Free Without a Mother's Love by Catherine King Page A

company.’
    ‘She could read his news-sheets for him. His eyes are ageing and I think he might welcome that.’
    Harriet pondered the idea. If he agreed, the master might appreciate what a bright and gracious girl his great-niece was, rather than think of her as a tiresome child to be tolerated at best. Her only misgiving was that she would have to supervise Olivia, and Harriet preferred to avoid the master. But, then, so did her charge.
    ‘This injury has taken its toll on your master’s health. He needs to change his ways.’ The apothecary had finished his toddy and stood up.
    Harriet walked into the yard with him. He was not much younger than the master and used the mounting stone to climb onto his horse, then walked the animal carefully towards the hardened, rutted track. They were into December now and it would soon be dusk. A light covering of snow had dusted the hills and frozen puddles crackled underfoot. She pulled her woollen shawl close about her shoulders and went to the coal-house to collect another bucketful for the master’s bedchamber. They were well overdue the next cartload.
    He was sitting at his desk in the window, wrapped in a heavy gentleman’s dressing robe with his Oriental slippers on his feet. The documents spread in front of him looked formal and legal to Harriet.
    ‘Sir?’ she ventured.
    ‘What is it?’ He sounded tetchy and she hesitated.
    ‘Mr Harvey has suggested that Olivia read you the news-sheets. ’
    He growled, and began to shuffle and bundle the thick paper. Then he pushed it into a drawer, which he locked, and slid the key into his pocket. He placed a hand over his eyes and said, ‘Bring me the brandy.’
    ‘The news-sheets, sir?’
    ‘I said bring me the brandy.’
    ‘Very well, sir.’
    Harriet returned promptly with Olivia, who was clutching a recent news-sheet, and a small bottle of rum with a glass on a tray that she placed on the desk.
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Rum, sir.’
    ‘I told you to fetch brandy,’ he shouted.
    She jumped. ‘Mrs Cookson says there is none left.’
    ‘I don’t want that West Indies poison.’ He swept his arm across the desk and knocked the tray to the floor. The heavy glass bounced on the wooden boards but the cork was drawn on the rum and the dark liquid flowed out. ‘And get that child out of my sight.’
    Harriet glanced at Olivia, who moved closer to her side. ‘The carter has not delivered, sir. Not since the - since you were injured. We are low on flour and sugar, too.’
    ‘I don’t care about your damned flour! Where is my brandy?’
    She swallowed. ‘The carter told Mrs Cookson that none of the merchants in town will deliver until your accounts are settled.’
    ‘Damn them! Damn them all to hell! And damn that child, too.’
    He staggered to his feet, wincing. Olivia stepped backwards and stumbled against the bed. Harriet did not know why the child was the target for so much of his venom, but she guessed it was to do with the documents he had been studying. Perhaps his responsibility to her had not been bequeathed with the means to pay for it.
    She moved forward and placed herself between him and her charge. ‘It is not the child’s fault, sir. If you will not take the rum, will you have one of Mr Harvey’s draughts? I believe there is a dose or two left.’ She held her breath, heard the news-sheet crumple and felt Olivia grasp the back of her skirt.
    ‘The laudanum? If there is no brandy it will have to do. Then get the child out of my chamber and tell Matthew to send for my lawyer. I will have money from somewhere. I will.’ He sat down heavily on a chair.
    Harriet gestured with her head to Olivia, who hurried for the door. Then she mixed his sleeping draught quickly and handed it to him. So much for Mr Harvey’s recommendations, she thought.The master became angry at the least provocation, these days. She had tried his suggestion but was thankful he did not wish Olivia to read to him. Any item of news might set