A Daughter's Inheritance: A Novel

By Geraldine Boyce

This epic novel, which spans six generations of mothers and daughters, begins in 1815, during Britains war with Napoleon, and ends after World War II. These life stories, knitted together into an ongoing family saga, show the vast changes to English society. These women were witnesses, participants, and survivors through the Regency Period, the Victorian Age, the Industrial Revolution, and on into the twentieth century, with its world wars and social reforms.

At the heart of the novel are the lives, loves, and social causes of six strong womenViolet, a kitchen maid; Amanda, her illegitimate daughter who marries an aristocrat; Felicity, a pianist who dreams of marrying a duke; Norma, the battered wife of a wealthy scoundrel; Prudence, a womens suffragist and social reformer; and Christine, a World War II photojournalist.

As different as each of these women is from the others, they all remain true to the motto coined by Violet, who wished a better future for her daughter: Grasp every opportunity that life offers you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462070930

Geraldine Boyce

Geraldine Boyce is a British American playwright and the author of the novels Homefront and Here and There, both published by Fithian Press/Daniel & Daniel. She lives in Marin County, California.

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A Daughter’s Inheritance

A Novel

Geraldine Boyce

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

A Daughter’s Inheritance

A Novel

Copyright © 2012 by Geraldine Boyce

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover illustration: Un jour en été, Fine Art Photographic/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Author photograph by Nancy Cowen

ISBN: 978-1-4620-7092-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-7094-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-7093-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011961814

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 1/23/2012

Contents

Acknowledgments

PART ONE

Violet

PART TWO

Amanda

PART THREE

Felicity

PART FOUR

Norma

PART FIVE

Prudence

PART SIX

Christine

A Daughter’s Inheritance

ALSO BY GERALDINE BOYCE

Homefront: A Story of Love and War, a novel

Here and There, a novel

Eventually, a play

To

Emily and Joe

Sean and David

Margaret and Henry

Acknowledgments

I EXTEND GRATEFUL THANKS TO John M. Daniel, author, publisher, and editor, who believed in this book from the outset and thoughtfully guided it to publication; and to Susan Daniel, for her invaluable advice.

Thanks also to Cary James, author, friend, and faithful initial reader of all my books, who urged me to develop the book into a saga; to Marilyn Symmes, who carefully read each draft and offered encouraging suggestions that helped to improve the story; to Randy Wyatt, a wonderful neighbor, who kindly gave unstintingly of his time and technical expertise; and to Nancy Cowen, my dear friend and an acclaimed photographer, for the author photo.

Last but not least, I thank my family, who provided loving support.

Interior_symmes%20family%20tree_20111013051211.jpg

PART ONE

Violet

VIOLET BAILEY STOOD BEHIND a large chopping table laden with huge slabs of beef. She picked up a meat cleaver to divide them into more manageable portions before she began to cut them up with a sharp butcher’s knife into the appropriate size for the day’s stew. She had been doing this task since she was twelve, when she had left Mr. Grayson’s class where she had learned to read, write, and add, in order to help her mother in the kitchen at the Craven Arms. Now fourteen, she still seemed too small to do this heavy work. The table came up almost to her developing breasts, but her solid short body seemed to give a balance to the quickness of her movements while she worked.

As the church clock struck nine she cocked her ear for the first sounds of the army unit approaching with replacements for the changing of the guard at the harbor gate. The inn was located on Snargate Street, closer in to the town of Dover than the Grand Shaft, above which were the First Foot Guards barracks on the Western Heights. When Violet heard the drums, she wiped her hands on her apron and pulled it off quickly. As she ran out, her long brown hair flowed behind, then rested on the well-filled heavy tan cotton dress, a hand-me-down from her older sister, Ellen, who had grown too tall for it.

Don’t go! You’ve got too much to do, Mrs. Bailey called out after her. She turned to the two scullery maids. That girl will be the death of me, and she’ll be out again when they return this afternoon.

She has an eye for the young officer leading the guards, one of the maids said.

She’ll have little chance of an officer noticing her, the other said.

As the guards turned the corner of the street, Violet saw Lieutenant Oliver Hinton, and her heart warmed at the sight of him. She had noticed him as soon as he had arrived in town, and she knew she already loved him.

