Contents
Title Page
Also by Rosie Goodwin
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Acknowledgements
Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!
A Christmas Message
Very Rich Fruit Christmas Cake
Read an exclusive sneak peek
Tales from Memory Lane
Memory Lane Advert
Copyright
Also by Rosie Goodwin
The Bad Apple
No One’s Girl
Dancing Till Midnight
Tilly Trotter’s Legacy
Moonlight and Ashes
The Mallen Secret
Forsaken
The Sand Dancer
Yesterday’s Shadows
The Boy from Nowhere
A Rose Among Thorns
The Lost Soul
The Ribbon Weaver
A Band of Steel
Whispers
The Misfit
The Empty Cradle
Home Front Girls
A Mother’s Shame
The Soldier’s Daughter
The Mill Girl
The Maid’s Courage
The Claire McMullen Series
Our Little Secret
Crying Shame
Dilly’s Story Series
Dilly’s Sacrifice
Dilly’s Lass
Dilly’s Hope
The Days of The Week Collection
Mothering Sunday
In loving memory of Doreen Brownson
22nd December 1925 – 20th January 2017
A beloved Aunt missed by everyone that knew her.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die
Monday’s child is fair of face.
Prologue
Nuneaton, Tuesday, 15 December 1896
‘Excuse me, Mrs Branning, but I reckon I just heard sommat outside the front door.’
Sunday paused in the hallway to glance at the maid. She had been about to enter the dining room to join her husband and her mother for dinner, but now she asked, ‘What sort of thing did you hear, Em’ly?’
The young lass had only recently joined the staff at Treetops Children’s Home from the Nuneaton Union Workhouse and she was as nervy as a kitten.
‘Please, ma’am, it … it sounded like a knock – but it’s late an’ I’m scared to answer the door.’ The girl blinked furiously and began to twist her apron into a tight ball.
Sunday smiled at her kindly. ‘In that case we’d best check what it was, hadn’t we? We’ll do it together – how’s that?’
Striding across to the large double oak doors in a swish of skirts she swung one open – to be met by an icy blast of wind. It was dark as pitch outside and the grass on the lawns, or what could be seen of it in the light spilling out from the hallway, was stiff with hoar frost, each blade seemingly standing to attention and sparkling like diamonds.
‘I can’t see anyone or anything amiss,’ Sunday remarked, her teeth chattering as she peered into the darkness.
‘But I ’eard it, ma’am – I did, ’onest!’
‘Perhaps it was just the soughing of the wind?’ That was the trouble with old houses, Sunday thought. They were draughty places. The wind seemed to find every opening there was, and sometimes it could be so fierce it rattled the windowframes. However, she ventured a little further out onto the top step all the same, wanting to put the girl’s mind at rest.
‘No, I still can’t hear anything,’ she said, and was just about to turn away when something caught her eye. Lying against one of the tall stone pillars was a tiny bundle wrapped tightly in a large blanket.
‘There is something here – you were right, Em’ly,’ she called to the wide-eyed maid, and as she bent to lift it, another voice wafted out from the hallway.
‘Where on earth is that wife of mine, Em’ly? Cook will be after us if she’s not allowed to serve the dinner very soon.’
‘I’m here, Tom.’ Gently lifting the bundle and holding it tight to her chest, Sunday hurried back into the warmth of the hallway while Em’ly quickly closed the door shut behind them to keep out the cold.
As Tom approached to see what was going on, Sunday’s heart flipped at the sight of him, just as it always did. Tom was now twenty-eight years old and the couple had been married for almost seven years, but she still loved him as much, if not more than she had on the day they had wed. With his expressive deep brown eyes and thick dark hair, he no longer resembled the skinny lad she had met so long ago. He had grown into a tall, handsome man and Sunday counted herself a very fortunate woman indeed. Her only regret was that, as yet, they had not had a child of their own. Still, the home for foundlings that they ran with the help of her mother, Lady Lavinia Huntley, ensured that she was never short of the company of babies and children, and as Lavinia often pointed out, there was still plenty of time for Sunday to give her a grandchild. She was only twenty-six years old, after all.
‘So what’s this that’s been left on the doorstep then?’ Tom twitched the blanket aside and they all gasped as they looked down into a pair of deep brown eyes. ‘My God … it’s a baby!’
‘Yes, another one,’ Sunday sighed, for this wasn’t the first infant they had found abandoned on the steps of Treetops Children’s Home.
‘But we ain’t got room fer any more, ma’am,’ Em’ly fretted.
‘Oh, I have a feeling we could fit just one more little one in,’ Tom told her, noting the dreamy look on his wife’s face. Sunday was busy crooning to the baby and drinking in the sight of the dear little bundle in her arms. ‘Run up and fetch Cissie from the nursery for me, would you, Em’ly? I dare say this little boy or girl will want feeding before very much longer.’
