anything else.
‘I’ll struggle with this lot.’
‘Tell you what,’ Murdoch said, not oblivious to her difficulty and keen to curry favour, ‘why don’t you let me deliver that lot to you later?’
‘That’s ever so kind of you,’ Clara answered with a grateful smile, ‘but I shall need the liver for our tea.’
‘Then just take the liver and whatever else you need, and let me deliver the rest.’
‘I don’t want to put you out, Murdoch,’ she said, as he pulled out the parcel of liver and handed it to her.
‘It’s no trouble. Now give us the rest o’ your tranklements.’
She handed him the stuff she didn’t need and kept the bag containing the vegetables and the liver she’d just bought.
‘There you go. I hate to see a lady struggle. Soon as I’ve shut the shop, I’ll have a ride over to your house and deliver this little lot.’
‘I’m that grateful, Murdoch.’
‘Think nothing of it. Enjoy the rest o’ your day, and I’ll see yer later.’
It was just turned half past six when Murdoch delivered Clara’s shopping. The magical aroma of liver and onions still lingered in the air as Will Stokes answered the door to him.
‘By God, that smells good, Will,’ Murdoch commented. ‘I’ve brought the shopping. Your missus was struggling to carry it all when she left me shop, so I offered to bring it.’
‘She told me,’ Will replied, and took the basket and a carrier bag from him. ‘And it’s very decent of yer, Murdoch. Fancy a cup o’ tea while you’m here?’
‘I could be tempted. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.’
‘Come on in then.’
Murdoch entered and Will led him into the small parlour. Clara and Kate were at the stone sink in the scullery, but ceased their chores as soon as they realised Murdoch Osborne was a guest.
‘Thank you for delivering me things, Murdoch,’ Clara said when she saw him. ‘It’s service you don’t expect these days.’
‘No trouble at all.’
‘Our Kate, put the kettle on,’ Clara suggested. ‘Let’s make Murdoch a nice cup o’ tea. Can I get you something to eat, Murdoch?’
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Clara, ha?’
‘One good turn deserves another,’ Clara responded, while Kate went out to fill the kettle and Murdoch’s eyes followed her. ‘I bet as you’ve had nothing all day.’
‘It’s true enough.’
‘Well, I can imagine how it is for a man who ain’t been widowed long. It must be hard for yer, Murdoch, since your poor wife passed on, but you need to look after yourself.’
‘Oh, I don’t go without, Clara.’
‘Well, let me get you something to eat. What d’you fancy? It’s a pity all the liver’s gone – it was beautiful, by the way … I could always fry you bacon and eggs …’
‘Bacon and eggs?’ Murdoch said with a smile of enthusiasm, directing his comment to Will Stokes. ‘What more could a man ask for but bacon and eggs and a bit o’ fried bread, ha?’ Will noticed how Murdoch cunningly added the fried bread to the meal. ‘But only if it’s no trouble, Clara.’
‘I told you, it’s no trouble.’
‘You’re a lucky chap, Will, having a wife who’s handy with the frying pan.’
‘I’m reminded of it every day, Murdoch,’ Will answered dismissively.
Kate returned and hung the kettle on a gale hook over the fire. It spat and hissed as a few drips of water fell into the burning coals.
‘So how’s our Kate shaping up in this here amateur dramatics group?’ Will enquired as Clara set about frying Murdoch’s treat.
‘Oh, she’ll do very nicely, Will. I’ve got her to agree to play the part of Pocahontas in our next play.’
‘Poker who?’
Murdoch guffawed. ‘Pocahontas. A celebrated Red Indian princess from the Americas who became a Christian and married an English chap. She was very beautiful, if recorded history’s to be believed. Kate’s got the right sort of colouring and figure for the part, I reckon, ha? She read it well an’ all, when we tried her out for it.’
‘I’m glad to hear as she’s some use for summat,’ Will remarked dryly. ‘Even if it is only acting up.’
Kate, who had been preening herself in the mirror, turned round and shot daggers at her father, who she felt had not only never understood her, but had signally failed to realise her latent talents as well.
‘Oh, I reckon she’ll be a valuable asset to us,’ Murdoch affirmed. ‘We’ve been lacking a wench with your Kate’s qualities.’
‘What qualities am they then?’
‘Good looks, a certain grace …’
‘Gets it off her mother and no two ways,’ Will said.
‘I wouldn’t argue with that, Will …’
At that, Algie appeared and stood in the scullery doorway wiping his hands on a towel.
‘How do, Mr Osborne,’ he greeted cordially. ‘You brought our stuff then?’
‘Aye, I brought it, lad … We was just talking about your sister Kate and the Little Theatre.’
‘Oh? Think she’ll be any good?’ he asked, as if it would be a surprise if she were.
‘I reckon so. I was just saying as much to your father. And if you reckon you could act as well, young Algie, we’d be pleased to welcome you into the group, a good-looking young chap like you.’
‘No thanks, Mr Osborne,’ Algie replied unhesitatingly. ‘I don’t think it’s my cup of tea, all that reciting lines. Anyway, I see enough of Harriet Meese without going to the Drill Hall with her as well. It’s a good excuse for a night off when she goes to the Amateur Dramatics rehearsing.’ He winked knowingly at Murdoch, who smiled back conspiratorially. ‘But if our Kate enjoys it, all well and good …’ He turned to his mother in the scullery. ‘What’s that you’re cooking, Mother? It smells good.’
‘I’m doing bacon and eggs for Mr Osborne. He’s had nothing to eat all day, poor chap. He’s got nobody to look after him, like you and your father have.’
‘Can you drop some in the pan for me as well? I’m famished.’
‘But you ain’t long had liver and onions.’
‘I know,
