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Copyright
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Dilly Court 2019
Jacket Photographs: © Gordon Crabb/Alison Eldred (Girl); Shutterstock.com (all other images)
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
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.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008287757
Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008287764
Version: 2019-08-30
Dedication
For Daisy Richards
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
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
Read on for a sneak peek
Keep Reading …
About the Author
Also by Dilly Court
About the Publisher
Map
Chapter One
The Carrington House, Queen Square, London, December 1867
Daisy Marshall put aside the garment she had been mending for Master Timothy.
‘What is it, Franklin?’ she asked, gazing warily at the butler, who had entered the morning parlour without bothering to knock. Such small infringements of etiquette from the upper servants were not unusual, and obviously designed to put her in her place.
‘For you, miss.’ With disapproval written all over his face, Franklin proffered a silver salver on which lay a sealed envelope.
Daisy’s breath caught in her throat as she recognised the writing, and she snatched it up, hoping that Franklin was not familiar with the bold cursive script belonging to Julian Carrington, the elder son and heir to the family fortune.
‘Thank you, Franklin.’ She made an effort to sound casual and unconcerned, but Franklin had a way of reducing her to the lowly status of a scullery maid.
He looked down his long nose. ‘Mrs Carrington wishes to see you in the drawing room, miss.’
‘I’ll be there directly.’ Daisy waited until he had left the room. The Carringtons’ butler had never approved of her – he had made that plain from the outset – and neither had Mrs Thompson, the housekeeper. The lot of a governess was not a happy one, as Daisy had discovered to her cost. She had found herself occupying a nebulous position where she belonged neither upstairs nor below stairs, but all that would change very soon. Daisy raised her hand to touch the gold ring set with a sparkling diamond that Julian had placed on her finger, although it now hung round her neck on a silk ribbon, hidden from view. The Carringtons’ money had come originally from coal mining in Yorkshire, and it was no secret that they hoped their son would marry into the landed gentry, but Julian would be twenty-one on Christmas Eve, and he planned to announce their betrothal at his birthday party.
Daisy opened the envelope carefully, not wanting to tear the expensive hand-made writing paper, and she inhaled the scent of Julian’s favourite cologne. It was almost as if he were sitting beside her, and she closed her eyes, revelling in the exotic blend of aromatic essences and spice. She sighed happily: in two days’ time it would be official. When he returned home Julian would place the ring on her finger in front of his whole family. Daisy Marshall from Whitechapel, the orphaned daughter of a leather merchant, would be raised from her humble status of governess to that of fiancée to the elder son of a well-to-do family. Quite how it had happened was still something of a surprise. The dashing twenty-year-old Oxford undergraduate, who had hopes of a career in the diplomatic service, was much in demand during the London season. Daisy was well aware that his domineering mother and ambitious father had their sights set on someone from a good family for their future daughter-in-law, but Julian had other ideas. He had convinced Daisy that for him it was love at first sight, and she had been similarly smitten. Now all that remained was to break the news of their engagement to the family.
Daisy broke the seal and opened the letter carefully, a smile curving her lips, but as she read the contents her hands began to tremble and the words blurred, running together until they made no sense.
Oxford
December 1867
My darling Daisy,
You can’t imagine how difficult it is for me to find the words that will inevitably break your heart, as it is breaking mine when I put pen to paper. The truth is that I cannot marry you. There, I’ve said it and it cannot be undone. I still love you dearly, but I realise that for us to wed would be a dreadful mistake. My parents will never accept you as one of the family and I will be cut off without a penny. I cannot hope to earn enough to make a proper home for you and any children we might have, and to marry you under such circumstances would be irresponsible, if not downright cruel. I love you too much to see you brought down by poverty and disgrace, therefore I am breaking our engagement, even though it has remained a secret and was never an official obligation on my part.
I will return home for my birthday party, but afterwards I will be leaving for Paris, where I have been fortunate enough to obtain a very junior position in the British Embassy.
Please keep the ring as a token of my undying affection and esteem, and I pray that you will find someone more worthy of you than myself.
Your loving friend,
Julian Carrington
Daisy crumpled the letter in her hands and clasped them to her bosom. She was trembling from head to foot with shock, but tears would not come. Pain, sadness, despair and finally anger flooded her with emotion, but still she was dry-eyed. Jilted – the word would be engraved on her heart for ever.
A timid knock on the door preceded the appearance of a housemaid. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, miss, but the master is getting impatient. He sent me to fetch you.’
Daisy tucked the crumpled sheet of paper into the pocket of her plain grey woollen dress and she rose to her feet. ‘I’m coming.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded strained and edgy, but she had her feelings under control. Whatever it was that the master had to say could not be as earth-shattering as the contents of Julian’s letter.
