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Authors: Katie Flynn
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dislike it being mentioned . . . and then Mrs Rushton had seemed to know Mrs Cordwainer quite well, she’d said ‘when we were twelve’. Actually, that gave Sara her first moment of doubt. Mrs Rushton was old, her hair was grey and her figure sagging. Oh, she was nice all right, but definitely old.
But a moment’s thought cancelled that one out, too. Mrs Cordwainer had one child, not six or seven, and she had servants and a big house, a car, a chauffeur . . . naturally she looked less strained than a woman who did all her own work, and cleaned public houses, as well. And Mother dyes her hair, too, Sara remembered. Its bright colour sometimes faded and then became bright once more, so Sara knew she dyed it. It was probably true, then, that Mrs Rushton and Sara’s own mother were the same age and had gone on the same Sunday school trip. But that didn’t explain Mrs Cordwainer’s crossness, nor the martial sparkle in Nanny’s eyes.
‘Well, Letty?’ That was Mrs Prescott. She’s really brave, Sara thought, seeing the scarlet flame in her mother’s cheeks. Suppose she’s too brave – suppose Mother just tells her to go? But it was Christmas and Nanny, in some mysterious way, seemed to have the upper hand. Even as Sara stared, round-eyed, her mother heaved a sigh, glanced up towards the ceiling with an expression of pained longsuffering, and spoke.
‘I’m sorry I’ve offended you, Nanny,’ she muttered. ‘Let’s all have a helping of this delicious pudding . . . Adolphus, will you serve?’
Nanny, passing her plate, gave Sara a small, secret smile, but Sara saw her mother watching her and did not add fuel to the fire by returning it. Instead, as she passed the plate, she gave Nanny’s hand a discreet squeeze. And Nanny squeezed back, before turning the conversation neatly into safer, less inflammable subjects.
It’s going to be all right, Sara thought thankfully, as conversation became general once more. And after we’ve had our meal, I’m going to show Nanny how to make a really huge snowman in the back yard!
Chapter Three
On the day after Boxing Day, Sara awoke to find that the snowstorm which had battered the city for two whole days and nights had ceased. Outside her window frail sunshine shone on trees and hedges heaped with snow, on a garden which might just as well have been a meadow so totally snow-blanketed was it, and on the hushed and wonderful world of deep winter.
‘Miss Sara, it’s time you were gettin’ up. I’m now goin’ down to fetch your breakfast.’ Jane popped her head round the edge of Sara’s door and beamed at her. ‘The bloomin’ snow’s stopped, which is one blessing, an’ the sun’s shinin’. Your pa said we was to go to the park today, so that’s just what we’ll do, soon’s I’ve finished me work.’
Sara sat up in bed and smiled back at Jane. ‘Oh, lovely, I love the park,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Poor Nanny, she loves it too, but we didn’t get much chance to do anything, not with the storm. Just my luck, that it stops the very moment she goes home. But still, it’ll be fun to go out of doors. You could help me make a snowman, Jane.’
‘I could an’ all,’ Jane agreed. Jane was a nice girl, only six years Sara’s senior, but she had a good many jobs around the house which she had to see to before she could think of amusing her young charge and Sara got thoroughly sick of hanging around whilst the maid helped with the laundry, ran errands or toiled around the place with a brush and dustpan. But today, Sara thought happily, standing before the schoolroom fire and buttoning her woollen stockings on to her liberty bodice, they were to spend at least some time out of doors. Mr Cordwainer, seeing her disconsolately hanging about the hall when he left the house the previous day, had announced that she looked pale and that it would do her good to visit the park daily, until school started once more in ten days’ time.
‘Your life in the
But a moment’s thought cancelled that one out, too. Mrs Cordwainer had one child, not six or seven, and she had servants and a big house, a car, a chauffeur . . . naturally she looked less strained than a woman who did all her own work, and cleaned public houses, as well. And Mother dyes her hair, too, Sara remembered. Its bright colour sometimes faded and then became bright once more, so Sara knew she dyed it. It was probably true, then, that Mrs Rushton and Sara’s own mother were the same age and had gone on the same Sunday school trip. But that didn’t explain Mrs Cordwainer’s crossness, nor the martial sparkle in Nanny’s eyes.
‘Well, Letty?’ That was Mrs Prescott. She’s really brave, Sara thought, seeing the scarlet flame in her mother’s cheeks. Suppose she’s too brave – suppose Mother just tells her to go? But it was Christmas and Nanny, in some mysterious way, seemed to have the upper hand. Even as Sara stared, round-eyed, her mother heaved a sigh, glanced up towards the ceiling with an expression of pained longsuffering, and spoke.
‘I’m sorry I’ve offended you, Nanny,’ she muttered. ‘Let’s all have a helping of this delicious pudding . . . Adolphus, will you serve?’
Nanny, passing her plate, gave Sara a small, secret smile, but Sara saw her mother watching her and did not add fuel to the fire by returning it. Instead, as she passed the plate, she gave Nanny’s hand a discreet squeeze. And Nanny squeezed back, before turning the conversation neatly into safer, less inflammable subjects.
It’s going to be all right, Sara thought thankfully, as conversation became general once more. And after we’ve had our meal, I’m going to show Nanny how to make a really huge snowman in the back yard!
Chapter Three
On the day after Boxing Day, Sara awoke to find that the snowstorm which had battered the city for two whole days and nights had ceased. Outside her window frail sunshine shone on trees and hedges heaped with snow, on a garden which might just as well have been a meadow so totally snow-blanketed was it, and on the hushed and wonderful world of deep winter.
‘Miss Sara, it’s time you were gettin’ up. I’m now goin’ down to fetch your breakfast.’ Jane popped her head round the edge of Sara’s door and beamed at her. ‘The bloomin’ snow’s stopped, which is one blessing, an’ the sun’s shinin’. Your pa said we was to go to the park today, so that’s just what we’ll do, soon’s I’ve finished me work.’
Sara sat up in bed and smiled back at Jane. ‘Oh, lovely, I love the park,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Poor Nanny, she loves it too, but we didn’t get much chance to do anything, not with the storm. Just my luck, that it stops the very moment she goes home. But still, it’ll be fun to go out of doors. You could help me make a snowman, Jane.’
‘I could an’ all,’ Jane agreed. Jane was a nice girl, only six years Sara’s senior, but she had a good many jobs around the house which she had to see to before she could think of amusing her young charge and Sara got thoroughly sick of hanging around whilst the maid helped with the laundry, ran errands or toiled around the place with a brush and dustpan. But today, Sara thought happily, standing before the schoolroom fire and buttoning her woollen stockings on to her liberty bodice, they were to spend at least some time out of doors. Mr Cordwainer, seeing her disconsolately hanging about the hall when he left the house the previous day, had announced that she looked pale and that it would do her good to visit the park daily, until school started once more in ten days’ time.
‘Your life in the
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