The Adventures of Jane Waterford: Victorian Orphans series, #2

By Susan Leona Fisher

Seventeen year old Jane Waterford quits her step-mother's house in Ireland after the sudden death of her father and takes a ship to England to get away from the threat of an arranged marriage. A friendly widow takes Jane under her wing, but their carriage overturns on the road and after that things never go quite as Jane intended. Unwittingly she takes a job as secretary to the grandmother of the Duke of Grantley, the mysterious stranger who rescued them after the accident. When Jane at last realises who he is she clashes with him over a number of things, since they are poles apart politically. Little does she know that the Duke is taking more than a passing interest in her developing business, concerned at the lengths she is willing to go to in order to achieve success. Little does he know what Jane will be capable of when she discovers his own subterfuge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Fisher
• Release date: Jan 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201304041

Susan Leona Fisher

Susan Leona Fisher began writing fiction on her retirement, having been a technical/academic writer in her former working life. She was born in London and now lives in the Yorkshire Dales, having lived in various places in between, due to  her clergyman husband’s various postings. Her route to publication was via the New Writers’ Scheme run by the Romantic Novelists’ Association, of which she is a member. She has written 20 historical romances in settings ranging from the ever-popular Regency period to the Second World War. One of them, A Master of Litigation, made the final for historical romance in the Romantic Novel Awards 2018. She has also written several contemporary romances and one non-fiction biography.

Book preview

1 : Jane makes her escape

Jane Waterford stared through the rain-spattered window at the grey outline of the church beyond the green. She could only just make out the blurred shape of the squat tower, dwarfed by the trees that surrounded the graveyard, tall sentinels that had guarded the ancient building for nigh on two centuries. They were winter skeletons now, except for the two conifers. Jane was glad they were not displaying their full summer glory and the sun was hidden somewhere behind the dark rain clouds. More heavy drops spattered against the window pane now, and the village disappeared behind a sheet of grey.

They had buried her father in that graveyard a mere three days ago and she still couldn’t really believe it. Last week he’d been going about business as usual, a visit to Dublin to meet with his sub-editor at the newspaper he ran. He never returned. They said his heart stopped beating. She’d heard other remarks whispered among the mourners at the funeral, words not intended for her seventeen-year-old ears, but she had sharp hearing. The overheard comments told her nothing new really, for she’d long been aware that he was rather too fond of his whisky and large dinners. He’d been a big man, from whom Jane apparently got her own height, for her mother, she was told, had been of slight build. Of her late mother she had little memory, just the vague sense of being held and comforted when she was tiny. She touched the window for a moment with the palm of one hand. It was cold. At least you’re together, she told them, but that was small comfort for her own situation now.

No, it’s my turn, a protesting voice interrupted her sad reminiscences.

Tisn’t!

Tis!

With a sigh, Jane turned from the window and looked at the two girls who lay on their tummies on the carpet, propped up on their elbows. Each had the other in their antagonistic sights, like two gunships about to do battle.

Now then, what are you arguing about? You’re old enough to sort this out sensibly. The large Atlas lay on the floor between them, open at the map of Ireland. Are you playing your alphabet game again?

They both nodded solemnly. Tilly, who was only five, was trying not to cry, while seven-year-old Meg was quivering with repressed protest. Jane joined them on the floor.

What was the last letter you did?

O for O’Briensbridge, Meg pronounced. Jane turned to Tilly.

And do you remember who chose that, Tilly? The little girl frowned for a moment then began to look a little shame-faced as she recalled.

I did, she said in a tiny voice.

So what comes next?

P ... you choose it, Meg. Sorry. I got a bit muddled.

Jane watched Meg’s finger trace around the printed names, her face screwed up with concentration bending near the page. Jane did wonder if she needed glasses as their father had. Both girls were totally absorbed in their simple game. Oh for the innocence and enthusiasm that came with childhood!

Got it! Meg exclaimed, Portarlington. See...look... She pointed to show her younger sister, who frowned again.

That’s strange, it’s a port but it’s in the middle of the countryside. My go. I know, Q for Queenstown. It was Meg’s turn to check.

It should be Queensport shouldn’t it...it’s right on the coast.

Yes, Jane told them, it’s where the big liners pick up passengers on their way right across the ocean to New York. Now, I think you’ve time to do about three more letters before we need to go up for nursery tea. Hugh will be waiting for you. Hugh was the baby of the family, two years old and, thankfully as far as Jane was concerned, still under the supervision of his nurse. He was a handful.

