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lips. ‘ I am the master. You are my wife and I have total dominion here. I will not be thwarted in my own breakfast room.’
    Mamma took a deep breath and raised her chin. ‘Children, please go the schoolroom and start your work for the day,’ she repeated calmly. ‘I will come to check on you shortly.’
    The four children edged slowly, cautiously towards their mother. Mr Barton glared at them, his bloodshot eyes daring them to speak.
    â€˜Come on, Samson,’ ordered Charlotte. ‘You had better come with us.’
    Samson stood firm, growling at Mr Barton, who lashed out and kicked the dog in the belly. Samson whimpered in pain.
    â€˜ Now , Samson!’ Charlotte insisted urgently, grasping the dog by the collar. Together, the dog and the four children slunk from the room.
    Charlotte looked back at her diminutive mother swathed in voluminous skirts. She looks so vulnerable. Can Mamma protect us from him? Can she keep us safe? The four children scuttled into the schoolroom and sat at the long table. James picked up a pencil and hurled it across the room. Samson curled up by the fire, his tail wrapped around his body and his eyes alert for trouble. Charlotte handed out the arithmetic exercises, her hands trembling and her head throbbing.
    They could hear the heavy tread of their stepfather as he mounted the stairs and headed to his bedchamber. There was the sound of a key grinding in a lock, followed soon afterwards by muffled snoring that seemed to shake the stone foundations of the house.
    â€˜I hate him,’ Emily cried. ‘Why did Papa have to die? Why did Mamma have to marry such a good-for-nothing spendthrift?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Charlotte replied, her shoulders slumped. ‘I truly don’t know.’
    Mamma came in a few minutes later, her eyes rimmed red, with a cold compress and some lavender water. She hugged Charlotte close and kissed the top of her head. Charlotte stiffened initially then relaxed against her mother, breathing in her soft scent.
    â€˜I am so sorry, Charlotte,’ whispered Mamma. ‘I am so, so sorry.’
    Â 

6
    The Sheep Wash
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    October, 1839
    Dandy Jack arrived at the kitchen door, his blue shirt wet and muddy. He took his hat off and smiled at Bridget, who was scrubbing a pot at the stone sink, soap suds up to her elbows.
    â€˜Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said to Mamma, slicking his hair back with one hand. ‘Mister Ash sent me up to fetch the food for the men. We’re all hungry and parched.’
    â€˜Thank you, Jack,’ replied Mamma, beckoning him into the kitchen. ‘It is all here ready for you. You may carry the basket with the beef, if you please? Bridget, can you manage the puddings?’
    Three large joints of meat had been roasted, wrapped in cloth and deposited in a basket, along with a cutting board and some long, sharp carving knives. A smaller basket held two massive plum puddings that had been steaming in their bowls for hours.
    Bridget nodded, wiping her hands on a cloth and hefting the basket onto her hip. ‘Yes, o’ course, ma’am.’
    â€˜Is Mr Barton coming down to inspect the washing, ma’am?’ asked Dandy Jack, flashing a grin at Bridget. ‘It’s nearly midday.’
    More than 2000 sheep had been mustered in from all over the main estate and their sheep stations in the surrounding area. Washing the wool prior to the annual shearing was vital to ensure the best possible price for the clip. The washing and the subsequent shearing were two of the biggest events on the Oldbury farming calendar.
    â€˜No,’ Mamma replied, tucking a pot of mustard in with the beef. ‘Regrettably, Mr Barton is indisposed today. I went down early this morning to check on the progress and will come again now that the food is ready. Is everything going smoothly?’
    â€˜Hard, backbreaking work, as usual,’ complained Dandy Jack.