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

nightmare and pushed it away in a small wave of fear, concentrating hard on what was going on around her.
    Clara was clutching her arm, as excited as if she was the one who had made all this money. Harriet’s legs felt shaky as she moved towards where Mr Jones was still talking with the young man, now the owner of her late husband’s printing equipment. She had to thank him. Had he given it more thought he could have got it at a fraction of what he’d paid. Her eyes wide with gratitude and shyness as she came up, she saw that his were deep velvety brown, contrasting oddly with the sandy hair.
    ‘This is Mrs Porter,’ Mr Jones began. ‘Widow of the late owner. Mr Craig has arranged to take over the lease of your late husband’s shop premises for a publishing business.’
    ‘Matthew Craig,’ the young man filled in. ‘I publish a journal – not very large,’ he added with some modesty. ‘I’ve been looking for premises in London but I hope you will forgive me if I seem to have traded in on your misfortune. May I offer my condolences on your bereavement, Mrs Porter, if that isn’t too audacious of me?’
    Taking the offered hand, she felt the warmth of his grip pass from his fingers into hers. She looked up at him, startled, to find his gaze riveted on her so intensely that she blushed and lowered her eyes hastily in utter confusion.
    Of course he’d paid out far too much. Of course he was a fool. That fact showed in the expression of the auctioneer. But it was seeing the wan face of the girl in the shadows, her expression full of dismay as she viewed the paltry gathering, that had galvanised him. The one with her was much more self-assured. He’d guessed immediately which of them was the widow and his heart was unexpectedly moved to pity, compelling him to bid as he did. He had been foolhardy, but having now looked more closely into her eyes, such clear grey pupils, arrestingly dark-edged, before they were lowered in acute embarrassment, the girl’s pale cheeks turning fiery, he was glad he had been.

Chapter Four
    Sarah Morris surveyed her table laid for tea: scones, damson jam in its opaque blue glass dish, seed cake, a plate of cold ham. There was just the bread to be sliced and buttered. Her best china, decorated with pink roses, positively sparkled in the sunshine through the window facing the park. Sarah chewed on her lower lip, her mind wandering from the generous spread.
    Would Harriet be bringing the baby? She hadn’t last Tuesday; had left her instead with that neighbour of hers, that Mrs Hardy woman. Too soon after the birth, she’d said; she was not strong enough yet to cope with bringing a baby all this way. Good Lord, six weeks since the birth – of course she was strong enough!
    Sarah’s lips grew thin. Turning up in a hackney … spending poor Will’s money when more modest transport would have done … It didn’t require that much strength to bring little Sara! That was another thing, dropping the ‘h’ like that. She’d never heard such nonsense. Sara – what sort of name was that for a baby?
    Her parchment cheeks sucked themselves into hollows as she sawed wafer-thin slices, the loaf clasped in her hand in a determined embrace. Her brows drew together beneath her scraped-back greying hair at the prospect of reminding Harriet of her maternal duties.
    In the kitchen the kettle lid began rattling at the same moment as a rap came on the front door. At least her niece was prompt.
    Sarah hurried to answer it only to have her cheeks sink again into hollows as she noted Harriet standing before her, empty-armed.
    ‘I know, Aunt,’ Harriet began hastily, seeing the disapproval on her face. ‘I was going to bring her but I still don’t feel up to it, and then when Mrs Hardy offered … I will next time, I promise. In a few more weeks I’ll feel a lot more confident, I’m sure.’
    By Sunday Sarah had a pressing need of her sister Mary’s advice. It had been a stressful Tuesday