A Child of Jarrow by Janet MacLeod Trotter Read Free Book Online Page B

offers of travel on his behalf. On several occasions he had done business on behalf of the estate and the Liddells’ extensive coal interests. Usually his visits had coincided with a summer carnival or a winter ball to which he had been pressed to stay.
    It was too bad if Lady Ravensworth was away from home, Alexander thought ruefully. But he would beg a night or two with His Lordship and maybe there would be news of her return before he had to take ship from Newcastle. He was bound for Scandinavia and the Baltic States to secure contracts for selling coal and arranging return cargoes of timber for use in British mines.
    Travelling suited his restless nature and he spent more time roaming the art galleries and museums, and playing cards at the gaming tables of the richer hotels than he ever did haggling over the price of coal with the managers of Swedish iron ore mines. But he dressed and talked like an English gentleman and his mixture of charm and knowledge of the host country brought more success than Jeremiah’s honest but dour business talk.
    Alexander walked briskly up the steep track, whistling as he went. A group of low-lying stone cottages came into view around the corner, their lintels obscured by honeysuckle. The sweet scent permeated the warm air. A be-capped gardener was helping a young woman out of a cart. Alexander caught a brief glimpse of a fair curved cheek under a large straw hat and a flash of stockinged ankle as she dismounted.
    â€˜Afternoon!’ he called, touching the brim of his hat with his cane, thinking that the ruddy-faced man looked familiar.
    The man pulled at his cap in reply, then a red-haired boy bounded out of the cottage and took his attention.
    â€˜Look, look! I’ve got a duck’s egg. Look, Cousin Kate!’
    â€˜Let the lass down first, Alfred,’ said his father.
    Alexander grinned at the boy, whose exuberance reminded him of himself at that age, and walked on.
    Kate, holding on to her Uncle Peter’s earth-ingrained hand, jumped down from the small cart. She glanced at the walker’s retreating back. He was tall and broad-shouldered, in a smart coat and hat, with thick, wavy hair that touched the back of his collar. Strangely, for a gentleman, he was carrying his own suitcase and seemed to have emerged from out of the woods. But in a few long strides he was gone, with a flash of silver-topped cane and a lusty tuneful whistling, and Kate wondered about him no more.
    She turned to hug her young cousin. ‘Hello, Alfred. Let’s see this egg, then.’
    The boy dragged her into the cottage, his boots clattering on the stone flags. The kitchen floor was covered in unwashed clothes and the table with dirty dishes. There were trails of dried mud across the rag mats and the range was dull and soot-encrusted. Kate looked around in dismay. Suddenly a pheasant came darting and squawking through the kitchen, making her start in fright. The bird fled out of the open door.
    â€˜That’s Edward - he’s called after the new king,’ Alfred explained. ‘He comes here for his dinner.’
    A ginger cat yawned and stretched on a pile of straw near the hearth and fixed an interested gaze on the retreating bird.
    â€˜That’s King Rufus,’ said Alfred, running over to grab the cat. ‘Our George learnt about him in school - said he had ginger hair.’
    â€˜What a lot of royalty!’ Kate laughed. ‘Didn’t know I’d be living with all these kings.’
    â€˜I’ll have to be gettin’ back to work,’ Peter said, his look harassed. ‘George’ll be back soon to help. Your aunt’s in there.’ He nodded towards a closed door. ‘Make yourself at home.’
    He raced out of the cottage like the pheasant, leaving her basket by the door.
    â€˜Ta for the lift, Uncle Peter,’ Kate called after him, but he was gone.
    Alfred was quite absorbed stroking the cat, but the creature objected to