The Serving Girl // Book 2 in the Rosie Grey series

Chapter One

"Finest cut of beef money can buy, that is. An' look, I've still got all me fingers," Tommy said, wiggling his fingers in front of my face.

The early morning sun poked through the clouds that spotted the sky, lighting up the small patch of ground that Tommy's cart possessed. Birds tweeted away high above our heads, their sweet song filling the morning air and allowing for a much better wake-up call than the repetitive ringing of a bell. A bitter chill rushed past us as Esther and I helped to unload the meat order and handed it to Miss Jenkins who hung around the doorway marking off each piece of meat as it was handed over. Tommy stood beside Miss Jenkins, looking at the list over her shoulder though I wasn't entirely sure he could read it.

Every meat delivery day went the same way. Esther and I would unload the meat from the cart whilst Miss Jenkins inspected every single piece to make sure it was of the highest standard. Tommy, however, stood around and watched without so much as lifting a finger to help us carry the heavy produce from one place to another. More often than not, he would make a comment about the different types of meat and whether or not he had almost lost a finger. He had taken to life outside of the factory better than any of us.

Tommy had been in the factory for only three years a stark contrast to my seven years, or Suzanna's twelve. He hadn't witnessed the same things we had, struggled through the years of pain and abuse that felt as though they were never-ending. We had all made it out, but some of our friends weren't so lucky. My best friend Isabel had died just six months before, in a fire that destroyed the factory and allowed for the truth to come spilling out. We were the ones left to pick up the pieces of what had happened, and Tommy had become a helping hand to most of us. He didn't have the memories we did, and I was thankful for that.

"Are you actually going to lift anything?" I asked, flexing the fingers on my left hand out to release the tension that had set in.

"I had to lug this thing all the way here! I've got hand cramp."

"You've got hand cramp?" I lifted up my left arm to show him the burn scar that enveloped my lower arm.

"Fair point."

Tommy grinned at me and seized the largest slab of meat on the cart, the slab both Esther and I were avoiding at all costs. As I watched him struggle under the weight of the meat, I leant against the side of his delivery cart and gently massaged my fingers. Whilst the burn on my left hand was no longer red and prominent against the paleness of my skin, the scar that had been left behind often limited the movement to my hand. Doctor Ealing had suggested a variety of different movements in order to relieve the tension, but these only worked temporarily. Nothing was able to fix the problem long term.

Although six months had passed since the fire that had killed Isabel, and it had been six months since I first started working for Ealing's, the burn became more of a hindrance as time progressed. Grabbing something as simple as a jar became increasingly difficult as the burn healed but Doctor Ealing was adamant that it wouldn't last forever. I had a hard time believing him. It was the one thing from my old life that continued to cause trouble no matter how much I tried to avoid it. It was the one thing that kept pulling me back to the foreman and Mr Thompson and became the thing I could never escape.

"Is everythin' to your satisfaction, Miss J?" Tommy asked, peering over her shoulder at her sheet of paper.

"Hm, seems to be. Just make sure you're on time with your next delivery."

"Will do, Miss J!"

"Very well. Rosie, you should go otherwise you'll be late for Doctor Ealing."

"Right," I said.

Pushing myself off Tommy's cart, I started to untie my apron. As I brushed past Miss Jenkins, I pulled the apron from around my waist and placed it in a pile on the countertop. I tiptoed around the table and towards the sing where I quickly washed the smell of meat from my hands with a bar of carbolic soap before drying them on a towel. With my hands dried, I ran them across the top of my head, smoothing out any loose hairs and tucking small strands behind my ears to make myself look presentable. Working in the house, it didn't matter if strands of hair were out of place because no one would see me. The same thing didn't pass at Doctor Ealing's office. I always had to look pristine.