As he marched by ahead of his men, eyes straight ahead, Violet saw him glance quickly upward. She followed his eyes to where the eighteen-year-old Ellen was standing at her bedroom window. She felt a swift pang of envy. It isn’t fair, she thought. Ellen’s tall, with golden tresses and a face of an angel, and besides, she’s already engaged to be married to Arthur Mandle. In comparison, Violet felt shabby in the much-washed, faded work-dress. She returned forlornly to the kitchen.

Hurry up and finish chopping, her mother said. I’ve got to get more stew started. We’ve many mouths to feed before the afternoon ferry leaves.

Mrs. Bailey watched her work and soon all the beef was cut. I shouldn’t be hard on her, the mother thought. She’s a good worker. In truth she’s better than Ellen, who spends much of her time admiring her own reflection instead of making the beds. It’ll be good when Ellen marries; then her husband will have to clothe, feed, and buy her trinkets, and I’ll be able to hire a new maid who’ll do twice the work.

It was the summer of 1815, when the Duke of Wellington’s armies were waiting to do battle with those of Napoleon Bonaparte, for England and France were at war. Many British soldiers had already arrived in Belgium. Now officers’ ladies were following them to attend numerous parties which were being given in Brussels while waiting for the battles to begin. Their carriages delivered them to the Ship Hotel for their noonday meal and a rest, while their coachmen returned to the Craven Arms. With travelers constantly crossing the English Channel to and from Calais, and the army guarding the docks, Dover was crowded and busy.

Compared to other hotels in town, the Craven Arms was considered small and lowly, having only four double bedrooms for guests and two six-bedded dormitories (one for women, the other for men) on each of the first and second floors. The three bedrooms on the third floor housed the family of five: the innkeepers, Mr. and Mrs. Bailey; their son, Noah; and their daughters, Ellen and Violet.

It was a hot day and the generously proportioned Mrs. Bailey perspired profusely as she quickly seared meat in a large pan on top of an open fire. On her right a spit turned, roasting three legs each of lamb and pork. On the other side of the fireplace was a large oven, baking the day’s supply of bread. After the oven cooled down she replaced the bread with large dishes of rice pudding, which would slowly cook all day, coming out of the oven with browned skins on top for the evening meal. These joined her currant duffs and marmalade and golden syrup suet puddings, for which she was famous. Some might question the cooking of a heavy meal on such a hot day, but Mrs. Bailey knew her customers—couriers, carriage drivers, footmen, and salesmen going to the Continent to ply British goods. They all preferred her hot meals so that they could soak their bread in her rich gravies.

The inn’s clients did not seem to mind the half-mile walk from the docks where they embarked or disembarked. They considered the inn good value for its clean rooms, good food, fine ales, and buxom serving maids. It was also a stagecoach stop en route to London, with horses for hire, which Noah tended, while Mr. Bailey managed the business and poured ale and porter from morning until closing time. Mrs. Bailey was in charge of the kitchen.

Many an evening Lieutenant Hinton came into the tavern with other young officers. One night a serving maid called through the open kitchen door, One of the officers wants a dish of beef stew.

Mrs. Bailey, busy at the stove, called over her shoulder, Violet, get a tray ready. Spoon some into a bowl for him, slice some bread, and take it in.

The Lieutenant was sitting at a table waiting for it. Ah here’s the famous beef stew. Set it here. Violet set the plate down in front of him. Then, laughing, he swung around and grabbed her.

You’re a pretty morsel, he said, pulling her onto his knee. Violet, surprised, looked at him. He was so handsome, with his dark brown curly hair, a face that narrowed into a pointed chin, and a dark face, which might have been naturally that color or might have been browned by parading in Dover’s sunshine and ocean sea breezes. She knew it was not proper to remain there and she tried to pull away, but he held her tighter. She again struggled to rise as his friends joined in his laughter.

Look! She’s blushing. She must be a virgin. That makes her even more of a treat.

A Major walked over and said, Leave her alone, Hinton. She’s too young for you.

The Lieutenant let her go, and without a word he turned and began to eat his stew.

What’s a virgin? Violet asked when she returned to the kitchen.

You shouldn’t be asking questions like that, her mother scolded.

The scullery maid looked at her and said. A virgin’s a girl untouched by a man.

