The door opened and Hilda Ferris squinted at her visitor. “Aye?”

“Mrs. Ferris. I was wondering if I could have a word?”

“Whorra about?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“May I come in?”

The Ferris woman opened the door wider, allowing Grace to enter. The stench of unwashed bodies in the closeness of the small room nearly knocked Grace off her feet. She quelled the need to put her handkerchief to her nose. Numerous pairs of eyes stared at her from different positions around the hearth. Dirty faces and ragged clothes adorned thin limbs of children of indiscernible ages. Opening the bag she brought, Grace showed the children the oranges within. With a smile, she gave the bag to the child closest and turned her attention to Mrs. Ferris. “I’ve come about your two eldest daughters.”

“Oh? They done summick?”

“No, nothing, I assure you.” Grace quickly appeased her. “I would like them to come work in the kitchen at Woodruff House. Only, I cannot pay them a wage, but they will have food, clothing, shoes and board. Also, I will send you a basket of food each week.”

Mrs. Ferris scowled. “No money?”

“No, sorry.”

A child sidled up with orange juice slicing dirty streaks down his chin. “Can I have the bed ter meself then, Ma?”

The child received a clip behind the ear for his troubles. “No, yer bloody can’t! Now, go git Alma an’ Minnie.”

Presently, the two girls came in grumbling about cold fingers and frozen toes from collecting water from the well down the lane. Their mother quickly told them the news of their employment. Astonished, both girls looked at Grace with wide eyes glowing from pale faces.

“You will be treated well,” Grace told them, hoping they would not become hysterical in denial. With relief, she saw the girls smile and turn to each other in excitement, before quickly dashing off to gather what few possessions they had.

Grace stepped outside and appreciatively breathed in. The crisp fresh air was like nectar to bees, intoxicating. The three women opposite looked at her and she smiled. Allowing the girls to say goodbye to their family, she went up to the old dogcart and replaced the empty bag under the seat. The ride home would be tight, for the dogcart really only held two people, but the girls were slight and she was sure they would fit.

After a final wave, the girls ran up the lane and stood behind the cart waiting, for Grace to move on.

“Oh no, girls. You shan’t walk behind. Come and sit here beside me. There’s room.”

Giggling, the girls scrambled onto the seat, and with a little squeal as the horse lurched forward, they turned to wave goodbye to the pit rows.

Once they had negotiated the track up onto the flat fields, Grace relaxed and turned to the sisters. “So, how old are you both, and who’s who?”

“I’m Alma, and I’m fifteen.” The girl at the end of the seat spoke up first.

“And I’m Minnie. I was fourteen last week,” the other added shyly.

“Well, I hope you both enjoy being at Woodruff House.”

“Oh, we will, Miss Woodruff. Anything is better than home.” Alma nodded wisely. “Or working on the slag heaps.”

Grace hid a grin. She relaxed and gently flapped the reins. A sudden wrench, and a loud crack sent the dogcart sideways. They screamed as one side of the cart hit the ground with a teeth-shattering thump. Grace found the breath knocked from her as both girls landed on her. One wheel rolled some feet away and came to rest on the grass. Frightened, the horse shied and tried to bolt, dragging the broken cart along the track. The girls screamed again and hung onto the seat. The hard, wet ground brushed Grace’s cheek as they were hauled along. One-handed, Grace pulled on the reins to steady the horse, while she also tried to hang on. Gradually, they jolted to a stop wedged in a muddy ditch by the side of the road.

As their senses cleared, they heard shouting and running behind them. Gingerly, Grace glanced back, trying not to move in case the horse bolted again. A man ran towards them.

The girls were above her, gripping the seat for dear life, their eyes wide in pale faces.

Moving to sit up caused pain to shoot up her arm from her wrist. “Girls, are you all right?” she croaked.

“Yes, Miss Woodruff,” Alma mumbled, leaning up away from her sister, who was squashed between them.

In a scatter of stones, George Henry Walters skidded to a halt beside the lopsided dogcart and knelt down beside Grace. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so, Mr. Walters,” Grace mumbled, easing her shoulder from where it was jabbed hard into the ground.

“Can you help me out, Mr. Walters?” Alma asked.

“Right, lass.” George Henry lifted Alma from the cart while the horse rolled its eyes in terror. “Now you, young Minnie,” he instructed, as Alma stood shaking by the roadside. When both girls were free of the cart, he moved around to Grace.

He took the reins from her stiff fingers, tied them to the dogcart’s front rail, and then gently put his hands under Grace and lifted her bodily.

The pain from her wrist made her cry out as George Henry adjusted her weight in his arms. “Where do you hurt, Miss Woodruff?”

“My wrist,” Grace whispered, cradling it against her chest. She glanced up and found herself staring into his deep green eyes. At close range, she noted the green was darker around the iris. Fine crinkles creased the corners of his eyes, indicating he either smiled or squinted a lot. He returned her stare boldly, and she was shocked when her stomach tightened.

“Can you stand?”

She nodded, acutely aware of his strong arms holding her, supporting her against his broad chest. He smelt of soap, and his hair was damp. She had an insane urge to run her fingers through it. He gently stood her upright and she hated the break of contact. “Thank you.”

He took out a folded handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed it gently against her cheek. “A few scratches,” he murmured.

Breathless at his feather-like touch, she willed herself to stand still and not give in to the weakness of her wobbly legs.

“Girls come stand by Miss Woodruff,” he ordered, before going to give the horse the once over. Satisfied the horse had come to no harm, he un-harnessed it from the shattered cart. “Can this horse be ridden?”

Her mind was in a whirl and her heart thumped like a drum. Something primal and intense awoke deep inside. Her senses were attuned to his every movement, his every word. “Y…yes. Apples can be ridden.”

“Right then,” he swung himself up onto Apple’s back, “I’ll go on to Woodruff House and let them know.”

Grace blinked, desperate to clear her head and summon her dignity. Why on earth had she reacted to him holding her? He of all people! He made it plain he didn’t like her, had been barely civil to her on the few times they met. Confused and a little scared by her fascination of him, she directed her feelings into anger, an emotion she knew very well and one she felt safe using. “You expect us to stay out here in the open and wait?”

“What do you suggest then?”

“The girls and I can walk to Woodruff House. Thank you for your help.” She dismissed him in a brusque tone.

Grace waited for him to dismount and then nodding to the girls to retrieve their belongings, she walked past him with her head held high and took the horse’s bridle with her good hand.

“Alma, why do you an’ Minnie go to Woodruff House?” He forestalled them, ignoring Grace.

“To work, Mr. Walters. Got set on t’day.”

Grace turned back. “Come Alma, Minnie.” She pinned George Henry with a frosty stare. “Good day, Mr. Walters, and thank you again.” She inclined her head in a way that would have made Heather proud.

“I’ll take the horse for you, so you don’t hurt your wrist anymore.” He marched up and grasped the bridle. Without waiting for them, he made for her home.

They walked in silence for half a mile. The throbbing ache in her wrist made Grace grit her teeth with every step. The girls’ excitement of an hour before had dwindled. Grace looked at their pale faces and felt sorry for them. No doubt, their thoughts had turned to what lay ahead.