Girl of Shadows by Deborah Challinor Page B

Matilda having to say a single word more.
    ‘Who?’ Friday demanded.
    ‘That young lass Rachel. Standing by winder where she used to wait, watching them bats go by.’ A fly landed on Matilda’s nostril; she didn’t seem to notice.
    Janie, seeing the look on Harrie’s face, took Charlotte from her and said, ‘You’re mad, Matilda. Rachel’s gone, remember?’
    Matilda shook her head vehemently; the fly hung on. ‘I got up to use bucket and there she were, plain as day.’
    ‘You must have been dreaming,’ Friday said, and turned to Harrie. ‘Like you have, eh?’
    Harrie nodded, but she knew Matilda hadn’t been dreaming.
    ‘James?’ Lawrence Chandler called out as James passed his office door. ‘Do you have a minute? I’d like a word.’
    James, bag in hand, was about to leave for the night but he did have a minute, several in fact: no one was waiting for him at home and all he had to look forward to were two pork chops he would more than likely carbonise over his fire.
    ‘Sit down,’ Lawrence said, indicating the chair beside his desk.
    James sat, his bag on the floor at his feet, hat balanced on top.
    ‘Whisky?’ Lawrence offered.
    ‘Just a small one, thank you.’
    Lawrence poured two drinks from the cut-crystal decanter on his desk. ‘I had a patient in here today, someone I’ve known in a professional capacity for some years. A very kind-hearted woman.’
    James nodded politely.
    ‘She currently has working for her a girl who, for medical reasons, is no longer able to continue in her present capacity and is therefore looking for more suitable employment. Apart from this one particular matter concerning her health, which is not generally limiting, she is a fit young woman.’ Lawrence pulled at his greying beard as if deep in thought. ‘How are you getting on at home, James?’
    ‘At home?’
    ‘Yes. With your meals and housework and what have you?’
    James suspected he knew where this was heading. ‘I believe I’m managing.’
    ‘Are you? Is that why you’ve come to work in the same coat with egg on its sleeve every day this week?’
    James grasped his sleeve and twisted it; there was indeed egg on it — quite old egg.
    ‘I really do think it’s time you got someone in to look after you,’ Lawrence said. ‘No, don’t start on about wagging tongues. Virtually every bachelor with means in this town has a domestic servant of some sort.’
    ‘Yes, and they’re all gossiped about,’ James protested. On the rare occasions he attended social events it seemed that gossiping was all people damned well did.
    ‘Are they? I don’t listen to gossip myself. If that really is what’s troubling you, James, I think you’re probably fairly safe. There are far more interesting people than you in this town to talk about.’Lawrence took a sip of his whisky. ‘It has also occurred to me that something else may be bothering you. I realise you’re still in mourning for a wife whom I do understand was deeply beloved to you, and forgive me for being blunt, James, but could it be that you’re allowing your memory of her to prevent you from having a female servant in your house? And, in effect, dictate that you must eat appallingly prepared meals and go about looking like some grubby alms-hunter, for that matter? You need nourishing food, and at the very least clean clothes.’
    James rubbed at the dried smear of egg on his arm.
    ‘Am I correct in understanding your period of full mourning has come to an end? Yes? Will you be going on to half-mourning?’
    James had thought about it, but had decided a year had been long enough. To be honest he felt an absolute hypocrite chasing Harrie Clarke around the streets dressed head to toe in widower’s weeds.
    ‘No, I think not.’
    ‘Good man. Then I can see no excuse for you to continue to deny yourself, and it sounds to me as though Elizabeth has just the girl you need.’
    An unpleasant suspicion stole over James. ‘Elizabeth who?’
    ‘Elizabeth