Christmas Fireside Stories

by Diane Allen, Rita Bradshaw, Margaret Dickinson, Annie Murray, Pam Weaver

  Time for a last stir of the Christmas pud – make a wish – Oh, I do want that doll! So pretty with its pink frock and bonnet!

  Delicious smells from the oven – mince pies all ready for Santa.

  In comes Dad, all merry and singing carols. Mum tells him off. He smiles and like a conjuror brings out from under his coat a bottle of sherry. The golden liquid catches the light. Mum forgives Dad.

  ‘Please can we put the decorations up now?’

  But no. Mum will not waver from tradition.

  The crib is up, a lovely cave made from crisp brown paper with icing sugar for snow – did it snow in Jerusalem? And twigs for trees. The shepherds are there, and the animals, and Joseph and Mary. Soon baby Jesus will arrive and lie in the cradle. Then the kings will come, but that is days away and will mark the end of Christmas, so I don’t want to think of them.

  Potatoes to peel, sprouts to prepare, bacon rolls to make, stuffing to mix – all the girls receive a job, even the three youngest of which I am the eldest at eight years old. Besides us three there are four more girls and three brothers at home. Two brothers were already married by that time with families of their own. They would visit soon. And, never forgotten – three brothers, unknown to me as they died before I was born. But their names were special, as we mentioned them each night in family prayers.

  Time for socks. All bathed and shivering from cold, we see the socks, all in a row – what will they contain when Santa fills them and hangs them on the bottom of our bed? Ooooooooh – so excited.

  Off we go. Fight over the army coats that cover us, but give in and snuggle together to keep warm – four in a bed.

  Creaking door opens. Tightly close my eyes. Feeling that I will burst with a mixture of fear of the bearded man who I am convinced has entered our room, and the excitement at having presents!

  Not quite dawn: we can wait no longer. Orange peel, nutshells and gold-coloured foil strew the bed. All treats devoured, and the moon is still in the sky. Feeling sick, we try to get off to sleep. Will the doll appear at the end of my bed in the morning?

  The parcel is the right shape. I can hardly breathe – but no. But it doesn’t matter! I have a magical set of yellow and red weighing scales! So happy. I love them!

  Now it is time. We run towards the living room / kitchen of the old army hut we live in. The red tiles are cold to our feet, but we don’t care. Our eyes feast on the magic of Christmas – our own grotto. Every bit of the ceiling and the top of the walls are draped with our paper chains. Tinsel hangs over it, glittering and shimmering in the light. In the corner a holly-bush Christmas tree, hung with baubles and Christmas crackers. Carols ring out from the radio. Mum greets us all with a hug. Happiness clothes me. It’s Christmas Day, 1953!

  More from Pan Macmillan’s

  Saga Authors . . .

  Diane Allen

  Diane Allen was born in Leeds, but raised at her family’s farm deep in the Yorkshire Dales. After working as a glass engraver, raising a family, and looking after an ill father, she found her true niche in life, joining a large-print publishing firm in 1990. Rising through the firm, she is now the general manager and has recently been made Honorary Vice President of the Romantic Novelists’ Association.

  Diane and her husband Ronnie live in Long Preston in the Yorkshire Dales, and have two children and four beautiful grandchildren.

  More Books by Diane Allen

  For the Sake of Her Family

  For a Mother’s Sins

  For a Father’s Pride

  FOR A FATHER’S PRIDE

  by Diane Allen

  In 1871, young Daisy Fraser is living in the Yorkshire Dales with her beloved family. Her sister Kitty is set to marry the handsome and dangerous Clifford Middleton. But on the eve of the wedding, Clifford commits an act that shatters Daisy’s happy life and forces her to give birth to a baby she believes is dead. Soon she is cast out by her family and has no choice but to make her own way in the world.

  When further tragedy strikes, Daisy sets out for the bustling streets of Leeds. There she encounters poverty and hardship but also friendship. What she really longs for is a love of her own. But the key to happiness may not be as far away as she thinks . . .

  Read on for an extract from

  For A Father’s Pride by Diane Allen

  1

  Grisedale, Yorkshire Dales, 1872

  The sun shone through the chapel window, the shimmering rays dancing and playing around the young couple who were taking their vows of marriage, quietly and with reverence.

