Set in the late nineteenth century this is the story of a young boy who is found bedraggled and starving, having lost his memory. All he knows is his name, Jamie. He is taken in by the household of The Grange on the Brightmoor Estate who soon come to love him as one of their own, especially the master David Dalton whose own son had been killed in an accident two years before. Some months later Tillie Raven is released from prison where she had been sent for stealing a loaf after holing up in a barn to escape a fire. Now she has to find her son, she does not even know if he is still alive, but where should she look first?
Chapter 1
The boy groaned as he made for the nearest tree to shelter from the approaching storm. Sinking into a pile of leaves, he tried to pull his rough brown coat around his frail body and tucked his blistered feet under him. Huddled into his clothes and trying to dredge some warmth from their meagre layers, a rasping cough hacked at his emaciated form. His coat, still damp from a previous shower, offered as little protection from the elements as his sodden shoes.
“What’s this?” exclaimed Tom Briggs, the gamekeeper of the Brightmoor Estate, when Bridie, his black Labrador, unearthed what appeared to be a pile of old rags. “Well, blow me, if it isn’t a child. What a sorry sight, to be sure!”
He looked around to check if the child was alone and, as there was no one else in sight, he picked him up and carried him the short distance to The Grange, Bridie yelping alongside him.
He pushed open the door of the large kitchen to find Nellie, the housekeeper, sitting at the table enjoying a snatched cup of tea with Freda. The cook was rather homely, but Nellie was dressed immaculately as usual in her black uniform, not a hair daring to peep from under her cap.
“What’ve you got there?” Putting down her cup she got up and went across to see what he was holding.
“It’s a scrap of a child I found down by the roadside. He seems in a bad way.”
“Give him here.”
Tom gently placed the murmuring boy in her arms.
“We need to get these wet clothes off him or he’ll catch his death of cold.” Freda hastily unbuttoned the child’s clothes and enfolded him in a warm blanket. “Poor little mite. I wonder who he is? I’ve never seen him before, have you?”
“Can’t say that I have.” Nellie peered at the child’s face. “I can’t see much beneath all that grime, but he doesn’t look familiar.” She turned to Tom. “Wasn’t there anybody with him?”
“No, I couldn’t see anyone.”
“How strange!”
They all stood staring at the whimpering child, now swaddled like a new-born baby in the soft blanket.
“Let’s get him into a bed. We can use the yellow bedroom. Nobody ever goes in there nowadays,” the housekeeper suggested.
Tom opened the door for her and she carried the boy out.
“What do you make of that then? Where can he be from?” Tom took his pipe out of his pocket and placed it between his lips. “And, more to the point, what are you going to do with him?” He put some tobacco into the pipe before striking a match on the hearth and lighting it.
The cook chopped up a block of salt on the table. “I’m not sure, but Nellie will know what to do. We’ll leave it in her capable hands.” She scooped the salt into an enamel bin. “Would you like a cup of tea to warm you up before you go back on your rounds?”
“I wouldn’t say no, and I don’t suppose there’s any of your fabulous seed cake to mop it up with? You know how partial I am to it.”
The cook’s round face beamed. “You’re lucky, there’s just one piece left.” After washing her salty hands, she disappeared into the pantry to fetch the cake.
