The two of them walked towards the crest of the hill in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Emma was dwelling on her mother’s ill-health; Blackie was focusing on the repair work he had to do at Fairley Hall: chimneys, flues and some outside walls between the stables. Five days’ work and several extra, if needed. Good money though. That was important.
Unexpectedly, Emma laughed and started to run, shouting over her shoulder, ‘I’m going ter yon gate.’
He smiled as he watched her flying across the field. When she arrived at the white-painted gate, she unlatched it, stood on it and swung forward, laughing once more as she went backwards and forwards, enjoying herself.
When Blackie joined her, he said, ‘Here, let me give ye a good push!’ He did this several times, delighted that she was having fun in a girlish manner.
A few moments later, she jumped off the gate, and said, ‘We got ter get moving, Blackie. I don’t want ter be late.’
‘How far is the Hall?’ Blackie asked, striding out beside her.
‘Ye’ll see it in a few minutes, when we get ter that moor in front of us.’
Silence fell between them once again. Several times he glanced down at her and saw that her face was now set in more serious lines. And he thought she even looked a bit anxious. But he made no comment. After all, they had only just met a short while ago.
After climbing up the hill, they were finally on top of the moor which overlooked a small valley. Emma looked out across the River Aire below, and then turned to face Blackie. ‘That’s where they live!’ she exclaimed, pointing to a house in the valley.
Staring back at her, he was genuinely taken aback by the expression in those emerald eyes. It was one of pure hatred, and her face was tense with controlled emotion.
He felt a small shiver running through him. She was more than likely badly treated by the Fairleys – well, perhaps some of them, maybe only one. But the hatred was a palpable thing, and he wondered what he would find inside the Hall.
Clearing his throat, staring down at the house, he exclaimed, ‘What an awful-looking place that is, Emma! Chimneys and towers, add-on buildings and no symmetry. A monstrosity, if ye ask me. And here I was, thinking it would be a grand house, Georgian, perhaps even Palladian in style. But this house, Fairley Hall, is just a muddled mess. A hodgepodge of styles.’
His words obviously pleased Emma, and she smiled, and said, ‘And I knows yer right, ’cos yer an expert. It’s not got nice gardens either. And they’re awful people, the Fairleys, most of ’em,’ she finished dismissively.
‘How many Fairleys live there?’ Blackie asked, his curiosity aroused more than ever.
‘The Squire, Mrs Fairley, Master Edwin, the heir, his brother Gerald, and sometimes Mrs Olivia Wainright comes to stay. She lives in London, and she’s Mrs Fairley’s sister. She’s nice,’ she acknowledged.
‘I’m wondering what the sons are like?’ Blackie looked at Emma and raised a brow questioningly.
She answered swiftly. ‘Master Gerald’s a bossy lad, allus shouting and teasing Master Edwin, who keeps away from him when he can. I like Master Edwin; he is polite. The other boy is nasty.’
‘And what about the others there? Surely there is a housekeeper, a cook and a butler?’ Blackie was well aware of the need the rich had for servants, having spent so much time at Bolton Manor in Yorkshire and Lassiter Hall in Ireland. A big house, like the one they were now approaching, would require the same number of people to clean it and run it – probably more, in fact.
‘Cook is Mrs Turner, and the butler is Mr Murgatroyd. The housekeeper, Mrs Hargreaves, is in Ilkley. She’s gone ter look after her sister who’s poorly,’ Emma explained.
‘No other maids like ye?’ Blackie asked, surprised at the answer Emma had just given. To be so low on staff seemed odd to him.
‘Just Polly, but she’s got a bad cold. She’s in bed. I have ter do her work.’ Emma grimaced. ‘Well, we’re there … welcome to Fairley Hall,’ she announced in a scathing tone.
‘The Monstrosity,’ Blackie muttered, and looked at Emma, then put his arm around her shoulder. ‘What is it, mavourneen? Ye’ve got such a strange look on your face.’
‘I’m frightened of this place,’ she murmured. ‘Like when I have ter walk past the cemetery at night.’
‘Don’t be afraid, Emma. It’s just a lot of bricks and mortar. The house can’t hurt ye.’ As he spoke, he suddenly thought, but those who occupy it can. He shivered inside at the idea of the Fairleys or their servants hurting this lovely young girl.
The warmth of the kitchen, the sight of a roaring fire in the huge hearth, and the delicious smells of bacon frying and chicken broth bubbling, changed Blackie’s dour mood immediately, his spirits lifting.
Following Emma into the large kitchen filled with sparkling copper pots and utensils, bunches of herbs, onions and sausages hanging on a big rack dangling from the ceiling, gave him an unexpected feeling of well-being.