The young lass scuttled away and it was then that Tom noticed the edge of a large brown envelope protruding from the blanket. He plucked it free, noting that it looked to be very good quality s
tationery, and as Sunday looked on he tore it open and removed a single sheet of paper.
‘What does it say?’ she asked, so Tom obligingly began to read aloud.
To whom it may concern
It has been brought to my attention that you provide a safe and wholesome refuge for babies and children who are unable to live with their own families. I applaud you for this and with regret have to ask you most earnestly if you would do the same for this child. She was born yesterday and her name is Katherine. You will find a sum of money within the envelope that is intended to provide her with all she needs for the near future. Please rest assured that there will be more to follow at regular intervals.
With sincere thanks and kind regards.
Tom then rummaged in the envelope and produced a wad of banknotes that made both his and his wife’s eyes bulge.
‘So it’s a little girl – I shall call her Kitty,’ Sunday breathed as her eyes returned to the perfect little face. She was easily the most beautiful baby she had ever seen, and a mass of dark hair lay about her head like a tiny halo.
At that moment, Em’ly came clattering down the stairs, closely followed by Cissie Jenkins, who was in charge of the babies’ nursery. Cissie was heavily pregnant with her third child and was huffing and puffing by the time she reached them.
‘Not another one!’ She shook her head resignedly. ‘Ah well, it’s only a little scrap of a thing. I dare say it can sleep at the bottom of one of the other babies’ cots till I get my George to fit an extra one into the nursery. That’s if – an’ I presume you are – lettin’ it stay?’
Sunday gave her a guilty grin. ‘Yes, we can’t turn her away. It’s a little girl and her name is Katherine but we’re going to call her Kitty.’
‘Hmm, well, that’s a nice straightforward enough sort o’ name,’ Cissie said approvingly, then leaning over she remarked, ‘Lordie, but she’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?’
‘She certainly is. She was born yesterday, wasn’t she – and what is it they say? Monday’s child is fair of face!’
With that, Cissie took the child from Sunday’s arms and headed back to the nursery with her.
‘I’ll be up to help you just as soon as dinner is over,’ Sunday called out.
‘Take yer time,’ Cissie answered, and Sunday watched her climb the stairs until she and the precious new addition to Treetops Children’s Home were out of sight.
Once in the dining room, Sunday found that she had quite lost her appetite, and Lavinia and Tom exchanged an amused glance. Knowing her as they did, they were both aware that she was longing to get her hands on the baby again.
‘Now come along and eat something, darling,’ her mother urged. ‘You’ll be up in the nursery soon enough.’
Sunday flushed and dutifully lifted her knife and fork. Despite the fact that she and her mother had been unaware of each other’s existence for the first sixteen years of her life, they were as close as could be now – and sometimes Sunday was sure that her mother could read her like a book.
‘Sorry, I was just thinking of the newest addition,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you were, dear, but Cissie is more than capable.’
Knowing that she was right, Sunday forced herself to eat some of the food on her plate but her eyes kept straying to the ceiling.
‘Judging by the quality of the blanket the baby was wrapped in and the amount of money that was left to pay for her keep, I wouldn’t mind betting she’s of good stock,’ Tom commented as he lifted a forkful of tender roast beef to his mouth. Nothing ever seemed to put Tom off his food. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that wad amounts to more than we get from our sponsors for a whole year.’
‘You may well be right,’ Sunday said, ‘although I haven’t counted it yet.’
The second dessert was cleared away and she shot upstairs to the nursery quarters without even waiting for coffee to be served.
The whole of the second storey had been given over to the eight foundlings they cared for – nine now, including baby Kitty. The first three babies had come at intervals during the year the home had opened, and were now cheerful, robust children. First had come Benjamin, a happy-go-lucky little lad with a mind of his own who had stolen Sunday’s heart the second she set eyes on him. Two months later he had been joined by Edwina, and a month after that, Marianne, affectionately known as Annie. Over the next six years, five other babies had found a home at Treetops and each of them was loved – but somehow, as Sunday pounded up the grand staircase, lifting her skirts in a most unladylike manner, she had a feeling that little Kitty was going to be very important to her.
She found Zillah, her mother’s devoted maid, and Cissie, her own dear friend, just tucking the babies into their cots and settling them for the night.
‘How is she?’ she asked immediately and Zillah grinned as she pointed towards the furthest cot. She had no need to ask which baby Sunday was enquiring after.