Well then, I’m not a virgin, Violet thought, because I’ve been touched by a man, and she hummed happily to herself as she worked.

Rumors, overheard by Mr. Bailey at night, changed daily, but it was more likely only days rather than weeks before the First Foot Guards would leave. When a group of officers came in a few days later, it was common knowledge that it was their last night, for the regiment had orders to sail the next morning.

The drunker he got, the more aggressive Lieutenant Hinton became with the serving maids. Carousing more loudly than usual, he and his friends stayed until closing time before staggering out on to the street. Violet watched them through the dining room door, then sadly turned back to serve her diners. The group of officers, arms around each other, continued singing as they went down to the corner of the street. The Lieutenant stopped suddenly, turned around, retraced his steps, and entered the inn’s main hallway, where lit candles had been placed in sconces at the bottom of each flight of stairs to lead guests up to their rooms when they retired for the night.

Holding onto the banister to steady himself, he climbed to the third floor. Remembering the room from which Ellen looked out at him each morning, he banged loudly on the door. He heard a rustling in the room and knocked again. When Ellen opened the door slightly, the Lieutenant pushed it open, walked in, took a ring off his little finger, and gave it to her.

Arthur! Ellen shrieked, dropping the ring.

I’ve got to see you one more time, the Lieutenant said, slurring his words. I’m leaving for France—

But before he could finish, Arthur Mandle gripped him by the collar, threw him out of the room onto the hallway floor, kicked the ring after him, and slammed the door.

Lieutenant Hinton lay there cursing. He was not used to being denied anything he wanted. He got up slowly and started down the stairs. Violet, coming up to bed after working hard all day, met him on the second landing. She stood to the side to let him pass. But instead he pushed her to the wall, and in a manner which indicated, even in his drunken state, that he was adept in this procedure, he reached under her skirts, pulled down her pantaloons with one hand, unbuttoned his trousers with the other, and entered her.

Violet gasped at the pain. His face came close to hers and he explored her open mouth with his tongue. She had daydreamed that he would kiss her, but not like this. She could taste the beer on his breath. He groaned as he climaxed, remained inside her for a moment, then withdrew, straightened his clothing, and continued staggering down the stairs. Violet sank to the floor. It had all happened so quickly, she did not know what to think. She felt injured, misused, and exhausted, yet confused because he must have wanted her.

When she felt able, she got up, pulled up her pantaloons, straightened out her skirt and petticoat, and slowly pulled herself up the banister to the third floor. Upon reaching the landing she stepped on something uneven. She looked down and saw it was a man’s gold signet ring. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. When she entered the bedroom she shared with Ellen, Arthur jumped up quickly.

You look a terrible mess, Ellen said. What have you been doing?

Violet looked down to the floor. Nothing.

She’s been working hard all day, Arthur said, kindly, kissing Ellen. I’ll go, I’m sure she wants to go to bed.

Violet lay on top of her bedcovers and waited for Ellen to get into bed. When she was sure her sister was asleep, head turned to the wall, she got up and lit a candle, poured cold water from the water jug into the basin, removed her underwear, and began to wash the stickiness from between her legs. Noticing that her beige pantaloons were bloody, she rinsed them, wrung them out tightly, and threw them under the bed to put into the wash trough the next morning. When she had finished, she opened the window and emptied the basin water onto the street below.

She removed the ring from her skirt pocket and looked at it. The initials engraved on the outside were OEH, and on the inside were the words Love Mother. She opened the second drawer in the chest she and Ellen shared and took out a small black box in which she kept her treasures. She opened it, looked lovingly at the few trinkets in the box, and added the ring, then put the box back in the drawer and quietly closed it. After putting on her nightgown, she climbed into bed and lay there thinking. Despite still hurting, she had a strange feeling of elation. Ellen’s not the only one to have a lover, she thought.

* * *

Brigadier General Dashwood-Danby paraded next morning, in full uniform regalia, followed by the Regimental Band and his First Foot Guards regiment, as he proudly led his thousand men to war. Watching in a crowd of local bystanders lining the streets, Violet hoped that Lieutenant Hinton would glance in her direction as he marched ahead of his unit, but he looked straight ahead. She prayed for his safe return.

