Read the book: «The Mistletoe Seller: A heartwarming, romantic novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller»
Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
Copyright © Dilly Court 2017
Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb/Alison Eldred (Girl); Shutterstock (background)
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Dilly Court asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008199555
Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008199579
Version: 2017-08-09
Dedication
In loving memory of Harry House
2013–2016
Taken too soon but never forgotten
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Dilly Court
About the Publisher
Chapter One
St Mary Matfelon Church, Whitechapel, London – Christmas Eve 1859
‘I found her in Angel Alley, Vicar.’ The verger cradled the infant in his arms, protecting her from the falling snow. ‘She was all alone and no one else in sight.’
‘Bring her into the warmth, Fowler, before she freezes to death.’ The Reverend John Hardisty stood aside, ushering the verger into the candlelit church. The bells were ringing out to summon worshippers to midnight mass, and the first of the faithful were already starting to arrive.
‘What will we do with her, Vicar?’ Jim Fowler gazed down into the blue eyes that regarded him with an unblinking stare. ‘She must be cold and no doubt she’ll be hungry soon. Where will we find someone to care for her at this time of night, and at Christmas, too?’
‘Take her to the vestry. My wife will know what to do.’
A married man himself, with nine little Fowlers to raise, Jim carried the infant to the vestry and as he pushed the door open he was greeted by the sound of female chatter, which stopped abruptly when the assembled ladies spotted the baby.
‘Good gracious, Jim, what have you got there?’ Letitia Hardisty surged towards him, peering at the baby with undisguised distaste. ‘Not another foundling, surely?’
‘Oh, Letty, that’s not a very Christian attitude.’ Cordelia Wilding, a plump woman wearing a fur-trimmed velvet bonnet and matching cape pushed past her to snatch the infant from the verger’s arms. ‘What a beautiful child. Just look at those soft golden curls and big blue eyes. She’s a little angel.’
The third woman, Margaret Edwards, the deacon’s wife, plainly dressed in serviceable grey linsey-woolsey with an equally plain bonnet, leaned over to take a closer look at the baby. ‘A Christmas angel, to be sure. I believe she’s smiling, Cordelia.’
‘It’s probably wind.’ Letitia stood back, frowning thoughtfully. ‘If you’ll stop cooing over her, ladies, you’ll realise that we have a problem on our hands.’
Margaret touched the infant’s cheek with the tip of her finger. ‘Where did you find her, Fowler? Was there a note of any kind?’
Jim puffed out his chest, pleased to be able to tell the deacon’s wife something she did not know. Margaret Edwards was notoriously opinionated and very conscious of her husband’s standing in the community. ‘I took it to be of the female gender, ma’am. Judging by the lace dress, which must have cost a pretty penny, in my humble opinion.’ He glanced round the small group and he realised that they were unimpressed. He cleared his throat. ‘Ahem … I was taking a short cut through Angel Alley and I heard a sound. She weren’t crying, but sort of cooing, as if to call out to me.’
‘Very interesting,’ Letitia said sharply. ‘But was she on a doorstep? If so, the mother might have intended the householder to take her in. Or was she in some sort of shelter? It’s been snowing for several hours.’
Cowed by her supercilious stare and the caustic tone of her voice, he bowed his head. ‘She was left in a portmanteau, ma’am.’
‘A portmanteau?’ Margaret tapped her teeth with her fingernail, a habit that never failed to annoy Letitia.
‘I think we all know what a portmanteau is, Margaret.’ Letitia moved closer to the verger, fixing him a stern look. ‘Did you bring it with you? It might help us to identify the child. This is obviously a matter for the police.’
He shook his head. ‘It were sodden with snow, ma’am. I was too concerned about the little one to think of anything but getting her to safety.’
‘You stupid man. There might have been a clue as to who she is, if indeed it is a girl.’ Letitia cocked her head, listening. ‘The bells have stopped. It’s time for the service to begin. We can’t stay here talking all night.’
‘What will we do with the infant, Letty?’ Cordelia clasped her hands to her bosom, her grey eyes filling with tears. ‘Someone must take her in. I would, but I’m afraid Mr Wilding would object. We have visitors staying with us, important business contacts, you understand.’
‘I can’t have her,’ Margaret said firmly. ‘I must support the deacon during this busy time of the year. He has his duties to perform, as has the vicar.’
‘And for that reason I cannot have her either,’ Letitia added, nodding. ‘Besides which, the child needs a wet nurse.’ She turned to Jim. ‘You have a large family, Fowler. Surely one more would make little difference, and I seem to remember that your youngest is only a few months old.’
Jim took a step backwards, holding up his hands. ‘My Florrie has enough to do, ma’am. We can barely feed and clothe the young ’uns as it is. Maybe the Foundling Hospital would take her in, or else it will be the workhouse.’
‘Send for a constable,’ Letitia said hurriedly. ‘The police station in Leman Street is the best place for the child. They’re used to handling such matters, and you, Fowler, must go to Angel Alley right away and fetch the case in which you found the baby. It might prove to be vital evidence for the police to find and apprehend the mother who committed the crime of abandonment.’
‘Oh, no, Letty,’ Cordelia said tearfully. ‘The poor creature needs sympathy. Where is your compassion? It is Christmas Eve, after all. Remember the babe that was born in the stable.’