Ten minutes later she’d deposited the girls into the care of the nurse and was coming back downstairs. She would be expected to join her step-mother in the drawing room, and she could see the door was ajar as she trod silently on the Axminster rug towards it. Like many of the old furnishings it had seen better days, but still had enough thickness to absorb footsteps. She was a few paces away and already putting out her hand to push open the door when she heard talking. Lydia had company already, and it was a man’s voice. She hesitated. It sounded like the lawyer. Jane knew there were formalities to be undertaken when someone died, though this manor house already belonged to her step-mother, so it couldn’t be to do with that. Whatever it was she’d best not interrupt. As she hesitated outside the door, she couldn’t help eavesdropping. The man was speaking.

Has she met him?

No, nor have I, in fact. It was my aunt who negotiated it. He made an offer, through her, a few months ago...and really at almost eighteen, she’s old enough to be running her own household. Robert had some idea of her continuing her education. Goodness, she’s had enough years of schooling, I think. No, this is the right thing.

He’s considerably older isn’t he?

What does that signify? At forty he’s young enough to father children with her and see to their upbringing. Goodness, I was only in my twenties when I married Robert when he was not far short of that age.

May I ask, Mrs Waterford, did Robert know of the proposal?

No. I thought Jane should meet the man first before we involved her father.

She’s a...determined young woman. She may object.

Jane heard the familiar, slightly sneering laugh of her step-mother.

That’s as may be, but she’s not staying here. I’ve five children of my own to think of. Bobby and Tom only returned to school yesterday. It’s enough for me to cope with their loss of their father, not to mention my own loss. I think Jane will soon work out which side her bread’s buttered on. It’s a good match. He was widowed ten years ago with no issue. His business has gone on from strength to strength and he has want of an heir to inherit. Jane’s in robust health and very good with children. She’d be ideal and she’ll have a very nice life, with every provision she could wish for.

She’d heard enough. Jane turned and trod rapidly back across the landing. The maid was just coming up with the tea-tray.

Not for me, today, Tess, thanks. I’m just going along to my room. I’ll have something later.

Right you are, miss. Jane felt badly for not offering to open the door for the girl, but at all costs she couldn’t be drawn into that room. After what she’d just overheard, she needed time to think.

Fenton Manor had been Lydia’s home before she married Jane’s father. It was about thirty miles south-west of Dublin in a beautiful valley, rich pasture for the animals that grazed it and in sight of the majestic Wicklow Mountains to the east. Before her mother’s death Jane had been a city girl, residing with her parents in a small house on the outskirts of Dublin, convenient for her father’s work and not far from her mother’s parents. But it all changed a few months after her fourth birthday, when her mother died. Over the years her father had let slip a few things, usually when in his cups and in maudlin mood. Ah, she was never built for childbirth, he’d once said. Another time, when she’d been about five, before he met Lydia, he’d taken her on his lap and cuddled her so close it hurt. My precious little one, it’s just you and me now, we must help each other. How glad I am she lived to hold one of her babes.

Through such remarks and overheard gossip, Jane gradually came to understood that her mother had suffered several miscarriages after, and possibly even before, her own birth and finally a haemorrhage had taken her life. A friend eventually introduced the grieving widower to Lydia Fenton, only daughter and heiress to her father’s wealth. Thus, less than two years after her mother’s death, her father remarried and they moved to Fenton Manor, away from the familiar city bustle and her elderly grandparents, who were both dead now. She was sad that she’d seen so little of them since the move from Dublin. Lydia had done her duty well and produced five children, three of them the much vaunted sons.

Jane had soon concluded that she didn’t really count for anything in this new family. She threw herself into her studies at school and achieved excellent results. Whatever she tried seemed to go well, and she knew Lydia resented her for that. She’d even learnt to type, quite fast, on one of the older Remington machines her father had brought home from the office. It became surplus to the paper’s requirements in the face of his investment in improved models. Her two older half-brothers, now eleven and ten and away at school, were not particularly bright and found academic work a struggle. The two girls seemed to be smarter but were unlikely to get the same chances as their older brothers. Jane could understand Lydia’s resentment. Any comparisons with herself would inevitably show up her own children as lesser beings, not so clever or determined, and in the case of the two girls, not so pretty, unless time transformed them a lot more than it had to date.

