Kitty Little by Freda Lightfoot Read Free Book Online Page A

refilled her glass to the brim, adding barely a dash of vermouth.
    ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that, Ma.’
    Clara’s patience snapped. ‘Don’t Ma me, and don’t you look so po-faced. I’ve few enough pleasures, fer God’s sake. Nor can I ‘ang around waiting till it takes yer fancy to wed. Bills have to be settled, debts paid. Frank’s eager to bring the wedding forward and so will you be, like it or not. In return he’ll settle every bleedin’ one. So don’t you turn stubborn on me, girl. You’ll be wed within the month or we’re both on skid row.’

 
    Chapter Four
    It was a Sunday, and the evening before her birthday. Esme asked if they might postpone a further instalment of Swiss Family Robinson , as she’d a letter to write.
    Andrew Bield glanced up from his paper and frowned. ‘To whom, might I ask? Not a boy friend, I trust?’  
    Esme felt a spurt of self-righteous anger for having laid herself open to interrogation. ‘How could it be since I never go anywhere to meet a boy?’
    Esme saw how his expression turned from disapproval to one of sad disappointment, as if she had let him down in some way. ‘I am only showing natural concern for you my dear, a young girl of such tender years. Time enough for all of that nonsense later.’ He waited, one brow raised in interested enquiry, thin lips curving into a conciliatory smile. ‘Well?’
    Guilt had dampened her moment of rebellion, as it always did. ‘It’s only to Archie. He’s written to Mrs Phillips, his housekeeper, from some boarding house he’s staying in, in Ealing. I thought I’d like to write to him.’
    Andrew Bield’s smile broadened. ‘Then for Archie’s sake I am happy to postpone our reading for tonight. ‘I’m sure he will be grateful to correspond with an old friend who remembers his dear parents.’
    For a second the defiance rekindled. ‘I’m writing as much for my sake, as his. I’d like him to write back.’
    ‘You’re a dear child with a charitable heart.’ He reached over to pat her cheek and Esme flinched instinctively away before she could prevent herself. Andrew gazed down upon his daughter with a puzzled, slightly hurt expression in his pale eyes. ‘I see you are tired. I shall take a late stroll by the lake into town. I may call upon poor Mrs Riley as she’s been most unwell lately.’
    ‘Netta Riley? At this time of night? But Father, she lives in Tapworth Street, one of the worst streets in the Cobbles.’
    ‘We live where we must. Judge not lest ye too be judged. She is entitled to succour in her sickness, the same as any other.’
    ‘Of course.’ Esme hung her head with shame. Her father was so utterly selfless, he’d risk catching some dread disease rather than fail to do his duty by one of his parishioners, while all she could think of was some selfish need for an independence she probably didn’t deserve.
    He patted her head, tenderly tidying a few loose strands that had escaped the tightly wound plait. Esme did not move a muscle. ‘You may leave my cocoa ready prepared but don’t wait up for me. I may be some time. And don’t spend too long on your letter, my dear. You need your rest.’
    ‘Very well, Father.’
    When he had gone, a peaceful silence folded in upon her and Esme closed her eyes in relief. Then on a burst of rebellion she unwound the neat plait and pulled it apart, shaking out the curling strands of fair hair and combing her fingers through in a moment of sheer ecstasy at being free to please herself, at last.
    Father was a kind, sweet man, she had to admit, even though the grief over the early death of his beloved Mary had increased his tendency to vagueness over the years. Was it any wonder that his parishioners loved him, particularly the ladies. But then he always put the needs of others before his own.
      True, it was beginning to worry her that his habit of confusing her name with her mother’s had become more frequent of late, but really the fault must be entirely