The drawing room on the first floor was furnished in the height of fashion with heavy mahogany furniture upholstered in crimson velvet, matching velvet curtains and a carpet with such thick pile it felt like walking on a croquet lawn. The former Adam-style mantel had been ripped out on Mrs Carrington’s instructions and replaced by a huge, black marble fireplace that dominated the whole room, and a fire blazed up the chimney. An enormous Christmas tree took up one corner of the room, and was lavishly decorated with tinsel and glass baubles imported from Germany at enormous expense. At any other time Daisy would have been delighted, if only for Master Timothy’s sake. He was what her aunt Eleanora would have called ‘an afterthought’, being eleven years younger than Julian, and his parents were invariably too busy to spend much time with him. It was Daisy who read him a story each evening when he was tucked up in bed, and Daisy who took him for outings to the park or the Zoological Gardens.
‘I sent for you ten minutes ago. What kept you?’ Albert Carrington stood with his back to the fire, glaring at Daisy through the thick lenses of his gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘Well, what have you to say for yourself?’
Daisy had never felt comfortable in Mr Carrington’s company. He was said to have trebled the family fortune by investing heavily in the stock market, and it was rumoured below stairs that the master would receive a knighthood for his services to industry and his generous gifts to charity. Even so, his manner was cold and calculating, and all the servants were in awe of him.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I was mending a garment for Master Timothy.’
‘That’s no excuse.’
Mrs Carrington held up her hand. ‘Let me handle this, Albert.’ She fixed Daisy with a hard stare. ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Miss Marshall. As you know, Master Timothy will be starting school in January, and therefore we will no longer be in need of your services.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Albert said, frowning. ‘This is the end of the quarter and you will receive your wages from Mrs Thompson, together with a character, which should assure you of a position elsewhere.’
‘I’m to lose my job?’ Daisy looked from one to the other. ‘But who will look after Master Timothy during the school holidays?’
‘That is not your problem,’ Mrs Carrington said icily. She rose majestically from the sofa and ushered Daisy from the room. She lowered her voice. ‘Don’t imagine that we haven’t noticed what’s been going on between you and our elder son. I’ve seen the way you flirt with him, and it is just as well your time with us had ended naturally, otherwise I’m afraid I would have had to terminate your employment.’
Daisy stared at the floor, unable to meet her employer’s angry gaze. ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.’
‘It never is.’ Agnes Carrington lowered her voice. ‘When you find another position, keep yourself to yourself. Nothing but ill can come of any relationship you enter into with members of the household. And beware of male servants, too. That’s the best advice that I can give you. Now pack your bags and leave. Don’t upset Master Timothy by saying goodbye. I’ll tell him you wish him well at school.’ She whisked back into the drawing room and closed the door in Daisy’s face.
The hansom cab trundled through the city streets, weaving its way through the carts, carriages and brewers’ drays. Snow was falling steadily from a leaden sky and it was bitterly cold. Workers hurried homeward, mufflers flying out behind them and their hats pulled down over their brows so that the only parts of their faces visible were the reddened tips of their noses. Less hurried were those out shopping for last-minute presents. The pavements were crowded with men and women laden with packages wrapped in brown paper, or baskets overflowing with festive food. Costermongers’ barrows illuminated by naphtha flares offered a tempting selection of oranges, lemons, rosy-cheeked apples and mountains of walnuts, together with bunches of red-berried holly and waxy white and green mistletoe. It was almost Christmas, a time for rejoicing, but all the way home Daisy could think of nothing other than the letter that Julian had written, ending their brief relationship. The rumbling of the cab’s wheels and the drumming of the horse’s hoofs sounded to her ears like a repetition of his name, over and over again, until she could think of nothing else. The ache in her heart intensified with every turn of the wheels and the further they drove from Queen Square, the deeper her despair. The last time she had seen Julian they had been deeply in love and filled with excitement for the future, but now he had severed the delicate thread that had bound them. She had left the house with a shadow over her name, and she had not even been allowed to say goodbye to Master Timothy, who would imagine that she had deserted him. He was too little to be sent away from home, too sensitive a child to face the rigours of public school life, and it was almost Christmas. She had planned to fill his stocking with oranges, nuts and small toys she had purchased from the bazaar in Soho Square. She had left the packages in the nursery, but she doubted if he would receive any of them; Mrs Carrington would make sure that nothing was left to remind her younger son of the governess who had loved him like a mother.