She stopped her pacing about and sat down at the small desk in her room. Now she was expected to marry a man she’d never met so he could take her to bed and make babies. Well, she wouldn’t do it! There’d be no winning an argument with Lydia, of that she was certain, nor would she get the higher education her father had planned for her. Lydia would have put her out to work two years ago if she’d had her way. So she had no choice. Jane would have to take matters into her own hands and there was no time to lose. It would have to be tonight. Mentally she ticked off a list of actions required in order to carry out her plan. First she must go downstairs to the library.

Good, no one else was there and the girls had left the atlas lying on the floor, conveniently still open at the correct page. After that, she consulted the railway timetable and noted down some details on a scrap of paper, carefully returning the booklet to its place on the shelf, so no one would suspect she’d used it.

From there, she went along to the kitchen to prepare a tray of supper. No one saw the amount of cold meat, bread, and cheese she loaded onto it, or they’d have queried her greed and warned her she’d have bad dreams. She carried the feast up to her room and deposited the tray on her desk. One more thing was needed, and she quickly ran up to the attics to locate a suitable outfit for the disguise she planned. Back in her room, fortunately without meeting Lydia or any of the servants on the way, she concealed it under her bed, along with the small Gladstone bag she’d shortly be packing. It was important to keep the evening routine and not arouse suspicion, so she went to say goodnight to her three young half-siblings as usual. She would also have to speak with Lydia, or her step-mother would wonder why she’d not seen her and likely come to seek her out. The last thing Jane needed at this moment was Lydia entering her bedroom and noticing her preparations. She found her step-mother still in the drawing room, alone now, the lawyer having long gone.

I’ve just come to say goodnight, mother, she greeted her. I’ve taken a light snack to my room. I’m rather tired, so I’ll retire now, I think.

Lydia didn’t seem surprised. It has been a difficult week, I know, Jane. Get a good night’s sleep. We need to have an important talk tomorrow. I’ll see you at breakfast.

Goodnight, then. Awkwardly, Jane bent and kissed Lydia’s cheek, not a demonstration of affection, but rather of a duty expected, just as she’d been trained to address her as mother, two things she hoped she now might never have to do again.

Back in her room, she retrieved a draw-string purse from its hiding place at the back of a drawer. This contained all her worldly wealth, saved up partly from an accumulation of small gifts over the years, but mostly from her earnings typing for a local lady who was trying to write a book. It was quite awful, but Jane was required for her typing skills not her literary criticism. She wondered if the budding author would ever complete the work. Certainly Jane wouldn’t be around to see the result.

Jane made herself consume a little of the feast on her tray. She didn’t feel hungry but she knew she had to have something to strengthen her for the evening ahead. After that she quietly turned the key in the lock, just in case of interruption. From under the bed, she retrieved her travel bag and packed it with a change of clothing, her special outfit from the attic, some underwear, toiletries, and a spare pair of shoes. She would wear her stout leather boots to travel. She wrapped the spare food in a large handkerchief and placed that on top. Finally, she picked up the book from her bedside table.

She opened the cover and fingered the message written inside it, bold and black in her father’s determined strokes. To most people it would be a jumble of small lines, dots, and dashes, but Jane could understand it perfectly. With all my love, Pops, it read. He had already taught her a little of the shorthand his reporters used and this small volume, the latest book from Pitman, summarised the entire system. Only he’d suggested she use a pencil rather than one of the special ink pens, which got very messy when one was learning. With it she packed the neat reporter’s notebook in which she’d been practising and the small, dog-eared photograph of her father. She had no likeness of her mother.

Duty wouldn’t let her go without leaving a message, which she’d been composing in her head as she packed. Don’t worry about me, I’m going to make my own life, she wrote, then, in a fit of conscience added, Say goodbye to the children for me. She left the house through the kitchen and the side gate that led onto the lane. The walk to the station took her near the graveyard. Wish me luck, Pops, she told him.

The train ride to Dublin was familiar enough, though one she’d never before undertaken after dark, but it was not that unusual a time to be travelling, being only just after eight this Thursday evening. The ticket clerk recognised her, of course, and looked a little surprised to find her travelling.

My condolences, Miss Waterford, was all the man said. I’ll miss seeing your father on his regular trips.

Jane thanked him and looked suitably subdued, and he said no more. No doubt he’d report seeing her when asked, for Lydia was bound to report her missing. That suited Jane’s plan very well because she wanted them to know she’d gone by rail to Dublin. What they mustn’t guess was what she was going to do next.