Couriers from the Duke of Wellington often stopped for ale and a meal at the Craven Arms on their way to deliver messages to the government in London. Mr. Bailey listened to their stories of the numerous parties being held. On the day of June 14th, the messenger stopped for a pint of beer and to hire a horse to take him to London.

There’s a big ball being given in Brussels tonight by the Duchess of Richmond, he said.

Why are they wasting time on all these balls while battles are waiting to be fought? Mr. Bailey asked. I’d rather they fight and get this war over with.

The messenger settled his leather pouch on his shoulder and drained his glass. I must be off, he said as he went outside to mount the horse that Noah was holding for him.

As the days passed, more news reached England. It appeared that Lady Richmond’s ball had not delayed the battles, but perhaps had given the enemy spies a false impression that the Duke of Wellington was occupied for the night. In actual fact, after being given the news that Napoleon was approaching from an unexpected direction, he had left the ball early and after two hours sleep had gone straight to headquarters to review his plans to best offset the enemy’s approach. He decided to make his stand closer to Brussels while his allies, the Prussians, would be attacking from the south on the banks of the Rivers Sambre and Meuse. The First Foot Guards were immediately deployed to mass at Quatre Bras.

There had been a terrible rainstorm on the march there, which had turned all roads into rivers. In his misery, as he marched, Lieutenant Hinton, thought back as to why he had joined the army. He was already twenty and had not yet settled to any career when his three older brothers had suggested to their mother that he join the local Bedfordshire Regiment. Lady Hinton, however, more ambitious for her youngest son, preferred that he apply to the more elite Royal Horse Guards. When he was refused, he applied to the King’s Dragoon Guards, and again he was turned down. He learned that the First Foot Guards needed men, and for lack of anything better to do, he joined up. His mother bought him his commission. Now twenty-two, he was going to war for the first time.

Word had reached the British that the Prussians had been quickly vanquished by the French, who now planned to attack them and a small contingent of Dutch and Belgian allies. Orders were for each officer to assemble his unit of men behind them, then, with swords drawn, lead them into battle. The Lieutenant could see the French Cavalry gathering in the distance. As the size of their massing continued to grow, Lieutenant Hinton became more terrified. He could feel the sweat running down his back. When the Captain gave the order to advance, he wanted to stop and turn back, but he could not because his men, obeying their orders, pushed him forward. As horses galloped towards them, he saw a mounted French officer above him raise his sword and felt the hard blow to his neck.

His head, still attached by only a tendon, hung to one side and weighed him down until he toppled over and sank into the mire.

During the next three days of fighting, each country’s armies advanced and retreated many times. In the end it was the charge of the Scots Greys, with bagpipes blaring, that won the day for the British and their allies.

* * *

Mr. Bailey, washing his glasses late at night, saw the courier come in.

I’m glad this is the last time I’ll be passing through on my way to London, the courier said.

Tell me about it. Here’s a pint on the house.

Thanks, I need it. I usually leave my message for the Duke of Wellington at Headquarters. But this time my orders were to deliver it directly to him. The courier stopped to take two gulps of ale and wiped the froth from his mouth with his coat sleeve. He had gone off alone on his steed to revisit the battlefields. I galloped up the slope to where the last battle was fought, and when I reached the top I saw such a sight that will sear my soul forever.

I hear it was a bloodbath, Mr. Bailey said.

The Duke sat slumped on his horse in the middle of the dead, some piled high on top of each other, where the two armies must have met. The rest lay covering the ground as far as the eye could see.

I didn’t think Generals worried too much about how they won wars, Mr. Bailey said.

I urged my horse to go forward, and his hooves sank into the mud, red with blood, until I reached the Duke. I handed him the packet, he read it, then turned to me, and said, ‘The Prime Minister is congratulating me on winning the war.’ He waved his arm forward, as if to say ‘look what has been wrought.’ He put the missive in his pocket and rode off, picking his way between the dead. I heard that half the French army was killed and fifty thousand of all those who had fought in those few days.

Regardless of the carnage, England rejoiced at Wellington’s victory. Many towns had victory parties in the streets. Dover staged its celebration below the castle wall with Morris dancers performing on the grass. But then the truth of the war’s devastation became more evident. A field hospital was to be built outside the town to handle the high number of wounded, who were well enough to be brought back to England. Of the one thousand men whom Brigadier General Dashwood-Danby had so proudly led to the ships just days before, only three hundred returned. As the survivors marched back to their quarters, disheveled and weary of war, Violet watched anxiously, then ran alongside them, calling out, Has Lieutenant Oliver Hinton returned with you?

