climbing into the dog cart and waving goodbye.
‘I hate York,’ Milly said, as the cart rattled through Sir Mortimer’s imposing acres. ‘I shall hate it for ever an’ ever an’ ever.’
Jane tried to be reasonable because she was none too pleased to be going to the city either. ‘There’s a daft thing to go a-sayin’, Millikins,’ she said. ‘How can ’ee know? Nanna says ’tis a fine place wi’ shops an’ theatres an’ all sorts. She were tellin’ me only last Sunday. We shall have a fine ol’ time there. You see if we don’t.’
‘I shan’t be with Felix,’ Milly said doggedly, ‘and there’ll be no pony for me to ride and I shan’t see Sarah and Emma ever again, and it’ll all be horrid. I don’t care what Nanna says.’
‘Oh well,’ her mother sighed, ‘if tha’s made tha mind up to it there’s nowt I can say.’
‘And it’ll be a horrid house. You just see.’
Jane was beginning to get cross. ‘How can ’ee possibly say such a thing?’ she said. ‘Tha knows nowt about it.’
‘I do so,’ Milly said haughtily. ‘Sarah told me. She says there are no proper houses in towns. They’re all nasty and pokey and they don’t have any grounds or proper stables or anything, except in London.’
‘Now look ’ee here, miss,’ Jane said, sternly. ‘I’ll not have ’ee speak so. You’re repeating tittle-tattle, that’s what you’re doing, what’s a fool’s trick an’ I’ll not have it. Mr Bottrill is the richest man in the city and he’ll have one of the richest houses, you can depend on it. Rich men don’t live in pokey houses. Anyroad, we’re to live in his house now, whether you like it or not. We’re not in the great house no more, so if you’ve any sense, you’ll mind your manners and keep a civil tongue in your head.’
Milly made a face and didn’t answer.
They were so cross that they didn’t speak to one another until the cart stopped in front of Mr Bottrill’s undoubtedly fine house in Monkgate and by then the weather had changed and it was beginning to spot with rain. They jumped down onto the cobbles and scampered into the house as quickly as they could, leaving the driver to carry their trunk in after them. There was a man in imposing green livery and an old-fashioned white wig waiting for them in the hall.
‘Name of Josh,’ he said to Jane, ‘and you’ll be Mrs Smith, I daresay. Follow me and I’ll show you to your rooms.’
There were two of them, right at the top of the house, a bedroom witha high bed, a linen press and a washstand, and a parlour that could be a cosy place with a bit of rearrangement. There was a sizeable fireplace there and a dresser and two comfortable chairs on either side of the fire. We shall do well enough here, Jane thought. But before she settled in, she must go down to the kitchen and meet her staff.
‘You stay here,’ she said to Milly, ‘and unpack the bed linen and hang the clothes in t’cupboard. When I’ve had a bit of a look round I’ll come back and we can make up the bed. They’re good-sized rooms.’
Milly put her hand on her mother’s arm. ‘I’m sorry I was ratty, Ma,’ she said.
‘We were both ratty,’ Jane said. ‘’Tis a hard thing to leave home.’ She was remembering how unhappy she’d been when she’d had to go and live with Aunt Tot. She put her arms round her poor woebegone child and gave her a hug and kissed her. ‘I’ll not be long,’ she promised.
But in fact it took her the entire morning to check how the house was run and what she discovered didn’t please her at all. She started in the kitchen, which was a large room and well equipped but none too clean and very untidy. She would have to do something about that. The cook, who said she was called Mrs Cadwallader, was a rather slatternly woman in a dirty apron. She told Jane that Mr Bottrill dined at three but that she never asked him what she was to cook ‘not since Mrs Bottrill died, poor lady, on account of the
‘I hate York,’ Milly said, as the cart rattled through Sir Mortimer’s imposing acres. ‘I shall hate it for ever an’ ever an’ ever.’
Jane tried to be reasonable because she was none too pleased to be going to the city either. ‘There’s a daft thing to go a-sayin’, Millikins,’ she said. ‘How can ’ee know? Nanna says ’tis a fine place wi’ shops an’ theatres an’ all sorts. She were tellin’ me only last Sunday. We shall have a fine ol’ time there. You see if we don’t.’
‘I shan’t be with Felix,’ Milly said doggedly, ‘and there’ll be no pony for me to ride and I shan’t see Sarah and Emma ever again, and it’ll all be horrid. I don’t care what Nanna says.’
‘Oh well,’ her mother sighed, ‘if tha’s made tha mind up to it there’s nowt I can say.’
‘And it’ll be a horrid house. You just see.’
Jane was beginning to get cross. ‘How can ’ee possibly say such a thing?’ she said. ‘Tha knows nowt about it.’
‘I do so,’ Milly said haughtily. ‘Sarah told me. She says there are no proper houses in towns. They’re all nasty and pokey and they don’t have any grounds or proper stables or anything, except in London.’
‘Now look ’ee here, miss,’ Jane said, sternly. ‘I’ll not have ’ee speak so. You’re repeating tittle-tattle, that’s what you’re doing, what’s a fool’s trick an’ I’ll not have it. Mr Bottrill is the richest man in the city and he’ll have one of the richest houses, you can depend on it. Rich men don’t live in pokey houses. Anyroad, we’re to live in his house now, whether you like it or not. We’re not in the great house no more, so if you’ve any sense, you’ll mind your manners and keep a civil tongue in your head.’
Milly made a face and didn’t answer.
They were so cross that they didn’t speak to one another until the cart stopped in front of Mr Bottrill’s undoubtedly fine house in Monkgate and by then the weather had changed and it was beginning to spot with rain. They jumped down onto the cobbles and scampered into the house as quickly as they could, leaving the driver to carry their trunk in after them. There was a man in imposing green livery and an old-fashioned white wig waiting for them in the hall.
‘Name of Josh,’ he said to Jane, ‘and you’ll be Mrs Smith, I daresay. Follow me and I’ll show you to your rooms.’
There were two of them, right at the top of the house, a bedroom witha high bed, a linen press and a washstand, and a parlour that could be a cosy place with a bit of rearrangement. There was a sizeable fireplace there and a dresser and two comfortable chairs on either side of the fire. We shall do well enough here, Jane thought. But before she settled in, she must go down to the kitchen and meet her staff.
‘You stay here,’ she said to Milly, ‘and unpack the bed linen and hang the clothes in t’cupboard. When I’ve had a bit of a look round I’ll come back and we can make up the bed. They’re good-sized rooms.’
Milly put her hand on her mother’s arm. ‘I’m sorry I was ratty, Ma,’ she said.
‘We were both ratty,’ Jane said. ‘’Tis a hard thing to leave home.’ She was remembering how unhappy she’d been when she’d had to go and live with Aunt Tot. She put her arms round her poor woebegone child and gave her a hug and kissed her. ‘I’ll not be long,’ she promised.
But in fact it took her the entire morning to check how the house was run and what she discovered didn’t please her at all. She started in the kitchen, which was a large room and well equipped but none too clean and very untidy. She would have to do something about that. The cook, who said she was called Mrs Cadwallader, was a rather slatternly woman in a dirty apron. She told Jane that Mr Bottrill dined at three but that she never asked him what she was to cook ‘not since Mrs Bottrill died, poor lady, on account of the
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