Still Waters Read Online Free PDF Page A

Thrower. In addition she preserved and bottled quantities of the fruit and vegetables raised by her husband and made jelly from the blackberries which grew in abundance around the Broad. Most of these delicacies she sold to a grocer in North Walsham, though the Delameres often enjoyed Thrower jams and bottled raspberries in wintertime, and Tess knew that the Hunts and the Sutcliffes bought her produce, too.
    ‘More spuds, gal Tess?’ Mrs Thrower’s voice broke in upon Tess’s reflections and Tess, blushing, realised that she had cleared her plate in record time.
    ‘No thanks, Mrs Thrower, that was delicious. Umm . . . if you don’t mind, I think I ought to get back, I expect Daddy’s up and . . .’
    ‘You’ll be wantin’ your brekker,’ Mr Thrower said, grinning at her. ‘What a gal you are for your grub, my woman! Well, if you can get outside another meal like that, I’ll tek my cap off to you!’
    That made them all laugh, because Mr Thrower never removed his flat cap, not in company, at any rate. Tess suspected that he wore it in bed, though she had never been cheeky enough to ask. Certainly, his face was burned red-brown by wind and weather and when he pushed his cap to the back of his head – as he did occasionally, when puzzled – his forehead was white as driven snow.
    ‘No, I couldn’t eat another thing, honestly,’ Tess said now, wriggling on her chair. She knew better than to get down until she was told she might do so, for the Throwers, though casual in many ways, believed that children should remain at the table until given leave to go. ‘Only Daddy doesn’t know where I am, and . . .’
    ‘Oh, go on with you; you can git down,’ Mrs Thrower said, seeing her dilemma. ‘Janet, you go along wi’ Tess, see if you can help. But be back here in half an hour, no later. The carrier’ll be along be then.’
    ‘Don’t forgit your bucket an’ flour bag, gal,’ shouted Ned as they scampered out of the back door. ‘Do you’ll never hey nothin’ to put your shrimps in.’
    Tess paused long enough to yell back, ‘They’re packed already, bor Ned!’ before Janet had squealed ‘Race you!’ and they had set off, skidding on the cinder path, then erupting into the lane and pelting along it until they reached the gate of the Old House.
    Peter Delamere was sitting at the kitchen table when they came in through the back door, placidly eating toast and reading a book propped against the marmalade jar. Tess thought he was the best-looking father any girl could have with his browny-gold hair and goldy-brown eyes and the neat golden moustache which tickled when he kissed her. She adored his chin, which had a deep cleft, and his neat ears and his beautifully kept hands with the golden hairs on the backs. He wasn’t as tall as Uncle Phil, but he was tall enough, and today he wore a brown-and-white checked shirt and brown corduroys, which meant he wasn’t going to go into the city to work, nor was he going to play golf. He would be at home, gardening, working in the house, having his dinner out on the daisy-studded lawn, picking an apple and sharing it with the blackbird which sometimes came right into the kitchen, it was so tame.
    Tess went round behind him, put her arms round his neck and squeezed, and Peter grunted, removed her arms, pulled her round and gave her a hug. Then he took another big bite out of his toast.
    ‘Wretched child,’ he said fondly. ‘What sort of an hour did you get up this morning? I hope you haven’t been making a nuisance of yourself down at the Throwers’. Oh, good morning, Janet.’
    ‘Marnin’,’ Janet said. ‘She in’t never a nuisance, Mr Delamere. Mum telled her to mek the tea an’ she did!’
    ‘Well done, Mrs Thrower,’ Peter said absently. ‘Now I suppose you’ll want some breakfast kids. Well, there’s toast and coffee . . .’
    ‘We’re had a fry-up down ours,’ Janet said briefly. ‘We come to fetch Tess’s truck an’ do her jobs, if she’ve