Most of the men, sunk in their own misery, did not bother to answer, until a kindly Sergeant, taking pity on her agitated state, called back to her, No, Missus, he got it the first day of battle.

Violet stopped running. She felt she had received a great physical blow and was overcome with nausea. She slowly returned to her room to mourn alone.

Later, talking to her husband, Mrs. Bailey shook her head. She’s taken Lieutenant Hinton’s death so hard, but how can she be so unrealistic? He never took any notice of her. Even if he had survived, did she really think that anything would have changed?

I know, but she always has been a dreamer, her father said.

* * *

Business at the Craven Arms flourished as travelers and soldiers returned home from the Continent. When after a few weeks it began to slow down, the respite was welcome, for preparations for Ellen’s and Arthur’s wedding in late September had begun.

Violet was to be the only bridesmaid, but in her sadness she could not work up any enthusiasm for it. She got scant pleasure from having a new dress made for the occasion. She went with her mother to Mandle’s Drapery and Dry Goods shop to choose the material. Arthur, who worked for his father, served them. Violet found the array of silks and satins beautiful, as she had always worn muslin for best.

Don’t waste your time looking at them, Mrs. Bailey said quickly. Come and look at this pretty pink cotton with the dark red rosebuds. Why don’t you buy some ribbons to go with it? she added kindly, in an effort to raise the girl’s spirits. You can deliver the material to Miss Arnold tomorrow. She’ll take your measurements—and be sure to ask her to allow extra seams for shrinkage.

After a few days Violet returned for a fitting. She eased into the dress, then turned around for the seamstress to button up the back.

That’s strange, it’s tighter than it should be, Miss Arnold said. You must have gained weight. Well, no matter, I left plenty of seams, just as your mother asked. Come back in three days and it’ll be ready.

Her mother accompanied Violet on the next visit, so that she could view Ellen’s wedding dress, which was hanging in the fitting room.

It’s lovely, she said, looking at it, then turned to help Violet try on her dress. As she began to button it up she remarked, It seems rather tight, Miss Arnold.

It can’t be. I let it out after the last fitting. Let me see. She stepped forward to inspect it herself. Mercy, it’s tight again, especially around the waist. You must be eating too much, Violet.

Can you let it out again? Mrs. Bailey asked.

Yes, but it won’t leave much room for shrinkage.

When they got back home, Ellen was waiting for them. Isn’t my dress the most beautiful you’ve ever seen?

Yes, dear, it is. I love the lace sleeves and edging around the hem. In truth Mrs. Bailey considered the dress too fancy. In their class, brides now did not dress up much for weddings, often just buying a new pretty bonnet to wear with their best dress. But she didn’t want to say anything for Ellen had her heart set on this pattern and, of course, the Mandles had let them have the material at a special price.

But Violet’s dress has to be let out again, Mrs. Bailey continued. She seems to have gained some weight.

Oh, dear! I don’t want you looking like a tub, following me up the aisle at my wedding.

After changing from their going-to-town clothes, both Mrs. Bailey and Violet returned to their kitchen chores.

You’ve been looking a little peaked lately, Violet. It’s strange that your appetite isn’t what it used to be, yet you’re getting fatter. Perhaps I should take you to see Dr. Wilson.

No, Mother, I’m quite well. Actually, she wasn’t well, and she couldn’t understand it at all. Usually full of energy, she felt listless and tired.

Although a busy woman, Mrs. Bailey had always tried to be a good mother. Within a few days, she decided that Violet should accompany her to Dr. Wilson’s morning surgery.

After he examined Violet, he turned to her mother and said, Please come into my office while Violet dresses.

After closing his office door, he said, Mrs. Bailey, please sit down. I regret to tell you that Violet is with child.

Mrs. Bailey was aghast. Oh no Doctor, you must be mistaken. She’s only fourteen and hasn’t been with anyone.

But I assure you that there is no doubt about it. She’s almost three months along, I’d say.

Mrs. Bailey burst into tears. How could that be? she cried. My poor little girl! What are we to do?