‘The stable in Bethlehem is not Angel Alley in Whitechapel, Cordelia.’ Letitia shooed the verger out of the room. ‘You had best stay with the child, Cordelia, since she seems to be taken with you. Come, Margaret, the service has started.’ She left the vestry with the deacon’s wife following in her wake.
Cordelia sank down on one of the upright wooden chairs – comfort was not the main purpose of the vestry furniture. She unfolded the woollen shawl, which was new and of the best quality. The flannel nightdress was trimmed with lace and the yoke embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds. Someone, perhaps the expectant mother, had put time and effort into making the garment. Cordelia was not the most imaginative of people, but it seemed unlikely that someone who had taken such trouble over a simple nightgown would desert a much-wanted infant. The baby had not uttered a sound, and that in itself was unnerving and seemed unnatural. Cordelia had long ago given up hope of having a child of her own, and although part of her longed to take the little one home and give her the love and attention she deserved, a small voice in her head warned her against such folly. Her husband, Joseph Willard Wilding, was a successful businessman who had bought a failing brewery and turned its fortune around. They entertained regularly and she was expected to be the perfect hostess. A child would not fit in with their way of life.
‘You are a beautiful little girl. If you were mine I would christen you Angel, because that’s what you are.’
The baby gurgled and a tiny hand grasped Cordelia’s finger with surprising strength. She felt a tug at her heartstrings and an ache in her empty womb.
How long Cordelia sat there she did not know, but she felt a bond growing with the child and the sweet, milky, baby smell filled her with unacknowledged longing. Then, just as Angel was becoming restive and beginning to whimper, the door burst open and Jim entered, carrying a large portmanteau. He was followed by a police constable. The last words of ‘Come All Ye Faithful’ echoed around the vestry as the policeman closed the door.
‘This is the infant, Constable Miller,’ Jim said importantly. ‘The one I found in Angel Alley, lying in this here case as if she was a piece of left luggage. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’
Constable Miller took the portmanteau from him and proceeded to examine it in the light of a candle sconce. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a note of any kind, Mr Fowler.’ He raised his head, giving Cordelia a questioning look. ‘Was there a note pinned to the baby’s shawl, ma’am? The child’s name, maybe?’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘Nothing, Constable. The baby is well cared for and clean, and her garments are of good quality.’
Constable Miller ran his hands around the lining of the case. ‘Aha. As I thought. There is generally something personal to the mother left with foundlings.’ He held up a gold ring set with two heart-shaped rubies. ‘This might be valuable,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but I’m not an expert in jewellery. Anyway, it might help us to find the mother, or it’s possible she will have second thoughts and return to the place where she abandoned her baby. Women do strange things in such cases.’
‘What will happen to the child now?’ Cordelia asked anxiously. ‘You won’t lock her in a cell overnight, will you?’
A wry smile creased Constable Miller’s face into even deeper lines. ‘I doubt if the other occupants of the lock-up would appreciate a nipper howling its head off, ma’am. I’ll have to report back to the station, but I expect she’ll end up in the workhouse if the Foundling Hospital can’t take her.’
Jim backed towards the door. ‘I’ve got to go, Constable. The service has ended and I’ll be needed to tidy up ready for the Christmas Day services.’ He let himself into the body of the church, closing the door behind him.
‘Busy for all of us,’ Constable Miller said drily. ‘No doubt we’ll be scooping the drunks off the streets and arresting the pros—’ He broke off, his face flushing brick red. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I mean we’ll be keeping the streets as free from crime as possible in this part of the East End.’ He reached out to take the baby, but Cordelia tightened her hold on the tiny body.
‘I don’t like to think of Angel in such a place, Constable. Or in the workhouse, if it comes to that.’
‘She has a name, ma’am?’
Cordelia blushed rosily. ‘I’ve been calling her Angel because she was found in Angel Alley and because it’s Christmas, and she looks like an angel.’
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to take care of her for a couple of days, would you, ma’am? It would make my life easier and you obviously have some feelings for the little mite. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘I can understand, being the father of five. I’d take her myself, but for the fact that my wife is sick in bed and the nippers are having to look after themselves.’
‘I wish I could, Constable,’ Cordelia said with genuine regret, ‘but my husband wouldn’t agree, and anyway, she needs a wet nurse.’
‘Give her to me then, ma’am. I’m sure the sergeant at the station will know of some woman who’d like to earn a few pence for her labours.’
Cordelia hesitated. ‘I suppose that means some slattern who might be disease ridden and most certainly of low morals.’
‘That I can’t say, ma’am.’ Constable Miller kept his tone moderate but he was tired and coming to the end of his shift. His only wish was to take the tiresome infant to the station and see it safely settled before he went home to his family, left in the care of his eldest daughter, a child of ten. Whether or not they were asleep in bed was something he would discover when he opened the door of their two-up, two-down terraced house. No doubt they would have searched the cupboards for their presents, such as they were, but all he could afford on a constable’s pay were wooden toys made from offcuts by the carpenter who lived at number six, and rag dolls that his wife had spent many evenings sewing by the light of a single candle.
Cordelia rose to her feet, still clutching Angel, who was growing restive and her whimpering was rapidly growing in volume. ‘I must come with you, Constable. I have to make certain that this child is placed in safe hands.’ Cordelia turned her head as the door opened to admit Letitia, the vicar and Joseph Wilding, and judging by the expressions on their faces she realised that her decision was going to attract strong opposition. She explained hastily, but Joseph barely allowed her to finish speaking.
