Katie’s Hero (7 page)

He always tried to be discreet and surreptitious, but he had taken up watching Katie whenever he got the chance. He didn’t mean to be sneaky, but it was dreadfully boring being housebound, and she intrigued him. If he knew she was in the kitchen, he would wheel himself silently along the corridor and stay in the shadows to peek through the doorway, hoping she wouldn’t notice him there.

He had watched her cleaning and scrubbing the floor. He’d seen her check her lipstick in the reflection of a copper pot hanging on the wall. He’d seen her sorting out his old clothes on the kitchen table, assembling a set of things that Bob could wear. In the late afternoons, when the children came back from school, he wheeled his chair through to the back of the house, and watched them through the window. He saw the children running and laughing outside in the paddock — and Katie teaching them how to play leapfrog and some Irish version of tag. She obviously adored children, so why was she not looking after her own?

Michael heard all about the first day crisis with Roy — how he picked a fight and achieved a sort of celebrity status on the playground as a result. Katie gave him a good talking to, then promised him a brand new set of knuckle jacks if he got through the rest of the week without incident.

She was a determined young woman for sure, and she knew how to manage the little blighters. She took them all down to the village shop to buy new sets of knuckle jacks. She taught the little ones how to play. She removed a knuckle jack that George had experimentally inserted, with tearful consequences, up his own nose. She organized a system of gold stars and peppermint drops for homework done, with extra credit for a low inkblot count. She held races to see who could shine his shoes for school the fastest, and she made bedtime into a great game.

Michael sighed. He wouldn’t have minded playing a few bedtime games with her himself — if things had only been different.

• • •

Katie stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, confronting Mrs. Jessop about the food. “You’re telling me that there isn’t even butter for the children’s tea? Here, on a farm!”

“No, and the margarine is almost gone, too.”

“Where did it go?”

Mrs. Jessop was silent.

“And what am I supposed to give the children for their tea? Bread and water?” Katie’s hackles rose and she knew she was on dangerous ground.

“It wouldn’t hurt them, just for once.”

“But it’s absurd! We’ve got the coupons for something a bit more substantial than that — I’ll go down to the village and pick up some supplies if you’ll find the ration books.”

“The coupons are all gone, Miss Rafferty. There’s a war on, you know.”

Every time someone uttered that sentence, Katie wanted to scream.

“Mrs. Jessop. The children have precious little in their sandwiches each day, and we’ve had bread and jam for supper all week. On Saturday, we had mushrooms on toast, and the long-awaited Sunday lunch was an egg flan with only the merest hint of cheese in it. What, exactly, has happened to our meat ration?”

“It’s been very difficult to get meat this week.”

“Then let me go down to the butcher’s and see what I can find today. Where are the ration books?”

“I told you. We haven’t got the coupons.”

“We seem to be going in circles in this discussion. You’ve been given four extra ration books only last Friday; five if you include mine that you made me hand over when I arrived. I know exactly how many coupons were in mine, and the children’s books were almost full. We have plenty of coupons for what we need today, unless you’ve already spent them.”

“Are you suggesting that I would misappropriate the children’s food?”

“It is looking more and more as if you have, since you won’t show me the ration books.”

“Well! I won’t stand for this.” Mrs. Jessop grabbed her coat and hat. “Over thirty years I’ve cooked for the family, and never had any complaints until you come along. You can cook supper yourself and see how well you can manage it, then, Miss Upstart Rafferty, because I won’t stay here and be insulted.”

“You’ll have to leave me the ration books, because there isn’t anything to cook.”

But Mrs. Jessop was already putting on her coat.

“I’ll have to tell his lordship,” Katie threatened.

“His lordship doesn’t trouble himself with domestic matters, Miss Rafferty. He’s always had complete faith in me.”

It was true, Katie knew. Michael’s disinterest in the way that the house was run was legendary. But she wasn’t backing down now. “The ration books?” she demanded.

“You’ll lose your job over this,” Mrs. Jessop almost spat the words at Katie. “I’ll give notice tomorrow, and I’ll only come back when you’re gone, you little Irish hussy!” With that, she stormed out through the kitchen door, slamming it in bitter protest.

