Christmas Wish by Lizzie Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

anything. He left lesser mortals to do that.
    ‘Bread, Winnie. Bread!’
    The boy who shouted wore a navy blue coat, had tousled hair and a little more meat on his bones than the others.
    She started to close the door.
    ‘Anything …’
    His voice was pleading. She knew his name was Edward Shellard and that his father worked on the docks unloading ships from all over the empire. She also knew there were ten children in the family and that his mother seemed to have spent most of her life with a pregnant belly. If that wasn’t problem enough, when he wasn’t working, George Shellard could be found in the Shipwrights Arms down by the East India Docks.
    She reached for the remains of a heel of a loaf, returned tothe door and threw it out, crumbs and all, making indents in the snow. The boys fell on the scraps, shouting and scrabbling in the snow. Winnie shut the door, feeling strange, wondering if she was getting softer in her old age.
    The same grey eyes that had regarded her earlier regarded her once again. Magda seemed all eyes looking up at her.
    ‘That was kind of you. Good fortune happens to people who are kind.’ Her voice was clear and pure, and so very much more confident than she’d expected it to be.
    Placing her gnarled fists on her hips, Winnie looked the girl up and down admiringly, then nodded like the wise old bird some said she was. ‘Your eyes will be your fortune, my girl. Magda Brodie, isn’t it?’
    Magda nodded, her gaze drawn to the obvious deformity of Winnie’s hands.
    ‘Your hands are painful. I expect they’re worse at night.’
    It occurred to her that the child had spoken as though she was years older than either of them.
    ‘And you’re skinny. The Connemara mare doesn’t feed you enough,’ said Winnie.
    Magda frowned. ‘Is that what you call her?’
    Winnie threw back her head and laughed. ‘An Irish nag, and I think your Uncle Jim would confirm that your aunt Bridget Brodie is both a nag and a mare and that’s the truth!’
    ‘My aunt hates me and hated my mother. If my mother hadn’t died I wouldn’t be here.’
    The child’s grey eyes seemed to fill her face; such a forthright look, her chin uplifted and jutting forward.
    ‘My full name is Magdalena Brodie. My mother came from Italy where it’s sunny all the time and people sing and dance on saints’ days. I’m not staying here forever. My father will come for me – soon – and one day I shall be a lady.’
    Winnie stared in wonder at the sudden brightness in thechild’s face. Such a lovely face. Such a lovely child.
    In her mind she was already assessing the wealth such a girl could bring to her establishment, catering to the men callers like the other girls. It was, well, worth thinking about.
    ‘Do you wish to be a lady?’
    The dark grey eyes turned thoughtful. ‘That depends. I would like to be clean and have nice things. And be kind to people. And make sick people well again. Yes,’ she said, nodding resolutely.
    ‘You don’t have to live with her if you don’t want to. How would it be if I had a word with your aunt and got her to agree to you moving in here?’ Her voice was as smooth as oil as she watched the girl with one eye shut.
    The girl gave her such a direct look that would be more at home on somebody three times her age.
    ‘It’s much warmer here and you’re very kind, but my father told me to stay with her and when he comes back he’ll expect me to be there.’
    Magda’s strong little chin jerked forward. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t possibly move in here unless she gives me my mother’s Bible. It’s got the addresses of my sisters and brother.’
    Winnie nodded slowly. ‘Of course. Would you like some mutton stew?’
    Magda nodded.
    ‘Sit you down,’ said Winnie, the last traces of a Liverpool accent still in her voice.
    Magda sat on a balloon-backed chair pulled up to the table whilst Winnie ladled hot stew from black saucepan to white china dish.
    Winnie watched as she ate.
    ‘Is it