Free Break of Dawn by Rita Bradshaw Page B

landmark, and you are his god-daughter, after all.’
    Sophy stared at Bridget in amazement. It was the first time she knew of this. ‘I am?’
    ‘Aye, you are. When you were a little babbie you were christened by your uncle, and Dr Lawrence and Mrs Lawrence were asked to be your godparents.’
    It was the biggest surprise of Sophy’s young life. Again she trailed a finger over the doctor’s present. ‘Did my mam ask them?’
    It was rare Sophy used the local idiom. Mary insisted she speak as she termed ‘properly’ and any lapses on Sophy’s part had resulted in a brutal use of the cane.
    ‘No, hinny.’ Bridget’s voice was soft. ‘I don’t think so.’
    Sophy nodded. ‘But she liked the doctor?’
    ‘Oh aye, he’s a grand man, the doctor, and he was the first one to see you when you were born. I think your mam would have been very pleased.’ Bridget’s voice was over-bright; the expression on the child’s face was paining her, and even Patrick had a lump in his throat at the transparent wonder lighting Sophy’s face. ‘Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got.’
    Sophy’s small hands hesitated over the doctor’s package, and then she reached for the brown-paper one. ‘This is from you all?’ she asked, her clear amber eyes flashing over their waiting faces. And at Bridget’s nod, ‘Then I’ll open this one first.’
    There was another round of hugs after she had opened their present, and then she carefully separated the edges of the thickembossed paper. It fell apart to reveal a swathe of pale pink tissue paper, and when she lifted out the lengths of ribbon – two white, two violet and two scarlet – Sophy and the two women drew in their breath in a long
oooh
of delight.
    ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’ Sophy lifted shining eyes to the others. ‘Feel them, Bridget. They’re like silk.’
    ‘They’re bonny.’ The look on Sophy’s face brought a feeling of recklessness and Bridget jumped up, coming behind the child as she said, ‘Let’s see what they look like in your hair, shall we?’ and she began to unplait the tight golden-red braid.
    ‘She won’t be able to wear ’em in front of the mistress.’ It was Patrick who spoke and his voice was cautionary. ‘You understand that, don’t you, hinny?’ he added to Sophy as Bridget finally loosened the waist-length hair which spilled over the child’s slender back in a mass of glowing waves.
    ‘’Course she does, she’s not daft.’ Bridget was combing out the thick, silken locks with her fingers. ‘But that don’t mean she can’t have a few minutes now, does it? It’s a cryin’ shame, keeping all this hidden day after day. Beautiful, your hair is, me bairn. Just like your mam’s.’
    Bridget reached for one of the violet ribbons but she never got to pick it up, a gasp from her mother causing her to spin round. And there, standing in the doorway, was Mary Hutton.
    Mary had suspected for some time that her orders concerning the child were not carried out to the letter. Bridget took too much on herself, she had been saying the same to Jeremiah for the last two or three years, but his response had been chary. The O’Learys did the work of double their number and he would be hard-pressed to get a gardener-cum-handyman, let alone a cook and maid, for what he paid each month, he had warned her. He didn’t want her preoccupation over Esther’s daughter spoiling things.
    But now she had her proof. She was well aware it was the child’s birthday and had timed her early morning visit to the kitchen to maximum effect. She walked slowly into the room and looked down at the child who was the bane of her existence, crouching into the maid for protection. ‘What are these?’ She flicked thepaper containing the ribbons with one finger, but with enough force to send them fluttering on to the stone slabs, the sight of the child’s hair increasing her fury. ‘You did this,’ she said to Bridget who had frozen at her entrance. ‘You