‘It’s ridiculous, Cordelia. The child has been deserted by her mother and goodness knows where it came from. The thing might be riddled with disease and you have a delicate constitution. Come away and leave the matter to the authorities.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ Letitia said smoothly. ‘Your caring attitude is admirable, but misplaced. There are institutions that care for this type of child.’
‘And what type is that?’ Cordelia demanded angrily. ‘Angel is an innocent, just like the Child whose birth we are supposed to be celebrating at Christmas.’
Shocked, Letitia stared at her wide-eyed. ‘That is blasphemous, Cordelia.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Pretend you didn’t hear that, John. Cordelia is obviously beside herself, and it’s very late. Time we were all tucked up in our beds so that we can be ready for tomorrow – or rather, later on today. Go home, Cordelia, and leave the matter in the hands of the police.’
Cordelia held the child closer as she rose to her feet. Rebellion was not in her nature and she would normally have complied with her husband’s wishes, but this was different. ‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘No?’ Letitia and Joseph spoke in unison.
‘It’s all right, ma’am,’ Constable Miller said hastily. ‘I will make certain that the child is well cared for.’
Cordelia shot a sideways look at her husband. ‘I am not abandoning this infant. I intend to accompany Constable Miller to the police station, and I will stay with Angel until I am satisfied that appropriate arrangements have been made for her care.’
‘Cordelia, I forbid you—’ Joseph broke off mid-sentence. The stubborn set of his wife’s normally soft jawline and the martial gleam in her large grey eyes both startled and confused him. Used as he was to commanding his army of workers at the brewery and generally getting his own way by simple force of his domineering nature, he was suddenly at a loss.
‘I am going with her,’ Cordelia said simply. ‘It’s Christmas Day and my little winter angel needs the comfort of loving arms. I will never know the joy of holding my own child, so please allow me this one small thing, Joseph.’
John Hardisty cleared his throat, touched to the core by the simple request of a childless woman. ‘I will accompany you, my dear Mrs Wilding. If Joseph feels he must tend to your guests then please allow me to be of assistance.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Vicar.’ Joseph moved to his wife’s side. ‘I’m sure my friends will understand. I don’t agree with what you’re doing, Cordelia, but I am prepared to humour you – just this once.’
She met his gaze with a steady look. For the first time in the twenty-five years of their marriage she knew that she was in control, and it was a good feeling. She said nothing as she followed the constable out of the church, wrapping her cape around the baby to protect her from the heavily falling snow.
‘Get into the carriage, Cordelia,’ Joseph said sternly. ‘Might I offer you a lift, Constable?’
‘I’m supposed to be walking my beat, sir.’ Constable Miller squinted up into the swirling mass of feathery snow. ‘But I suppose under the circumstances it would be appropriate.’
The desk sergeant dipped his pen into the inkwell. ‘Name, please?’
‘Cordelia Wilding.’
‘No, ma’am, the infant’s name, if it has one.’
‘Angel,’ Cordelia said firmly.
‘Angel?’ He looked up, frowning. ‘Surname?’
‘Really, Officer, is this necessary?’ Joseph leaned over the desk. ‘My wife knows nothing of this child. She’s simply caring for the infant until someone comes to take her away.’
A shaft of fear stabbed Cordelia with such ferocity that she could scarcely breathe. ‘Angel Winter. It’s the name I’ve given the poor little creature who’s been cruelly abandoned by her mother. She needs someone who can take care of her bodily needs, and a home where she will be loved.’
‘Don’t we all, ma’am?’ Sergeant Wilkes said drily.
‘I suggested the Foundling Hospital, Sergeant,’ Constable Miller took his notebook from his pocket. ‘The infant was found at approximately eleven forty-five in Angel Alley by a Mr James Fowler, the verger at St Mary’s church, and taken into the vestry where this good lady has been taking care of the said babe.’
The sergeant glanced at the clock. ‘It’s nearly half-past one in the morning, and it’s Christmas Day. I doubt if anyone would be happy to be awakened at this time.’
As if acting on cue, Angel began to cry and this time no amount of rocking or soothing words made any difference.
‘She’s hungry,’ Cordelia said apologetically. ‘A wet nurse must be found immediately.’
‘Lumpy Lil is in the cells, Constable Miller. Go and fetch her, if you please. She’s up for soliciting again.’ Sergeant Wilkes shot an apologetic glance in Cordelia’s direction. It was bad enough having a nipper howling its head off fit to bust, without the added complication of there being a lady present. He thought longingly of home and a warm fireside, a pipe of baccy and a glass of porter to finish off a long day. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am.’
‘Lumpy Lil,’ Cordelia repeated faintly. The image this conjured up made her shudder, but Angel’s cries were becoming more urgent, and she supposed that one mother’s milk was as good as another’s, even if the woman was of questionable morals.
Joseph moved closer to her, lowering his voice. ‘Come away now, Cordelia. You’ve done your best for the infant. Let the police deal with her.’
She turned on him in a fury. ‘You make Angel sound like a criminal. I won’t abandon her, and I intend to remain here until I’m satisfied that a good home has been found for her.’
‘This is ridiculous, my dear,’ Joseph said through clenched teeth. ‘You cannot stay here all night, and possibly all day too. I won’t allow it.’
