Read Online A Place Called Home by Dilly Court - Free Book Online Page A

seen or until Sir William sends for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
    â€˜Yes, missis.’
    â€˜You address me as Mrs Hodges.’ She rounded on Susan, who had barely stifled a chuckle. ‘Get on with your work. I want that bath taken downstairs and scoured clean, and when you’ve done that you can make up Miss Lucy’s bed.’
    Lucy knew from the look on Susan’s face that she had made an enemy.
    Susan said nothing when she eventually brought a tray of food to the nursery, but her tight-lipped silence held more menace than a tirade of words. Lucy thanked her politely, but the soup was cold and there was barely a slick of butter on the slices of bread. She found a spider floating in the water jug and there was a sprinkling of salt on the slice of apple pie instead of sugar. She sighed and fished the spider out of the water. She was too hungry to be fussy and the soup was tasty, although she suspected that it would have been even more delicious had it been hot. She was used to eating dry bread and the smear of butter was a treat in itself, as was the apple pie, even with the addition of salt. She cleared the plates and now that her belly was full she felt more optimistic, and began to formulate a plan. When her clothes were returned she would creep downstairs and look for Peckham, and when the house slept she would make her escape and go home. It was as simple as that.
    But first she had to endure Susan’s sly taunts while she made up the bed and attended to the fire. ‘You won’t last a week here,’ was her parting shot. ‘The master will see you for what you are, guttersnipe. You’ll end up back where you belong and I’ll say good riddance to bad rubbish.’
    Lucy had bitten back a sharp retort, and she had so far managed to remain dry-eyed, but now her eyes were moist and she might have given way to tears had she not heard Mrs Hodges’ stentorian tones and the softer replies of another woman. The door had barely closed on Susan when it opened again. Mrs Hodges breezed in, followed by a small lady who was carrying an overly large carpet bag.
    â€˜Miss Appleby has come to measure you for some new clothes,’ Mrs Hodges announced with a finality that did not invite argument.
    Miss Appleby smiled nervously. ‘I took the liberty of bringing some garments that I had ready made, Mrs Hodges.’ She opened the bag and took out a petticoat trimmed with lace, two pairs of drawers and a tartan merino dress. ‘These were made for a child of ten who succumbed to scarlatina before the order was complete.’
    Mrs Hodges recoiled, staring at the garments in horror. ‘They should be incinerated, Miss Appleby. We don’t want disease brought into the house.’
    â€˜No, no, Mrs Hodges. They were never worn by the poor girl. She sickened after the order was almost complete, but was too ill to have a final fitting.’
    Lucy looked from one to the other. Neither of them had spoken directly to her and she was beginning to feel that she must be invisible.
    â€˜Stand up, Miss Lucy.’ Mrs Hodges moved aside. ‘Try them on for size.’
    Lucy rose from her chair but she was reluctant to stand naked in front of strangers.
    â€˜It’s all right, my dear,’ Miss Appleby whispered. ‘I’m used to seeing my clients in a state of undress.’ She held up the petticoat, shielding Lucy from Mrs Hodges’ critical gaze as she swopped the towel for the undergarment, and then she stood back, surveying her work with a satisfied smile. ‘It’s an excellent fit, Miss Lucy. And now for the unmentionables.’ She handed her a pair of drawers.
    Lucy put them on without argument. It was the thought of rescuing Peckham and setting off for home that made her compliant, and she stood very still while Miss Appleby slipped the frock over her head and did up the tiny pearl buttons at the back of the bodice. ‘My dear,