white as snow, there’s not a scrap of grease in the kitchen. You wash and scrape this place and all that’s in it every night. Clementine …’ She stalled. Then, after a glance at Essie’s red raw hands, she pursed her lips. ‘You’ll be coming over for supper at ours tonight.’
‘But—’
Mrs Yarwood raised her hand. ‘No arguments, now. I have such a big pot of supper cooking, it would take Mr Yarwood and me weeks to eat it. And he does like different dishes … So you see? You’d be doing us both quite the favour.’
Essie started to cry. Mrs Yarwood was so kind, and Essie was just so very tired. She wanted to crawl into bed with her mother and sleep. But she thought of the girls and their skinny legs …
‘Thank you. I’ll bathe the girls, and we’ll be over.’
‘That’s more like it.’ Mrs Yarwood drew Essie into a hug and rubbed her back. ‘See you in an hour.’
Chapter 12
Essie knocked at the door while the girls stood behind her in fresh dresses with pink cheeks.
Mrs Yarwood flung open the door and gathered them all into a big hug. Flora started to cough and their host stepped back and studied the girl, quickly pressing the back of her hand to the child’s forehead. Turning, she checked Maggie’s forehead too before stepping back to let them in.
‘Ladies, I hope you brought your usual appetites. Mr Yarwood has already had his supper.’ She waved them inside and down the hall before shutting the front door.
The smell of roast beef wafted down the hallway and they eagerly followed the scent.
As they walked past the front parlour, Essie spotted Mr Yarwood sitting in his favourite leather chair, smoking a cigar and reading The Times.
Mr Yarwood quickly lowered his paper and nodded at Essie and her sisters and gave them a warm smile as they passed.
‘Hello, Miss Murphy. Hello, young ladies.’
‘Good evening, Mr Yarwood,’ Essie replied as she ushered the girls down the hall and into Mrs Yarwood’s bright kitchen with its buttercup walls and floral curtains. Instead of the Murphy’s dirt floor, the Yarwoods had gleaming floorboards polished with linseed oil.
They sat at a sweet round oak table, already set with soup spoons and blue linen napkins. Essie unfolded her napkin and gestured at the girls to do the same. Maggie flicked her napkin with a flourish and giggled as she laid it across her lap, spine straight, as if she were dining at the Ritz.
Mrs Yarwood busied herself ladling soup from a big tureen into blue bowls.
Flora leaned over to smell the soup, and Maggie shot Mrs Yarwood a quizzical look, not daring to speak.
‘Lentil with a few caraway seeds. I thought I’d make up a bit of soup using the cider stock I had left over from the ham,’ Mrs Yarwood said, in answer to their quizzical looks.
‘Well, it sounds delicious,’ said Essie, lifting her spoon and nodding at the girls to do the same.
‘Wait! Just one more thing,’ said Mrs Yarwood, and she bustled over to her cool box. She produced a jug from which she scooped a dollop of cream into each of the soup bowls and sprinkled it with parsley.
Essie lifted her spoon to her mouth. The soup was thin, slightly salty from the ham and sour from the cider, sweetened and softened by the lentils. The cream thickened the soup and the caraway seeds left a warm hint of anise on her tongue.
‘The caraway’s gone to seed already in my garden.’ Mrs Yarwood pointed to where the plants feathered among the neat lines of carrot tops and tomatoes in her backyard plot. ‘It’s been so unseasonably warm … Here, have some more, Miss Maggie.’
Mrs Yarwood swooped on Maggie’s empty bowl and refilled it, again adding cream and parsley.
Essie frowned a little at Maggie. ‘Careful, don’t be greedy—’
‘Nonsense! I’ll have none of that. These girls have hollow legs that need filling. Don’t you Gertie, dear?’
Gertie looked up from stirring her soup; she had been lost in a daze, studying the pattern of the cream melting into the broth. ‘Thank you, Mrs Yarwood,’ she said. ‘This is better than anything King George is being dished up, I’m sure of it.’
‘Eat up, Gertie-girl. There’s plenty more where that came from.’ She patted Gertie on the shoulder then leaned over to Essie and whispered, ‘I put a little extra pinch of the caraway on account of the girls. It’ll warm their heads and their tummies and hopefully help to drive