Read Online Without a Mother's Love by Catherine King - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catherine King
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William can do for you first. And, for heaven’s sake, brush your jacket and clean your boots before your mother sees them.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Chapter 5
Harriet Trent was in the schoolroom when she heard a horse on the cobbles, followed by shouting and the sound of boots running.When she looked out of the window, Matt was helping the master down from his horse. He looked dishevelled and - injured? He was holding one arm close to his body and stooping awkwardly as he shuffled, with Matt’s help, towards the kitchen door.
‘What’s happening?’ Olivia asked.
‘Stay where you are.’
‘Oooh, is it a visitor? Who is it, Miss Trent?’ She put down her book and darted to the window before Harriet could stop her. ‘It’s Uncle Hesley. He’s hurt himself!’ She ran out of the room, leaving Harriet to hurry after her.
They reached the kitchen at the same time as the master.
‘Cookson! Cookson! Where is that woman?’ he demanded.
Harriet knew she was drinking with the farmhands in the stables and would be the worse for it by now. ‘I believe she is in the wash-house, sir,’ she answered.
‘Fetch her. No, you’ll do. Get some water and towels for this bleeding.’
He had a cut on his head and another on his hand.
‘What happened, sir?’
He ignored her and sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs, giving a strangled groan.
‘Shall I send for your physician, sir?’
‘I’m not dying, merely bruised. By God, one of those rocks got me square in the back.’
A stone? Had he been down his mine? Surely not. He was wearing the smart clothes he had gone out in. They were rumpled and dusty, but not blackened with coal dust.
‘Get on with it before I bleed to death!’
Harriet thought there was no risk of that. He was holding himself stiffly in the chair and winced when he tried to change position, but there was no sign of blood soaking through his clothes. She said briskly, ‘Olivia, put some cold water into a bowl and bring me clean linen.’ Matt hovered by the back door until she added, ‘Please go and tell Mrs Cookson. Or fetch her keys, and then take a message to the master’s physician. At once.’
Hesley Mexton’s face was pale and tense with pain. His eyes were watering and rolling, but he muttered, ‘I don’t need him.’
‘You are hurt, sir, and you should not have ridden.’
He grunted and his head fell forward. Wordlessly she and Olivia attended to the raw grazes on his hands and the cut on the side of his head. It was near to his eye and must have been quite a blow.
The cold water revived him and he even smiled the wry sneer she was becoming used to. ‘Ah, the virtuous Miss Trent. What do you think of your master now, eh?’
‘That he is injured and should be in bed. Mrs Cookson - at last, thank goodness. Fetch some brandy, would you? Then help Matt get the master to his chamber.’
Olivia obeyed her governess as she tended her uncle’s wounds. Slumped in the kitchen chair, he was not the overpowering giant she was used to seeing in the library. He was angry about his injuries, to be sure, and grumbled constantly, but he did not shout, except when Matt and a wobbly Mrs Cookson helped him to his feet, and then it was more like a scream. His gasps and groans continued as they inched him through the gloomy hall and up the stairs.
She followed them, as instructed, with brandy and more linen, and watched with Miss Trent through the open door as they eased him, still clothed, onto his large, four-poster bed. Her hand crept up towards Miss Trent’s and grasped it. Olivia felt safe with Miss Trent. She was strict in the schoolroom, but sometimes, like now, she was kind.
Her uncle gave a prolonged sigh, saw her with the brandy, beckoned her over and snatched the bottle from her hand. She stared at him as he swigged and wondered if he would die. She thought she wouldn’t be too sad if he did, now that she had Miss Trent.
‘Come away, Olivia,’ Miss Trent ordered. ‘Your
‘Yes, Father.’
Chapter 5
Harriet Trent was in the schoolroom when she heard a horse on the cobbles, followed by shouting and the sound of boots running.When she looked out of the window, Matt was helping the master down from his horse. He looked dishevelled and - injured? He was holding one arm close to his body and stooping awkwardly as he shuffled, with Matt’s help, towards the kitchen door.
‘What’s happening?’ Olivia asked.
‘Stay where you are.’
‘Oooh, is it a visitor? Who is it, Miss Trent?’ She put down her book and darted to the window before Harriet could stop her. ‘It’s Uncle Hesley. He’s hurt himself!’ She ran out of the room, leaving Harriet to hurry after her.
They reached the kitchen at the same time as the master.
‘Cookson! Cookson! Where is that woman?’ he demanded.
Harriet knew she was drinking with the farmhands in the stables and would be the worse for it by now. ‘I believe she is in the wash-house, sir,’ she answered.
‘Fetch her. No, you’ll do. Get some water and towels for this bleeding.’
He had a cut on his head and another on his hand.
‘What happened, sir?’
He ignored her and sat heavily in one of the kitchen chairs, giving a strangled groan.
‘Shall I send for your physician, sir?’
‘I’m not dying, merely bruised. By God, one of those rocks got me square in the back.’
A stone? Had he been down his mine? Surely not. He was wearing the smart clothes he had gone out in. They were rumpled and dusty, but not blackened with coal dust.
‘Get on with it before I bleed to death!’
Harriet thought there was no risk of that. He was holding himself stiffly in the chair and winced when he tried to change position, but there was no sign of blood soaking through his clothes. She said briskly, ‘Olivia, put some cold water into a bowl and bring me clean linen.’ Matt hovered by the back door until she added, ‘Please go and tell Mrs Cookson. Or fetch her keys, and then take a message to the master’s physician. At once.’
Hesley Mexton’s face was pale and tense with pain. His eyes were watering and rolling, but he muttered, ‘I don’t need him.’
‘You are hurt, sir, and you should not have ridden.’
He grunted and his head fell forward. Wordlessly she and Olivia attended to the raw grazes on his hands and the cut on the side of his head. It was near to his eye and must have been quite a blow.
The cold water revived him and he even smiled the wry sneer she was becoming used to. ‘Ah, the virtuous Miss Trent. What do you think of your master now, eh?’
‘That he is injured and should be in bed. Mrs Cookson - at last, thank goodness. Fetch some brandy, would you? Then help Matt get the master to his chamber.’
Olivia obeyed her governess as she tended her uncle’s wounds. Slumped in the kitchen chair, he was not the overpowering giant she was used to seeing in the library. He was angry about his injuries, to be sure, and grumbled constantly, but he did not shout, except when Matt and a wobbly Mrs Cookson helped him to his feet, and then it was more like a scream. His gasps and groans continued as they inched him through the gloomy hall and up the stairs.
She followed them, as instructed, with brandy and more linen, and watched with Miss Trent through the open door as they eased him, still clothed, onto his large, four-poster bed. Her hand crept up towards Miss Trent’s and grasped it. Olivia felt safe with Miss Trent. She was strict in the schoolroom, but sometimes, like now, she was kind.
Her uncle gave a prolonged sigh, saw her with the brandy, beckoned her over and snatched the bottle from her hand. She stared at him as he swigged and wondered if he would die. She thought she wouldn’t be too sad if he did, now that she had Miss Trent.
‘Come away, Olivia,’ Miss Trent ordered. ‘Your
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