Read Online Cherry Tree Lane by Anna Jacobs - Free Book Online
Authors: Anna Jacobs
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none of them would make the sort of efficient wife a rising man needed. Because if he did take the job, he’d definitely rise in the world. It would be just the impetus he needed to bring his ambitions back to life again. Didn’t every man want to make a better life for his children?
His mother would have liked that. She’d been well educated for a woman, had come to the village as schoolteacher and stayed on to marry his father. She had given her son her own love of reading, but his father had never touched a book that Jacob had seen. Plants, now, his father had had a gift for growing things. Jacob would never be as good at that as him, even though he did quite well.
As the day passed, Jacob couldn’t get the thought of what this job would mean out of his mind. He wanted to accept it for the children’s sake, but where was he supposed to find a suitable wife? You couldn’t just go out and ask some stranger to marry you.
No, he’d have to find a way to change Miss Newington’s mind about that. She’d realise it was impossible once she really thought about it, he was sure she would. He’d discuss it with her next time, pointing out the lack of suitable candidates round here.
For the moment, he had a market garden to plant and stock, two children to look after, an invalid to care for – and not enough hours in the day.
A wife would change that, a little voice said in his head, but he didn’t let himself dwell on the thought. But he couldn’t help remembering the restless nights where his body reminded him of its needs. And looking after the stranger had made that worse.
That night someone tried to break into Newington House. Cook and the young girl who helped out were the only servants left, apart from a scrubbing woman who came in three times a week from the village, and Horace who looked after the horse and trap, and also did a bit of gardening. The old man slept above the stables, the female servants in the attics and Emily had a bedroom on the second floor which had excellent views of the nearby countryside. She preferred it to the old master’s bedroom.
She was lying wakeful, something which often afflicted her, worrying about her future, when she heard the sound of glass smashing. It sounded to come from the rear of the house. She slid out of bed at once, because that sort of noise couldn’t happen by mistake. Heart pounding, she crept onto the landing which overlooked the stairwell and looked down.
In the moonlight she saw two figures emerge from the kitchen area and start creeping up the stairs. They seemed to know their way and on the first-floor landing made straight for what had been the master bedroom previously.
Not an ordinary burglary, then, she thought. She picked up her bedroom poker before creeping up the stairs to the attics to rouse Cook and the girl. She put a hand over Cook’s mouth as the woman tried to scream and whispered a quick explanation. ‘Get something to hit them with.’
‘They’ll murder us, miss,’ Cook said at once.
‘No, they won’t. There are three of us to two of them and we’ll arm ourselves. Hurry up.’ She went and roused the maid, who slept next door.
‘I’ll help you, miss.’ Lyddie shrugged on her dressing gown and snatched up her water ewer, hefting it in her hand.
‘Good girl.’
Cook joined them on the landing brandishing a poker and wearing a voluminous dressing gown, with her hair hanging down her back in its customary straggly plait.
Emily stepped forward. ‘I shall go first. Don’t let me down, now.’
‘No, miss.’
They crept down from the attic and pressed themselves out of sight against the landing wall while Emily peeped over the second-floor banisters. She was in time to see the men start creeping up the second flight of stairs towards them.
She stood behind a chest of drawers, waiting till the men had almost reached the top of the stairs before rushing out at them, screaming at the top of her voice and waving the
His mother would have liked that. She’d been well educated for a woman, had come to the village as schoolteacher and stayed on to marry his father. She had given her son her own love of reading, but his father had never touched a book that Jacob had seen. Plants, now, his father had had a gift for growing things. Jacob would never be as good at that as him, even though he did quite well.
As the day passed, Jacob couldn’t get the thought of what this job would mean out of his mind. He wanted to accept it for the children’s sake, but where was he supposed to find a suitable wife? You couldn’t just go out and ask some stranger to marry you.
No, he’d have to find a way to change Miss Newington’s mind about that. She’d realise it was impossible once she really thought about it, he was sure she would. He’d discuss it with her next time, pointing out the lack of suitable candidates round here.
For the moment, he had a market garden to plant and stock, two children to look after, an invalid to care for – and not enough hours in the day.
A wife would change that, a little voice said in his head, but he didn’t let himself dwell on the thought. But he couldn’t help remembering the restless nights where his body reminded him of its needs. And looking after the stranger had made that worse.
That night someone tried to break into Newington House. Cook and the young girl who helped out were the only servants left, apart from a scrubbing woman who came in three times a week from the village, and Horace who looked after the horse and trap, and also did a bit of gardening. The old man slept above the stables, the female servants in the attics and Emily had a bedroom on the second floor which had excellent views of the nearby countryside. She preferred it to the old master’s bedroom.
She was lying wakeful, something which often afflicted her, worrying about her future, when she heard the sound of glass smashing. It sounded to come from the rear of the house. She slid out of bed at once, because that sort of noise couldn’t happen by mistake. Heart pounding, she crept onto the landing which overlooked the stairwell and looked down.
In the moonlight she saw two figures emerge from the kitchen area and start creeping up the stairs. They seemed to know their way and on the first-floor landing made straight for what had been the master bedroom previously.
Not an ordinary burglary, then, she thought. She picked up her bedroom poker before creeping up the stairs to the attics to rouse Cook and the girl. She put a hand over Cook’s mouth as the woman tried to scream and whispered a quick explanation. ‘Get something to hit them with.’
‘They’ll murder us, miss,’ Cook said at once.
‘No, they won’t. There are three of us to two of them and we’ll arm ourselves. Hurry up.’ She went and roused the maid, who slept next door.
‘I’ll help you, miss.’ Lyddie shrugged on her dressing gown and snatched up her water ewer, hefting it in her hand.
‘Good girl.’
Cook joined them on the landing brandishing a poker and wearing a voluminous dressing gown, with her hair hanging down her back in its customary straggly plait.
Emily stepped forward. ‘I shall go first. Don’t let me down, now.’
‘No, miss.’
They crept down from the attic and pressed themselves out of sight against the landing wall while Emily peeped over the second-floor banisters. She was in time to see the men start creeping up the second flight of stairs towards them.
She stood behind a chest of drawers, waiting till the men had almost reached the top of the stairs before rushing out at them, screaming at the top of her voice and waving the
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