‘She’s had a bath, not that she needed one as she was clean as a whistle. And she took a bottle lovely – every last drop, in fact. She looks to be a healthy little mite to me. She’s fast asleep already, top to toe with yon Maggie now.’ Margaret was now six months old and had been the youngest of the foundlings until Kitty had arrived so unexpectedly.
As Sunday leaned over the cot she itched to lift the new arrival and give her a cuddle, but she knew that Zillah and Cissie would not appreciate it if she were to wake her. Between them, the two women had the nursery running like clockwork and Sunday didn’t know how she would manage without them.
Further along the second-floor landing were three more rooms, a bedroom for the slightly older boys and another for the girls. The children ranged in age from two to seven and were always into some sort of mischief. The final room had been transformed into a schoolroom where Mrs Verity Lockett, a very close friend of the family, as well as the local vicar’s wife, came to teach the younger ones their lessons each weekday for three hours in the afternoon. The older children attended the local board school, and always went to Sunday School. Sunday was very protective of all her charges and would have loved to keep them at Treetops, where she knew they were safe, for ever.
Now as she gazed down on the sleeping baby she felt a surge of love towards her. With her long eyelashes resting on her plump, rosy cheeks, Kitty looked just like a little angel. Each of the children in Sunday’s care had been deprived of the love of their natural mother for various reasons, just as she herself had in her formative years, and this and her yearning for a child of her own made every single one of them so very precious to her.
Chapter One
April 1900
‘Now then, Maggie, that wasn’t very nice, was it?’ Cissie scolded. ‘Say sorry to Kitty this minute else it’ll be bed for you tonight wi’ no supper, me girl!’
Three-year-old Maggie pouted and crossed her arms as her chin rose defiantly. ‘Shan’t!’ she muttered as she glared at Kitty. She knew, as all the children did, that Cissie’s bark was far worse than her bite.
Cissie meanwhile had hurried across to Kitty and lifted her to her feet. ‘There, pet,’ she soothed as she brushed the grass from the child’s skirts. ‘It was very naughty of Maggie to trip you up like that, wasn’t it?’
Kitty stuck her thumb in her mouth and lowered her head. She was used to Maggie bullying her and didn’t take much notice of her any more, unless she really hurt her, which she did whenever she got the opportunity. For some reason, Maggie had always been jealous of Kitty. There were only six months between them in age but they were as different as chalk from cheese. Maggie was stockily built with mousy-brown straight hair and grey eyes – she was quite a plain child really – whereas Kitty was already developing into a beauty. She was quite daintily built and her deep brunette hair hung in shimmering curls to her shoulders; her soft brown eyes seemed to reflect her mood, for they could change from amber to almost black when she was upset; and her skin was like porcelain. All the staff did their utmost to treat each
of the children the same, but it was clear that Kitty was a favourite, for her sweet nature matched her looks.
Unfortunately, Maggie’s temperament wasn’t much better than her looks and she tried Cissie’s patience sorely. On being reprimanded, the child had run off in a temper and almost reached the edge of the lawn when Sunday suddenly appeared from the rose garden and caught hold of her.
‘Whoa there, where’s the fire?’ she asked as she looked down into the sulky little face.
‘Cissie is pickin’ on me again,’ Maggie whined, throwing a dark look at the woman across her shoulder.
‘Now I’m sure that isn’t true,’ Sunday answered patiently. ‘What did you do?’
‘Nothin’!’ Maggie sniffed indignantly. ‘She reckons I tripped Kitty up but I never did. She fell over me foot.’
‘I see. Your foot just happened to be in the way, did it?’ Sunday was well aware how spiteful Maggie could be to Kitty, but she was also very aware that she was only three years old, so she made allowances for her. ‘Well, she looks all right now, so let’s just hope it doesn’t happen again, shall we?’
Without answering, Maggie stalked off, making for the swing that George, Cissie’s husband, had tied to the branch of the big oak tree. Heaving a sigh, Sunday went to join Cissie, who was watching the children play, with her own youngest son, Johnny, sitting close to her.
‘I see madam’s been at it again,’ Cissie said, nodding towards Maggie as Sunday sat down on the grass beside her.
‘Hmm, so I believe,’ Sunday answered. ‘I do wish those two could get on better.’
‘Well, happen they’re only babies as yet. No doubt they’ll make friends as they get a bit older. And because they’re so close in age they’re bound to vie for attention.’ The words had barely left Cissie’s lips when Kitty came toddling towards them, none the worse for her fall, to hand Sunday a small bunch of daisies she had plucked from the grass.
‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ Sunday took them and drew the child onto her lap, burying her face in the little girl’s thick dark curls. At the same moment, Ben, who was now eleven years old, flopped down onto the grass beside her. For most of the time he was Kitty’s protector and he had saved her from any number of spats with Maggie.
The Little Angel Page 1
