Free Sons and Daughters by Margaret Dickinson

camera.’
    ‘What does she paint?’
    ‘Scenery mostly, I reckon. The fields, the marsh, the farmhouse – but I caught her one day in the stable yard doing a lovely sketch of one of the shires. I’d love to know if she ever did a proper painting.’ He sighed. ‘It’s another little secret she’s got. I asked Mary about it once and you should have seen her face.’
    ‘Why? What d’you mean?’
    ‘Frightened to death, she was, that I was going to let the cat out of the bag.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    Joe sighed. ‘Evidently, the old man doesn’t approve. Ses Charlotte’s wasting her time. A woman will never become a famous painter. So, the lass has to keep her drawing books and paints in her bedroom.’
    Peggy shook her head slowly. ‘That man’s not right in the head, if you ask me. Fancy denying the poor girl a bit of pleasure. I don’t expect she even thinks about being famous. She just does it as a hobby. Like I do me knitting.’
    ‘True, but your hobby keeps us warm in winter with all the lovely jumpers you knit. I suppose he thinks painting pretty pictures doesn’t produce anything useful.’
    Peggy glanced around the rather bare walls of their cottage. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind one of her pretty pictures on my wall if she’s as good as you say she is, and that’s a fact.’
    ‘She’s good all right,’ Joe said firmly. ‘Just a pity her father doesn’t appreciate her a bit more. And not just for her painting, either.’

 
Ten
     
    The return invitation to dine at the manor came towards the end of May. And this time, because Miles had insisted on Charlotte being present, Osbert could not avoid taking her.
    Charlotte had no choice of fine gowns to wear. Her one good dress – a deep purple, plain, shapeless garment that reached to her ankles and had not a scrap of likeness to the fashionable shorter skirts that were all the rage of the mid-twenties – would have to suffice. She scraped her shining black hair back from her face and plaited it, coiling it up into the nape of her neck. She did not possess even one item of jewellery to brighten the drab garment and what she thought of as her one good feature was masked by her round, steel-framed spectacles. No wonder, she thought as she regarded herself solemnly in the mirror, her father didn’t want to take her anywhere. She was a sad disappointment, as he never tired of telling her. Not only was she not the son he so obviously desired, but she was also plain and had inherited none of her mother’s beauty. With a sigh, she left her room and went down the stairs to find him waiting impatiently in the hall.
    ‘I don’t know why it takes you so long to get ready,’ he grumbled. ‘However long you spend in front of the mirror you’re not going to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Come on, we don’t want to be late. It’s impolite. And I don’t want to offend the Thorntons.’
    Charlotte handled the reins of the pony and trap, whilst her father clung on to the sides.
    ‘Not so fast, girl. Are you trying to have me thrown out?’
    Charlotte pulled the horse to a slower speed as they entered the gates of the manor and trotted up the drive. Coming to a halt outside the front door, Osbert clambered down.
    ‘Take it round to the stables,’ he ordered. ‘You can come in the back way.’
    Grousing under his breath, he mounted the steps up to the front door and rang the bell. As Charlotte manoeuvred the vehicle round the side of the house to the stable yard, Miles Thornton’s manservant, Wilkins, opened the door.
    As Osbert stepped inside, Georgie ran towards him across the wide hallway. ‘Good evening, Mr Crawford,’ the boy began, smiling a welcome. Then his face fell. ‘Where’s Miss Charlotte? Hasn’t she come?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ the older man said irritably. ‘She’s taken the pony and trap round to the stables.’
    Georgie beamed once more. ‘That’s all right, then. I’ll go and meet her.’ He skipped towards the