her music and fussily told Emily where she should stand so that she could take particular notice. Emily glanced towards him and saw that he was watching, not his daughter, but her. He gave her what seemed to be a sad smile and then turned away.
‘Tell Mama I can’t go with her,’ Deborah called after him. ‘I can’t be bothered with ladies’ gossip today.’
Roger Francis watched from his library window as the carriage bearing his wife rolled away down the drive, leaving wheel marks on the fresh snow. He stood vaguely gazing into space and only half-listening to the discordant jangle of music coming from the drawing room, where his daughter entertained the maid Emily. He looked down at his desk at the pile of papers lying there and as if with a sudden, swift decision, crossed the room and pressed the bell by the fireplace.
‘Tell Brown to saddle up a horse,’ he told Janet. ‘I have to ride into Hull.’
By the early spring Emily was weary of her mistress’s demands. ‘I think I’d rather be scrubbing ’kitchen floor instead of you, Jane,’ she said as they climbed into bed. ‘There’s no wonder that Mrs Francis is always tired. Miss Deborah is exhausting.’
‘Hmph. I don’t think you’d like to swap,’ Jane said cynically. ‘You get excused all kinds of jobs just ’cos Miss Deborah wants you with her.’
‘I still do my other chores,’ Emily retaliated. ‘I still get up as early as you. Anyway, you wouldn’t like it being constantly badgered; do this, Emily, do that, Emily, come here, Emily. I’m prettier than you, Emily.’ She put her chin in her hands. ‘Thank goodness she doesn’t get up early, at least I can have some peace when I’m cleaning out the fire grates.’
The next morning she lit the library fire and laid the sticks ready in the drawing room for lighting later, and crossed the hall to the sitting room. She heard footsteps upstairs and, glancing up, saw Mr Francis crossing the landing. She hurried down thekitchen stairs to tell Cook that Mr Francis was up and would probably want an early breakfast and then rushed back upstairs to the sitting room to clean and light the fire.
She drew the curtains and a smile lit her face, primroses were appearing just below the window and there was a haze of green on the trees in the meadows. Soon she would have a day off and she would go for a long walk, maybe even go as far as the river bank if she had time.
She bent to brush out the dead wood ash from the hearth, leaving a small amount to relight the new fire. She hummed to herself as she worked and didn’t hear the door open, but she stopped abruptly and looked over her shoulder as someone brushed against her and she felt her hair tumbling around her shoulders.
‘Miss Deborah!’ She rose to her feet in dismay. Her mistress was standing behind her, only half-dressed and triumphantly waving Emily’s hairclips in her hands.
‘Miss Deborah, I shall get into trouble, please give them back.’
Deborah snatched at Emily’s hair, which shone like silk and reached almost to her waist. ‘It’s like a curtain, Emily.’ She danced around her. ‘I shall insist that you always wear it like that.’ She stopped abruptly. Then she came a step nearer and gently touched Emily’s cheek. ‘You are lovely, Emily.’ Her mouth pouted. ‘Mrs Brewer says you’re not prettier than me but she’s lying. She’s lying.’ Her voice rose and she turned as the door opened and her father came into the room.
‘Papa! Look at Emily!’
Mr Francis did look at Emily, and Emily didn’t know what to do as Mr Francis gazed at her with her hair hanging loose about her shoulders. She saw an Adam’s apple move in his throat as he swallowed hard.
Deborah stroked Emily’s cheek again. ‘Look at Emily, Papa. Isn’t she lovely? Mrs Brewer says she isn’t, but she is. Isn’t she?’ Her voice was insistent.
‘I am looking at her, Deborah. Yes she is.’ His voice was soft. ‘She’s very lovely
‘Tell Mama I can’t go with her,’ Deborah called after him. ‘I can’t be bothered with ladies’ gossip today.’
Roger Francis watched from his library window as the carriage bearing his wife rolled away down the drive, leaving wheel marks on the fresh snow. He stood vaguely gazing into space and only half-listening to the discordant jangle of music coming from the drawing room, where his daughter entertained the maid Emily. He looked down at his desk at the pile of papers lying there and as if with a sudden, swift decision, crossed the room and pressed the bell by the fireplace.
‘Tell Brown to saddle up a horse,’ he told Janet. ‘I have to ride into Hull.’
By the early spring Emily was weary of her mistress’s demands. ‘I think I’d rather be scrubbing ’kitchen floor instead of you, Jane,’ she said as they climbed into bed. ‘There’s no wonder that Mrs Francis is always tired. Miss Deborah is exhausting.’
‘Hmph. I don’t think you’d like to swap,’ Jane said cynically. ‘You get excused all kinds of jobs just ’cos Miss Deborah wants you with her.’
‘I still do my other chores,’ Emily retaliated. ‘I still get up as early as you. Anyway, you wouldn’t like it being constantly badgered; do this, Emily, do that, Emily, come here, Emily. I’m prettier than you, Emily.’ She put her chin in her hands. ‘Thank goodness she doesn’t get up early, at least I can have some peace when I’m cleaning out the fire grates.’
The next morning she lit the library fire and laid the sticks ready in the drawing room for lighting later, and crossed the hall to the sitting room. She heard footsteps upstairs and, glancing up, saw Mr Francis crossing the landing. She hurried down thekitchen stairs to tell Cook that Mr Francis was up and would probably want an early breakfast and then rushed back upstairs to the sitting room to clean and light the fire.
She drew the curtains and a smile lit her face, primroses were appearing just below the window and there was a haze of green on the trees in the meadows. Soon she would have a day off and she would go for a long walk, maybe even go as far as the river bank if she had time.
She bent to brush out the dead wood ash from the hearth, leaving a small amount to relight the new fire. She hummed to herself as she worked and didn’t hear the door open, but she stopped abruptly and looked over her shoulder as someone brushed against her and she felt her hair tumbling around her shoulders.
‘Miss Deborah!’ She rose to her feet in dismay. Her mistress was standing behind her, only half-dressed and triumphantly waving Emily’s hairclips in her hands.
‘Miss Deborah, I shall get into trouble, please give them back.’
Deborah snatched at Emily’s hair, which shone like silk and reached almost to her waist. ‘It’s like a curtain, Emily.’ She danced around her. ‘I shall insist that you always wear it like that.’ She stopped abruptly. Then she came a step nearer and gently touched Emily’s cheek. ‘You are lovely, Emily.’ Her mouth pouted. ‘Mrs Brewer says you’re not prettier than me but she’s lying. She’s lying.’ Her voice rose and she turned as the door opened and her father came into the room.
‘Papa! Look at Emily!’
Mr Francis did look at Emily, and Emily didn’t know what to do as Mr Francis gazed at her with her hair hanging loose about her shoulders. She saw an Adam’s apple move in his throat as he swallowed hard.
Deborah stroked Emily’s cheek again. ‘Look at Emily, Papa. Isn’t she lovely? Mrs Brewer says she isn’t, but she is. Isn’t she?’ Her voice was insistent.
‘I am looking at her, Deborah. Yes she is.’ His voice was soft. ‘She’s very lovely
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