“And good riddance!” Katie yelled, still raging inside, though what her employer would say when he found out what she’d done she dreaded to think. She sighed and shook her head, only to turn around and see him in the doorway.

She gasped. He ought to wear a bell, she thought, so he couldn’t slink up behind her like a cat. She knew he had probably heard the whole thing, but he gave her a questioning stare.

“What the blazes were you saying to Jessop?”

“I asked her to give me back the children’s ration books.”

“You said a hell of a lot more than that, Katie. She’s gone home. She’s talking about giving me her notice.”

“Good. You’ll be better off without her.”

“You can’t take it upon yourself to dismiss my servants!”

“You can’t see what’s going on in front of your eyes, can you? Not even if you sit down to a pauper’s meal every night!”

Michael’s blue eyes flashed with anger and confusion.

Katie sighed. “She’s stealing the coupons, sir. The meals she serves us aren’t fit for the pigs. The children need the little bit of meat that we can get for them — they’re growing kids. If you ask me, she’s stealing our rations to feed that great idle lump she calls a husband. He gets a nice beef dinner, and we get the leavings.”

Michael frowned. It was perfectly clear. He sighed.

“For God’s sake, Katie. You should have approached me if you had a complaint.”

“And what, may I ask, would you have done? Precisely nothing. I can’t have the kiddies going hungry, sir. They fight all the time. They hit each other. They steal from other children at school, and they might even get rickets or something terrible like that. Jessop has no right to their food!”

“No.” He paused, taking it all in. “But she was my last servant from the old days,” he said pitifully. “She knows how the place ticks, Katie. She wasn’t the best, but now we have nothing. We have six people to feed, and no cook.”

“I can cook, sir. It’s getting hold of the food that I’m worried about. She still has the ration books.” Katie looked out of the window, still rankling with anger. “And she wouldn’t give them back, no matter how hard I tried.”

Michael frowned. “Would it implicate her, if they were returned?” His tone of voice was softer, milder now.

Katie nodded. “She’s spent the coupons.”

“What do we do?”

“You could report her to the police,” Katie suggested, but she knew the idea was a non-starter the minute it was out of her mouth.

Michael was horrified. “I couldn’t do that to old Jessop after thirty years. We need to be more
diplomatic
, Katie.”

“Yes, well, you sit at your desk being diplomatic and I’ll steal something for our dinner.”

• • •

Katie flounced across the kitchen, cheeks burning and auburn hair flying. She hunted around in the pantry and found flour and salt. She might be able to make soda bread. But the children needed a bit more than that after walking all the way home from the village school. On impulse, she grabbed her coat and rushed down the lane, heading for Home Farm. Maybe she could beg something to cook for dinner, just for tonight. She’d have to think of an excuse, though. Mrs. Jessop was taken ill, and the groceries hadn’t been delivered. Something
diplomatic
.

What if she had burned her boots with his lordship? What if he gave her the sack? She hurtled down the lane, blinded by the tears that came unexpectedly into her eyes.

She almost ran smack into someone in her haste. It was Harry Hammond.

“Hullo! Where are you going in such a hurry, love?”

“Not now, Harry.”

“You remember me name, then?” he said with a smug smile. He was chewing on a piece of straw, like a farmer in a comic book. “Old Mrs. Jessop was in a bit of a tizzy as well,” he observed, philosophically. “Went past just half an hour ago.”

“Jessop is a thief,” Katie said, diplomacy be damned.

Hammond laughed. “You are a little cat among the pigeons, aren’t you, my pretty little thing?”

“I’m not exactly ‘little,’ I will never be yours, and I object to being called a ‘thing.’ Get out of my way, Mr. Hammond. I have to get to Home Farm right away.”

She stalked past him, misjudged her step, and fell. The cart had made ruts in the lane and they were full of water. She fell straight back into the puddle, much to her ignominy and embarrassment.

Hammond came over, laughing wildly, and offered her a hand. She took it, most reluctantly, and when she was nearly up he let her fall back and laughed some more. The second time she managed to get to her feet. She practically screamed at him to get out of her way, but he leaned forward and snatched the chance to kiss her on the cheek. She pushed him away and tried to stalk off.

