The Maid's Secret (7 page)

‘Aye, and plenty of it.’

He ate quickly. It would take at least two hours to get home; he’d left a note on the kitchen table to say he’d be late and reminding Fletcher not to lock him out.

‘That were grand,’ he commented, when he’d finished. ‘I’ll come again.’

‘Do,’ she’d nodded.

‘Are you here every night? Or do you have a husband to go home to?’

She’d looked sharply at him and he wondered if he was taking things too fast; he wasn’t used to dealing with women and didn’t know their foibles or eccentricities, except his mother’s and she didn’t count.

‘I’m allus here,’ she told him, leaning on the counter. ‘I’m lucky to be in work. Landlord’s not bad, not like some I’ve worked for who expect you to work all ’hours God sends for onny a copper.’

He’d nodded and left it at that, leaving as soon as he’d finished his ale. She hadn’t admitted to having a husband, but he was fairly sure she would have said if she had, if only to warn him off.

Although it was a long shot, she was the reason he was going back now, two weeks later. He’d been tempted to return within a week, but he didn’t want to appear eager, only as if he really were there on business. Besides, he didn’t want his brother to become suspicious, and he would, he muttered beneath his ragged breath. The heathen would smell a rat and begin muckraking in every dunghill he could find until he discovered what Noah was up to.

They’d had a bet; at least he had challenged Fletcher to a bet. They’d been fighting as they often did as to who should have the last word over how the farm should be run, and as they’d raged at each other their father, Nathaniel, had come out of the house with a shotgun and fired it over their heads.

‘Get back to work, both of you,’ he’d shouted. ‘I give out orders here, nobody else.’

They’d both muttered and growled. They were grown men after all, too old to be taking orders from an old man, even if he was their father. It was that night, as they were going up to bed, that Noah had said, ‘If one of us had a wife and some bairns, that’d decide who was to run ’farm.’

Fletcher had glared at him. ‘And how would that decide? And what would Ma say to having another woman in ’house?’

Noah had shrugged. ‘Nowt,’ he said. ‘She’d have to put up wi’ it.’ He’d grinned. ‘I’ll bet you ’price of a young heifer I’ll find a wife afore you do.’

Fletcher hadn’t actually agreed to the wager and had turned away with a shrug. He generally avoided confrontation, but Noah thought he’d think about it and turn it over in his mind and decide he didn’t want to be beaten by his younger brother.

Tonight Noah rode straight into Hull’s High Street, dismounted, and walked to the inn’s stable yard. He looked about him. It was very dark and drizzling with rain, and late, about half past ten, yet there were plenty of people about. The doors of the Corn Exchange were open and groups of men were standing on the steps so he guessed there had been a meeting in progress.

There were also some youths hanging about under a street lamp that cast a sickly yellow glow on them; he eyed them up and down, ignored the ones who were making the most noise and pinpointed one who was standing quietly, not joining in with their frivolity but listening as an outsider might.

Noah stared hard at him until the youth, as if aware of his attention, turned his head towards him. Noah indicated with his thumb that he should come over.

‘Yes, sir?’ the lad mumbled. He looked about twelve or thirteen.

‘Are you honest?’

‘Yes, sir, as much as most.’

‘Is that a yes or a no?’ Noah hissed.

The youth took a step back. ‘Erm, it’s a yes.’

‘I need somebody to look after this hoss while I attend a bit o’ business. Can you do that?’

‘Oh, yeh!’ The lad brightened up considerably. ‘I can do that all right. That’s why we’ve been hanging about here, to see if any of ’gents wanted any errands running, onny they didn’t cos they’re all on their way home.’

‘This is a valuable hoss.’ Noah stared down at him and the youth nodded. ‘If owt should happen to him . . . ’ He bent down so that he was breathing into the boy’s face. ‘I’ll give you a penny now and another two when I come back, and if you’re not here or ’hoss has gone, I’ll find you and slit your throat. Do you hear me?’

The lad’s mouth dropped open, and then he closed it again. He glanced towards the crowd of lads, who were beginning to split up and wander off. He swallowed and licked his lips.

‘Yeh,’ he whispered. ‘He’ll be all right wi’ me. You can depend on it, mister. I’ll wait here in ’yard.’

Noah dropped the penny into the boy’s palm and then made a slitting gesture across his own throat and a jabbing gesture with his forefinger. The boy took the reins and led the horse to the yard, away from the eyes of his mates.

Noah hitched up his coat collar and took off his hat, ran his fingers through his long dark hair and pushed open the hostelry door.

Since winning the Catherine Cookson Prize for Fiction for her first novel,
The Hungry Tide
, Val Wood has published eighteen novels and has become one of the most popular authors in the UK.

Born in the mining town of Castleford, Val came to East Yorkshire as a child and has lived in Hull and rural Holderness where many of her novels are set. She now lives in the market town of Beverley.

When she is not writing, Val is busy promoting libraries and supporting many charities.

Find out more about Val Wood’s novels by visiting her website at
www.valeriewood.co.uk

THE HUNGRY TIDE

ANNIE

CHILDREN OF THE TIDE

THE ROMANY GIRL

EMILY

GOING HOME

ROSA’S ISLAND

THE DOORSTEP GIRLS

FAR FROM HOME

THE KITCHEN MAID

THE SONGBIRD

NOBODY’S CHILD

FALLEN ANGELS

THE LONG WALK HOME

RICH GIRL, POOR GIRL

HOMECOMING GIRLS

THE HARBOUR GIRL

THE INNKEEPER’S DAUGHTER

HIS BROTHER’S WIFE

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THE MAID’S SECRET
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473508200

First published in Great Britain
in 2013 by Transworld Digital
an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Copyright © Valerie Wood 2013

Valerie Wood has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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