LITMIR.BIZ

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Saturday night. But don’t worry, Alice will see to you on Friday. Now do go for a walk while you think about it, your pacing up and down here is giving me quite a headache.’

      ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll do that.’

      ‘If you see Lawrence while you’re out, tell him he’s late for his lessons yet again. Mr Stoper is in danger of losing his patience.’

      ‘I will. And I’ll come and tell you as soon as I’ve chosen.’

      I wandered down the drive and out onto the Breckenhall road, my mind ranging over the staff as I went. The second housemaid, Emma Bird, was sweet, but she had a dreadfully intense and obvious crush on Uncle Jack, and since they would see each other often it might be embarrassing for him. I smiled to myself; that might be reason enough to choose her! But it wouldn’t be fair on poor Emma to use her for such sport.

      Mary Deegan, the other housemaid, was lovely. She was kind and hard-working, rather serious much of the time, but I was sure she would soon unbend once we got to know each other. Yes, Mary was a good choice. Anyone would be, except Ruth! Emma said she hadn’t improved at all and had taken an instant dislike to the new scullery maid.

      Lizzy! I stopped in the road wondering why I hadn’t thought of her straight away. She might be new, but Mother had said I might have my choice, she hadn’t said it must be someone who had worked here a long time. I thought back to my first sight of the girl as she huddled in the back of Uncle Jack’s car, hatless, with dark hair that had started out merely cloudy, and had ended up a terrific mess from the wind that whipped it into tangles. She had been looking at me then as if she thought I might dismiss her on the spot if she opened her mouth, and yet she had spoken up, with blunt honesty. Just Lizzy. Yes, perfect!

      A rumbling in the road behind me made me look back. It was Markham’s van, crawling along no faster than I was walking, but the butcher himself was not driving it – instead Will Davies sat behind the wheel, squinting through the glass and concentrating on the road so hard he had not recognised me. I stopped walking and waited until he drew alongside, then I waved, and his expression was so comically startled that I couldn’t help laughing. But I didn’t laugh for long.

      The van lurched to the right, tugged that way by Will’s determination to keep control of the vehicle despite lifting his left hand to wave back to me, and, as he realised what he had done, he grabbed the wheel again and sent the van careering across the road. It cut in front of me, and as I cried out in shock at the near miss, the van toppled into the ditch, precariously balanced on two wheels, and its driver spilled over the half-door to land sprawled beside it.

      ‘Will!’

      He raised his head and looked at me, dazed, and I saw he was moments away from being crushed. He saw it too, and scrambled to his feet, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him away a bare second before the van crashed onto its side. We stood there, both of us staring at the van, and then at each other. Will opened his mouth to say something, but instead turned back to the van that had chuntered into silence. We were both breathing hard and I realised, at the same moment Will did, that we were still holding hands. He didn’t let go.

      Instead he said in an awed voice, ‘I think you might have just saved my life.’

      It gave me a strange feeling to realise he was right. On the other hand …‘Well, it was my fault you crashed. Will Mr Markham fire you for this?’

      ‘No, I’m too good at my job.’

      I was about to tease him about his lack of modesty, but such was his confidence I was certain he was justified in it. ‘What will you do now?’

      ‘Walk.’

      I stared at him, and he stared back, and then, out of nowhere we both erupted into laughter. It sounded wonderful in the summer air, free from hysteria, and unforced, and Will was still smiling as he stood back and let go of my hand.

      He walked around to the back of the van and grimaced, then glanced at me curiously before bending to pick up one of the empty boxes that had fallen out. ‘Why are you walking alone, anyway?’

      ‘Mother was getting a headache.’

      He blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘I was driving her to distraction, as usual, pacing up and down.’ I went to help him and, with an odd mixture of pique and amusement I realised he wasn’t going to say, “No, Miss Evangeline, you mustn’t.” I hid my own smile as I dragged an empty box out of the ditch and placed it on top of the one he had laid beside him.

      ‘What prompted all the pacing?’ he asked.

      It did sound silly, and petulant, even to my own ears, and I sighed; ‘It’s my birthday in two days. I’m expected to take a maid, although I don’t want one.’

      ‘It certainly looks as though you don’t need one,’ he observed, as I helped him lift another box.

      I gave him a wry look. ‘Apparently it has little to do with ability, and everything to do with tradition. Besides, Mother says I won’t have Alice to help out any more, since we’re going to be having a lot more house guests from now on.’

      ‘Finding you a husband?’

      ‘Don’t, please!’

      He leaned on the underneath of the van. ‘So you’ll be eighteen then,’ he said, and the way his eyes locked onto mine was both unnerving and deeply, viscerally, exciting.

      ‘Yes. Mother wanted me to have Ruth Wilkins.’ He winced, and I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Do you know her?’

      ‘Not as well as Frank Markham does,’ he said. ‘The two of them have been carrying on at least for as long as I’ve known him, probably much longer.’

      Clearly none of the other staff were aware of this or Ruth would have had her marching orders, good worker or not. But I was trying to appear a woman of the world, and so I tried not to let my surprise and distaste show. ‘Well, I don’t like her,’ I said.

      ‘You’re a good judge of character then. I don’t think even Mr Markham likes her, particularly.’

      I didn’t want to think about Ruth; the more I heard the more I realised I’d had a lucky escape. ‘I’ve made my choice anyway,’ I said, still pleased with it, ‘and it’s most certainly not Ruth. It’s the new scullery maid.’

      ‘Lizzy Parker?’

      ‘Just Lizzy.’ He looked puzzled, and I grinned. ‘It doesn’t matter. Yes, Lizzy Parker. She seems a lively sort, and I’m sure we’ll get on famously.’

      ‘She’s an angel,’ he agreed, and I was ashamed to feel a tingle of jealousy at his warm familiarity, but when I glanced at him he was looking back at me with an odd look on his face and I didn’t think Lizzy was on his mind at all at that moment.

      Something about that look made me ask, ‘How old are you, Will?’

      ‘Older than you think, probably,’ he said. ‘Most people think I’m about twenty.’

      ‘I thought that.’

      ‘I was twenty-five last January.’

      I studied him closely, noting, for the first time, the way he held himself; there was none of the gawky awkwardness of a young man just growing into his body, he was comfortable and at ease with his own strength. He was having an increasingly unsettling effect on me and I sought refuge in teasing.

      ‘That seems a little older that I’d have expected for a butcher’s boy,’ I observed, hoping the flush did not show as vividly as it felt.

      Will moved a step closer. ‘I’m no boy, Evie.’ He brushed his hand over my wrist, and we both watched as my fingers and his twined together, capturing each other in wordless acceptance of the attraction between us. Once again we each sought something to say, our eyes still on our linked hands as if they might say it for us. Will took a deep breath, and his free hand rose to my face, but before he could speak

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