A Loving Family Read Online Free Page B

that she had wrapped in a piece of butter muslin. She did not think that Mrs Hawthorne would miss just one slice thinly smeared with butter and a little jam. She was just finishing off the last mouthful when she heard the rumble of cartwheels and the clip-clop of a horse’s hooves. She moved out of the way in case the mud thrown up splashed her one and only good frock, but to her surprise the man driving the trap drew it to a halt. He was dressed like a prosperous farmer in heavy tweeds and a billycock hat and his gingery mutton-chop whiskers gave him a benign, almost comical appearance. It was impossible to be afraid of a genial gentleman with a red nose and rosy cheeks who smiled at her with such warmth. ‘Where are you going, poppet?’ He glanced at the wicker basket containing the cake, and he grinned. ‘I know. You’re taking a present to your ma for Mothering Sunday.’
    Stella scrambled to her feet. ‘I am, sir.’
    â€˜And I’d say by the amount of mud on your boots that you’ve already walked a fair way.’
    â€˜From Havering, sir.’
    â€˜And where are you heading for, my dear?’
    The kindly twinkle in his eyes gave her confidence. ‘To Limehouse, sir. Broadway Wharf, where my mother lives.’
    â€˜That’s a long way for a child of your age to walk.’ His brow puckered into a thoughtful frown. ‘I have sons who are fairly close to you in age and I wouldn’t like to see them in a situation such as yours. I can take you as far as Stratford. Would that help?’
    Stella hesitated, and then she smiled. ‘My feet hurt, sir. I’d be very grateful.’
    He extended his hand. ‘Come along, then. There’s no time to waste as I’m going to see my own mother on this special day and I’d say she’s a great deal older than yours.’ He hoisted Stella onto the seat beside him and flicked the reins to encourage his horse into an ambling gait.
    By the time they reached Stratford railway station Stella had discovered that the gentleman’s name was Mr Hendy and he owned a farm near Navestock. She in turn had told him of her father’s death by drowning which had left his family to face poverty and near starvation. ‘If it hadn’t been for Mr Walters, the man who owns the house on Broadway Wharf, we would have been living on the streets,’ she said, sighing. ‘He was my pa’s friend and he let us keep the two rooms on the top floor after my gran died.’
    â€˜And you have been sending all your money home to help your poor mother.’ Mr Hendy cleared his throat and urged the horse to walk a little faster. ‘I’d say you are a very good daughter, Stella.’
    â€˜No, sir. I spent a half-crown on these boots in the dolly shop. I should have saved the money and given it to Ma. She needs it more than me. I get three meals a day at Portgone Place and a nice clean bed to sleep in at night. There ain’t no bedbugs in Sir Percy’s house.’
    She saw his lips twitch and she was annoyed. ‘Bedbugs is no laughing matter, Mr Hendy. My gran used to tell us how some of the corpses she had to lay out was running with the little buggers, and head lice too.’
    He threw back his head and laughed. ‘My word, Stella. You’ve brightened my day.’ He made an effort to be serious but his eyes were bright with amusement. ‘I’m not laughing at you, and I know that bugs of any sort are a dreadful pest.’
    â€˜They most certainly are, sir. I don’t suppose you’ve ever suffered that way.’
    â€˜No, but I can imagine what it must have been like for your poor grandmother, who doubtless was a worthy soul.’ He drew the horse to a halt outside the railway station. ‘Now, I have a suggestion to make, Stella. You must hear me out and allow me to help you.’
    â€˜I don’t understand, sir.’
    He put his hand in his pocket and pulled