formula. I’ll have it made up.’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘Can’t do that. Family secret, you see. Handed down over generations . . .’
He put his head on one side. ‘And you don’t have it written down because you can’t write?’ There was heavy sarcasm in his tone.
Philly grinned broadly. ‘No, I can’t write. Can you make medicines?’ Her heart was crashing about in her chest like an unbroken pony, heaving and pounding wildly against her rib cage. She hated this man, hated everything he stood for. The coolness of her voice belied her real feelings, for she would never allow him the satisfaction of knowing how much he truly disturbed her. ‘My friend is coming, Mr Swainbank. I’ll bid you good night.’
‘Mrs Maguire . . . please . . .’
She stared at him with as much contempt as she could manage to convey through the thickening darkness.
‘Don’t make me beg. I need the powders . . .’
Philly sighed deeply, watching the frosted cloud of exhaled breath as it hung in the chilled air. He was standing badly, obviously depending on the one leg. ‘See me at my house the day after Christmas. And don’t be leaving your fancy carriage at my door, for the neighbours have no time for your kind.’
She walked away and joined Edie who was struggling with yet another set of parcels. ‘A bit of nice haddy there for breakfast. Who was that?’
‘Swainbank. Don’t stare at him, for goodness sake!’
‘What’s he want?’
‘Powders. Keep walking.’ They marched away at speed, Edie almost having to run to keep up with her slimmer and longer-legged friend. When they reached St George’s Road, Edie dragged at Philly’s sleeve and implored her to slow down. ‘What the heck’s got into you at all? Like a cat with its tail roasting, you are. I know we’re going to no bloody funerals, but all the same there’s no fires either. Have you never heard of pacing yourself? Me bloody arm’s ready for dropping off here . . .’
‘Well, don’t you be letting Arthur hear you swearing. And him with the pledge signed too—’
‘Oh, give over with your mithering! Stand still while I look at you.’
Philly came to a halt and faced her friend. ‘Right. Not that you’ll see much in this light . . .’
Edie pushed the larger woman along a few paces until they stood beneath a lamp. ‘Aye. He’s got you going, hasn’t he?’
‘What do you mean “got me going”? If you mean I’m angry, then you’re right. He expects me to drop everything – Christmas shopping included – to see to his almighty leg. The gall of the man, the cheek of him, the impudence . . . Why are you nodding your head like that, Edith Dobson? You look like the doll I bought Molly for Christmas.’
‘He’s got his eye on you, hasn’t he?’
‘What? Who?’
‘Him! Mr flaming posh-neck Swainbank! I can tell with your physog there’s summat going on—’
‘Edie! There is nothing going on. He wants powder for his leg sore, no more and no less than that. Except that his very existence annoys me past bearing, which is why I’m a bit . . . over-excited.’
Edie bent down to rearrange the parcels in her baskets. ‘If you say so,’ she muttered between chattering teeth. ‘By, it’s gone cold. Happen you were right to move fast.’ She picked up her burdens. ‘Well? What are you standing there for like cheese at tuppence? You’re likely not the first . . .’
Philly dragged herself after her neighbour who seemed to have found new strength after the brief pause. ‘The first what, Edie?’
‘The first one he’s had an eye on.’
‘Is that so? Well, he can take his eyes and leave them elsewhere. And what makes you think he’s interested in me?’
Edie raised her face to heaven as if seeking patience and guidance. ‘For a kick-off, I’m not as daft as I look – I know he followed us all through town. For another, it’d take more than a flaming sore leg to get you so riled. And for
She shook her head vigorously. ‘Can’t do that. Family secret, you see. Handed down over generations . . .’
He put his head on one side. ‘And you don’t have it written down because you can’t write?’ There was heavy sarcasm in his tone.
Philly grinned broadly. ‘No, I can’t write. Can you make medicines?’ Her heart was crashing about in her chest like an unbroken pony, heaving and pounding wildly against her rib cage. She hated this man, hated everything he stood for. The coolness of her voice belied her real feelings, for she would never allow him the satisfaction of knowing how much he truly disturbed her. ‘My friend is coming, Mr Swainbank. I’ll bid you good night.’
‘Mrs Maguire . . . please . . .’
She stared at him with as much contempt as she could manage to convey through the thickening darkness.
‘Don’t make me beg. I need the powders . . .’
Philly sighed deeply, watching the frosted cloud of exhaled breath as it hung in the chilled air. He was standing badly, obviously depending on the one leg. ‘See me at my house the day after Christmas. And don’t be leaving your fancy carriage at my door, for the neighbours have no time for your kind.’
She walked away and joined Edie who was struggling with yet another set of parcels. ‘A bit of nice haddy there for breakfast. Who was that?’
‘Swainbank. Don’t stare at him, for goodness sake!’
‘What’s he want?’
‘Powders. Keep walking.’ They marched away at speed, Edie almost having to run to keep up with her slimmer and longer-legged friend. When they reached St George’s Road, Edie dragged at Philly’s sleeve and implored her to slow down. ‘What the heck’s got into you at all? Like a cat with its tail roasting, you are. I know we’re going to no bloody funerals, but all the same there’s no fires either. Have you never heard of pacing yourself? Me bloody arm’s ready for dropping off here . . .’
‘Well, don’t you be letting Arthur hear you swearing. And him with the pledge signed too—’
‘Oh, give over with your mithering! Stand still while I look at you.’
Philly came to a halt and faced her friend. ‘Right. Not that you’ll see much in this light . . .’
Edie pushed the larger woman along a few paces until they stood beneath a lamp. ‘Aye. He’s got you going, hasn’t he?’
‘What do you mean “got me going”? If you mean I’m angry, then you’re right. He expects me to drop everything – Christmas shopping included – to see to his almighty leg. The gall of the man, the cheek of him, the impudence . . . Why are you nodding your head like that, Edith Dobson? You look like the doll I bought Molly for Christmas.’
‘He’s got his eye on you, hasn’t he?’
‘What? Who?’
‘Him! Mr flaming posh-neck Swainbank! I can tell with your physog there’s summat going on—’
‘Edie! There is nothing going on. He wants powder for his leg sore, no more and no less than that. Except that his very existence annoys me past bearing, which is why I’m a bit . . . over-excited.’
Edie bent down to rearrange the parcels in her baskets. ‘If you say so,’ she muttered between chattering teeth. ‘By, it’s gone cold. Happen you were right to move fast.’ She picked up her burdens. ‘Well? What are you standing there for like cheese at tuppence? You’re likely not the first . . .’
Philly dragged herself after her neighbour who seemed to have found new strength after the brief pause. ‘The first what, Edie?’
‘The first one he’s had an eye on.’
‘Is that so? Well, he can take his eyes and leave them elsewhere. And what makes you think he’s interested in me?’
Edie raised her face to heaven as if seeking patience and guidance. ‘For a kick-off, I’m not as daft as I look – I know he followed us all through town. For another, it’d take more than a flaming sore leg to get you so riled. And for
Similar Books
