Free Angels at War by Freda Lightfoot Page B

upon her by her loving mother. Rarely a day went by when she didn’t think of her, wondering if the pain of loss would ever go away.
    But if her father had left his wife and married her lovely mother, they would have enjoyed a life of luxury instead of penury. Poor Florrie might never have got consumption if she’d had a decent place to live instead of having to work all hours on a loom in mucky old Fellside. And she’d still be alive today.
    It was hard not to feel bitter towards thattyrant and his spoilt daughters. Mercy couldn’t help nurturing a resentment against Ella for her apparent good fortune. She was one of the rich Angels girls and had never wanted for anything. Now she was sucking up to George, ready to steal him too. By way of retaliation, Mercy reverted to her favourite sport of making life as difficult as possible for this half-sister of hers.
    ‘Didn’t you bring in the washing when I asked you to, Mercy?’
    ‘Sorry, I forgot,’ Mercy muttered, turning her face away to hide her smile.
    ‘Now it’s raining and we’ll have to drape them all over the kitchen to get them dry.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ Mercy said, not in the least concerned.
    ‘Jump to it, before the heavens really open.’
    Mercy sidled out into the yard, scuffing her feet as she walked and slowly began to unpeg the sheets from the line.
    Next she got a telling off for being late for milking, then for wasting time plaiting straw into a dolly for Tilda when she should have been mixing the feed for the calves.
    It made her laugh to see how furious these small rebellions made Ella, and in the days following Mercy found it highly amusing to see her half-sister getting into a lather over something as daft as not stoking the boiler, or scalding thebutter dishes. And as often as possible Mercy would escape work altogether. She’d snatch a little nap in the sun, paddle in the river, or simply hide from Ella’s scolding. What a bossy madam she was turning into. What right did she have to tell her what to do?
    Part of Mercy’s plan was to somehow make George jealous, which might serve to curb the attentions he paid to Ella. She’d tried flirting with Amos before, and now did so again. She worked really hard at it, fluttering her lashes, encouraging him to talk about cows and sheep, his favourite topics of conversation. She tried everything she could think of but in the end gave up, knowing she was wasting her time. Amos Todd was a devoted husband with eyes only for his wife, which made Mercy hate Ella all the more.
     
    Ella had long since grown tired of Mercy’s obstinacy, her sulks and complaints and refusal to work. How she missed old Mrs Rackett. Difficult and awkward as the old woman had been at times, and most unwelcoming when Ella had first arrived in the dale, in the end she’d taught Ella all she knew about running a farmhouse and a dairy. But she’d gone down with pneumonia last winter and now lay in St Cuthbert’s churchyard, and as there was a great deal of work to be done on afarm, Mercy must be made to do her bit. Oh, but how Ella hated to nag. Why couldn’t the girl just get on with the job and do it without any fuss?
    ‘How many times have I asked you to peel those potatoes?’ Ella snapped one morning, finally losing her temper. ‘The men will be in for their dinners soon and it’s not going to be ready.’
    ‘Do it yourself then if you’re not satisfied.’ Mercy flounced out of the kitchen and marched away across the farmyard towards the meadow. This time Ella had no intention of allowing her to get away with it, and ran after her.
    ‘Get back in here this minute, madam. It’s time you learnt to do as you’re told.’
    Mercy turned to face her, hands on hips. ‘And who’s going to make me? You? That’s a laugh.’
    ‘You’re paid to do a job, and I mean to see that you do it. You can stop this perpetual sulking and start earning the good wages we pay you.’
    ‘Good wages my foot. You pay us peanuts.’
    ‘We