  Daisy Fraser watched with damp eyes as her older sister, Kitty, let her new husband tenderly slip the ring onto her finger and then kiss her gently on the cheek. She was torn between jealousy, regret and anger at herself. She should have told her sister who she was marrying: what a rat Clifford was, and that he was only after their father’s money. Clifford Middleton – there he stood, the dark-haired and handsome heir to Grouse Hall, Grisedale, marrying the baker’s oldest daughter, who came into the marriage with a handsome dowry. But it was young Daisy who knew what he was really like. She quickly swept away an escaping tear that was falling down her cheek. Her mother noticed, squeezed her hand and whispered, ‘Never mind, dear, your day will come,’ not realizing that her daughter wasn’t crying out of regret.

  Daisy gave a false smile. She had tossed and turned for nights, wondering whether to tell her sister, but the wedding plans had been well under way. And how could she spoil Kitty’s wedding day with the most disastrous news you could hear coming from the lips of your sweet younger sister? Daisy had always lusted after Clifford. She knew he was a good-for-nothing, but his father was wealthy, he dressed in the sharpest suits and he always had a twinkle in his eye and a smile for the ladies – everything that young Daisy, at sixteen, had admired. But it had been Kitty’s hand he’d asked for in marriage this spring, and Daisy had been broken-hearted at the fact that Clifford had never given her a second glance.

  That was until Kitty and their mother had gone to Sedbergh for some supplies for the wedding breakfast. Daisy had been in the house alone; her father had been delivering bread over in the nearby valley of Uldale, and she’d been left to tidy up and prepare the spare room for the guests who would soon be arriving. She’d turned round quickly, sensing someone in the room with her, to find Clifford leaning against the doorway smiling at her. She could still hear his soothing, dark voice and see the way he looked commandingly at her. She could remember how he said that he was being a fool and was marrying the wrong sister, and that he would rather have Daisy’s brains than Kitty’s beauty. She could remember how he’d wooed her and made her feel special, saying that at sixteen she was nearly a woman – and would she like to know what it felt like to be a true woman?

  Colour rose in her cheeks as she thought of the moment when he carried her into her mother and father’s bedroom, pulling up her skirts and kissing her tenderly, making her feel like a grown woman, and secretly satisfied that Clifford was showing her the lover she could be. He unbuttoned his trousers, but it was then that she’d come to her senses and pleaded with him not to go any further – to no avail. She’d pounded her fists on his chest and screamed in his ear, as he grinned wickedly at her while unbuttoning his trousers. Daisy winced aloud as he entered her, frightened but too scared to shout any more, as he roughly covered her mouth with his foul-smelling hands. He kissed her roughly, biting and scratching her, as each thrust became harder and deeper. Never had she been touched and used like that before. It was painful, and her legs and body ached. Finally he’d rolled off her, exhausted, and Daisy had lain next to him nearly in tears, realizing what she had done, overcome with pain and shame after the agony and heat of the moment had passed. She had allowed her future brother-in-law to go where no honourable gent would even mention, let alone touch – losing her virginity to a cad, someone who had no respect for her or her sister.

  She’d watched as Clifford had buttoned up his trousers and grinned before saying, ‘T
wo sisters in one day – one with money and the other without. Still, you were a good ride, Miss Fraser.’ And she remembered sobbing into her mother’s bedding as she pulled her skirts down, feeling used and filthy. She’d stayed in her parents’ room until she heard him go down the stairs and slam the front door, and then she’d stood, with his seed running down her legs. She remembered the rush she had made to the kitchen, to wash him away; how she’d trembled with the jug full of cold water and the cloth, washing her private parts and getting rid of the smell that he’d left behind, before her parents returned.

  ‘Daisy, are you all right, you look quite flushed? Don’t they make such a beautiful couple? Kitty has done so well for herself. To think my daughter is going to be the mistress of Grouse Hall – I just can’t believe it.’ Martha Fraser was pink with excitement, but at the same time concerned about her younger daughter’s reaction to the wedding. ‘Now, we must find you a young man, perhaps a farmer’s son. Or Luke Allen has a good-looking lad – perhaps you should go into Hawes one day. Two bakeries together, now that would be something!’

  ‘Mother, I don’t aim to marry. Besides, who’d have me? Compared to Kitty, I’m plain and ordinary: too short, too plump, with mousy brown hair. We are like chalk and cheese.’ Daisy came back from her thoughts quickly.

