Heart of Coal by Jenny Pattrick Read Free Book Online Page B

ready to take his leave, and then has a thought. He clears his throat, addresses her back.
    ‘Rose, I wonder … There is a new teaching position at the school. For the older children. Would you reconsider?’ Henry has offered her a position at least three times already, and she has always laughed and turned it down. Not her style; too constrictive; not stimulating enough. Though who would consider that working for a draper was any better?
    Bella quivers with anticipation. ‘Teaching! Rose, Rose, it is meant. This time you must!’
    Rose looks sideways at Henry. ‘Mr Stringer, have you been listening at the window?’
    Henry coughs, reddens, but brazens it out. ‘I met Mr Donaldson up on Dickson Street. I understand you have left his employ?’
    ‘What else do you … understand?’
    Henry jerks nervously, stumbles against a basket of knitting, sending balls rolling, bends to retrieve the mess and knocks his head on the standard lamp. Bella wants to laugh but is too anxious. Rose has no such scruples.
    ‘Mr Stringer.’ She is choking on the words.
    ‘Henry, Henry.’
    ‘Henry, you know why I lost that position?’
    ‘Yes. Yes, I do. But …’ Henry’s arms sketch wider possibilities. ‘But at the school such opportunities for …’
    ‘For a thief?’
    Henry frowns. ‘Rose, you are not a thief. Not per se . You should not indulge in such labels. It is an impulse with you — dangerous, yes, but simply … impulsive. One should not attach blame. There would have to be undertakings, of course … Perhaps I can help … But in the long run I believe —’
    Rose interrupts. She has no time for circumlocution. ‘Mr Stringer. Henry. Thank you for the offer. I accept.’
    Bella’s large body fairly dances with approval. ‘Oh, Rose! Out of disaster, triumph!’ She turns to Henry and shakes his hand as if this is a business deal, signed and sealed. ‘A glass of sherry, Mr Stringer, to celebrate?’
    ‘Why not?’ says Henry, who is also well pleased.

By Traitor, out of Misfortune
    IN THOSE EARLY months of the new century Brennan Scobie was often found down at the Bins end of Denniston. Officially he lived at Burnett’s Face, crammed into the tiny iron shed behind the Doherty family’s damp cottage, but more often than not he would fill an empty room — ‘as a favour, Mrs Hanratty?’ — at Hanrattys’ Guest House. His excuse was that his work surveying the new road kept him down at Denniston, but most people could see with their own eyes the real reason: Brennan was openly, hopelessly in love with Rose Rasmussen, who seemed at present — though you could never be sure with Rose — to be engaged to Michael Hanratty. And wouldn’t that be a good match for a young woman of doubtful parentage? Mind you, so would young Brennan Scobie. There was a worker for you! Steadier than Michael, and good prospects, with all his education. And the way he played the cornet!
    No doubt about it, Brennan’s return added a new spice to the consideration of ‘our Denniston Rose’, a topic of conversation that had always had good flavour from the very day she arrived, a tiny tot, riding the Incline with her witch of a mother, at night, in the middle of a storm. Totty Hanratty herself couldn’t decide whether she supported the Michael camp or the Brennan camp. Out of loyalty it would have to be Michael, of course, but Rose was so unpredictable! Tom certainly would have preferred the steadier Jenny Dodson, who had good skills in the kitchen and a sensible budgeting head, which Michael, dear, oh dear, was going to need if he succeeded to the family business. Not that Michael had shown much interest in Jenny’s direction — or only the once, and that not exactly a happy occasion. On balance, though, most people outside the Hanrattys considered that Michael and Rose were a good enough match, and looked forward to watching the fireworks that marriage would undoubtedly produce. Then Brennan returned with his dark good looks and