Cordelia turned away in time to see Constable Miller escorting a large, raw-boned woman along the corridor that presumably led from the cells. Lumpy Lil lived up to her name – her torn blouse was open to the waist, exposing large breasts, purple veined and threatening to burst free from the confines of tightly laced stays.
‘Good grief!’ Joseph stared at her in horror. ‘Surely not this creature.’
‘Where’s the little brat then?’ Lil’s words were slurred. It was obvious that she had been drinking and was still under the influence, but Angel was screaming by this time, and much as Cordelia hated the thought of this unwashed, drunken woman laying hands on her pure little angel, she could see that there was little alternative. She cleared her throat, meeting Lil’s aggressive glare with an attempt at a smile.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you be kind enough to give sustenance to this poor little child, Miss Lumpy?’
‘It’s Miss Heavitree to you, lady.’ Lil tossed back her shaggy mane of mouse-brown hair. ‘You never told me the queen was visiting Leman Street nick, Constable Miller.’
‘Less of your cheek, Lil. You know what’s required of you.’
‘Give us the kid, missis.’ Lil held her arms out, exposing tattoos that ran from her bony wrists to her elbows. ‘I’ll be glad to get some relief from me sore titties. My babe only lived three days, and then the cops brought me in for trying to make a living.’ She spat on the floor at Constable Miller’s feet, narrowly missing his boots. ‘I provides a valuable service, they knows that.’
‘Less of your lip, Lumpy.’ Constable Miller poked her in the back. ‘If you’re willing to take care of the nipper you can use the inspector’s office. He’s at home with his family, where we all should be, and I’m going off duty, so don’t give me any trouble.’
‘All right, I’ll see to the little thing. What’s her name?’
‘I call her Angel.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste. I dare say she’ll be as much of a brat as the rest of ’em when she’s old enough to answer back.’ Lil flung the baby over her shoulder with careless abandon. ‘Lead on, Constable. You can stay and watch if it gives you pleasure.’ She winked at him, but Constable Miller merely shrugged and gave her a push in the direction of the office.
‘It would be nothing new to me, Lil. I’ve got five of my own, but I’ll be outside the door, so don’t try to escape.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on her,’ Cordelia volunteered as Constable Miller ushered Lumpy Lil and the baby into the inspector’s office.
‘You don’t want to mix with the likes of her, ma’am,’ he said in an undertone. ‘She’s not your sort at all.’
‘She most certainly is not.’ Joseph laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done your duty by the infant, Cordelia. It’s time to go home.’
Cordelia Frances Wilding had been brought up to be a dutiful daughter and a biddable wife, but at that moment something inside her snapped. The need to protect the infant was stronger than any other emotion she had felt in her whole life, and nothing anyone said or did would make a scrap of difference.
‘Go home, Joseph,’ she said firmly. ‘I intend to remain here until I am satisfied that Angel will be looked after properly.’
‘You are telling me to leave you here? In a police station with common prostitutes and villains of every kind?’
‘Yes, I am. I won’t move from this spot until I know what arrangements have been made.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Or else I’ll bring her home and hire Miss Heavitree as her wet nurse.’
‘This is ridiculous. Have you lost your senses, Cordelia?’ Joseph paled visibly. ‘What about my status in the business world – have you considered that?’
She turned her back on him. ‘I’m not listening.’
Joseph stared at her in horror. This angry person was not the docile wife who had run his household and acted as hostess to his business acquaintances for more than twenty-five years. He barely recognised the mutinous woman who was openly defying him, and worse still he felt a wave of sympathy emanating from the desk sergeant. There seemed to be little he could do other than admit defeat and save face by appearing to support his wife.
‘Very well, my dear. I can see that this means a lot to you, so I’ll do as you ask, but only if you promise not to do anything rash.’
‘I’ll do what I think best, Joseph.’
Defeated for the first time in his married life, Joseph turned to Sergeant Wilkes. ‘I have to go now, but I’ll send the carriage back to wait for my wife.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
Joseph lowered his voice. ‘I would be prepared to make a generous donation to any charity of your choosing if a suitable home can be found for the infant. My wife will not leave until she is assured of this.’
‘I can’t promise, sir, but I’ll see what I can do.’
Joseph turned his head to see his wife looking directly at him and his heart sank. ‘You heard what I said, Cordelia?’
‘Yes, I did, and I’ll stay here until I’m satisfied that Angel will be loved and cared for, but don’t be surprised if I bring her home with me, Joseph. I will not be swayed on this matter. It’s Christmas Day – a time for children and families – I can’t abandon her, and I won’t.’
Chapter Two
Spital Square, Spitalfields – 1871
Angel put down her sampler and stared out of the window. The square was bustling with life and the sun was shining. She longed to go outside but she was forbidden to leave the house unless accompanied by Lil Heavitree, her nursemaid, although at eleven years of age she thought it ridiculous for a big girl like herself to be waited upon hand and foot by an old woman. Lil must be forty, if she was a day, and her large ungainly figure seemed to broaden with every passing year. Clumsy and prone to using bad language when she forgot herself, Lil was looked down upon by the other servants and Angel was constantly flying to her defence, particularly when her guardian’s personal maid, Miss Nixon, used her wiles to get poor Lil into trouble. Quite often, when Lil’s innate clumsiness had caused her to smash a valuable figurine or one of Mrs Wilding’s best Crown Derby dinner plates, Angel had taken the blame. Aunt Cordelia might grumble, but she would forgive Angel, whereas Lil would probably lose her job. There were times when Angel heard the underservants calling Lil names, referring to her as Lumpy Lil and taunting her about her former life. Angel was not sure what Lil’s crimes had been, but they haunted the poor woman even after nearly twelve years of devoted service.
