The Christmas Card: The perfect heartwarming novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller. Dilly CourtЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘If you bite or scratch me I’ll do the same to you, Flora.’
‘Lay a finger on me and I’ll tell Papa. And it’s Miss Flora to you, Radcliffe.’
‘Miss Flora is a young lady. You are a spoiled brat.’
‘I am not spoiled.’ Flora lunged at Alice, grabbing her by the sleeve and tugging with all her might.
Alice felt the stitching give way at the shoulder seam and a searing pain where Flora’s sharp fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her forearm. Flora opened her mouth as if to bite but Alice was too quick for her. She raised her free hand and caught Alice a mighty clout round the side of her head, but at that moment the door opened and a maid entered carrying a breakfast tray. Flora uttered a loud wail, clutching her hand to her ear. ‘You hit me. I’ll tell Mama what you did.’ She turned to the maid, who was standing in the doorway open-mouthed. ‘You saw what she did, Nettie. She struck me.’
The maid recovered quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Flora. I never saw nothing.’
Alice rubbed her sore wrist where crescent-shaped nail marks had begun to bleed. She had always disapproved of corporal punishment, but Flora had been out of control. ‘You will sit at the table and eat your breakfast, young lady,’ she said firmly.
Nettie bustled over to the table and put the tray down, keeping a wary eye on Flora, who advanced on her with clenched fists. ‘You’re a liar,’ she hissed. ‘You saw what she did.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Flora. I dunno what you’re talking about.’ Nettie backed away. ‘The porridge is just how you like it, miss. Nice and sweet with a dollop of honey.’
Moving swiftly, Flora snatched up the plate and hurled it, but Nettie was too quick for her and was out of the room in a flash of starched white petticoats. The bowl hit the door as it closed, spreading the thick, sticky oatmeal in a starburst on the floor. Alice watched it drip down the wall and her stomach rumbled. The waste of good food was appalling and she was hungry. She faced Flora, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You will clear that up before you start your meal.’
Flora poked her tongue out as she took her seat at the table. ‘It’s your job, Radcliffe. You’re the servant.’
Moving swiftly, Alice crossed the floor and lifted Flora bodily from the chair. ‘You will do as I say, or we will not get on at all well. I’ve never seen such disgraceful behaviour and it’s quite unacceptable.’
‘I knew you were like the others,’ Flora said sulkily. ‘They all hate me.’
Alice stood her ground. ‘If this is how you behave it’s hardly surprising no one likes you.’
A look of uncertainly crossed Flora’s small features and she tossed back her unruly curls. ‘They’re paid to like me. I’m Flora Dearborn. My pa is a rich man.’
‘I don’t care if your pa is an Indian nabob, you’ll clear up the mess you made.’
‘What’s a nabob?’
‘Someone who is much wealthier than your pa, and I don’t suppose they boast about their riches. It’s not considered good manners.’
Flora’s curious expression was replaced by a pout. ‘I don’t care about manners.’
Alice knew she was losing the battle of wills, but was saved by the timely appearance of Nettie, who entered the room with a bucket slung over her arm and a scrubbing brush in her hand. ‘I’ve come to clear up the mess, Miss Radcliffe.’
‘Thank you, Nettie, but Miss Flora has something to say to you.’ Alice sent a meaningful look in Flora’s direction. ‘She wishes to apologise for her behaviour.’
Flora stared down at her bare feet. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘I’ll just do my work,’ Nettie said hastily.
‘No.’ Alice moved to her side and took the bucket from her grasp. ‘Miss Flora created this mess and she is going to clear it up.’
Nettie’s lips worked silently as she stared wide-eyed at Flora.
Alice nodded her head. ‘You may go, Nettie. This will be done, I assure you.’ She waited until they were alone again. ‘You and I have been thrust together, Flora. I didn’t choose to work here and you didn’t ask to have me, so we’ll have to make the best of it.’
‘I’ll get rid of you like I got rid of all the others,’ Flora muttered half to herself, but just loud enough for Alice to hear.
‘We may have more in common than you think,’ Alice said casually. ‘I’ll tell you my story and I’ll be happy to listen to what you have to say. Maybe we can come to a truce, but first you will clear up the mess you made.’
‘My boiled egg and soldiers are getting cold. I’m hungry.’
‘Then you’d better hurry up or they’ll be stone cold and I’ll ring for Nettie to take the tray away.’ Alice could smell the hot buttered toast and she was so hungry she could have gone down on her knees and lapped up the porridge like a cat, but she had her own feelings under control. She met Flora’s rebellious gaze with a steady look. This was a battle she had to win.
‘All right, but I’ll make you suffer for this, Radcliffe.’ Flora went down on her hands and knees and picked up the scrubbing brush.
Alice smothered a sigh of relief. Life was difficult enough without a child dictating the odds. She stood in silence while Flora dabbed ineffectively at the glutinous mass, which was seeping into the cracks between the floorboards. In the end Alice went down on her knees beside her, taking the cloth from the bucket of rapidly cooling water and wringing it out. ‘We’ll do it quicker together.’
Flora said nothing and turned her head away, but not before Alice had seen tears glistening on the ends of her long eyelashes. She’s just a child, Alice thought wearily; a lonely child in desperate need of companionship as well as a firm hand. She sat back on her haunches. ‘I think we’ve done all we can, Flora. Eat your breakfast before it gets too cold.’
Flora scrambled to her feet, flinging the scrubbing brush into the bucket. ‘I’ll tell Mama of you, Radcliffe.’
‘Do as you please, but I can play that game too. I don’t suppose she would be too pleased to learn that you threw a plate at Nettie.’
Flora resumed her seat and ate in silence, while Alice tidied the room. It was simply furnished with a child’s desk and chair at the far end and a larger desk, which presumably must have been used by Flora’s governess, but was now littered with books and drawing materials. Sorting through them, Alice was encouraged to find that Flora had a talent for drawing, although most of the sketches had a dark, nightmarish quality that was disturbing. Another factor that seemed unnatural was the lack of playthings. There was not a doll in sight nor anything that might keep a nine-year-old amused during the long hours that Flora seemed to spend on her own. There was a bookcase but most of the shelves were empty, and there was not much reading material to occupy the mind of a lively child. There were a few framed prints on the walls, but these were mostly sombre lithographs of winter scenes, which were hardly cheering on a cold and snowy day. Alice sighed. This was not how she had foreseen her future, if she had ever thought about it at all, but at least she was attempting to put her time to good use. She put a shovelful of coal on the fire and sat down to wait for Flora to finish her meal.
Alice soon discovered that everything was a battle with young Flora Dearborn, from the frock she was to wear that day to the boots that went with it, and when Alice tried to run a comb through her young charge’s tangled mop there were shrieks and tears.
‘You’re hurting me.’ Flora cried petulantly. ‘Leave me alone, you bitch.’
Alice held the tress of hair firmly in her hand so that Flora could not pull away. ‘Mrs Upton said that we were to go down to the drawing room at half-past eleven to see your mama. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to see you looking as though you’ve