which was opened for him by Edward hovering close by. The young boy beamed up at him. ‘Thank you, Mr Morgan. Which way is it to the kitchen? I want to see Mrs Morgan.’
    A perverse pleasure shot through Edward Morgan as he pointed across the hall. Let them find out, he was thinking, just how their precious host treats his own daughter.
    ‘Now, Georgie,’ his father began, ‘you mustn’t go wandering about the house. It isn’t polite.’
    But the child was already skipping across the polished floor of the hall.
    ‘Stop him, Morgan,’ Osbert bellowed, suddenly realizing that Charlotte was probably still in the kitchen, dressed in her skivvy’s clothes. But the boy paid no heed, and pushed open the door leading directly into the huge kitchen that ran the full width of the house.
    Behind him, Edward hid his smile.
    Georgie stepped into the kitchen, a ready smile on his face. He glanced around at the three shocked faces. Mary Morgan, Peggy Warren – and Charlotte.
    For a brief moment the young boy’s smile wavered. Then it broadened again. ‘Miss Charlotte! You’re feeling better. I’m so glad.’ He went to her and took her hand, gazing up at her. ‘Why didn’t you come to see us? Even if you didn’t feel like eating.’ He grimaced. ‘Headaches can make you feel you don’t want to eat, can’t they? I had one once and I was sick, too. Were you sick, Miss Charlotte?’
    Lost for words, Charlotte shook her head. But she put trembling fingers to her forehead. She was about to get a headache for real any moment now.

 
Eight
     
    By the time Georgie had finished chattering to the three women in the kitchen, Osbert had led his guests to the chairs and settee around the fire. Though he was agitated by the young boy’s action – behaviour he firmly believed should have been checked by the over-indulgent father – he managed to steer the conversation towards the news of the day.
    Once again, he addressed his remarks to Philip. ‘And what do you make of this threat of a miners’ strike and the call for other unions to follow suit in support?’
    ‘If it happens, I think they should send the army in to break it up,’ the young man replied at once. ‘They’d be holding the whole country to ransom.’
    Osbert’s eyes gleamed. The boy talked sense. Good sense, in his opinion. But it seemed the father was softer.
    ‘I think,’ Miles said, ‘that you should consider what is being done to the miners and their families before you make such a statement, Philip. They’re trying to reduce their wages and increase their hours of