Standing next to a huge black pot, holding a wooden spoon, was a little plump dumpling of a woman. She was apple-cheeked and had a bunch of greying hair piled on top of her head; she wore a dark blue dress covered with a huge blue-and-white pinafore.
‘Late again, Lady Emma, I see,’ the cook said. ‘Best hurry and change, pet, afore Murgatroyd sees yer.’
‘Right now, Mrs Turner,’ Emma answered and dashed over to a large cupboard.
‘And what’s this the cat’s dragged in?’ Mrs Turner asked, her beady black eyes settling on Blackie, hovering near the doorway.
‘He’s the navvy come ter do the repairs,’ Emma shouted from behind the cupboard door. ‘I met him on the moors. He was lost.’
‘Got a name have yer, lad?’ Cook asked, still eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.
‘I do indeed, Mrs Turner. Shane O’Neill’s me name, but the whole world calls me Blackie. And I’m pleased to meet ye, Cook.’
‘So don’t stand there gawping like a sucking duck in a storm. Take yer coat and cap off, and come ter the fireplace. Nay, lad, yer looks right nithered. A cup of hot broth is what yer need. And yer, too, Emma. Come on yer ladyship, get a move on.’
‘I’m dressed, just about,’ Emma called, and a moment later emerged from the big cupboard.
Blackie stood gaping at her, totally surprised by the change in her appearance. She now wore a navy-blue dress like Cook’s, a starched white pinafore, and a white cap perched on top of her head. Her hair had been covered in a scarf until a moment ago, and now its gorgeous, vivid auburn colour, shot through with gold, was visible. Her hairline came to a widow’s peak in the middle of her broad forehead. Her hair was wound into a bun at the back. The effect, in general, was elegant. Her emerald-green eyes shone in the morning light.
Why, she’s already a beauty, Blackie thought to himself, filled with amazement. Rousing himself, he went to the cupboard, hung up his jacket, scarf and cap, and joined Emma at the hearth.
Cook brought them both mugs of chicken broth, and they sat down to drink it, whilst warming themselves in front of the flames.
‘Is Mrs Wainright coming today?’ Emma asked, looking across at Cook, her expression eager.
‘Aye, she is, and I’m right thankful for that, I can tell yer. She allus restores order here and gets things on an even keel, keeps things shipshape,’ Mrs Turner said, more of an explanation for Blackie than anything else.
Emma looked pleased on hearing this, and then said to Blackie, ‘Mrs Turner’s husband was in the Royal Navy, and now so is her son. That’s why she uses a sailor’s words.’
Blackie grinned. ‘I like ’em though. Shipshape is my favourite, because I like everything to be neat and tidy.’
Cook nodded in agreement, and then asked Blackie if he would like a bacon buttie before going outside into the cold weather to work.
He exclaimed, ‘Faith, and that would be a treat, Cook. I thank ye. ’Tis generous ye are.’
Smiling, Mrs Turner went to the table in the middle of the kitchen and cut slices of freshly baked bread, asking Emma if she wanted a sandwich also. She slathered butter on the slices and added thick strips of bacon.
‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry, Cook,’ Emma said. ‘I’d better get me cleaning stuff together before Murgatroyd comes in looking for me.’
‘Aye, do that, lass, he’s a bit on the warpath this morning. Got out of bed the wrong side, I ’spect.’
Emma knelt down in front of another cupboard, taking out different products, black lead, small brushes and dusters, piling them in a bucket.
Mrs Turner said, ‘It’ll be a bit hard for yer today, luv, what with Polly sick and Mrs Wainright coming. You don’t have ter blacklead the grates this morning, but set the fire in the morning room, and dust it too; run the carpet sweeper over the rug. Set the breakfast table like Polly showed you, then come back here to help me with the breakfast. Yer’ll have the dining room, the library and Mrs Fairley’s upstairs parlour to do after—’ Cook broke off when the door burst open, and the butler came rushing in, a grim look on his face.
‘Why aren’t ye making the fires already?’ he shouted at Emma, moving across the room, tripping over her bucket in his haste. After steadying himself against the table, he leaned over her and slapped her face. ‘Yer never on time and yer never do owt right.’
Cook instantly put a restraining hand on Blackie’s arm, as he jumped up and looked ready to punch Murgatroyd in the face.
