A Mother's Love by Maggie Ford Read Free Book Online

drapers and things, but no grocers.’ She was hoping that she would not have to traipse so far to put in her weekly order for groceries.
    Mrs Hardy slipped in now with a cup of tea for Harriet and Clara. ‘Need something to cheer you up, sad day like this,’ she whispered to Harriet and went quickly back to the kitchen, where she was cooking a small meal for the poor unfortunate to eat later.
    ‘Don’t worry, Harriet.’ Clara’s blue-grey eyes peered thoughtfully over the rim of her teacup at the poor attendance. ‘Once things get going …’
    Harriet gave her a small tremulous smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
    Clara was small and pretty, plumper than Harriet and their sister Annie. She blamed this fact on her age – twenty-six – and on having had two children, for all Annie also had two children. Clara took after their father, but without his height; she had been plump even as a child. Had she been taller, she would have been a fine figure of a woman.
    ‘That young man over by the door.’ She pointed with her cup. ‘At least he looks interested.’
    Harriet followed her direction, and studied the young man more carefully. Tallish and quite thin, he had a refined, rather gentle face, angular enough to prevent him being what one might call handsome. He had removed his bowler to reveal wavy hair, sandy-coloured under the gas light, and his luxurious moustache was also fair. He had also divested himself of his damp ulster, but his high-buttoned jacket in a buff check gave him an appearance of overall warmth on this miserable day. He did indeed seem interested, except that anyone serious would be inspecting the items for sale instead of staring over towards where she sat. It was very rude of him, Harriet thought, looking quickly away. The fact that she was in mourning and the wording of the auction announcement must surely have told him of her situation.
    Two more people had arrived, The rain had finally ceased and the sky had brightened a little, so their arrival was heartening. That no one was leaving was even more heartening.
    The auctioneer consulted his pocket watch, and tilted a significant eye towards Harriet. She took a deep breath, then inclined her head. He acknowledged her gesture with a sharp rap of the gavel on the table behind which he stood.
    ‘Gent’men, your ’tention please.’
    After a short preamble he began: ‘Set of oak stools – excellent condition. Shall we start at four shillings?’
    Start! It was no start at all. ‘Come, now, gent’men, suitable for office or domestic use. A present for the wife? What am I bid?’
    ‘Free bob!’ came a reluctant response from the body of the crowd.
    ‘Three shillings. Do I hear four?’
    ‘Four.’ There were no more takers. The gavel came down smartly. Harriet glanced towards the thin young man. He had not bid at all.
    Two more men came in, a purposeful look to them as though they had been hurrying. Delayed by the rain perhaps. Harriet’s eyes turned again to the man near the door. She started as his glance flicked towards her as if by some unspoken signal, then brought her gaze sharply back to Mr Jones and tried to concentrate on the proceedings. It was going more briskly now, but nothing was going for what she had hoped. She said as much to Clara.
    ‘There’s your printing presses yet,’ Clara hissed. Harriet looked sideways at her. Had there been a faint sting in the remark?
    ‘Money always goes to money.’ Annie wanted so much to buy that beige blouse she’d seen in Regent Street but Robert had said it was too expensive. ‘Not content with the three hundred pounds Will left, she’s selling his business too. She must be looking at – at least five hundred. My Robert earns forty-six bob a week and has to work hard for that in his job at the bank. And we’ve two kids.’
    Lucky Robert, Clara recalled thinking sourly. An office clerk, her Fred got several shillings less. Admittedly it kept them and their own two comfortably in