ready in the yard in half an hour.
Esther blinked and looked down at the coarse, well-worn skirt in dismay and then back at Sam. Didn’t he realize these were all the clothes she had? Didn’t he know that when she washed them each week and hung them on the clothes horse so close to the warm range over night that they almost scorched, it was because they had to be dry for the following morning? Esther wrinkled her forehead and smiled at her own foolishness. Of course he didn’t know, for she was careful to strip off and take her bath in the tin bath in front of the kitchen range and wash her clothes long after Sam had climbed the stairs.
‘I ain’t no more clothes, mester,’ she said flatly.
‘Huh,’ was Sam’s only comment, but his glance at her, up and down, spoke volumes.
‘You’ll have to do as you are then, wench. I’ll be waiting in the yard – half an hour,’ was all Sam would say. Self-consciously and wondering what this was all about, Esther strip-washed in the back scullery, intrigued to hear the boards above her head creaking as Sam moved about upstairs. In her own small attic boxroom, Esther brushed her hair and shook out her only shawl and put it about her shoulders. Then she climbed down the ladder and opened the back door. She stopped. Her mouth fell open with surprise and then widened into a grin.
Sam Brumby was a resplendent figure in a black suit, a gold watch-chain looped across his waistcoat. He had shaved and his thin white hair was plastered down under a black trilby hat. He was standing stiffly by the gate staring down the long lane leading towards the town, looking as if he hardly dared to move in his starched white collar. Her handiwork, Esther thought, with a stab of pride. It took a moment for her to control her laughter, but knowing that at any moment Sam might turn and see her, Esther cleared her throat and strode purposefully across the yard, her boots scrunching on the cinders.
Sam pulled out the gold Hunter watch from his pocket and looked at it, then giving a sniff he set off along the road towards the town. Esther fell into step beside him, but where exactly they were going, she had no idea for not a word passed between them.
They had walked about a mile when behind them came the rattle of the wheels of a pony and trap. Stepping on to the grass verge to let it pass, Esther looked up to see Matthew grinning down at her. Beth, in her Sunday best bonnet and shawl, was sitting beside him.
As they drew level, Matthew slowed the trap. ‘Want a lift, Mester Brumby? ’Tis a long way to the church.’
Sam’s frown deepened. ‘Thank ’ee – no. Ah can still walk two miles, young feller!’
Above Sam’s head, Matthew winked at Esther. ‘’Spect you’d like to ride in style, Esther?’
Esther grinned back at him but, mindful of Sam’s feelings, she answered pertly, ‘Thank you kindly, sir, but I’ll walk with Mester Brumby.’
As Matthew flicked the reins and urged the pony forward, Beth looked back over her shoulder at Esther, a smug expression on her face. With an obvious gesture, she tucked her hand possessively through Matthew’s arm.
When they reached the outskirts of the town, Esther looked about her. She had come this way the day she had arrived, but in the early morning light the houses had been only shadowy shapes. Now, in the sunshine of a September morning, there was a brightness about the neat houses and well-kept gardens.
‘By, them’s posh places, mester,’ Esther broke the silence. Twisting and turning as she walked she pointed excitedly to right and left. ‘Look at that ’un – it’s a mansion!’
Esther noticed a brass plate fixed to the gatepost. Laboriously she spelt out the name. ‘Doctor Blair.’
Sam neither answered nor turned his head. Esther heard his sniff that indicated disapproval. Evidently Sam Brumby had no time for the town-dwellers.
They walked through the town centre, down the main street with little shops huddled
Esther blinked and looked down at the coarse, well-worn skirt in dismay and then back at Sam. Didn’t he realize these were all the clothes she had? Didn’t he know that when she washed them each week and hung them on the clothes horse so close to the warm range over night that they almost scorched, it was because they had to be dry for the following morning? Esther wrinkled her forehead and smiled at her own foolishness. Of course he didn’t know, for she was careful to strip off and take her bath in the tin bath in front of the kitchen range and wash her clothes long after Sam had climbed the stairs.
‘I ain’t no more clothes, mester,’ she said flatly.
‘Huh,’ was Sam’s only comment, but his glance at her, up and down, spoke volumes.
‘You’ll have to do as you are then, wench. I’ll be waiting in the yard – half an hour,’ was all Sam would say. Self-consciously and wondering what this was all about, Esther strip-washed in the back scullery, intrigued to hear the boards above her head creaking as Sam moved about upstairs. In her own small attic boxroom, Esther brushed her hair and shook out her only shawl and put it about her shoulders. Then she climbed down the ladder and opened the back door. She stopped. Her mouth fell open with surprise and then widened into a grin.
Sam Brumby was a resplendent figure in a black suit, a gold watch-chain looped across his waistcoat. He had shaved and his thin white hair was plastered down under a black trilby hat. He was standing stiffly by the gate staring down the long lane leading towards the town, looking as if he hardly dared to move in his starched white collar. Her handiwork, Esther thought, with a stab of pride. It took a moment for her to control her laughter, but knowing that at any moment Sam might turn and see her, Esther cleared her throat and strode purposefully across the yard, her boots scrunching on the cinders.
Sam pulled out the gold Hunter watch from his pocket and looked at it, then giving a sniff he set off along the road towards the town. Esther fell into step beside him, but where exactly they were going, she had no idea for not a word passed between them.
They had walked about a mile when behind them came the rattle of the wheels of a pony and trap. Stepping on to the grass verge to let it pass, Esther looked up to see Matthew grinning down at her. Beth, in her Sunday best bonnet and shawl, was sitting beside him.
As they drew level, Matthew slowed the trap. ‘Want a lift, Mester Brumby? ’Tis a long way to the church.’
Sam’s frown deepened. ‘Thank ’ee – no. Ah can still walk two miles, young feller!’
Above Sam’s head, Matthew winked at Esther. ‘’Spect you’d like to ride in style, Esther?’
Esther grinned back at him but, mindful of Sam’s feelings, she answered pertly, ‘Thank you kindly, sir, but I’ll walk with Mester Brumby.’
As Matthew flicked the reins and urged the pony forward, Beth looked back over her shoulder at Esther, a smug expression on her face. With an obvious gesture, she tucked her hand possessively through Matthew’s arm.
When they reached the outskirts of the town, Esther looked about her. She had come this way the day she had arrived, but in the early morning light the houses had been only shadowy shapes. Now, in the sunshine of a September morning, there was a brightness about the neat houses and well-kept gardens.
‘By, them’s posh places, mester,’ Esther broke the silence. Twisting and turning as she walked she pointed excitedly to right and left. ‘Look at that ’un – it’s a mansion!’
Esther noticed a brass plate fixed to the gatepost. Laboriously she spelt out the name. ‘Doctor Blair.’
Sam neither answered nor turned his head. Esther heard his sniff that indicated disapproval. Evidently Sam Brumby had no time for the town-dwellers.
They walked through the town centre, down the main street with little shops huddled
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