Daisy stared blindly at the crowded pavements, seeing nothing but a blur of shapes and colours, misted by the thickly falling snow. It had promised to be the best Christmas she had ever had, and now it was going to be the worst. She had told her aunt about her romance with Julian, and now she would have to face the consequences. Questions would be asked to which Daisy had no answer. Aunt Eleanora had drummed the importance of a good marriage into Daisy from an early age. Now she had to face her aunt’s disappointment as well as her own heartbreak.
The cab drew to a halt outside the leather merchant’s premises on Whitechapel Road. Situated within earshot of the Bell Foundry, with the Earl of Effingham pub conveniently close by, and the New Royal Pavilion Theatre just across the street, it was a thriving commercial area. Sidney Marshall was a successful leather merchant, having inherited an already thriving business on the death of his elder brother, Daisy’s father, in the cholera epidemic of 1849. Shortly afterwards Daisy’s mother had died in childbirth, leaving two-year-old Tobias and the infant Daisy to the care of her brother- and sister-in-law.
Daisy and Tobias had been brought up above the shop and had wanted for nothing as children. Toby had attended a good school and had gone on to study medicine at the London Hospital. Daisy herself had also benefited from a good education at Miss Lonsdale’s Academy for Young Ladies, but having left school with a prize in just about every subject Daisy had found herself with little purpose in life other than to sit at home and wait for a suitable husband to appear. That was what her aunt expected, but not what Daisy wanted, and, after a battle with both guardians, she had applied for the position of governess in the Carrington household. Now she was returning home, broken-hearted and struggling to believe that Julian could have treated her in such a way.
Daisy alighted from the hansom cab and hefted the valise containing all her worldly possessions to the pavement. It was now snowing so heavily that she did not see the man who was walking with his head bent against the storm, and he sidestepped in order to avoid tripping over her case, almost knocking her off her feet.
‘I’m so sorry.’ The stranger steadied her with both hands. ‘Are you all right?’
Daisy nodded. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I had to put my case down in order to pay the cabby.’
‘No harm done, but the pavements are very slippery.’ He picked up the valise. ‘Have you far to go?’
‘No, this is home.’ Daisy pointed to the name above the premises. ‘I live above the shop.’
‘Marshall’s, a well-known name in this area. So you must be Miss Marshall? Are you Toby’s sister, by any chance?’
His smile was irresistible and she noticed that his hazel eyes were fringed with impossibly long lashes. Aunt Eleanora would have said it was unfair for a man to have such an asset. Daisy dragged herself back to the present and managed a smile.
‘Yes, I’m Daisy. How do you know Toby?’
‘I’m Nicholas Neville, but my friends call me Nick. Toby and I studied at the London.’ He proffered his arm. ‘Allow me, Miss Marshall. We don’t want any accidents.’
She would normally have rejected such an offer, but there was something about Nicholas Neville that made it impossible for her to refuse, and she leaned on his arm. He picked up her valise and they made it to the shop door.
‘Thank you,’ Daisy said breathlessly.
‘I shan’t be seeing Toby for a while because I’m going home for Christmas, but I hope we meet again, Miss Marshall.’ Nick placed her valise on the floor.
‘I’m sure we will. Anyway, thank you for your help.’ Daisy turned her head at the sound of footsteps on the bare boards and her heart sank when she saw her uncle’s clerk scurrying towards them with his peculiar crab-like gait.
‘Miss Daisy, what are you doing here?’ Jonah Sawkins cast a hostile glance at Nick.
Daisy had disliked Sawkins from the moment they first met, but her generous uncle had rescued Jonah from the workhouse and trained him to be his clerk. Sidney Marshall believed that there was good in everyone, and he would not have a word said against Jonah. Daisy knew her uncle’s clerk to be sly and devious, and she was tempted to snub him now, but Jonah Sawkins had a way of getting his own back for any slight, real or imagined, and she held her tongue.
‘Would you be kind enough to take my valise upstairs, Jonah?’ Daisy turned to Nick. ‘Thank you once again for your help. I hope I didn’t delay you, too much?’
‘Not at all. I’ve just come off duty at the hospital, so no harm done. Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marshall.’ Nick gave Sawkins a sympathetic smile. ‘The bag is rather heavy. Perhaps you’d rather I took it upstairs?’
Daisy held her breath. She knew that Sawkins was sensitive about the abnormal curvature of his upper spine and his legs bowed by rickets in childhood. His deformity and his early years spent in the workhouse seemed to have twisted his personality, but although he had had a poor start in life Daisy had realised some time ago that Sawkins was ambitious, and she suspected that he could be ruthless if challenged.
He hefted the valise onto his bent shoulders, shooting a malicious glance at Nick. ‘I can manage on me own, ta very much.’ He hobbled behind the counter and opened a door leading to a flight of stairs. The red Turkey carpet glowed like a hot coal in the dim light, and Sawkins negotiated the stairs with surprising speed.