It was fortunate that most travellers were men coming or going at the end of their day’s work. Consequently, Jane found herself the only customer in the station’s ladies cloakroom. The cleaning lady was clattering around at one end of the long black and white tiled room, beginning to wash the floor, and didn’t look up as Jane selected the first cubicle and locked herself in to create her intended transformation. When she’d finished, she slipped into the same blue wool coat she’d worn for the first part of her journey, so from the outside she looked identical to when she’d come in. She’d found the coat, along with the dress she’d just changed into, in the attic buried in the sack of cast-offs waiting to go as charitable gifts. Lydia was nothing if not Lady Bountiful when it cost her nothing. The old dress was black cotton, a very dated maid’s dress.

She fastened the coat and made for the ticket office to purchase her ticket for the train that would take her back south, past the branch line she’d come on, all the way to Queenstown. It was the girls’ game that had given her the idea. Just as she’d told them in that note, she would be making a new life for herself, for she intended to head for the new world. She had no idea how she was going to bring it off, but somehow, without a proper ticket, she intended to gain access to a ship that would take her to America. While she made the purchase, she chatted amiably to the man at the ticket window, telling him she was going to join her mistress for a big voyage and expressing concern that she must be in good time for the sailing and not be late, which would anger her mistress. She put on a slight Irish brogue, which was not the way she’d been educated to speak, but helped to complete the deception. If questioned later, the man was unlikely to associate her with the girl they were seeking.

It was near midnight when she reached the docks at Queenstown and she couldn’t quite believe her luck, for an enormous passenger liner was in port. The gang-planks were still in place but no one was using them. Perhaps everyone had already boarded and it was about to sail. Just then a carriage came thundering over the cobbles and pulled up on the wharf. A man jumped down and assisted his wife out, while some porters scurried up to help with their luggage.

You’re just in time, Jane heard one of them say. Made it by the skin o’ yer teeth. Another ten minutes, you’d ’ave been too late. That meant Jane had very little time too. She watched the couple hurry aboard, wishing it could be her. Then she noticed they weren’t the only latecomers. Farther along the wharf, near another gang-plank, stood an elderly woman, enveloped in furs, which made her seem very large indeed. Her companion was a middle-aged lady and beside them stood a small trunk and several pieces of hand-baggage. Both women were looking anxiously around. Perhaps one of their party was late.

You really should be boarding now, Victoria, the younger one cautioned. You don’t want it to sail without you.

No, you’re quite right. Oh dear, where can the girl have got to? I knew I should never have given her leave to visit her friend. And where are the porters when you need them?

Tentatively, Jane stepped from the shadows towards them, a smile on her face and her Irish brogue firmly in place.

May I help you madam, if you need an extra hand? I’m joining my mistress on board. Perhaps I can help with your luggage?

That’s kind of you, the younger lady said. There are the porters, look. Hello, you, there, could you take this trunk up, thank you. Jane quickly picked up two of the smaller bags, tucking her own under one arm.

I can carry these for you, ma’am. Before they could argue she’d set off after the two porters who had the trunk between them. She heard the younger lady say her goodbyes and the elderly lady came aboard.

What a kind girl, thank you so much.

It’s been no trouble at all, ma’am, Jane told her. Well, I best be finding my mistress,

Of course, the woman replied. I’m sure the porters can manage everything from here. Thank you so much for your help. It’s so difficult travelling alone as a woman. What a good thing you happened along when you did. Ah, there’s my maid now, silly girl, I told her not to be late.

Jane didn’t wait for introductions and the probable explanations that would be sought with it, so she gave the woman her sweetest smile, waved at the maid, and made herself scarce. What a helpful young woman, she heard as she retreated.

Jane had only ever been on one of the smaller ferry boats that one time she’d crossed the Irish Sea in company with her father. She’d never been on an ocean-going liner before, but she’d heard that people did stowaway on these long journeys. As she explored this monstrous floating hotel she began to understand how that might be possible. Nevertheless, it was a long time to hide away, up to a week at least, so she needed to find a way to eat and drink. It was quite warm on board, so she removed her coat and found a cupboard which had some cleaning equipment in it. In this she stowed her case, laying her coat on top to hide it. Now she looked just like the maid she purported to be.

She climbed up a narrow metal staircase, then a grander carpeted one. This must be the first class accommodation and this wide corridor led to the main dining area. It was well after midnight now so there were no passengers around but several members of staff were putting the finishing touches to the tables for breakfast, young men and women in waiters’ garb and an older man in evening dress, who was supervising. As his glance swept round the room he spotted her.

