Break of Dawn by Rita Bradshaw Read Free Book Online Page B

moment he couldn’t believe his eyes as he took in the mattress and the figure sleeping under the covers. That girl. What on earth was she doing sleeping on the floor of the kitchen?
    Without making a sound he backed towards the door, and it was only when he was standing in the corridor leading to the kitchen with the door shut that he let out his breath. He found he was shaking, whether from the enormity of the deed he’d been about to do or the fact that Bridget might have awoken and found him there, he didn’t know.
    He leaned against the whitewashed wall, moving one lip over the other, his head swimming. He remained there for several minutes until the nausea which had risen from his stomach into his chest subsided.
    He wouldn’t have done it.
He ran a hand over his face which was damp with perspiration in spite of the freezing cold. He wouldn’t have. Would he? No, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. He told himself the same thing several more times before he could move, and then he stumbled upstairs to his study and fell into the big leather chair behind the fine walnut desk which had been his father’s. He drew in a great breath of air, as though he had been running for miles, and then put his head in his hands as he began to cry.

Chapter 4
    Little had changed in Southwick over the last ten years. True, Southwick’s Local Board had defeated another Sunderland act to absorb the growing township, and as if to cock a snook, Southwick had seen to it that a cricket and bicycle club was formed, along with a tennis club and a rowing club later in the decade. Southwick now boasted its own purpose-built Coffee Tavern at the east end of the green, something the Temperance Society considered a huge step forward in its fight against the demon drink, and the Liberal Club had opened new premises at High Southwick. All in all, Southwick residents felt their independence as a separate entity was justified. They could manage their own affairs and didn’t want Sunderland muscling in where it wasn’t wanted.
    Outwardly, little had changed at the vicarage too. The vicar still visited his parishioners when the need arose, sat on various local Boards involved in good works, and preached fire and damnation from the pulpit every Sunday morning. Inside the house, however, the catalyst which had been dropped into their midst ten years before in the shape of one small baby had continued to bring changes which even now rippled an undercurrent within the family.
    It would be fair to say the vicarage was a house divided, andthe divide came in the shape of Sophy. On the one hand Jeremiah, Mary and Patience made no secret of their loathing of ‘the child’ as Mary continued to call Esther’s daughter, but John, Matthew and David held their cousin in deep affection and the little girl was Bridget’s sun, moon and stars. Unfortunately for Sophy, the three sons of the family were at private boarding schools for a great part of each year, and she was left to the tender mercies of Patience, whose chief delight was finding new ways to torment her. And in this Patience was ably assisted by her mother.
    With each passing year Esther’s daughter had grown more beautiful and similarly, so had Mary’s hate of her niece grown. She lost no opportunity in physically punishing the little girl for the slightest fall from grace – of which there were many because Sophy was a spirited child – using her correction cane with righteous zeal and unerring accuracy for maximum pain. A word spoken out of place, a chore not carried out to her satisfaction, a glance she considered insolent – all brought forth retribution of the harshest kind. It was one of Mary’s regrets that she couldn’t find fault with the child’s aptitude for her lessons. Patience and Sophy were taught by a governess for four hours each morning, and although Patience was fourteen months older than her cousin she didn’t have half of her intelligence or natural proficiency. Once the