lifting Cat up where the child would instantly fall asleep for as long as she was allowed, as she did herself at times. Weeks they had been on the road and if they did not get to Lancaster soon, what small reserve of pennies she had kept for food would be finished and she would either have to stop somewhere for a few days to earn a bob or two, or resort to begging .
It was November when they reached the town, a harsh November day which struck through the increasingly threadbare fabric of their clothing and Cat shivered as she and her mother moved along that last mile, the ancient castle which dominated the town and which had been the landmark towards which they had been inching for days, looming high in the November mist. It was a shire house and county gaol, Annie was told by a tinker who had taken it upon himself to travel with them the last few miles from Scotforth, a sprightly Irishman who carried a pack on his back and had a merry twinkle in his eye and who offered to carry Cat as well. Annie could not refuse for Cat was nearing exhaustion and though she was afraid the man might expect some reward, and not of the monetary sort, she allowed it .
On the top of the castle stood a large tower called 'John of Gaunt's Chair' from where, the tinker told them, having been this way before, there was a fine view over the whole of Cumberland and even, on a clear day, across the sea to the Isle of Man. Lancaster was a small but splendid port on the River Lune over which a brand new bridge spanned, with five elegant arches. Market days were Wednesday and Saturday, their informative friend told them cheerfully, handing the dazed child back to her mother, smiling indulgently since he had children of his own, he added, letting her know that though his eyes admired her he had no designs on her person .
It was Wednesday and the streets were busy but, the tinker having given her directions she found her way to King Street easily enough. It was a tree-lined jumble of old houses, one of which had been made over into a doctor's consulting rooms, an architect's office and, on the second floor, the rather grand quarters of Hancock, Jones and Hancock .
The clerk at his high desk in the small front office eyed her and her daughter with the appalled air of a man come face to face with persons of the lower order, those whom, had he been at his own home, he would have ordered to the back door. Annie smiled wryly. Having been on the road for eight weeks she could not blame him since she and Cat were not looking their best. Nevertheless she kept her head high and her expression lofty as she passed him the dog-eared, practically unreadable scrap of newsprint which she had torn from the old edition of the Lancaster Herald. He took it between his thumb and forefinger as he might a piece of mouldy and evil-smelling cheese.
“ I'm Annabelle Abbott," she said, "and this is my daughter Catriona. I am here to see either Mr Hancock or Mr Jones, whoever is available."
“ Indeed! and on what business?" ready to show her the door for her impertinence.
“ My own. The newspaper cutting asked for me and I am here."
“ But this is months out of date. I'm not sure . . ." "I was in Leicestershire."
“ Oh . . ." not at all sure why that was significant.
“ I walked a good deal of the way so if you will tell Mr Hancock I am here I would be obliged."
“ He is very busy."
“ We will wait," and tipping her head regally she guided Cat towards a chair which was placed against the wall .
It was the same with Mr Hancock, whose expression of amazement matched that of his clerk. He seemed to remember something about a farm, he said, when he had recovered his composure, and the name of Abbott rang a bell though he could not quite recall .. .
“ Why have I been summoned here?" She cut through his ramblings, his vague fumbling with this paper and that, his shouted orders to his clerk to fetch the . . . what was the name again? . . . turning to Annie . . . the
It was November when they reached the town, a harsh November day which struck through the increasingly threadbare fabric of their clothing and Cat shivered as she and her mother moved along that last mile, the ancient castle which dominated the town and which had been the landmark towards which they had been inching for days, looming high in the November mist. It was a shire house and county gaol, Annie was told by a tinker who had taken it upon himself to travel with them the last few miles from Scotforth, a sprightly Irishman who carried a pack on his back and had a merry twinkle in his eye and who offered to carry Cat as well. Annie could not refuse for Cat was nearing exhaustion and though she was afraid the man might expect some reward, and not of the monetary sort, she allowed it .
On the top of the castle stood a large tower called 'John of Gaunt's Chair' from where, the tinker told them, having been this way before, there was a fine view over the whole of Cumberland and even, on a clear day, across the sea to the Isle of Man. Lancaster was a small but splendid port on the River Lune over which a brand new bridge spanned, with five elegant arches. Market days were Wednesday and Saturday, their informative friend told them cheerfully, handing the dazed child back to her mother, smiling indulgently since he had children of his own, he added, letting her know that though his eyes admired her he had no designs on her person .
It was Wednesday and the streets were busy but, the tinker having given her directions she found her way to King Street easily enough. It was a tree-lined jumble of old houses, one of which had been made over into a doctor's consulting rooms, an architect's office and, on the second floor, the rather grand quarters of Hancock, Jones and Hancock .
The clerk at his high desk in the small front office eyed her and her daughter with the appalled air of a man come face to face with persons of the lower order, those whom, had he been at his own home, he would have ordered to the back door. Annie smiled wryly. Having been on the road for eight weeks she could not blame him since she and Cat were not looking their best. Nevertheless she kept her head high and her expression lofty as she passed him the dog-eared, practically unreadable scrap of newsprint which she had torn from the old edition of the Lancaster Herald. He took it between his thumb and forefinger as he might a piece of mouldy and evil-smelling cheese.
“ I'm Annabelle Abbott," she said, "and this is my daughter Catriona. I am here to see either Mr Hancock or Mr Jones, whoever is available."
“ Indeed! and on what business?" ready to show her the door for her impertinence.
“ My own. The newspaper cutting asked for me and I am here."
“ But this is months out of date. I'm not sure . . ." "I was in Leicestershire."
“ Oh . . ." not at all sure why that was significant.
“ I walked a good deal of the way so if you will tell Mr Hancock I am here I would be obliged."
“ He is very busy."
“ We will wait," and tipping her head regally she guided Cat towards a chair which was placed against the wall .
It was the same with Mr Hancock, whose expression of amazement matched that of his clerk. He seemed to remember something about a farm, he said, when he had recovered his composure, and the name of Abbott rang a bell though he could not quite recall .. .
“ Why have I been summoned here?" She cut through his ramblings, his vague fumbling with this paper and that, his shouted orders to his clerk to fetch the . . . what was the name again? . . . turning to Annie . . . the
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