Here you are at last. I knew I was one short. Have they not given you the correct uniform? See me later about that. You can do this corner over here. The others will tell you where to find everything.

So Jane found herself accidentally hired as a waitress on a transatlantic liner. She couldn’t believe her luck. She even found somewhere to sleep, in a kind of dormitory with the other girls, one of whom told her that an Irish girl had jumped ship to go home and visit a sick relative. They really seemed to believe that Jane was an official replacement, so she temporarily acquired the missing girl’s job and her bed, as well as her uniform.

At breakfast the following morning she duly reported to the dining room. Among the early diners was a familiar figure who took a table for one in Jane’s corner. It was the very lady whose luggage she’d helped carry on board. When she approached to take the lady’s order, she recognised Jane at once and her eyebrows rose in surprise.

How nice to see you again, she greeted Jane, but I don’t understand. How is it you come to be working on board? I thought your mistress was travelling.

Ah, well, madam, there’s the rub. I’m in a bit of a pickle. My mistress must have been delayed. I can’t find her on board anywhere. So, of course, I’ve no ticket and, well, I’ve sort of come to an arrangement with the management to work my passage.

How unfortunate. Still it seems to have worked out satisfactorily for you, and at least it’s only for another day and night, then I’m sure your mistress will be able to catch you up. Jane was puzzled.

Surely the voyage is rather longer than that? she queried.

Oh, no, my dear, Queenstown to Bristol is no more than two days even with bad weather.

2 : A coach overturns

As soon as the guests quit their tables, Jane was kept busy laying up for luncheon and it was good to be occupied, though she had to make a supreme effort not to bang the items of crockery and cutlery down in her frustration. How stupid she’d been! She’d just assumed the liner was heading for America, forgetting that they also went in the other direction. No wonder there’d been so few passengers boarding at Queenstown; most of them had come from New York.

By the evening, she’d calmed down sufficiently to think rationally about what to do next. She’d been to England before, even to London, accompanying her father on one of his political visits covering negotiations and debates about Home Rule for Ireland. Something that, as he put it, kept coming tantalisingly close to fruition before going just out of reach again. Jane knew she would find it easier to cope with life in England than in a strange country, even if they did speak the same language in America. She’d have to make the best of it. They would dock the next morning and she would make for the capital, even though it was likely to cost her most of the rest of her savings. Then it occurred to her that it would only do so if she made the journey in an honest fashion. She’d lied and deceived to such an extent already that her conscience was getting quite used to it. What difference did it make if she continued in that way? It was survival after all.

That evening she stood ready by the group of tables for which she was responsible, and watched the diners take their seats. In contrast to their day-time outfits and this being the last night on board, the ladies were all dressed to the hilt. Their fine silks and satins rustled and glowed and their jewels glittered and sparkled in the lamp-light. The men wore black tail-coats. Jane thought of her own upbringing, the austerity of the early years and the relative simplicity of their life at Fenton Manor. Her father had spent little except on spirits and the occasional flutter on the horses and her step-mother was a frugal housewife. Jane guessed there must be a fortune stashed away in the bank. As she watched the privileged class take their seats, the men politely bending forward to pull out the chairs for their ladies and the ship’s Captain deferentially circulating and personally greeting each table, Jane felt a powerful wave of emotion wash through her. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but a clear and forthright message was sounding in her head. I’m going to make a success of my life. I will be rich like these people and have possessions and a nice house and I will do it on my own efforts, not by marrying a wealthy old widower!

The deception Jane was now to enact was not exactly premeditated, but came to her as she heard the Captain addressing her old lady in furs, the one whose luggage she’d carried aboard. She heard his greeting.

It’s very nice to see you again, Lady Hartstone. I hope you enjoyed your stay in Ireland and found your cousin well.

Thank you, Captain, you’re most kind, she responded. I’m afraid my relative was quite sorry to see me go, and I was really quite reluctant to have to leave, but it’s been a few weeks now since I’ve been at Hartstone Hall and the place really can’t do without me for long. I know she’ll miss my company, but her daughter lives not too far away, so she’s not entirely alone.

I’m glad to hear it. The Captain moved on, and Jane began to serve her tables, taking especial care to be attentive to the woman she now knew as Lady Hartstone. Despite her determination to succeed by her own efforts, that didn’t preclude having a helping hand on the way up, from those whose social positions might be useful to her. I’m sorry, Pops, she apologised silently, for he would be heartily ashamed of her. As Jane had hoped, the lady made a point of coming to speak to her before she left the dining room.

"I’m