  ‘Nonsense, you’ll grow into a fine woman. You are still young, my dear. Plenty of time to look around and find the right man – at least another five years. You don’t want to be sitting on the shelf when you are over twenty, though, my dear.’ Martha giggled and rushed out into the aisle as the young couple made their way down the steps, stopping at the pews of their parents.

  ‘Mrs Fraser, you look beautiful. Why, I know now where Kitty gets her looks from – they always say “Like mother, like daughter”.’ Clifford Middleton kissed his mother-in-law’s hand, making her go a darker shade of pink with his comments.

  ‘Now, Clifford, words are a fine thing, but you’d better look after my daughter. She’s precious to me; both of them are.’ Tom Fraser pulled Kitty close to him and shook Clifford’s hand, little knowing that he was shaking the hand of the man who had taken advantage of his younger daughter.

  ‘Of course I will, Mr Fraser. I love your Kitty and hope to make her a good husband, and I’ll treat Daisy like the sister I never had.’ Clifford smiled like a wily fox, nearly snarling at the sight of Daisy.

  ‘Good man – you’re welcome to our family. As long as you do right by us, we’ll be right by you.’ Tom slapped Clifford on the back and walked up the aisle, past the few guests and relations that had been invited.

  Daisy dallied at the back of the group. She didn’t want to go near her new brother-in-law; in fact, she would have done anything not to have been at the wedding. But now she knew that worse was to come, as the wedding breakfast was to be held at Grouse Hall. How dare Clifford say he would treat her like a sister? You definitely didn’t take your sister to bed.

  ‘Come on, everybody, the carriages await. My father will make everyone welcome at our home. Please don’t be alarmed by the way he looks – he can understand every word you say. I’m afraid that his stroke has left him unable to speak, and his face is slightly lopsided, but behind the mask is a brain that still works.’ Clifford ushered everyone into the carriages, including his blushing bride, who hung on his every word and smiled as her loving husband held out his hand to assist her.

  Everyone knew that old Middleton was on his way out. He’d had a stroke a few years ago, losing his speech, but had managed to retain control by writing everything down for people to read. He’d lost his wife in childbirth, when she had tried to give him another heir; both mother and baby had died, leaving a distraught ten-year-old Clifford and a grieving husband. Since then Clifford had been brought up by a housekeeper, and his father had slowly slipped into becoming the old man he now was. Soon Grouse Hall would be Clifford’s, along with the four hundred acres of land and two farm cottages that were tenanted. Clifford Middleton was a good catch for anyone who could put up with his wild ways.

  ‘What’s up, Daisy, you’ve got a face on you that could turn milk sour?’ Tom Fraser looked at his younger daughter. ‘It’s a wedding, not a funeral, we’ve been to, and you’re about to fill your belly at someone else’s expense, so make the most of it.’ Her father scowled at Daisy. She was his favourite, a clever lass, but far too sombre and deep-thinking sometimes. He worried that her thoughts were sometimes too deep for her own good.

  ‘I don’t like Clifford. I don’t want to go and see his home, or his old father.’ Daisy could have cried, but she had to keep her secret.

  ‘Well, you were all over him the other day – tha changes with the wind, lass. I thought you liked him. Or is it, happen, a bit of jealousy creeping in?’ Tom made light of her mood.

  ‘I don’t think he’s right for our Kitty.’ Daisy had to say it.

  ‘Hush, child. Course he’s right for Kitty – she loves him.’ Martha Fraser urged her outspoken daughter to be quiet.

  ‘Too bloody right. He’s right for our Kitty. He has plenty of brass and plenty of land, which is what a father likes to hear, so you’ll keep your mouth shut and make best of it.’ Tom Fraser’s mood changed quickly. He’d worked hard to find his daughter a good man, and it had cost him a pretty penny. He’d made sure Kitty had been seen in all the right places and in all the society papers, just for her to catch the eye of Clifford Middleton: the catch of the Dales. He wasn’t going to hear any different. ‘It’ll be finding somebody for you that we’ll have bother with now, and you don’t have the looks of your sister.’

  ‘Father, watch what you say.’ Martha scowled at him as the carriage turned up the driveway of Grouse Hall.

