Orphans from the Storm: Bride at Bellfield Mill / A Family for Hawthorn Farm / Tilly of Tap House. PENNY JORDAN

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      ‘I’ll take you up to Mr Denshaw now, if you’d like to come this way?’

      This time when she knocked on the bedroom door and then opened it Marianne purposefully did not look in the direction of the bed, but instead kept her face averted when she announced the mill manager, and then stepped smartly out of the room.

      It was some time before the mill manager returned to the kitchen, and when he did he was frowning, as though his thoughts burdened him.

      ‘T’master has told me to tell you that for so long as he is laid up you can apply to me for whatever you may need in your role as housekeeper. He said that you’re to supply me with a list of everything that needs replacin’—by way of sheeting and that. I’m to have a word with the tradesmen and tell them to send their bills to me until t’master is well enough to deal wi’ them himself. There are accounts at most of the shops.’

      He reached into his pocket and withdrew some bright shiny coins, which he placed on the table.

      ‘He said to give you this. There’s two guineas there in shillings. You’re to keep a record of what you spend for t’master to check. If there is anything else I can ’elp you with…’

      ‘There is one thing,’ Marianne told him. ‘The house is cold and damp, and I should like to have a fire lit in the master’s bedroom. There is a coal store, but there does not seem to be anyone to maintain it, nor to provide the household with kindling and the like.’

      The mill manager nodded his head. ‘T’master said himself that he wanted me to sort out a lad to take the place of old Bert, who used to do the outside work. Should have been replaced years ago, he should, but t’master said as ’ow he’d worked ’ere all his life, and that it weren’t right to turn him out. Not that ’e’d been doing much work this last year. ‘The mill manager shook his head. ‘Too soft-’earted t’master is sometimes.’

      Marianne couldn’t help but look surprised. Soft-hearted wasn’t how she would have described the Master of Bellfield.

      ‘I’ll send a lad up first thing in the morning. I know the very one. Good hard worker, he’ll be, and knows what he’s about. Master said that you’ll be needing a girl to do the rough work as well.’

      Marianne nodded her head.

      For a man who less than a handful of hours ago had barely been conscious, her new employer seemed to have made a remarkable recovery.

      ‘And perhaps if Mr Denshaw could have a manservant, especially whilst he is so…so awkwardly placed with his wound?’ Marianne suggested delicately.

      The mill manager scratched his head. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t think he’d care for that. He doesn’t like all them fancy ways. Mind, I could send up a couple of lads, if you were to send word, to give you a hand if it were a matter of lifting him or owt like that?’

      ‘Yes…thank you.’

      He meant well, Marianne knew, but that wasn’t what she’d had in mind at all. With the nurse dismissed, she was now going to have to nurse her employer, and if what she had experienced earlier was anything to go by, the Master of Bellfield was not going to change his ways to accommodate her female sensibilities.

      ‘T’master also said to tell you that you can have the use of the housekeeper’s rooms, fifteen guineas wages a year and a scuttle full of coal every day, all found.’

      Fifteen guineas! And all found! Marianne nodded her head. Those were generous terms indeed.

       CHAPTER SIX

      THE day’s bright sunshine had faded into evening darkness, and beneath the full moon which Marianne could see from the kitchen window the yard was glazed with white frosting.

      True to his word, the mill manager had sent up a sturdy-looking youth who had spent what was left of the afternoon chopping fire kindling and filling enough coal scuttles to fuel every fire in the house.

      At four o’clock Marianne had gone out to him to take him some bread and cheese. He seemed a decent lad, shy, and not quick with his words, but hard-working. He had told her his name was Ben. He had further added that his cousin Hannah would be coming up in the morning, to see if she might suit for the rough work in the kitchen.

      A cheerful-looking individual had also arrived, announcing that he was from the laundry, and Marianne had somehow made time to bundle up and list as much of the grubby linen as she could.

      She had even had time to run up the stairs to the attic floor, to seek out the rooms the mill manager had referred to as the housekeeper’s rooms. It had been easy enough to establish which they were, and Marianne had decided the minute she saw them that neither she nor the baby would be occupying them until she had given them a good scrub through and got some fresh ticking to cover the mattress. For tonight she planned to sleep in the kitchen again, where it was warm and clean.

      The house’s nurseries were also on the attic floor, and Marianne had been drawn to them. Once they would have rung with the childish laughter of the young boy and girl whom, so local gossip said, had been driven away by the cruelty of the man who had been stepfather to one and guardian to the other.

      The rooms were cold and abandoned, with distemper flaking off the sloping walls where they rose to meet the ceiling. Heavy protective bars guarded the windows, and there was a large brass fireguard in front of the fire, the kind on which a children’s nanny would have dried their outside clothes, and perhaps as a treat made toast for nursery tea.

      One thing that had impressed her about the house was the fact that the nursery floor had a proper bathroom, with a flushing lavatory and a big bath.

      Now, though, she was busy in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the baby whilst she worked busily.

      Although she had been upstairs several times, on each occasion the Master of Bellfield had been sleeping, so Marianne had not disturbed him. Now the kitchen was full of the rich smell of the chicken soup she had made for the invalid, and the cat, who had proudly presented her with three dead mice already, was sitting purposefully in front of the range.

      As she bustled about, Marianne hummed softly under her breath, mentally making lists of all that she had to do. There was the warming pan to be made ready for the master’s bed. Thanks to Ben, there was now a fire burning cheerfully in the bedroom, and tomorrow she would send Ben down to the mill to ask Mr Gledhill if he had any idea where she might find the boiler that should provide hot water for the bathrooms. She suspected it would be in the cellars, but she was reluctant to go down and investigate, knowing that it was by the door that led to them that the cat sat, waiting for her prey. The thought of mice running over her feet as she explored the cellars’ darkness made her shudder.

      That meant that she must heat water on the range, both to clean the master’s wound and for him to shave with, should he choose to do so.

      It had caused her several moments’ disquiet to discover that nowhere in the linen cupboard was there a sign of any kind of male night attire. There must, however, be a draper’s shop in the town, and they would be sure to be able to supply some, she decided firmly. Whether or not Mr Denshaw would wear them was, of course, another matter.

      She let the cat out and, covering the soup and leaving СКАЧАТЬ