‘He’s been here for years,’ Daisy said by way of an excuse for his rudeness.
‘Yes, I believe Toby has mentioned him in the past. Anyway, I must be going.’
Nick let himself out into the street and Daisy raised her hand in farewell, but he had already disappeared into the swirling snow. She closed the door and was enveloped by the all-too-familiar smell of leather and dubbin, which she only noticed when she had been absent for a while. She was about to go upstairs when Sawkins appeared behind the counter, glaring at her beneath his shaggy eyebrows.
‘I told the mistress you was here,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘She weren’t expecting you. Got the sack, did you?’
‘It’s none of your business, Jonah.’ Daisy had not meant to snap at him but her nerves were frayed, and she was afraid that she might break down and cry if her aunt questioned her too deeply. She slipped past him and made her way upstairs where she was greeted by Hattie, the Marshalls’ cook-housekeeper, who had been with them for ever. Daisy could not remember a time when Hattie had not been there to tell her wonderful stories about mermaids and unicorns, or to bandage a cut knee.
‘Welcome home, Miss Daisy,’ Hattie said, wrapping her in a comforting hug. ‘We wasn’t expecting you, so this is a real treat.’
Daisy returned the embrace. ‘It’s good to be home.’
‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’ Hattie gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Your aunt is in the parlour. She’ll be so pleased to see you, my duck.’ She waddled off along the landing, leaving Daisy to make her way to the parlour.
Eleanora Marshall was standing by the fire. In early middle-age she was a fine-looking woman with a good figure, glossy brown hair and an air of authority. She turned with a start at the sound of the door opening. ‘Daisy, my darling. Sawkins told me you were here. What a lovely surprise.’
‘I know you weren’t expecting me, Aunt.’
‘Why are you here? I thought you would be spending Christmas with your fiancé and his family.’
Daisy clenched her gloved hands in an attempt to stem the tears that suddenly threatened to overcome her. ‘Julian doesn’t want to marry me,’ she said softly.
‘You mean he’s jilted you?’
‘He’s been offered a position in the French Embassy. It was too good to turn down, and our engagement was never official.’
‘I don’t see what that has got to do with anything,’ Eleanora paced the floor, her high-heeled boots tip-tapping on the polished boards. ‘There’s more in this than meets the eye. Has his mother interfered? Has he met someone with more money and better connections?’
‘I don’t know, Aunt. He wrote a letter—’
‘You mean that the coward didn’t even have the decency to tell you face to face that he’s reneged on his promise?’
‘He was in Oxford when he sent the letter, and I’ve lost my job because Master Timothy is being sent to boarding school in the New Year.’
‘A likely story. I think that woman has got wind of the romance and it’s her way of putting a stop to it. I know what it’s like, Daisy. I saw the way your parents suffered at the hands of your mother’s family, and they wanted nothing to do with you or your brother. We’d better not mention this to your uncle,’ Eleanora concluded. ‘He wouldn’t take kindly to someone toying with your affections.’
‘You haven’t told him of my engagement?’
‘No, my dear, I wanted to be certain before I gave him the news. I know how delicate these matters can be.’
‘Julian might change his mind,’ Daisy said hopefully. ‘I’m sure his mother knew something, and maybe she persuaded him that he was making a mistake.’
‘To be swayed so easily is not a good sign. He sounds like a weakling. You’d be better off with a decent local man than a milksop who’s afraid to stand up to his mother.’
Daisy gazed at the daguerreotype on the mantelshelf portraying her parents on their wedding day, which was the image that she had clung to during her childhood. She could see how pretty and appealing dark-haired, dark-eyed Marguerite must have been to young James Marshall, and Aunt Eleanora swore that Daisy was the image of her late mother. Daisy never quite believed her aunt, but she loved to hear the story of how her parents had met. In fact she had heard it so many times that she could recite it word for word. It was a true romance of a young woman whose family considered themselves to be upper middle class and a man whose family were in trade. James had come to their house in Finsbury Square to deliver a new saddle, and it had been pure chance that had led him to the front door instead of the tradesmen’s entrance at exactly the moment when Marguerite Gifford had just returned from a shopping expedition. It was, as Eleanora was fond of telling her niece, love at first sight. After that the young couple had met secretly, and in the face of much opposition from both families they had eloped to Gretna Green. Daisy studied the smiling faces of her parents in their bridal finery. Perhaps she would never know the love and happiness they had shared, albeit so briefly, but she owed it to their memory to stand firm. She would not waste her tears on someone who was too weak to fight for the woman he loved.