Free Forever Yours by Rita Bradshaw Page A

because he was very well-dressed and he wasn’t ugly, but there was something in his eyes . . .
    ‘You’re late leaving tonight,’ he said quietly, confirming her fear that he had been waiting for her. ‘Keeps you at it, does she, Miss Newton? Bit of a slave-driver?’
    ‘No. No, she’s not – not like that. She’s nice. She just—’ Constance stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that she’d been about to share her momentous news with Mr McKenzie, of all people.
    ‘Just what?’ His eyes narrowed as he stared into her face.
    She shrugged, and as she began walking she prayed desperately that he wouldn’t walk with her. He did.
    ‘Just what?’ he said again, but in a tone of voice she knew meant he was determined to get an answer.
    For the life of her Constance couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth. ‘Miss Newton thinks I could train to be an uncertified teacher.’ She kept her eyes on her boots as she walked. ‘It wouldn’t be for a while, of course.’
    ‘Uncertified teacher?’ The way he spoke, she could have said something immoral. ‘What’s she doing putting ideas like that in your head? You’re bonny, you don’t want to end up an old maid like Miss Newton. You’ll be after getting married and having a family before too long. Take no notice of her.’
    It wasn’t the response she’d expected. It didn’t occur to her to point out that she could follow the course Miss Newton had suggested and still get married. Instead she spoke out what was on her heart. ‘I shan’t ever get married,’ she said flatly.
    ‘A bonny lass like you? Don’t be silly.’
    She didn’t reply to this. She’d said too much as it was.
    After a moment, he said, ‘I knew your mother many years ago. She was beautiful too, just like you.’
    There was a funny little shake in his voice now and it unnerved her to the point that she felt like running away. And then she wished she had when she’d had the chance as he caught hold of her arm, forcing her to stop and face him through the whirling snow. ‘Have you got a lad, Constance?’ he asked softly.
    She blinked away a snowflake which had landed on her eyelashes. She didn’t like him touching her, and something of this was reflected in her voice when she said, ‘Of course not, I’m only thirteen years old. No one has a lad at thirteen.’
    ‘You look older than that. You look like your mother did when she was sixteen, seventeen even.’
    His eyes were covering her face and she wanted to pull herself free, to fight him if necessary, but she told herself she was being silly. He had only talked to her, after all. And she mustn’t forget he was the master weighman. He could make things impossible for her granda if she offended him. If even half the stories about him were true, it was enough for her to know his power was absolute. Looking down at her boots again, she muttered, ‘Well, I’m thirteen and my grandma wouldn’t hear of me having a lad for a long time, but I don’t want one anyway so it doesn’t matter.’
    He was silent for a moment, then his voice came slowly, almost thoughtfully, but with a harder note in it than he’d used thus far. ‘And is this decision anything to do with Matthew Heath getting betrothed to the Johnson wench at the weekend?’
    Taken aback, her eyes shot to his face. He couldn’t know, no one knew. So surprised was she, the truth was written all over her countenance.
    ‘I saw you with him that day at the pit gates.You’ve allowed him liberties, is that it? And he’s let you down?’
    ‘No.’ She was still so shocked by him guessing how she felt about Matt that her voice carried no weight.
    ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ His hands had tightened on her arms to the point he was really hurting her. ‘Damn it.’ His face had darkened; now he was growling the words at her. ‘Like mother, like daughter.’ He shook her and she had to clutch at him or lose her footing on the icy ground. ‘What did you let him do? Has he