The Workhouse Girl Read Online Free PDF

you must’ve spent the night in the knife box,’ Nettie said, sticking out her chin as if spoiling for a fight.
    Sarah tugged at her sleeve. ‘She didn’t mean nothing by it. Don’t start a ruckus here.’
    â€˜Better watch your tongue, Ginger,’ Dorcas said crossly. ‘Take the little ’un’s advice and mind your manners, especially in front of Cook. She’ll take a ladle to your backside if you cheek her.’
    Nettie tossed her head. ‘I’ve had worse from the Tickler, and don’t call me Ginger. Me name’s Nettie Bean, and this here is Sarah Scrase.’
    Dorcas sniffed and turned away.
    â€˜Please be nice,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Don’t get us thrown out of this lovely house. I never seen anything like it afore.’ She hurried after Dorcas, her small feet pitter-pattering on the polished oak floorboards. She wished that she could walk more slowly so that she could absorb every last detail of the richly patterned emerald-green wallpaper, the gilt-framed paintings of rather sombre pastoral scenes, and the brass candle sconces with expensive candles waiting to be lit at dusk. Mr Arbuthnot must be very rich to afford such a luxury, she thought, resisting the urge to run her finger down the velvet-smooth wax. At the workhouse they had used the much cheaper ones made from tallow, and when they lived in Vinegar Street Ma had soaked scraps of rag in tallow oil, which had given very little light and had filled their old lodgings with the smell of rancid mutton fat. ‘This is a lovely house,’ she whispered to Nettie. ‘Mr Arbuthnot must be very wealthy.’
    Dorcas glanced over her shoulder with a superior smile. ‘The master’s got the biggest and best sugar house in these parts. Come along, don’t dawdle.’ She led them down a narrow staircase to the basement kitchen.
    The appetising aroma of roasting meat and fried onions made Sarah’s stomach growl with hunger. She had eaten nothing but bread, gruel and thin vegetable soup for the past year and her diet in Vinegar Yard had been little better. Nettie licked her lips and sniffed the air like a ravenous hound.
    â€˜Well, now. What have we here?’ A comely woman in her middle years stopped rolling out pastry to give them a steady look.
    â€˜These two are the master’s latest charity cases, Mrs Burgess.’ Dorcas propelled them forward with a gentle push. ‘This one is Nettie Bean and the little ’un is Sarah something-or-other.’
    â€˜No,’ Sarah said, alarmed at the prospect of being given yet another nickname. ‘That’s not me name, ma’am. I’m Sarah Scrase and I’m very hungry.’
    â€˜You may call me Cook,’ Mrs Burgess said, beaming. ‘I can see from your clothes that you’ve been rescued from one of those dreadful places, and you both look half-starved. Sit down and I’ll find you something nice to eat.’
    Sarah had to pinch herself to make certain she was not dreaming. She had almost forgotten that there were kind and generous people in the world other than her beloved Miss Parfitt. The only regret she had when leaving the workhouse was that she would never see her guardian angel again.
    Nettie dug her in the ribs. ‘Do as she says, or she’ll think you’re simple-minded or something.’
    Dorcas snatched her bonnet and shawl from a wall peg. ‘I’ve got to run an errand for the missis, Cook. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
    â€˜All right, but don’t stop to flirt with any of those big, good-looking German lads from the sugar house.’
    Sarah glanced anxiously at Cook and was relieved to see her smiling, despite her stern warning, and Dorcas did not seem to be the least bit put out.
    â€˜I’ve got a gentleman friend, Cook, and well you know it. My Wally would take it very much amiss if I was to flirt with the sugar bakers, even if some of them are