Before I could react she was holding my hand in hers. She used the index finger of her other hand to trace lines parallel to the scratches, stopping to poke at my arm around the welts. Such a simple touch, but it was driving me nuts! "Those look angry," she declared, "we better do something about them."Uh uh! I was not about to let Anne go into nurse-mode. "Oh, that's nothing, really, it's okay, they don't even hurt. Little soap and water maybe, paper towel or something to blot them with. Hey, what about that tea anyway." Oh yea," she brightened.Excellent diversionary tactic!I followed Anne into the kitchen. It was a tiny, narrow space. There was barely room for us both to fit, me at the sink and her the counter opposite. Knowing Anne I should have guessed that the tea was a complicated business. The process involved tea-balls and loose leaf, an exact steeping time, then a pinch of another type of tea. A little lemon did not involve a quick squirt from that magic plastic one.The. I would tidy the bedrooms and dust and sweep after which I would prepare our midday meal.I was of eighteen years in eighteen seventy-two and young gentlemen would come calling, as I was supposedly a handsome girl. My father would turn them away, telling me that none of them were fit to court me. "Farmers boys, clerks and counter staff are not fit for you, Adelaide." Indeed it seemed that in his judgement there was no young gentleman in Braintree that would suit. In my occasional bitter moments I could even believe that my father rejected suitors in order to keep me as his cook and housekeeper. I would scold myself later for such an unworthy thought. The event that upset our pleasant but unexciting world came when I was but one and twenty years.Upton Lodge was a rather impressive house just a mile south of Braintree. We were all agog when news came that the Lodge, which had been uninhabited for a couple of years had been sold. The rumours had the purchaser was a rich industrialist,.
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