A Daughter of the King

By Mrs. Philip Barnes

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his children as he did once before. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry young Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House, but Gordon is suddenly accused of his father’s murder. This is a very readable romance from 1909, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited. A story in the style of those by White Tree Publishing’s most popular author, Margaret S. Haycraft.

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Tree Publishing
• Release date: Jan 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780995759480

Book preview

About the Book

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his children again. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House. When Gordon's father returns, Gordon is accused of his murder. This is a very readable romance from 1900, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited.

A Daughter of

The King

by

Mrs Philip Barnes

White Tree Publishing

Abridged Edition

Original book first published c1900

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2017

e-Book ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

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A Daughter of the King is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Introduction

Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About White Tree Publishing

More Books from White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger Readers

Introduction

There were many prolific Christian writers in the last part of the nineteenth century and the early twentieth. The majority of these books were fairly heavy-handed moral tales and warnings to young people, rather than romances. Two writers spring to mind who wrote romantic fiction for adults -- Mrs. O. F. Walton and Margaret S. Haycraft, whose works are still popular today. Our White Tree Publishing editions from these two authors have been sensitively abridged and edited to make them much more acceptable to today's general readers, rather than publishing them for students of Victorian prose. The characters and storyline are always left intact.

Mrs. Philip Barnes was not as well known as Mrs. Walton and Margaret Haycraft, and is almost unheard of today. She wrote a temperance book about a family living in poverty (Bingle's Widow), a couple of children's books, and this romance which is surprisingly similar in style to the romances of Walton and Haycraft, and we welcome it to our catalogue. We are considering a couple of the author's other author's books from this period. We will announce them on our website if we go ahead with them. Eliza Kerr is another Victorian writer whose stories deserve to be republished, and White Tree Publishing is releasing several of her books in abridged form.

Victorian and early twentieth century books by Christian and secular writers can be over-sentimental, referring throughout, for example, to a mother as the dear, sweet mother, and a child as the darling little child. In our abridged editions overindulgent descriptions of people have been shortened to make a more robust story, but the characters and storylines are always unchanged.

These writers were published by many different publishers, most of who published both Christian and secular books for all ages. However, The Religious Tract Society (RTS) generally published the heavy books with an unsubtle message that would not go down well today. Although A Daughter of the King is published by RTS, it clearly missed the unrelenting hand of the RTS editor, and is a surprisingly readable story, but with more Christian references than the books of the other two authors.

A problem of Victorian writers is the tendency to insert intrusive comments concerning what is going to happen later in the story. Today we call them spoilers. They are usually along the lines of: Little did he/she know that.... I have removed these when appropriate.

£100 in 1900 may not sound much, but in income value it is worth £12,000 pounds today (about US$15,000). I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 14 chapters in this book. In the second half are advertisements for our other books, so the story may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

Chapter 1

A Bunch of March Violets

THE sweet scent of violets filled the air. The birds sang happily because of the springtime, and all the earth looked glorious in the sunlight.

Martha Garle stood at the door of her little cottage. Her large figure filled the doorway, and she made a picture (more picturesque than beautiful) amid the bright spring scene. I must go round to Brown's, an' see how their little lad is, she said to herself. How them vi'lets do smell. I guess I'll pull a few for Miss Cynthy. She's real fond of such like.

Martha peered out from beneath the porch into the little garden, with its trimly kept borders and sweet, old-world flowers.

Martha Garle was the good angel of the village. All her life had been spent in working for and helping other people. Not with worldly goods, for Martha's small pittance was scarcely enough to keep life in her own gaunt body, but she gave what was of more value -- the ready help of her strong hands, and the loving sympathy of her large heart.

In illness or trouble it was always Martha who was sent for. They did not always remember to send for her in their times of rejoicing, but those who did, found her as ready to laugh with them as to weep. However, a great deal more sorrow than joy fell to Martha's lot.

It was little wonder that her face grew sterner and more rugged year by year. Strangers who came into the village were wont to remark on the exceeding plainness of Martha Garle, and were often astonished at the storm of indignation that their remark would call forth from those who knew Martha's worth and loved her accordingly.

Of all the people who knew and prized Martha, perhaps Miss Cynthia Moore, or as she was always called by the villagers, Miss Cynthy, stood first. They had been girls together, although Cynthia Moore was in a different station of life to Martha Garle. They had both known much sorrow, and above all they loved and served the same Lord and Master. Miss Cynthy had lived all her life in the village of Royden, and her visits to the outside world had been few and brief.

