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Authors: Valerie Wood
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good job at 'cotton mill, I expect.'
Rose shook her head. 'Girls at 'mill said we're kept on eight hours till we're thirteen, when we can work for twelve hours, but after that we're put on short time and can't earn much.'
He was silenced. If that was the way things were, what could he do? Then he said, 'I'll go and try to mek my fortune, Rosie, and I bet that when I come back you'll be forewoman of 'mill or else married wi' a bairn of your own.'
'That means you'll be gone for a long time, Mikey,' Ben said sadly.
Mikey nodded. He felt choked. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'It might.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Eleanor's day seemed even longer than usual. Miss Wright had a cold so they couldn't go out for a walk, and the maids were too busy to take her, so she had to be content with walking round indoors for exercise.
'I wish you could come out with me, Nanny,' she had said as they ate their lunch of cold chicken. 'It would do you good, you know,' she added seriously. 'Perhaps put some colour into your cheeks.'
Nanny laughed. 'Or I could use some from out of a box like Miss Wright does.'
'Oh! Does she? I hope Papa never notices it.' Eleanor was dismayed; it wasn't that she would be concerned about losing Miss Wright if she should be dismissed for wearing rouge, but the thought of having a new governess who might be even stricter than Miss Wright filled her with fright.
'He won't,' Nanny said. 'Gentlemen rarely notice such things unless it's made very obvious. Now, dear, run along and find something to occupy you. I have a million things to do.'
Including having a nap, Eleanor thought. But what am I going to do until supper time?
She wandered about upstairs, even going along the corridor and up another short flight of uncarpeted stairs into the attic where the maids slept. She wasn't supposed to go up there and she felt quite a thrill because she was doing something forbidden. She peeked into the maids' bedroom; the walls were whitewashed and two narrow, neatly made beds were set close together. A washstand with a bowl and jug was against one wall and a chest with two drawers stood against the other. The floorboards were bare apart from a thin rug by the bed nearer the door.
Much like my room, she thought, except that I have oilcloth on my floor, and I have an oil lamp to light the room and they don't. Only a candle. Oh, but they don't have a fireplace either. How cold it must be in winter.
She slipped downstairs and then down again on to the landing of the first floor. She'd heard the front door slam and wondered if it was her father late home for luncheon. Perhaps he was not returning to his chambers. Sometimes he brought legal papers home and worked on them in his study. He looked after the wills and estates of rich clients.
Eleanor peeked over the balustrade and saw a pale pink patch on the top of her father's head as he went across the hall and into the morning room, where her mother would be waiting for him. She thought he wouldn't be pleased at her seeing his thinning hair, for he always kept it carefully groomed and held in place with some greasy, spicy-smelling ointment.
She gave an anxious sigh. She much preferred it when her father was away from home. The maids tiptoed about when he was in the house, and her mother was tense and distracted, flitting from room to room to make sure that everything was in place and exactly how her husband liked it. He was extremely particular that his living style reflected his successful position. The flowers were changed every day in the drawing room, the curtains must be draped just so— he would twitch at them if they were not— and the furniture was always replaced in the same spot after cleaning; only the finest table linen was used whenever they had guests, though he condescended to second best when he and his wife dined alone.
Mrs Kendall complied with his every whim and had done so since the day they were wed, when he had made it quite clear that this was what she should do
Rose shook her head. 'Girls at 'mill said we're kept on eight hours till we're thirteen, when we can work for twelve hours, but after that we're put on short time and can't earn much.'
He was silenced. If that was the way things were, what could he do? Then he said, 'I'll go and try to mek my fortune, Rosie, and I bet that when I come back you'll be forewoman of 'mill or else married wi' a bairn of your own.'
'That means you'll be gone for a long time, Mikey,' Ben said sadly.
Mikey nodded. He felt choked. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'It might.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Eleanor's day seemed even longer than usual. Miss Wright had a cold so they couldn't go out for a walk, and the maids were too busy to take her, so she had to be content with walking round indoors for exercise.
'I wish you could come out with me, Nanny,' she had said as they ate their lunch of cold chicken. 'It would do you good, you know,' she added seriously. 'Perhaps put some colour into your cheeks.'
Nanny laughed. 'Or I could use some from out of a box like Miss Wright does.'
'Oh! Does she? I hope Papa never notices it.' Eleanor was dismayed; it wasn't that she would be concerned about losing Miss Wright if she should be dismissed for wearing rouge, but the thought of having a new governess who might be even stricter than Miss Wright filled her with fright.
'He won't,' Nanny said. 'Gentlemen rarely notice such things unless it's made very obvious. Now, dear, run along and find something to occupy you. I have a million things to do.'
Including having a nap, Eleanor thought. But what am I going to do until supper time?
She wandered about upstairs, even going along the corridor and up another short flight of uncarpeted stairs into the attic where the maids slept. She wasn't supposed to go up there and she felt quite a thrill because she was doing something forbidden. She peeked into the maids' bedroom; the walls were whitewashed and two narrow, neatly made beds were set close together. A washstand with a bowl and jug was against one wall and a chest with two drawers stood against the other. The floorboards were bare apart from a thin rug by the bed nearer the door.
Much like my room, she thought, except that I have oilcloth on my floor, and I have an oil lamp to light the room and they don't. Only a candle. Oh, but they don't have a fireplace either. How cold it must be in winter.
She slipped downstairs and then down again on to the landing of the first floor. She'd heard the front door slam and wondered if it was her father late home for luncheon. Perhaps he was not returning to his chambers. Sometimes he brought legal papers home and worked on them in his study. He looked after the wills and estates of rich clients.
Eleanor peeked over the balustrade and saw a pale pink patch on the top of her father's head as he went across the hall and into the morning room, where her mother would be waiting for him. She thought he wouldn't be pleased at her seeing his thinning hair, for he always kept it carefully groomed and held in place with some greasy, spicy-smelling ointment.
She gave an anxious sigh. She much preferred it when her father was away from home. The maids tiptoed about when he was in the house, and her mother was tense and distracted, flitting from room to room to make sure that everything was in place and exactly how her husband liked it. He was extremely particular that his living style reflected his successful position. The flowers were changed every day in the drawing room, the curtains must be draped just so— he would twitch at them if they were not— and the furniture was always replaced in the same spot after cleaning; only the finest table linen was used whenever they had guests, though he condescended to second best when he and his wife dined alone.
Mrs Kendall complied with his every whim and had done so since the day they were wed, when he had made it quite clear that this was what she should do
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