Free The Blood List by Sarah Naughton Page B

glance.
    ‘Only very rarely am I a bad judge of character,’ she went on, briefly catching her husband’s eye, ‘and in this case, after speaking to the girl’s family, I believe
her to have been the victim of an injustice.’
    ‘Yes, well, my dear, it’s hardly surprising that Farmer Waters stood up for his daughter now, is it?’
    Farmer Waters . . .
Barnaby mused.
    ‘Why else would they have dismissed her?’ Juliet said. ‘If she didn’t steal, she must have been incompetent or lazy.’
    Farmer Waters’ daughter . . .
    Oh no.
    ‘That may be true, Juliet, but that wasn’t the reason she was dismissed. Naomi told me herself – and was clearly mortified to do so – that John Slabber had made
inappropriate advances toward her on several occasions. When she asked him to stop he struck her and when she went to his wife he accused her of stealing a side of beef. Few will believe her over
the Slabbers, so if we do not give her a second chance the girl’s prospects will be ruined.’
    Brilliant. Just brilliant. Of all the nice, friendly girls in the village his mother had to go and choose a stuffy, pompous, humourless little . . .
    ‘Well, I for one think you did the right thing, Mother,’ Abel announced. ‘It does not surprise me in the least that our thug of a butcher would behave in such a way.’
    Barnaby spluttered into his porridge. Abel only hated John Slabber because the man had mercilessly ribbed him ever since he had burst into tears at the sight of a sheep’s brain lying on
the counter when they were boys.
    Abel ignored him. ‘I look forward to meeting such a righteous soul.’
    ‘I don’t,’ Henry muttered, and Barnaby smirked. He looked up to share the smirk with Juliet but Juliet was in no mood for humour.
    ‘And may I enquire which jobs will be given to this new maid?’
    Frances turned around and smiled up at her. ‘Whatever you think yourself, Juliet,’ she said. ‘You know our family better than anyone. Naomi will work to you and do exactly what
you say.’
    ‘Hmf,’ Juliet said, and went out to the kitchen.
    Naomi Waters arrived the very same afternoon, with her wild curls tucked inside a starched bonnet. Barnaby kept out of her way, in case she thought he was looking at her
inappropriately. But by the afternoon he was thirsty and went in search of Juliet. A glass of beer would be nice, and perhaps a slice of pork pie.
    But Juliet wasn’t there. Naomi was in the kitchen kneading dough.
    ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Miss Waters, may I trouble you for a beer and a slice of pie when you’re ready?’
    ‘Certainly,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the dough.
    He went back to his room and waited.
    After a while he began idly kicking the iron studs in the floorboards. The thuds would surely carry downstairs and remind her what she was supposed to be doing.
    But they didn’t.
    He went back downstairs. The bread dough was sitting in the sun on the windowsill beneath a cloth and Naomi had moved on to boning a chicken.
    ‘That beer, please, Naomi, when you’re ready,’ he said, a little sharply.
    ‘I won’t be ready for a while,’ she said, again without glancing at him. ‘Would you mind getting it yourself?’
    He stared at her.
    She looked up at him. ‘Juliet has instructed me to start preparing tonight’s meal and if I don’t get the chicken on to roast then it will not be done in time.’
    ‘Um,’ he said, ‘um, Juliet would normally just, er, do the drink, and then get on with the er . . .’
    ‘Oh,’ Naomi said, wiping her brow. ‘Well, she’s in the yard if you want to ask her to do it.’
    He swallowed hard and went back to his room.
    A rhythmic thudding sound came from somewhere in the distance, as if someone was lopping branches in the forest. The afternoon sunlight was shining on the tacks in the floor, throwing discs of
light onto the ceiling. He watched them lazily until they began to creep across the plaster. His eyelids were leaden. He closed them, just for