“Katie, I know you’re in a hurry to get to the farm,” Hammond said, with a rather smug sort of laugh, “but have you taken into account the fact that I’m the one in charge there? If it’s farm business your calling about, I’m the man you’re needing to see.”

Katie could have hit him, but he was right.

• • •

Dinner was on the hob and Katie was about ready to dish up. The boys had just been warned to clear their homework off the scrubbed pine table.

Michael appeared in the doorway and hesitated. Katie glanced questioningly at him. He didn’t come into the room and didn’t seem to want to go away.

“It smells good, Katie,” he said, in a rather subdued tone of voice.

“It’s a beef stew with a dash of Guinness in it. Maggie at Home Farm gave me the beef — with Hammond’s permission of course — and George found some root vegetables in the back of the larder. There’s soda bread to go with it, and apple pudding after. I was planning to feed the children straight away,” she explained. “I will bring you some on a tray, sir, at your usual dinner time.”

Michael gave an unexpected smile. “Katie, you don’t expect me to come in to that marvelous aroma and then toddle off and wait for the leftovers, do you? That would be cruel.”

“Of course we would be honored to have you eat with us, sir,” she said. “I didn’t like to presume.”

“That’s funny, you were quite presumptuous earlier,” he observed.

“Yes, sir, I was. A bad case of hunger and a sense of injustice can do that.”

“I see. I had a starving Irish rebel on my hands.”

Katie felt herself giving way to a smile, though she hadn’t quite forgiven him yet.

Alfie staggered to the table with a stack of plates, and the twins made a desultory attempt to set the table. Roy grabbed a knife and fork and started drumming with them, which made Michael frown with disapproval.

“Roy, we’ve no need for the percussion solo,” Katie said. “Let’s get some food into us, before we have another rebellion on our hands.” She brought the fragrant, steaming dish to the table, and went back for the bread.

Michael took his place at the head of the table, rolling his chair into position and putting on the hand brakes. Bob found Michael a knife and fork, and smiled shyly at him. Bob had taken a real shine to “Mister Lord.”

The soda bread had risen to perfection, and it smelled wonderful. Katie broke it into pieces and handed it around. “Eat up!” she encouraged, since the children were a little in awe of Michael.

Michael ate like a soldier who hadn’t seen food for a week. “It’s good, Katie, really good,” he muttered between mouthfuls.

“Thank you,” she said. She knew she was a good cook, but it was gratifying to hear him say it. Reassuring, too, after the whole fiasco this afternoon. She’d been in tears at Home Farm, thinking she was about to be sacked. Back in Ireland, her mam always said, “You’re a good girl, Katie, but your besetting sin is losing your temper.” Katie had cursed herself for her stupidity in talking back to his lordship, even though his lordship had definitely deserved it. Maggie, the farmer’s wife, had made her a cup of tea and assured Katie it would all blow over.

“Do you still want me to pack my bags, sir?” Katie asked meekly. “Since I upset you so much when I spoke out of turn?”

The children set up a chorus of “No! No! You can’t go!”

“No need to do anything rash, Katie,” said Michael, and he glanced in the direction of the tureen in the center of the table to see if there were any second helpings.

Katie could see what he wanted and ladled more out for him. She saw him hesitate for a moment with his fork raised, and she realized he was breathing in the intoxicating aroma of the food she had just spooned onto his plate.

“You will take over the cooking, won’t you Katie?” he said.

Katie paused, deliberately, just before she replied. No harm in making him sweat, just a little. The children looked up at her with anxious faces, all waiting to hear her reply, eager for a reassurance that she wouldn’t be hanging up her apron and catching the four-thirty to London.

“If that’s what you want, sir,” she said, at last.

A loud cheer went up around the table, the children expressing their approval by stamping their feet and banging their cutlery on the table, and Katie felt a little surge of triumph.

The food must have put Michael in a good mood, because after dinner he announced that he needed the children to “help” him operate the gramophone player.

“You got a gramophone?” Roy asked, dark eyes glinting with interest. “A good one? And records to play on it?”

“The best money can buy,” Michael said, matter-of-factly.