The Girl from the Tanner's Yard

a while. He breathed in deeply; he’d eat his sandwich and then at least mix the whitewash for the one room that was habitable, before asking Lucy for her help in rearranging throughout the house what possessions he had. His old home needed time and patience spent on it – a bit like himself, he thought, as Lucy entered with the best-looking sandwich he’d eaten for a long time.
‘That’ll do grand, Lucy. Thank you.’
‘Pleasure, sir.’ Lucy smiled. She was going to enjoy working for Adam Brooksbank. He might be a slightly older man, but he was good-looking, with charm. Her father had been right: he was a man with money and manners, and she could do far worse.

4
Adam stared up at his bedroom ceiling and yawned. His body was aching all over from placing his belongings into their allotted place in the old house; his right arm and his injured leg were giving him the most gyp, after whitewashing the main living room. He roused himself. Lucy would be making her way up from Providence Row and would be knocking on his door, if he didn’t move. She’d been good company, for a lass so young, and she’d worked just as hard as himself, so he’d no complaints so far. He dressed in an old pair of trousers and a striped twill shirt. Today was not a day for finery, as he was about to tackle the hole in the back kitchen roof, if he could find some spare slates to fit the job. No sooner had he reached the bottom of the stairs, which creaked and groaned with every board trodden on, than there was a quiet knock on the door and Lucy walked in.
‘Morning, sir. I’ve collected some sticks for kindling from out of the hedgerow. They are good and dry, and they will soon get a fire going in the hearth. It may be early March, but the wind still cuts through to the bone up here.’ Lucy gave him a quick glance up and down, noticing that he hadn’t bothered to shave yet and was not dressed as finely this morning, before she took off her cloak and set about cleaning out the previous day’s embers from the still-warm fire, placing the twigs that she had gathered from the hedgerow into the fire’s grate.
‘I could have done that. Lighting the fire is no hardship.’ Adam smiled at the lass as she raked the ashes away and soon had the fire blazing.
‘Now, it’s no good having a dog and barking yourself – that’s what my mother would say. I’ll see to it every morning. Besides, it gets me away and out early, before my siblings are awake. I swear the noise the youngest two make, shrieking and crying, is enough to waken the dead. Lord knows what home will be like when there’s another mouth to feed.’ Lucy went over to her cloak and produced two newly laid eggs from its pocket. ‘I picked these up on my way here. Old Moffat has a field full of hens, just next to the crossroads; he’s not going to miss two eggs, so I brought them for your breakfast, seeing that your pantry is not full to bursting.’ She grinned as she went out into the yard with a pan and the kettle to fill with water, then placed both on the fire to boil.
‘Now, you mind what you are doing – no more stealing of eggs. You could go to prison for that.’ Adam looked concerned, but could not chastise her too much as Lucy had been kind enough to think of breakfast for him. ‘Like I said, I’ll go down into Keighley, probably tomorrow, and stock up the pantry. But today I’ll try and fix that kitchen roof and put slate on it at the front. You can see the stars through the ceiling in the spare room, I noticed, when I made my way to bed last night.’
‘I don’t know what possessed you to come and live here, sir. It’s been unlived in for such a long time, and it’s so out of the way and right on the moor’s top – it gets so wild up here in winter.’ Lucy dropped the eggs into the pan to boil and placed a plate and mug on the table, which had found a home in the main room of the house.
‘It was my family home, Lucy. I was born here and lived here as a boy with my parents, right up to getting married and leaving them for what I thought would be a better life in Keighley.’ Adam looked at his new maid as she sliced him some bread and buttered it for him to eat with his eggs.
‘Oh, I thought you were from off. I didn’t know you were born here. So where’s your wife at, sir? Did she not want to join you?’ Lucy asked inquisitively.
‘She died a long time ago, and I’ve been on my own ever since. Now enough of me. Tell me who’s who in the area: who should I get to know, and who should I keep at arm’s length? I’m out of touch with some of the folk who have moved in while I’ve been away. However, I’m sure a bright girl like you knows everybody around here.’
‘The biggest family around here is the Fosters; they live at Whiteshaw in Denholme and own the cotton mill in Denholme. Then there’s the Bucks at Godmansend; they own a lot of the land around here, and Mrs Buck was one of the Dawson family that have woollen mills in Bradford. They have a second home in Wales, so they are only here part of the year. And then there’s . . .’ Lucy reeled off the names of all the relevant families in the area while Adam listened and watched, as she spooned his boiled eggs out of the boiling water onto his plate. ‘I’m sorry you’ve no eggcup – I never