Dr. Wilson said gently, First you will have to find out how it happened. I am as concerned as you. I brought her into the world, as you well know.

Mrs. Bailey questioned Violet persistently and learned of the night on the landing with Lieutenant Hinton. She dreaded telling the family and it was a week before she could pluck up courage to do so. After they had all finished their night’s work, she called the family together in hers and Mr. Bailey’s bedroom.

They all listened quietly except Ellen, who fumed, This disgrace will ruin my wedding.

No one will know until after the wedding, her mother said quickly.

You little fool, Ellen shrieked. He had come up to my bedroom to see me, but luckily Arthur was there and threw him out.

I thought he wanted me, Violet said, piteously.

How could you be so stupid? Of course he didn’t. He wanted me but I wouldn’t have him. He tried lots of times.

I don’t believe you.

He raped you in anger because he couldn’t have me.

Noah went over and put his arm around his little sister. If he had come back, I’d have beaten the daylights out of him. He then turned on Ellen and said, You’re lucky you aren’t in the same boat as Violet, the way you’ve been acting with Arthur.

No need to insult me.

Mr. Bailey spoke up at last. Enough, stop your bickering. We have a serious problem, and we’ve got to decide how to handle it.

But what are we going to do? Mrs. Bailey asked, weeping.

Is there any way we can get rid of it? Mr. Bailey asked. How far along is she?

Three months.

So there’s still time, Ellen said.

It can be dangerous, Mrs. Bailey said. I won’t have her going to the back streets.

Are there any potions, Mother? Mr. Bailey asked

I don’t know, and they often don’t work anyway.

Violet, who had been standing there quietly, spoke up. I don’t want to get rid of my baby. I want to have it.

The family turned to look at her. You don’t know what you’re saying, Ellen said. Think of the disgrace, not only for you but for the whole family.

I don’t care what the disgrace is, I want to keep the baby, Violet said again.

But how can you? her mother asked.

I’ll go away and get a position in a small house as a maid and take my baby with me.

You don’t know if you could get such a job. It would be a hard life, Violet, Mrs. Bailey said, beginning to cry again.

You’re being ridiculous and selfish, Ellen said.

No, I’m not, Violet said, tearfully. I just want to have the baby and keep it and love it.

We have no relatives for you to stay with to have the baby, and you couldn’t work very much here, looking after the baby and all, Mr. Bailey said.

Yes, I could. I promise you.

Mr. Bailey looked at his wife. This is something we can’t decide tonight. We’ll have to think about it some more. Perhaps you could make a few inquiries, Mother.

I’ll talk to Doctor Wilson again.

But Dr. Wilson was not of much help. This is a tragedy. Such a lovely young girl to be so ravaged. But, of course, I can do nothing and the alternatives are dangerous.

Mrs. Bailey sighed and got up to leave. Then it looks as if you’ll be bringing Violet’s baby into the world, just as you did her.

* * *

Ellen and Arthur’s wedding took place on such a fine day that no one could grumble about the weather. Ellen, as expected, made a beautiful bride. Violet, although subdued, rose to the occasion to serve as bridesmaid.

Mr. and Mrs. Mandle, at first, had been disappointed by Arthur’s choice of a bride, for they had harbored higher hopes for their only son, born after four daughters, who were now all satisfactorily married to tradesmen and farmers in the area. They had hoped that Arthur would catch the eye of a wealthy farmer’s daughter, for he was tall, handsome, and slender, with blond hair that glinted in the sunshine. But once he had seen Ellen, he had become besotted by her. He had a gentlemanly air about him, and all his sisters loved him for his kind heart. He had not been educated sufficiently to go into a profession, so he had dutifully joined his father’s business, as his parents had planned for him. The bride and groom were to live with them.

Although Mr. and Mrs. Mandle were tradespeople and of the same class as the Baileys, they had become used to serving the gentry who frequented their shop, and they had adopted their more cultured ways and manners. This slight contact had persuaded them that they had moved up the social ladder. Unlike the Baileys, who worked long hours and had little time for social activities, the Mandles had regular business hours and so were able to mingle more with the townsfolk and attend church. Mrs. Mandle enjoyed showing off her new dresses and bonnets to the ladies of the congregation by acknowledging them with a gracious nod of her head.

