A Season of Secrets by Margaret Pemberton Read Free Book Online

get, Armitage.’
    The cottage, when Armitage reluctantly reached it via a narrow, overgrown lane, was appallingly decrepit. Mrs Hardwick rushed from its dark interior to find out who on earth was coming to pay a
call on her and then, on seeing who it was, fell against its door jamb in shock, causing a tile to fall from the roof.
    Both Mrs Hardwick and Blanche ignored it.
    ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Hardwick,’ Blanche said, sending hens scattering as she walked across to her. ‘I understand your son has returned from Flanders badly injured. I would like
to have a few words with him, if I may?’
    ‘Wi’ our Charlie?’ Mrs Hardwick stared at Blanche as if she had taken leave of her senses, something that Armitage, standing yards away beside the Silver Ghost, was convinced
of. ‘You can’t see Charlie, m’lady. He isn’t fit to be seen. Not by anyone.’ She plucked agitatedly at the edge of an apron, which was as long as the shabby dress
skimming her clogs.
    ‘I know about Charlie’s injuries, Mrs Hardwick.’ Blanche’s low, sweet voice was as reassuring as she could make it. ‘They are why I am here.’
    Mrs Hardwick’s bewilderment was now total.
    Aware of this, and also aware that Mrs Hardwick was far too overwhelmed by her title to think of inviting her into her home, Blanche went on, ‘I want to help Charlie, Mrs Hardwick. Perhaps
it would be best if we continued talking inside?’
    Without waiting for Mrs Hardwick to agree, Blanche stepped past her, with Carrie still at her side.
    The low-ceilinged stone-floored room they entered was dominated by a blackleaded kitchen range almost the height of the room. Though it was autumn it was a mild day and there was no fire in the
grate, or kettle on the long hook hanging above it. In one corner of the room was a cast-iron copper for heating water, in another was a well-scoured stone sink and in the centre of the room stood
a heavy wooden table and two upright chairs.
    Blanche seated herself on one of the chairs and Mrs Hardwick, with nervous glances towards a half-open door leading to a narrow curving staircase, seated herself on the other one. Carrie,
mindful of her manners, remained near the door they had entered by.
    ‘I understand Charlie is finding it difficult to earn a living, Mrs Hardwick,’ Blanche said, her voice as friendly as if they had known each other for a long time, ‘and I would
like to give him employment at Gorton.’
    Mrs Hardwick gasped.
    Carrie heard a similar sound come from beyond the half-open staircase door.
    Unsteadily Mrs Hardwick said, ‘I think maybe you don’t understand quite ’ow bad my Charlie is, m’lady. He frightens folks, you see.’
    ‘Gorton Hall is a convalescent home for wounded officers, Mrs Hardwick. Charlie won’t frighten them. Every one of them will know that what happened to him could easily have happened
to them too, and other people at Gorton will take their example from me. What kind of work did Charlie do before he enlisted?
    As Mrs Hardwick hesitated before replying, a shadow fell across the last three steps of the staircase.
    Seeing it, Carrie wondered if Blanche was aware that someone was standing just out of sight on the stairs – and had now moved down them a tread or two in order not to miss anything being
said.
    Mrs Hardwick plucked again at her apron. ‘Charlie was an agricultural worker, m’lady. Sometimes he worked for Mr Lumsden, sometimes he worked for Mr Benson at Sproggett Farm, and
sometimes he worked for a vicar over at Nosborough.’
    ‘A vicar?’ Blanche’s sleek, dark eyebrows rose. ‘But why on earth did Nosborough’s vicar require an agricultural labourer?’
    Mrs Hardwick cast another nervous look towards the half-open door leading to the stairs. ‘The vicar ’eard as ’ow Charlie was good wi’ flowers – laying ’em out
prettily like.’ Almost apologetically she added, ‘It’s summat Charlie enjoys doing, m’lady.’
    ‘And will the vicar want Charlie