Read Online Break of Dawn by Rita Bradshaw - Free Book Online Page A

but Sophy’s position was worse than most. She was between two worlds, neither gentry nor servant, and likely to remain there until she was wed. And what sort of husband would the master and mistress choose for the lass? Likely some dusty old widower who would incarcerate her in a life of toil bringing up children who were not her own, or some psalm-singing hypocrite like the master, who preached one thing and did another.
    Eeh, where had that last thought come from? Kitty shook her head again, but this time at herself. A few minutes with the bairn and she was thinking all sorts of things. But it was true. In spite of how he was, she had respected the master at one time, him being a man of the cloth an’ all, but since the child had been born she had seen another side to his pious nature that couldn’t be ignored. He knew full well how his lady wife treated the bairn, yet he let her get on with it – and why? Because he’d disapproved of Sophy’s mam marrying a Frenchman. Now she wasn’t learned like the master, and she dare say he’d forgotten more about the Good Book than she’d ever know, but to hold a grudge all these years? It wasn’t right. Whatever way you looked at it, it wasn’t right. One day, chickens would come home to roost and then the roof would go off this house – she could see it coming. Aye, the older the bairn got, the more she could see it coming.
    Settling her chin into the ample folds of her neck, Kitty continued with her preparations, not dreaming that that day was closer than she had imagined.

    The dinner party had gone off splendidly. Mary had been trained by her mother in the arts of being a good hostess and it was something she excelled in and thoroughly enjoyed. The other three couples – Dr Lawrence and his wife, Mr Longhurst, a local magistrate, and Mrs Longhurst, and the Williamsons – he was standing for Parliament this year and Mrs Williamson was involved in a string of good works – knew each other very well and the conversation at the dinner table had been merry. Jeremiah had roused himself to join in the general joviality, even making the odd quip or two, which was unusual.
    Bridget had sensed the convivial atmosphere and seen how her mistress was basking in her success when silently serving the various courses, all of which boded well for the next little while. When one of the mistress’s social functions didn’t pass as smoothly as Mary would have liked, the whole household, but in particular Sophy, suffered the brunt of her frustration for days.
    By the time the Williamsons’ carriage and pair and Dr Lawrence’s neat little pony and trap had been brought round to the front of the house from the stables by Patrick, it was clear that several members of the party were a little intoxicated. The women were giggling and fussing as Bridget helped them on with their coats and furs, and the men’s voices were over-hearty. The Williamsons and the Longhursts were travelling together, and Mary and Jeremiah walked the three couples across the drive to the waiting conveyances, but Dr Lawrence, who was slightly behind the others, stopped midway and came back to Bridget, who was standing in the doorway in case she was needed.
    ‘I forgot to give this to your mistress.’ He handed her a small slim package. ‘It’s just a little thing for the child, Sophy, but I wouldn’t like her to think I’ve forgotten her this year. She always writes such a formal little note of thanks. We don’t buy for the others’ children’ – he gestured with his head towards the group talking by the carriages – ‘so one has to be discreet, but as Sophy is our god-daughter . . .’
    ‘Of course, sir.’ Bridget dipped her knee as she took the gift and slipped it in her apron pocket, her mind racing as Dr Lawrence joined the others. Sophy had never received a present from Dr Lawrence and his wife and had certainly never written to thank them, so that meant . . . How could she? How
could
the