* * *

Mrs. Bailey had given much thought to how Violet could still work, without overtaxing her strength during her pregnancy. From now on, she said, you can still work in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the inn’s overnight guests, and the noonday and evening meals. You will be able to rest in between, then again in the evening after portioning out meals for the maids to serve dinners. Do you think that will be too much for you, dear?

No, Mother. But are you sure you can manage this way?

Yes, but it would help if all of us on the third floor could make our own beds and keep our rooms tidy. That would allow Mattie, the new maid, to also serve at table, for meals at midday and late into the night.

Violet’s periods of freedom were something she had never experienced before, and she loved them. Sometimes she walked to Miss Arnold’s dressmaking and alterations shop to watch her cut out clothes and stitch. Soon she became adept at doing it herself. Miss Arnold, a spinster of advancing age, had known Violet since she was born and pitied her for her plight. She enjoyed the company, for her mother had died recently and she felt lonely, despite her busy days. It gave her pleasure to see Violet wear the smock, when she grew larger, that the two of them had made from her mother’s favorite navy-blue dress. When Violet heard customers enter the shop for fittings, she always quickly slipped out the back door.

In the evenings, as tired as Violet was after supper, as long as her candle lasted she would sew baby clothes and patchwork blankets from the leftover strips of material that the seamstress and Arthur gave her.

* * *

A baby girl was born on 19 March, 1816. Violet named her Amanda.

An unusual name, Mrs. Bailey said. You must have got it from reading one of those cheap novels that our guests leave behind.

As soon as she was able, Violet took the baby down to the kitchen with her, placing her on a chair close to the fire to keep her warm while she worked. When little Amanda cried she would nurse her, but the baby did not lack for attention. Her grandmother and the kitchen maids were happy to pick her up and sing to her.

Her grandfather and Uncle Noah were also attentive to the baby, in a gruffer, but no less loving way.

It was the right decision to keep her here, Mr. Bailey said. She’s always worked for her keep and a little pocket money. We’ll continue to care for her and the baby, even though it’ll be another mouth to feed.

Hinton was an upper-class rotter, a nasty piece of work, Noah said. I’ll try to help her out; I get a tip once in a while. He had already found some discarded slats of wood behind the stables, and after soaking them, he had formed them into curved sides for a cradle, using straight slats for the ends. He sanded both inside and outside to remove the danger of any splinters and gave it two coats of varnish. When Amanda began to wriggle too much in her swaddling clothes on the chair, this became a safer and more comfortable replacement.

Soon after Amanda was born, Arthur announced that Ellen was expecting their first child. He was delighted, and his parents were happy to extend their ever-growing brood of grandchildren. The Baileys looked forward to the time when Amanda would have a little cousin with whom to play. The baby, Bertha, arrived early in the next year.

Within six months Ellen discovered that she was expecting another child. The family again rejoiced.

Mrs. Bailey seldom went into town for supplies. Instead, she placed her orders with the delivery men from the shops where she bought her goods, and they delivered them by horse and cart. But when the seasons changed she chose, on an afternoon after lunch and before preparations for dinner began, to do the rounds of visiting the butcher, fishmonger, and greengrocer. She liked to check on what livestock and fish were available in large quantities and which fruits and vegetables might be coming to market early or late, so she could take advantage of the lower prices when supplies were plentiful.

Now that they were approaching winter again, vegetables were always a problem because there were few to be found; the available choices were mainly greens and Brussels sprouts. She stored great quantities of carrots and onions in the cellar for her stews, along with apples for her apple dumplings and pies. She constantly worried that she had not sufficient in reserve.

After she was finished with one of her shopping trips, she decided to call on Ellen on her way home, hoping for a cup of tea and a piece of Mrs. Mandle’s delicious Dundee cake. She approached the big front door alongside the store, for the spacious living quarters were on the upper floors above the shop. She rang the doorbell and the maid came to the door.

I am calling on my daughter. If she’s resting, I don’t want to disturb her.

Oh no, Ma’am, the young Mrs. Mandle is working in the shop.

She’s working? In her delicate condition she shouldn’t be on her feet.

That’s what Mrs. Mandle Senior tells her.