Angel leaned forward, attracted by the cries of a young woman selling strawberries. Aunt Cordelia loved the sweet succulent fruit and the season when they were at their best was far too short. Angel leaped to her feet with a show of lace-trimmed pantalettes and a swirl of her silk taffeta tartan skirts, and she ran from the room, grabbing her reticule on the way out. The coins clanked together merrily as she raced down three flights of stairs, flying past the startled housemaid as she crossed the entrance hall and let herself out into the street, just in time to catch the strawberry seller before she moved on to Norton Folgate.
With a punnet clutched in her hand Angel went to find Aunt Cordelia, but her way to the drawing room was barred by Miss Nixon.
‘Where do you think you’re going, miss?’
Her enthusiasm dashed by Miss Nixon’s tight-lipped expression and sharp tone, Angel wafted the strawberries under the maid’s nose. ‘I bought these with my own money as a present for my aunt.’
‘Have you no sense, child?’ Miss Nixon’s voice was laced with acid. ‘The master is dead. Do you think that a few berries will mend a broken heart?’
Angel stared at her blankly. She heard the words but they made no sense. ‘He can’t be,’ she whispered. ‘I saw him yesterday and he greeted me with such a kind smile.’
‘That may be so but he was taken suddenly. An apoplectic fit, so the doctor said. Anyway, it’s none of your business. Go to your room and don’t bother Mrs Wilding. She’s prostrate with grief.’
Slowly, Angel ascended the stairs. The smell of the warm berries was suddenly nauseating, much as she loved the fruit, and she abandoned the punnet on one of the carved mahogany tables that were placed strategically on each landing. The old nursery on the third floor was now a schoolroom, but Angel’s governess had retired recently, leaving a gap in her life once filled with lessons on history, grammar and mathematics. Aunt Cordelia had insisted that Angel should receive an education fit for a young lady, although Uncle Joseph often stated within Angel’s hearing that filling girls’ heads with knowledge was a waste of time – and now he was dead. It was hard to believe that a large, ruddy-faced man, seemingly in the prime of life, should have been struck down so cruelly. Angel entered the schoolroom to find Lil waiting for her.
‘You’ve been told, have you?’
‘Miss Nixon said my uncle is dead. Is it true, Lil?’
‘Dead as a doornail, love. Felled like an ox, he was. Just got up from the breakfast table, so Florrie says, and collapsed at her feet, and her still holding the coffeepot. It’s a wonder she never spilled it all over him. Not that he’d have felt a thing. He were a goner for sure, and the missis screamed and fell down in a dead faint. Such a to-do.’
‘How awful,’ Angel said sadly. ‘It must have come as a terrible shock. I ought to comfort her. Do you think I should go to her now, Lil?’
‘Not at this minute, my lovely. The doctor’s been and given her a strong dose of laudanum, and the undertaker will be here any minute. Just stay up here until the missis sends for you.’
‘I bought her some strawberries.’ Angel walked over to the window and peered out. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’
‘It don’t matter whether it’s raining or sunny – when your time is up, that’s it. The master has gone to his Maker, and I don’t doubt that worry was partly to blame.’
‘Worry?’ Angel was quick to hear the change in Lil’s tone. ‘Why was he worried?’
‘Well, whatever it was he’s out of it now.’ Lil smoothed her starched white apron with her work-worn hands. ‘I can’t dawdle about here all day. There’s work to do. I just came to make sure you was all right.’ Lil gave her a searching look. ‘You ain’t going to pipe your eye, are you?’
‘No, I feel sad, but somehow I can’t cry for Uncle Joseph. I know he never wanted me to come and live here.’
Lil twisted her lips into a crooked smile. ‘That was true at the outset, but he came round in the end. The missis can be very persuasive when she puts her mind to it. Now I really must get my carcass downstairs and offer to help or I’ll never hear the last of it.’ She waddled to the door, but she hesitated and turned to give Angel an encouraging smile before leaving.
Left to her own devices there was little that Angel could do other than wait for her aunt to send for her, but the call did not come. Luncheon was normally brought to the schoolroom at midday, unless Angel was invited to take the meal with her aunt, but she waited until she heard the clock in the hall strike one, and then she took matters into her own hands and went downstairs to the basement kitchen.
Cook and the young housemaid, Gilly, stared at her as if she were a ghost.
‘You should be upstairs in the nursery, miss,’ Cook said severely.
‘It’s not the nursery now,’ Angel countered. ‘It’s the schoolroom, and I’m hungry. Where’s Lil?’
‘She went to the pharmacy to purchase some laudanum for madam – doctor’s orders. She’s to be kept quiet in a darkened room, and she don’t want to be bothered with the likes of you.’
Angel was taken aback by Cook’s response. She had never been a cheery soul, but now her tone was belligerent and downright disrespectful. Angel had known from an early age that she was not related to the Wildings by blood, and that she had been adopted by Aunt Cordelia when she was just a baby, but the servants had always treated her with due deference, until now.
‘I would like my food sent to the schoolroom, Cook. When Lil returns, please send her to me.’ Angel shot a withering look at Gilly, who was giggling helplessly. ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny. This is supposed to be a house of mourning.’
