depended solely on her.
She trailed her fingers across the accounts books piled on the corner of the desk. Could she manage the responsibility of caring for these women, of spending Mr Belfroy’s money wisely?
Pulling out the top drawer, she took out her sketchbook and opened it to where the yellow wattle blossom lay pressed between the pages. She lightly touched the small delicate balls, remembering Nathaniel West and, as always, her chest constricted. In the three days since the picnic, she’d heard nothing from either him or Frances. Today she should have gone to the soup kitchen, but seeing Mrs Eldersley safely aboard took priority. Would he have been there at the warehouse?
A knock on the door had her snapping shut the sketchbook. She tucked it away and at the same time closed her mind on Nathaniel West. She had a job to do and that didn’t give her space to think of him. “Come in.”
Meg entered carrying a tea tray. “I need to speak to you about that girl you hired yesterday. What’s her name, Hannah?”
Nicola sighed and rubbed her forehead. “What has she done now?” She sat at the desk, intent on balancing the account books before showing them to Mr Belfroy.
“Arguing with the new cook and she has broken another plate.” Meg grumbled, pouring out the tea. “The way she’s going, we’ll all be eating straight out of the cooking pots, for we’ll not have a solid piece of porcelain left.”
“She’s new and Cook frightens her silly.”
“Cook frightens us all, but we don’t go around dropping plates all day.”
“I’ll talk to her.” She sipped her tea and sighed, it was refreshing and exactly what she needed.
Abruptly, a scream rent the air. Nicola stood, spilling her tea over her desk. “What was that?”
Meg placed her cup on the tray. “Likely Miss Golding has disturbed a mouse again. I’ll go and find out. She is a useless-”
The study door was flung open so violently it hit the wall and bounced back, nearly clouting Miss Nugent as she raced in, her eyes wide and her face a ghastly grey-white. “Miss Douglas!”
“Whatever is the matter?” A cold shiver ran down Nicola’s back.
“You must come quickly,” Miss Nugent gasped. “It’s Miss Downing.” She grabbed Nicola’s hand and pulled her from the room. Nicola lifted her skirts high and rushed after her.
On the stairs, Miss Burstall stood, her wide-eyed expression one of shock. “Justice is what I call it. She had no other choice.”
They ignored her and continued up and into Miss Downing’s room. There, Nicola skidded to a stop and Meg bumped into her. For a frozen second she simply stared at the sight greeting her. Emily Downing, still dressed in her outdoors clothes, hung from a rope tied to the roof beam, below her, a tipped over stool. Miss McIntyre was crying, heroically trying to support Emily’s weight away from the rope around her neck.
Nicola blinked and then the room erupted into chaos. She rushed forward to help Miss McIntyre lift Emily up and loosen the rope’s strangle hold. “Meg, get a knife quickly. Hurry!” Straining, she glanced at Miss Nugent. “Run for the doctor!”
“I canna hold her any longer, Miss Douglas,” Miss McIntyre sobbed, her accent thick in her distress.
“Wait.” Nicola yanked up her skirts and climbed onto the bed. With strength she didn’t know she owned, she heaved Emily higher. “Don’t let go, Miss McIntyre, I beg you!”
Meg returned with two sharp knives. Behind her, came the cook and the new maid, who began screaming hysterically. Meg climbed up beside Nicola, as did the cook and together they frantically sawed at the rope until they cried out because their muscles burned in their arms.
Miss McIntyre’s sobbing became wails as her strength gave out. Finally, the remaining strands of thick hemp snapped and Nicola lost her grip. Emily and Miss McIntyre fell hard onto the floor.
Nicola scurried to Emily’s side, but moaned deep in her throat when she
She trailed her fingers across the accounts books piled on the corner of the desk. Could she manage the responsibility of caring for these women, of spending Mr Belfroy’s money wisely?
Pulling out the top drawer, she took out her sketchbook and opened it to where the yellow wattle blossom lay pressed between the pages. She lightly touched the small delicate balls, remembering Nathaniel West and, as always, her chest constricted. In the three days since the picnic, she’d heard nothing from either him or Frances. Today she should have gone to the soup kitchen, but seeing Mrs Eldersley safely aboard took priority. Would he have been there at the warehouse?
A knock on the door had her snapping shut the sketchbook. She tucked it away and at the same time closed her mind on Nathaniel West. She had a job to do and that didn’t give her space to think of him. “Come in.”
Meg entered carrying a tea tray. “I need to speak to you about that girl you hired yesterday. What’s her name, Hannah?”
Nicola sighed and rubbed her forehead. “What has she done now?” She sat at the desk, intent on balancing the account books before showing them to Mr Belfroy.
“Arguing with the new cook and she has broken another plate.” Meg grumbled, pouring out the tea. “The way she’s going, we’ll all be eating straight out of the cooking pots, for we’ll not have a solid piece of porcelain left.”
“She’s new and Cook frightens her silly.”
“Cook frightens us all, but we don’t go around dropping plates all day.”
“I’ll talk to her.” She sipped her tea and sighed, it was refreshing and exactly what she needed.
Abruptly, a scream rent the air. Nicola stood, spilling her tea over her desk. “What was that?”
Meg placed her cup on the tray. “Likely Miss Golding has disturbed a mouse again. I’ll go and find out. She is a useless-”
The study door was flung open so violently it hit the wall and bounced back, nearly clouting Miss Nugent as she raced in, her eyes wide and her face a ghastly grey-white. “Miss Douglas!”
“Whatever is the matter?” A cold shiver ran down Nicola’s back.
“You must come quickly,” Miss Nugent gasped. “It’s Miss Downing.” She grabbed Nicola’s hand and pulled her from the room. Nicola lifted her skirts high and rushed after her.
On the stairs, Miss Burstall stood, her wide-eyed expression one of shock. “Justice is what I call it. She had no other choice.”
They ignored her and continued up and into Miss Downing’s room. There, Nicola skidded to a stop and Meg bumped into her. For a frozen second she simply stared at the sight greeting her. Emily Downing, still dressed in her outdoors clothes, hung from a rope tied to the roof beam, below her, a tipped over stool. Miss McIntyre was crying, heroically trying to support Emily’s weight away from the rope around her neck.
Nicola blinked and then the room erupted into chaos. She rushed forward to help Miss McIntyre lift Emily up and loosen the rope’s strangle hold. “Meg, get a knife quickly. Hurry!” Straining, she glanced at Miss Nugent. “Run for the doctor!”
“I canna hold her any longer, Miss Douglas,” Miss McIntyre sobbed, her accent thick in her distress.
“Wait.” Nicola yanked up her skirts and climbed onto the bed. With strength she didn’t know she owned, she heaved Emily higher. “Don’t let go, Miss McIntyre, I beg you!”
Meg returned with two sharp knives. Behind her, came the cook and the new maid, who began screaming hysterically. Meg climbed up beside Nicola, as did the cook and together they frantically sawed at the rope until they cried out because their muscles burned in their arms.
Miss McIntyre’s sobbing became wails as her strength gave out. Finally, the remaining strands of thick hemp snapped and Nicola lost her grip. Emily and Miss McIntyre fell hard onto the floor.
Nicola scurried to Emily’s side, but moaned deep in her throat when she
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