Addressing the butler, she said in an icy voice, ‘Stop that right now, Mister Murgatroyd! And just listen ter me. If I ever see ye so much as breathe on yon lass, I’ll have yer guts for garters. And I’ll be having a word about yer treatment of her ter somebody who’ll make mincemeat out of ye. Not Squire Fairley, but her father. And I don’t think yer’d like ter tangle with Big Jack Harte – yer might not be able ter walk ever again when he’s finished with yer. Mark my words, Murgatroyd, and don’t touch her ever again. And remember, the kitchen is my territory, not yours. So don’t start being bossy in here.’
Murgatroyd snarled something at her which she didn’t quite catch, and then looked at Blackie, his eyes cold and hard. ‘You must be O’Neill, the navvy,’ he snapped.
‘That’s me all right,’ Blackie responded, walking over to the butler, his expression now neutral. He said, ‘Squire Fairley gave me a list of jobs to do, and I have my sack of tools in yon cupboard.’
‘Fifteen shillings for the job,’ Murgatroyd said. ‘Five days’ work.’
‘Five days, true. But the price is one guinea, Mister Murgatroyd,’ Blackie replied.
‘Fifteen shillings, not a penny more, O’Neill.’
Blackie chuckled as he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a letter. Opening it, he read, ‘One guinea for five days’ work, plus board and lodgings at Fairley Hall. This letter is signed by Adam Fairley, the Squire here. If ye don’t believe me, go and talk to your boss.’ He waved the letter in front of Murgatroyd.
Murgatroyd grunted, and swung around, saying, ‘Get yer tools and follow me. The yardman’s in the stables. He’ll show ye what needs doing and yer room above the stables, where yer’ll be sleeping.’
Blackie put on his coat, cap and scarf, and picked up his sack. Turning around, he grinned at Emma and Cook, saluted them and followed Murgatroyd out of the kitchen.
Once they were alone, Emma said, ‘He tried ter cheat Blackie.’
‘Aye, he did that!’ Cook answered in a worried voice. ‘Murgatroyd’s in a bad mood this morning. Stay out of his way, Emma. And just so yer knows, I shall tell Mrs Wainright that Polly should be sent home. Otherwise, we’ll all be getting sick. She’s got a really bad cold.’
‘I think yer should say summat,’ Emma agreed, and picked up her bucket. ‘Ta-ta, Mrs Turner. See yer later.’
Mrs Turner nodded and watched her go, sighing under her breath. The girl was clever, intelligent beyond her years, and she was no longer the starveling creature of the moors as she had been three years ago. She had filled out a bit, and her beauty was flowering.
All those years ago, she thought, a long-ago image flickering in her mind. Oh my God, I hope it’s not happening again. No, I couldn’t bear it. But she’d seen them, whispering in corners, running out in the fields together …
There was a knock on the door. Mrs Turner jumped slightly, startled. ‘Come in,’ she said swiftly, moving towards the door.
A moment later, the door opened and Master Edwin stood there, smiling at her. ‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Come in, Master Edwin,’ Cook responded at once, and instantly realized the table needed setting for breakfast. ‘I will have yer breakfast in the dining room in a few minutes, sir.’
‘Oh, that’s perfectly fine, Cook. I just came to tell you Papa thinks that Polly should be transported to her family in the village. She’s not well.’
‘I agree, Master Edwin. I will arrange it after breakfast. Now I’ll make sure Emma’s set the table—’
‘Oh, but Emma has set it already, Mrs Turner,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I saw her doing it after she had started the fire.’ He gave her a faint smile and added, ‘I’m the first down this morning. So you do have plenty of time. Also, Papa asked me to tell you Mrs Wainright will arrive in time for tea.’
‘Thank ye, Master Edwin. Now is there anything I can make especially for yer breakfast? I’ve got sausages, bacon, eggs, kidneys, grilled tomatoes … oh, and porridge.’
‘A wonderful selection as usual, Mrs Turner. I think I’ll have scrambled eggs and bacon. Thank you very much.’
‘Will ye be waiting for the Squire and Master Gerald, sir?’
‘Oh no. Papa told me to start, and I must admit I’m hungry.’ He gave her a small smile and left the room.
Mrs Turner watched him leave, always admiring of him, his manners, his politeness, the way he addressed everyone the same way. A perfect gentleman, just like his father. More than she could say about his brother.
Gerald Fairley was a bully, bossy, an ignoramus, and uncouth too. None of the staff liked him, and neither did she. He didn’t seem to fit in the family.
As she went out, across the corridor and into the morning room, she smiled with pleasure.
The fire was burning brightly in the grate, and the table was perfectly set. That Emma was a treasure. How she had managed to get all this done so quickly, Cook had no idea. But she did appreciate her help. She’s a good girl, God bless, Cook thought, and hurried back to the kitchen.
Her task now was to get the food onto the sideboard as fast as possible. Master Edwin was waiting.