The village was built on a series of natural rocky terraces, which rose from the bed of the noisy brawling stream they called the River, right up to where the fragrant pine forest crowned the summit of the rugged hill. On the topmost ridge stood the attractive White House, wherein the Moores had dwelt for more years than the villagers could remember. As Martha Garle stood in her garden, the church bells began to ring, calling everyone around to the ivy-covered tower that nestled on the bleak hillside.

I must hurry, she said to herself, or I shall scarce have time to see Miss Cynthy.

Martha's cottage stood lower down the hillside, but every morning, rain or fine, when she was not tending some sick person, Martha climbed the steep slope to the White House. She had done so for years.

We are two lone women, Miss Cynthy and I, she said one day. We were not always lonely, but her folk an' mine lie yonder in the same graveyard.

That was long ago. Miss Cynthia no longer dwelt on her own in the White House, but Martha never failed to put in an appearance. Had she ever failed to appear, the little old maid, Miss Cynthy, would have put on her spotless crepe shawl and picked her way down over the rough stones to Martha's humble abode.

Ten years ago, Miss Cynthy had returned from one of her brief visits to London, and to the astonishment of all Royden, except Martha Garle, she had brought with her two children, a boy of about thirteen and a disabled girl of ten.

My sister's children, explained Miss Cynthia quietly to her elderly maid-of-all-work, knowing full well that Rhoda would save her the trouble of further explanation to the neighbours, who, as in most small places, made their neighbours' concerns their own.

It was supposed that the children had come to their aunt's on a long visit, but as time went on, and no mention was ever made of their going away, the village realized that Miss Cynthy had brought them home with her so that she, who had so long lived a solitary life, had undertaken the permanent charge of a boy, and his young sister, a disabled girl.

Great was the wonder and consternation of the good people of Royden at what they did not hesitate to call Miss Cynthy's folly. Only once did anyone venture to openly remonstrate with the old lady. Hester Green, who undertook the task, was more than astonished at the dignity the slight, fragile form possessed, as Miss Cynthia drew herself up and replied, The home of my dear sister's children is of course with me. It has pleased God to call their mother to Himself, and now they are mine.

Hester Green turned away without another word, but everyone decided that sooner or later Miss Cynthy would repent of having burdened herself in such a foolish way.

The years passed on. Not yet had Miss Cynthia seen cause to regret taking the orphan children to her heart and home. True, the girl Hilary Payne was a helpless invalid, and needed constant, watchful care, but Miss Cynthia was ever ready to give it. Her gentle, loving heart had long ago won the highest reverence and love from both the poor invalid and her brother Douglas Payne. No one in the world was to them half as beautiful as their Aunt Cynthy.

Martha Garle climbed up the hill slowly that lovely morning, for she had been up most of the previous night nursing a sick child, and was feeling more than usually tired.

Oh Martha, how sweet those violets are! cried young Hilary Pyne, as the old woman followed Miss Cynthy into the room where Hilary lay, her couch drawn up to the window so she was able to enjoy the bright spring sunshine as it danced and glistened over the great black rocks which abound on those rugged North Country hills.

Yes, Miss Hilary, they are the first. I thought that you and Miss Cynthy would like the scent of them.

We do, Martha, and it is very good of you to remember and bring them. Are you going down to church? asked Miss Cynthia.

Yes, Miss Cynthy. I haven't been for three weeks. I couldn't leave old Betty, but her daughter has come now from London and she will look after her. You'll not know Ellen now, Miss Cynthy, she has altered so.

How long is it since she married and left the village? asked Miss Cynthia.

She was saying last night that it were just twelve years, and she has never been home even for a visit since. She were saying that she saw you once in London, Miss Cynthy.

Yes, Martha, I remember, but it is a long time ago, replied Miss Cynthia quietly; but Martha, who was looking at her keenly, saw her lips quiver, and a pained, scared look come into her eyes.

Young Hilary saw it too, and her eyes grew large and dark with fear. You must go, Martha, or you will be late for church.

Come in after the service and have some dinner with us, said Miss Cynthia, as Martha hurried off.

As the door closed behind the good-natured woman, little Hilary turned to her aunt and held out a trembling hand. Auntie! she said, in a low, hoarse voice, why are you looking like that? Was it ... that time ... when you saw that ... woman?

Yes, dear; but, Hilary, there is nothing to make you tremble like that. You see, he has known all the time where you were, and your father has never sought you. This woman coming from the same neighbourhood cannot make any difference. It is the memory of that dreadful time that was a little too much for me. I am getting old and foolish, dear. You must not take any notice of me.

"Auntie,