  The long, low house of Grouse Hall stood in front of them. The limestone from which it was built looked grey and dark in the dimming light, and Daisy couldn’t help but notice that the windows and doors could do with a lick of paint. It was set high on the fellside of Grisedale and had wild rushes and rough fell-grass growing around it. What had been garden walls was now rubble, and nature had taken over, making its own display of wild brambles and ragged robin, which gently bobbed its frayed petals in the breeze.

  Martha Fraser held her husband’s hand as he helped her out of the carriage, not quite believing this was the place where her daughter was going to live. She had understood, by the way Clifford dressed and spoke, that it was a grand hall he lived in, as the name had suggested. But this was nothing more than a rambling, neglected farmhouse. She scowled at her husband. He’d known all along what the house looked like, so why hadn’t he said?

  Tom whispered to her, noting her disappointment, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, Martha; he’s got brass in the bank.’ She held his hand and smiled at the two rather grubby servants who were standing at the gate, waiting to greet their new mistress and her family.

  Daisy, left to her own devices, climbed out of the carriage unaided and stood and watched as the servants bobbed and curtsied. Then she watched as they scrambled back into the house while Clifford urged them to go about their work. With tears nearly welling up in her eyes yet again, she watched as Clifford swept Kitty off her feet and carried her over the threshold of Grouse Hall, laughing and screaming, with her family and guests cheering them on. The marriage was a farce. Were they all blind, and could they not see that Clifford’s twinkling eyes and easy charm were just a pretence and that he would never be faithful to her sister? She stood for a second by the rundown garden wall, admiring the view of the dale and trying to block her ill feelings from spoiling her sister’s wedding day. She watched as a nesting curlew circled overhead, crying its familiar call, before landing down in the valley bottom below. She wished she could join it and not have to attend the wedding breakfast; anything was better than having to look into the dark eyes of her brother-in-law.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Now, little sister, when were you thinking of joining us? Kitty is asking for you.’ Clifford’s gr
ip was like a vice on her shoulder.

  She shrugged her shoulder from him to loosen his grip, and walked down the path to the porch and entrance to the hall, but he caught her just as she was about to enter.

  ‘Don’t you ever say a word about what happened the other day, or I’ll make life hell for your sister and ruin your father, do you hear me? After all, you were nearly begging me for it,’ Clifford snarled, holding Daisy’s wrist tightly, before releasing it as one of the wedding guests strolled by the doorway.

  ‘I’ll not say anything, but you be kind to our Kitty, for she loves you.’ Daisy turned her back on Clifford and entered the low, beamed home of the Middletons.

  She stared at the shape of Tobias Middleton, sitting in his chair watching the wedding-party visitors come and go around him, grunting his greetings to them. She couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, as his son completely ignored him, choosing to flirt and chat with his new in-laws and relations. She watched Tobias for a while as he tried to converse with people and then looked lost, as people gave up being polite once they couldn’t understand him. She felt a bit like old Tobias herself – out of place and an outcast – and decided to sit next to him. He grunted his greeting as she introduced herself. He smiled a slow smile and took a chalk board and some chalk from next to him, before starting to write a few words very shakily. Daisy picked up the board and scrutinized it as he pushed her arm, urging her to read what was written on it. The writing was hardly legible, due to his shaky hand, but she could just make out the word ‘BASTARD’ written in the centre. Her face must have given her thoughts away, as the old man nudged her and pointed at his only son. She didn’t reply, but Tobias Middleton nodded his head in agreement as if he knew her thoughts.

  On seeing the old man laughing with Daisy, Clifford raced across the room. ‘Now, Father, what are you up to? Time for your midday nap, I think. I’ll call Violet, to take you into the other room.’ But the old man was too fast for him, and his written thoughts about his son were quickly erased by a wipe of his jacket sleeve. Tobias grunted his objections and flayed his arms in protest. ‘Now, Father, stop it, or else I’ll have to tie you in your bed. You will go in the other room, for you are disturbing the guests. Violet, take him away.’ Clifford raised his voice, shouting at the small dark-haired maid who cowered as she wheeled the old man out of the room. ‘Sorry, everyone, my father gets a bit excited if he sees too many people. Time for him to have a nap.’ Clifford calmed his agitated audience and gave a long, dark stare at Daisy.