When Mrs. Bailey entered, she found Ellen finishing serving a customer. As Mr. Mandle came forward to usher the customer out, carrying her parcels, Mrs. Bailey asked Ellen, Whatever are you doing, dear? You shouldn’t be on your feet so much.

I love working here, surrounded by all these beautiful materials. And there’s a chair here to sit on when I’m tired. Anyway, working makes me feel less miserable.

Why should you be miserable? You have a loving husband, a baby, and another one coming.

I’m really angry. I never wanted this second child. I worked so hard to get my figure back, and now I’ll have to start all over again. Well, it’ll be the last I have, that’s for sure.

How can you say that? It’ll be wonderful for the two little ones to have a companion. And they’ll have lots of other playmates—the Mandle cousins and Amanda too, of course.

Oh I’d never let my children play with those little ruffians, nor would I want them to play with a bastard.

Ellen, I’m ashamed of you! Amanda is the sweetest child ever. Mrs. Bailey, shaking with anger, got up and flounced out of the shop.

Mr. Mandle busied himself by climbing a ladder and putting away rolls of materials on higher shelves and pretended he had not heard the conversation.

* * *

Ellen’s and Arthur’s second child, a son, Frederick, was born in the spring of 1818.

Arthur started stopping by the Craven Arms to have a pint of ale with Noah before he returned home for his evening meal. They had gone to school together and had always been good friends. Sometimes he relieved Mr. Bailey by serving drinks when he went to have an early supper.

I hear Ellen called Amanda a bastard, Noah said one evening.

Oh, she did? I’m sorry! She’s really angry about having this second baby.

Well, what did she expect? That’s what happens in marriages. That’s why I haven’t got hitched. Anyway girls never liked me as much as they did you. Noah laughed. Perhaps I smell too much of horses.

Ellen’s mainly taking it out on me. She won’t let me touch her.

Ellen can surely be mean. Noah looked at him, drained his glass, and left.

* * *

Amanda soon outgrew her cradle. Violet took her into her own bed, for Ellen’s old bed was still too large for her. Noah, always thoughtful, converted the cradle into a perambulator, setting it on two strong metal crossbars with two wheels attached at either side underneath. Now instead of carrying the baby, and until Amanda was able to walk well, Violet could push her into the center of town, passing the Maison Dieu House, a handsome brick building built in 1665. Sometimes she walked to the end of the Marina and up into the Dover Castle grounds. When she was tired she just sat and watched ships unload their passengers or cargoes at the docks. Sometimes on a Sunday morning, before he went to church, she would run into Arthur with his children, and they would sit and rock their perambulators while they talked.

Other times, girls with whom she had attended school, some now married with babies of their own, would stop briefly to compare their offspring. Violet wished they would stay longer to talk. She noticed too, that when their brothers, whom she also knew, passed her they would tip their caps and avert their eyes, then continue walking on quickly. Other boys, who were known to be faster, flirted with her. How about coming for a walk with me tomorrow? they would ask. There was one she liked enough to agree to meet, but when the boy turned up and saw she had brought Amanda he quickly excused himself. As she walked home, embarrassed at her naiveté, Violet pondered over the problem and realized that all these young people had been taught that there was a stigma attached to her because of Amanda. She wept as she pushed the pram, thinking to herself, How unfair! I’ve never done anything wrong. I’m just the same as I ever was.

* * *

Since Amanda’s birth, Violet had been busy learning about the wonders of her growing baby and working. Now eighteen, she started to think of her own needs and the future life she hoped to have. It was a harsh reality to accept that marriage was not going to be an option for her. Is there anyone I can talk to? she asked herself. It would hurt her mother terribly to know how sad she felt, and she wanted to protect her from that.

Although she felt close to Noah, of course, she could not confide in him, nor in her other closest friend, for what would Miss Arnold, an old spinster, know about such things? So Violet chose to hold her unhappiness within herself. She was determined to remove such thoughts from her mind and fill her life with love, hope, and future plans for her child.

* * *

When Amanda was eight, she followed in her mother’s footsteps and became a student in Mr. Grayson’s class for girls. Each day, when she came back home and entered the kitchen, she always found a tart and a glass of milk waiting for her. But her grandmother also expected her to do any small task that needed to be done. She was a happy and compliant child, always willing to help in the kitchen; and at night, mother and child would mend the family’s clothes by candlelight