Wildflower Girl by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page B

perfect match for the set of pearls around her neck.
    ‘Now, Peggy,’ said Mrs Madden, ‘I’ll take you downstairs to meet Mrs O’Connor the cook, and Kitty, but first of all say your goodbyes to Mrs Halligan.’ They all went into the hallway.
    Peggy shuffled a bit. She felt awkward and strange, and didn’t trust herself not to get upset.
    ‘Now, Peggy, don’t let me down. This time things will be fine.’
    Peggy nodded, struck dumb. She wanted to thank Mags Halligan, but she couldn’t get the words out. She stood looking up at the staircase as the women walked to the door and said farewell to each other.
    ‘Good luck, Peggy,’ called Mrs Halligan, as she turned and waved goodbye from the steps.
    The hallway was dark and cluttered with hat stands and all kinds of bric-a-brac. Standing there Peggy could see right up through the three upper stories of the house, to some kind of glass square which was hidden in the roof. The sun pushed its way through this, creating a pattern on the tiled floor. Peggy followed Mrs Madden down the stairs to the kitchen.
    She pushed in a green-painted door. Although it was a bright sunny day outside, very little sunlight managed to creep in through the kitchen’s small narrow windows.
    ‘This is young Peggy O’Driscoll, our new kitchen maid,’ announced Mrs Madden.
    The cook turned around.
    ‘Welcome, my dear, I’m Mrs O’Connor. I’m the cook and head of the kitchen. I’ll be the one who’ll train you in and show you what’s what. Kitty, will you come here a minute and leave what you’re at.’
    A girl who looked a little older than Peggy was peeling a large basin of potatoes. She wiped her hands and sauntered over.
    ‘Now, Kitty, will you show this lassie where your room is, as I’m too busy to be traipsing up to the top of the house. My feet are killing me anyway with this heat.’
    Nodding, Kitty turned and led the way through another green-painted door, across patterned tiles and up narrow wooden stairs. It was a steep four flights up and the other girl never once looked back or stopped to offer Peggy a hand. By the time they reached the bedroom, Peggy was out of breath and panting. The room was small but clean, with two narrow beds.
    ‘That’s mine,’ stated Kitty, pointing to the bed nearer the window. ‘Yours is the other one.’
    ‘That’s fine,’ agreed Peggy, touching the brass rail and feeling the cover. It was multicoloured, as if lots of odds and ends of material had been stitched and joined like bunches of autumn leaves gathered together. It looked old and well washed, but Peggy thought it was beautiful.
    ‘That’s American quilting,’ Kitty informed her. ‘Here, put your things in the bottom two drawers and there’s hooks on the wall for hanging things. Come on, we’d better get back down or Mrs O’Connor willeat us and there’s mounds to do before dinner time.’
    Back in the kitchen Kitty disappeared into the scullery. Mrs O’Connor was busy cutting meat into thin slices.
    ‘Here, girl, roll up your sleeves and give a hand with finishing the potatoes. Then you can get a start on preparing fruit for a summer tart.’
    Peggy stood there. No one had chatted to her or asked her where she came from. A flash of Eily working in the kitchen back home in Market Lane stabbed like a knife. She bit her lip and decided to concentrate on her work. In no time all the potatoes were peeled and shone palely in the bowl. Mrs O’Connor then plonked a large basket of strawberries, raspberries and plums down in front of her.
    ‘Now, sort through that lot – and no picking, my girl.’
    Peggy could feel tears well up in her eyes but she didn’t give in to them. She could hear Kitty banging pots and pans and singing to herself in the scullery. Mrs O’Connor was moving over and back between a large range and the pantry. Every so often she would go to the kitchen door and pull it backwards and forwards to send a breath of fresh air into the kitchen. It was a