Gilly’s jaw dropped and she backed into the scullery. ‘Sorry, miss.’
‘On second thoughts, I’ll help myself,’ Angel said, ignoring Cook’s tight-lipped expression as she cut several slices from a freshly baked loaf of bread. ‘Is there any ham or meat left from dinner last evening?’
Reluctantly Cook opened the larder door and took out a plate of cold beef. She placed it on the table. ‘Is there anything else, miss?’
‘You wouldn’t treat me so rudely if my uncle were still alive.’ Angel added some meat to her plate and a pat of butter. ‘My aunt will hear of this.’
‘You’ve got a nasty surprise coming to you, miss. You won’t be so high and mighty when the bailiffs arrive.’
Angel hesitated in the doorway. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Cook turned her back on Angel and returned to the range where she had been stirring a bubbling pan of soup.
Angel took the plate to her room, but as she nibbled a slice of bread and butter her appetite deserted her and she left the remainder of the food untouched. She wanted to go to her aunt and comfort her, but Lil’s words of warning made her hesitate, and just when she had made up her mind to ignore them anyway, Lil burst into the room. She trailed her woollen shawl behind her and her straw bonnet was askew, allowing wisps of hair to cling damply to her forehead.
‘I’ve just run all the way from the pharmacy, Angel. The undertaker’s arrived, love. Mrs Wilding is prostrate with grief and there’s no one but you from above stairs to tell him what’s required.’
Angel leaped to her feet. Something to do at last. ‘I’ll speak to him.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lil followed Angel out of the room, clumping down the stairs in her wake. ‘I’ll come with you so that he doesn’t take advantage of your tender years.’
‘I’ll deal with it, Lil. Don’t worry about me.’ Angel hurried to the ground floor where she found the undertaker. He clutched his top hat in his hands, but as he turned to greet her his conciliatory smile faded.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I really need to see your mother. Will you tell her that Jeremiah Chancellor is here to await her convenience?’
‘Mrs Wilding is my aunt and she is resting at the moment, sir. She must not be disturbed but she will let you have her instructions as soon as possible.’
‘If you would be kind enough to tell her that I called, I’ll come again tomorrow.’
‘Just you wait a minute,’ Lil said brusquely. ‘You ain’t going and leaving the dead body here, are you? The master is stretched out on the dining-room table. It took me and Cook to heave him off the floor and he’s no lightweight.’
‘I have a coffin in the hearse, which is at your disposal,’ Mr Chancellor said stiffly. ‘But it’s customary for the loved ones to rest at home until the funeral.’
‘There is the morning parlour,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I’m sure that would be suitable, but you aren’t going to leave him here for long, are you?’
He looked over the top of Angel’s head, addressing himself to Lil. ‘There’s the question of the necessary arrangements to be made, and there are certain financial matters to discuss. I can only do that with the lady of the house or someone in authority.’
‘My aunt will see you when she is rested, but I’m sure she will agree to any suggestions you might care to make.’ Angel raised her voice, just a little, but even to her ears she sounded youthful and uncertain.
Mr Chancellor turned to Lil. ‘I can’t take instructions from a mere child. Tell your mistress that I’ll be pleased to call on her when she is feeling better.’
Angel could see that Lil was simmering with indignation and was flexing her hands as if at any moment she might seize Mr Chancellor by the collar and eject him from the house. Angel was well aware that Lil had once floored a would-be intruder with an upper cut that would not have disgraced Tom Cribb. It had been the talk of the servants’ hall for months after the event.
‘I can speak for my aunt, sir,’ Angel said firmly. ‘Please go ahead with the necessary arrangements, and if you would be kind enough to call tomorrow morning I am sure Mrs Wilding will be able to see you in person. You must understand that she is too upset to see anyone at the moment.’
Jeremiah Chancellor screwed up his face, as if calculating the risks of taking instructions from a minor, but after a quick glance at his surroundings and the obvious trappings of wealth, he managed a sickly smile. ‘Of course, miss. I’m sorry if I caused offence, but you must realise that in my line of business I have to be careful.’
‘I understand, sir.’ Angel inclined her head graciously, although secretly she would have been pleased to let Lil loose on him. She had a satisfying vision of the pompous gentleman flying down the front steps aided by a shove from Lil, but she managed to control a sudden desire to giggle. ‘Please see Mr Chancellor out, Lil.’
Angel waited until the door closed on him before making her way slowly up the stairs, but as she reached the first floor she could hear her aunt’s sobs through the closed bedroom door. If ever anyone was in need of loving care, it was Aunt Cordelia and, ignoring Lil’s advice, Angel entered the room. The curtains were closed and the four-poster bed loomed large in the shadows. Angel tiptoed over to stand at her aunt’s bedside.
‘Aunt Cordelia, it’s me, Angel.’ When there was no response, Angel lay down on the coverlet and cuddled up to her aunt. ‘Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you just as you took care of me when I was little.’ She rested her cheek against her aunt’s back, placing a protective arm around the slim body, racked with sobs. Angel’s tears, which had been so long in coming, fell unchecked.
