A Family Surviving Scandal - a Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Annie's Secret"

BOOK EXCERPT

Betsey gently pushed back the thin blanket, swung her feet over the side of the bed, and reached for her soft leather slippers, a Christmas present from Annie that she treasured. She tiptoed from the room, determined not to wake Ned if she could help it, for it was early and she had heard the church clock strike six. Closing the door quietly behind her, she descended the stairs and went to the kitchen, where she pulled the kettle forward onto the stove, for her first job was always to make a cup of tea.

She glanced out of the kitchen window and saw that it would be another sunny day. Her view was that of the churchyard, an outlook she was happy with, for after all, two of her sons, a few grandchildren, and many of her friends were buried there, and she often went to chat with them. It was a habit some might find ridiculous, but it gave her comfort, and at her age, she cared little for what folk thought. Even now, in her seventies, the old woman found it impossible to lie in bed after so many years of getting up with the lark. When she and Ned had owned The Red Lion Inn, an early start was a necessity, and she still thought this was the best time of day.

Whilst the water in the kettle came to the boil, she opened the back door and wandered around the garden, which was so much smaller than the one at the inn. It was big enough for her and Ned now, and she still liked to potter about and tend to her plants, though thankfully, Arthur Webber, her daughter-in-law, Sabina’s second husband, did all the hard work.

She sniffed the fragrant, deep pink Damask rose, her pride and joy, and this year, a profusion of blooms. The lavender bushes that were planted alongside the garden path released their heady perfume as she brushed against them, and she inhaled appreciatively. Pausing to admire the tall, stately spires of the pink, yellow and red hollyhocks planted against the wall, she picked off one or two deadheads and noted that a few late-flowering foxgloves would soon need cutting back.

Interspersed at random with the marigolds, pinks, and larkspur were many vegetables, and Betsey wanted to see what was ready to harvest for their dinner. Her favourites, the runner beans, had reached the top of their long sticks, and in an hour or two, the scarlet flowers would be swarming with bees. She gathered some of the tender beans and put them into her basket, then pulled a few carrots from the old soil-filled water barrel where Ned planted them to deter the pesky carrot fly. She remembered that Arthur had dug some new potatoes for her the day before, and knew there were plenty left to accompany the leg of lamb that she planned to roast.

Thinking she had picked enough, she noticed that their second row of peas was ready, and unable to resist, gathered enough for a meal and sampled several, thinking that they were far better raw. Ready now for her first cup of tea, she strolled back to the kitchen, picking some fresh mint and rosemary on her way and noting the redcurrants and blackcurrants also needed picking and thinking that Ned could sit on a stool later and do that for her; her part would be to make a crumble and some jam.

By the time she reached the kitchen, the kettle was boiling, and she brewed a pot of tea and carried a cup upstairs to Ned, for she knew he would be awake by now, and this was their routine. She liked him to take it easy in the mornings and not rush things. She opened the door quietly, in case he was still asleep, but he smiled at her and pulled himself up. She plumped up the pillows behind him, kissed him, and wished him a good morning.

“Good morning to you, too, my love. Up with the lark as usual, I see; thanks for the tea.”

“Yes, it’s a lovely morning, and far too nice to lie in bed. I’ve picked peas, beans, and carrots for dinner, so they will be delicious later with our roast lamb and mint sauce.”

“Mm, my favourite, especially with new potatoes. Do you have anything planned for today?”

“I’ve arranged to visit Mary Ann this afternoon because she wants to talk about the christening on Sunday. It’s about time, for the child is nearly eighteen months old, but with losing George, I can understand why the baptism has been delayed.”