Virginia Henley Read Online Free Page B

married in a few weeks. It would be most improper.”
    “I see. Well, never mind; I have some dress bills that are outrageous.”
    “You always do, to say nothing of the ones you run up at the jewelers.”
    She knew he was tiring of her; there was nothing she could do about it.

Chapter 3
    When the immigrants disembarked at the Liverpool docks they were a sorry sight. The women clutched pathetic children and the men carried their meager belongings with an air of dogged resignation. Their faces were blank with tired hunger, but in every breast was the hope that things would at last get better. They were herded like sheep onto wagons, which O’Reilly had hired especially for their transportation to Bolton. Kitty stared about her, taking in every detail of the new country she had come to. It wasn’t anything like she had imagined. She had pictured big houses, beautifully dressed ladies in carriages, magnificent shops, and wealthy men with dozens of servants. Instead she saw a dark, damp country where the predominating color seemed to be black. With each successive town they passed through, the atmosphere seemed to get bleaker. The houses were little and poor, row after row of them. The people were clad in black clogs and shawls, their faces grim, their bodies small and stunted. The buildings were black, the factories were black and there was black smoke everywhere. Gone were the beautiful green fields of Ireland.
    In her scarlet skirt and shawl, Kitty stood out as the Gypsy she was. Her grandfather saw the look of dismay upon her face and asked kindly, “What’s the matter, my little wench?”
    “Everything is so dirty and so—so drab.”
    “Never mind, lass. Where there’s muck there’s money.”
    “Oh, Grandada, you have a saying for everything. But where are the big houses and the foine carriages?”
    “Ah, now, you’ll be meaning London. This is Lancashire, where all the manufacturing goes on. I expect this is where all the money is made and the people go to London to spend it.”
    Terry squeezed Kitty’s hand. “Never mind, we won’t be staying in dirty little streets like these. We’ll be living at the squire’s and he’s bound to have a grand place.”
    Kitty said, “I feel so sorry for everybody. How will they get used to factory work?” Swaddy patted her hand and said, “Ye get used to hanging if ye hang long enough.”
    It was late that night before everyone was settled with the Irish families who lived on “Spake Hazy.” Swaddy and his two grandchildren were left at his niece’s house. Ada Blakely, a little woman aged beyond her years, made them welcome with hot tea and potato pie. Her husband, Jack, was not in evidence, and she explained that he always spent his evenings at the Dog … Kennel, a pub at the top of the street. She had five children, ranging from a girl of twelve to a new baby. All were in bed save the oldest girl, Doris, who couldn’t take her eyes off the beautiful brother and sister who had been billeted on them.
    “These little houses only have two up and two down. I don’t know wherever you are going to sleep,” Ada said, wringing her hands helplessly.
    Kitty spoke up, “Terry and I can sleep down here, it will only be for tonight. Tomorrow, Squire O’Reilly is sending his carriage for us. We are to work at his house. Grandada is too old to go into the mill, but he will be a great help to you, I know. He’s very good with children; he brought Terrance and me up from little babies.”
    “Maybe I could let you look after the little ’uns and I could get set on at the mill,” Ada said hopefully to the old man.
    After everyone had gone to bed, Terry lay down on the horsehair sofa, and Kitty sat curled before the fire reading her book, the only possession she had brought with her except for the family tarot cards. She read:
    Never scratch your head, pick your teeth, clean your nails, or worse than all, pick your nose in company. Spit as little as possible, and never