Angel was considered to be too young to attend the funeral, despite her protests that she wanted to be there if only to support her aunt, but Cordelia was adamant. She had recovered enough from the shock of her husband’s sudden death to agree to Mr Chancellor’s arrangements for the interment. The day after Mr Chancellor’s visit Angel had accompanied her aunt to Jay’s Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street, where Cordelia was fitted out with her widow’s weeds. Angel was in the awkward stage where she was neither child nor adult, but she wanted to show her respect for her adoptive uncle and she chose a plain grey tussore gown, which she wore with black armbands, similar to those purchased for the servants.
At home the curtains were closed and black crepe ribbon tied to the door knocker indicated that the occupants were in deep mourning. The house in Spital Square had never been filled with music and laughter, but now it was a sad place and the only sounds that echoed throughout the building were the servants’ footsteps on the back stairs and the closing of a door or window.
Two days after the interment, Angel was on her way to her uncle’s study in search of something to read from his small collection of books, when the door flew open and a man hurried out, almost colliding with her.
‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t know you were there.’
Angel recognised the tall, thin gentleman whose balding head was compensated for by grey mutton-chop whiskers, a curly moustache and a goatee beard, which was a similar shade of ginger to his bushy eyebrows. Geoffrey Galloway was her aunt’s solicitor and when Angel was younger he used to bring her a poke of peppermint creams or a stick of barley sugar. He still treated her as if she were a charming five-year-old. Sometimes growing up was very hard, especially when people failed to see that she was on her way to adulthood.
‘I was going to borrow a book, sir.’ Angel kept her tone neutral and she met his amused gaze with a stony stare.
‘Admirable, young lady. Admirable.’ He smiled vaguely and crossed the hall to where Gilly waited, holding his hat and cane. ‘Good day.’
A warm draught laced with the smell of horse dung and fumes from the gasworks wafted in from the street, and Gilly closed the door after him. She shot a sideways glance at Angel, her mean little face contorted with spite. ‘You won’t be looking down your nose at us servants for much longer, so Cook says.’
Angel paused in the doorway. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Just you wait and see. Cook knows a thing or two.’ Gilly scurried off in the direction of the back stairs, leaving Angel staring after her.
‘Darling, is that you?’ Cordelia’s voice from the depths of the study brought Angel back to reality and she hurried into the room.
‘Are you all right, Aunt Cordelia? What did Mr Galloway want?’
Slumped in her late husband’s leather chair, Cordelia made an effort to smile, but her heart-shaped face was deathly pale and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘We’re ruined, Angel. There’s no easy way to put this, but your uncle’s business venture failed miserably. The brewery has had to close and we’ve lost everything.’
Angel sank down on the chair recently vacated by Mr Galloway – the seat was still warm. ‘I don’t understand. How could that happen?’
‘I don’t pretend to understand business matters, dear. All I know is what Geoffrey just told me. Apparently Joseph played the tables to try to recoup his losses when the business was failing and his last gamble didn’t pay off. Everything has gone, and he mortgaged the house without my knowledge. I’m virtually penniless.’ She buried her head in her hands and her shoulders heaved. ‘We’ll be living on the streets.’
‘No, that can’t be true,’ Angel said stoutly, but then Gilly’s spiteful words came back to her. How the servants could have found out was a puzzle, but then they always seemed to know things before she did. ‘There must be something we could sell to raise money. Perhaps we could find a smaller house to rent.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel. Everything has to go – the furniture, my jewellery, the silver – all the things I treasure. The household bills haven’t been paid for months and if I can’t raise the money the bailiffs will come in and take everything. I can’t bear the disgrace.’
‘Isn’t there anyone who could help us?’ Angela asked in desperation. ‘Do you know anyone who could lend you some money to keep us going for a while?’
Cordelia raised her head, gazing at Angel with tears sparkling on the tips of her dark lashes. ‘There is one person who has offered to help, but I don’t think I can bring myself to accept his offer.’
‘Who is it, Aunt? What does he want in return for a loan?’
‘Geoffrey asked me to marry him,’ Cordelia said dully. ‘I’ve known him for years. He’s been Joseph’s solicitor for as long as I can remember, and he used to dine here quite often, but I can’t marry a man I don’t love, even for the sake of keeping a roof over our heads.’
‘He seems like a nice man,’ Angel said slowly. ‘But if you don’t like him …’
‘I do like him, darling. I’ve always liked him, but I loved Joseph.’ Cordelia mopped her eyes with her sodden hanky. ‘I know he was domineering and sometimes impatient, but ours was a love match and I miss him terribly. Anyway, I’m in mourning, and I will be for a year or maybe two.’
‘You mustn’t give it a second thought.’ Angel leaned over the desk to grasp her aunt’s hand. ‘We’ll manage without him, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll find work and we’ll look for somewhere else to live. You won’t have to marry a man you don’t love. I’ll look after you now.’
‘My darling, you’re just a child. I wouldn’t think of placing such responsibility on your young shoulders. But you’re right, we will survive somehow, and the first thing I will do is take my jewellery to the pawnbroker. I won’t allow the bailiffs to take it.’
‘There is my ring, too,’ Angel said slowly. The thought of parting with the one thing that might have belonged to her mother was agonising, but she could not allow her aunt to make all the sacrifices.
‘No, Angel. That is yours and you must keep it always.’ Cordelia frowned, staring down at the jewels on her left hand. ‘I will part with everything other than my wedding ring. Joseph placed that on my finger when I was just twenty, and it will remain there until the day I die.’
Angel knew that at any moment her aunt would burst into tears and that would only make matters worse. She jumped to her feet. ‘There must be other things we can sell, Aunt Cordelia.’
