Easterleigh Hall Read Online Free PDF

Martin too. They’re so drunk they’ll end up in a ditch if they’re not careful. I’ll try and talk to him. I’m sorry, I should have thought but don’t fret, none at Easton will give you away after this, pet. It will be Evie Anston, and most of the staff are from away and those that aren’t I’ll warn off.’
    He was smiling, his blue eyes so kind, but Evie couldn’t think, not of anything. Not of the Hall, not her name, her mother’s maiden name, the hotel or anything any more. Jack had spat in her face, her beloved brother had not only spat in her face but had walked away from her, and she felt as though her heart was tearing apart inch by inch.

Chapter Three
    EVIE SAT IN the armchair all Saturday night. It was her mother’s turn to sleep in bed as there were no shifts and no pitmen coming in or going out at all hours, needing to be fed and bathed. Evie had not slept but had waited for Jack, who had not come, and now it was morning. She knew Simon and Martin would look after him and when Simon had to return to the Hall someone else would take on the role. It was what people did round here. But she wanted Jack. She wanted to talk to him before her father took her in the cart, an hour before midday. They were to have ham butties on the way as a special treat; ham her mother had boiled from the pig they had bred in the allotment. Then there would still be time for Da to turn the cart around and head to Fordington for sea-coal scavenging.
    It was the first time she would not be with them, feeling the cold wind beating against her, tearing at her skirt and lashing at her hessian apron which would be black by the time they turned for home. Would Jack go? She checked the time. Eight o’clock. Everyone was sleeping. Sunday mornings were like that, but even more so after Gala day.
    She brought in buckets of water from the communal tap, just missing Mrs Grant who was entering her backyard with a bucket in either hand. She crept up as silently as possible into the box room, changing into her best clothes. She made herself porridge and ate it. She went into the yard again, her shawl pulled around her. The trunk lent by Miss Manton was packed with her uniforms and her crisp white aprons as well as her hessian ones. She sat on the bench her father had made from driftwood and which he had set against the brick wall opposite the pigeon loft so he could hear and watch the loves of his life.
    The spring sun was full on her face and she didn’t care that it would darken her skin. The family rose, ate, busied themselves. No one came out to her. No one spoke of Jack. She sat alone, listening to the sounds of the street, watching the sparrows which fed on crumbs her mother put out every evening. ‘So the wee ones could have their breakfast,’ she would say. How long would it be until Evie was here again, really here, as part of her family? Could she ever resume her place if Jack hated her?
    After the slowest morning of her life the grandfather clock struck eleven. Her mother had packed bait tins for her and her da, who was picking up Old Saul, the Galloway pony that they shared with Alec Preston, Simon’s da. He would hitch up their shared cart at the allotment and return here. He would line the cart with sacking to try to keep the trunk free of sleck. She paced the yard but Jack still didn’t come.
    Her father came to the back door, a blanket over his arm to put on the cart seat to keep her skirt clean. ‘It’s time, hinny,’ he said. The sun was warm, the wind gentle. It should have been a lovely day.
    Timmie came into the yard, snatching off his cap and running to her. He hugged her so tightly that he squeezed the breath from her. She held him, and laughed. He was the image of Jack and her da right down to the black hair and the cock-bird bearing, whereas she was the dead spit of her mam with the same deep chestnut curls. Their eyes were all dark brown,