‘The bailiffs will be here this afternoon. We must act quickly if we’re to salvage anything, and even then I dare say it’s against the law, but at this moment I don’t care.’
‘You must stay here,’ Angel said firmly. ‘I’ll go to the pawnshop with Lil. It would be a brave man who tried to get the better of her.’
‘Perhaps you’re right, my darling. I’m afraid I would give in too easily.’ Cordelia rose from the chair, patting the leather arm rests as if saying farewell to an old friend. ‘I have the onerous duty of informing the servants that they will have to find employment elsewhere, but first I’ll fetch my jewellery box. I have a fine gold chain, which you must keep. Thread it through your mama’s ring and hang it around your neck.’
Angel swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll treasure it always.’
Angel and Lil returned from their trip to the pawnbroker’s in White’s Row to find the bailiffs already at work. The dining-room table was being hefted onto a cart, together with the chairs, and the sideboard stood on the pavement waiting to be treated with equal lack of care. Angel would have run forward to snatch the portrait of her aunt as a young bride from the hands of a burly carter, but Lil restrained her.
‘Just go indoors, love,’ she said in a low voice that sounded more like a growl. ‘You can’t stop ’em, and they might start asking questions.’
Angel realised that her weighty reticule might cause comment and she tucked it under her arm as she marched up the steps to the front door. It was wide open and Gilly was ineffectually flapping her apron at a porter who was carrying a tea chest filled with Cordelia’s Crown Derby dinner service.
‘Robbers,’ Gilly cried hoarsely. ‘That belongs to the mistress.’
‘Not no more, my duck.’ The man winked at her and continued on his way. A second cart had drawn up outside and a second bailiff pushed past Angel as he entered the house.
Gilly screamed, ‘They’ll have the clothes off our backs next, miss.’
‘No, they won’t. You’ll be quite safe below stairs. We have to leave them to do their work.’ Angel pointed the distraught maid in the direction of the baize door. ‘Stay in the kitchen with Cook.’
‘I can’t, miss. Cook done a bunk and Miss Nixon went last night. I dunno how to cook dinner, and that’s a fact.’
Lil grabbed Gilly by the arm. ‘Do as Miss Angel says, you halfwit. There’s nothing to be done up here.’
‘What shall I do, Lil? I ain’t got no money, and me dad will skin me alive if I goes home.’
‘Just wait in the kitchen,’ Lil said with a surprising show of patience. ‘I’ll be down in a minute and we’ll decide what’s to be done.’ She gave Gilly a shove and the girl stumbled off in the direction of the back stairs.
Angel sidestepped two porters. ‘You’d best go after her, Lil. Goodness knows what she’ll do left on her own in the kitchen. She’ll probably burn the house down.’
‘She’s daft enough,’ Lil said grimly. ‘Leave her to me.’ She strode off with a determined set to her jaw.
Angel was about to go in search of her aunt when she heard someone call her name. Her heart sank as she recognised the voice and she turned slowly to see the Reverend John Hardisty and his wife standing in the doorway.
‘Angel, my dear child, what a sorry state of affairs, to be sure.’
‘Poor Cordelia, she must be distraught,’ Letitia said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Angel answered meekly, but she was not fooled by Mrs Hardisty’s words of sympathy. She suspected that Letitia harboured some kind of grudge against her aunt, although it was hard to imagine Aunt Cordelia merited such ill feeling. Whatever the cause – and Letitia Hardisty always managed to appear conciliatory and pleasant – Angel had often felt an undercurrent and on this particular day it was more obvious than ever.
‘Is there anything we can do?’ John Hardisty spoke with genuine concern.
‘I don’t think so, sir,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I think my aunt is resting. This has all come as a terrible shock.’
‘Is it true that you are losing everything?’ He looked round, shaking his head. ‘If so, where will you go?’
‘I dare say Cordelia has relatives who will take her in. Although I wouldn’t relish such a change after being mistress of my own house for so many years.’ Letitia pursed her lips and there was a malicious gleam in her dark eyes. ‘Poor thing,’ she added, clutching her husband’s arm. ‘We should leave, John. I fear we are intruding.’
He cleared his throat noisily as if about to embark on a sermon. ‘If there is any way I can be of assistance, Angel, please ask your aunt to contact me.’
Letitia dragged him towards the door, which was propped open to allow the bailiff’s men easy access. ‘A penniless widow is a pitiable object in the eyes of society. My condolences to your aunt, you poor child.’
The words that tumbled from Letitia’s lips should have given Angel comfort, but the reverse was true. She had attended church every Sunday for as long as she could remember, and there had been interminable tea parties either at the vicarage or here at home, when the ladies of the parish gathered together to discuss their charitable actions and exchange gossip. Even as a child it had been obvious to Angel that women like Margaret Edwards, the deacon’s wife, and the good ladies who tried to alleviate the suffering of the poor, were all in awe of Letitia Hardisty, if not actually afraid of her and her sharp tongue.
Resisting the temptation to rush after the vicar and his wife and slam the door, shutting them out of her life for ever, Angel took a deep breath. Whatever befell her and her aunt in the future, the one good thing to come out of this terrible state of affairs was that Aunt Cordelia would be free to start her life again, away from the tittle-tattle and covert glances of those who were supposed to be her friends. Even so, the future looked bleak and for the first time in her life Angel was scared.
The free sample has ended.
