by Dilly Court
A Mother's Courage
Dilly Court
Random House (2012)
Tags: Historical Saga
* * *
Synopsis
When Eloise Cribb receives the news that her husband's ship has been lost at sea she wonders how she is ever going to manage. With two young children, the rent overdue and almost nothing to live on, she has no alternative but to turn to his estranged family for help.She sets off on the long and arduous journey to Yorkshire, but is met with hostility and soon realises she has little choice but to return to London. Virtually destitute and desperate, Eloise is faced with her worst nightmare: she must either go to the workhouse, or abandon her children at the Foundling Hospital. But she is determined to keep them safe and under her protective wing at all costs...
Table of Contents
About the Author
By the Same Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
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
Also Available in Arrow The Cockney Sparrow
The Best of Sisters
A mother's
Courage
Dilly Court grew up in North East London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and three grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband and a large, yellow Labrador called Archie. She is also the author of Mermaids Singing, The Dollmaker's Daughters, Tilly True, The Best of Sisters and The Cockney Sparrow.
Also by Dilly Court
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker's Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
Dilly Court
A Mother's
Courage
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ISBN 9781407004563
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Arrow Books 2008
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Copyright © Dilly Court 2007
Dilly Court has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product
of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental
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First published in Great Britain in 2007 by
Century
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ISBN: 9781407004563
Version 1.0
For Simon, Marian, Sarah, Julia and Jean in
New Zealand
Acknowledgements
Although the characters and the events in the Foundling Hospital are entirely fictional, the Foundling Hospital did exist. It was founded in 1739 by Captain Thomas Coram as a home and educational establishment for children abandoned on the streets of London. Although the building was demolished in the early 20th century, the charity, now known as the Coram Family, still continues its good work in improving the emotional health and life prospects of children.
Chapter One
East London, January 1879
A crowd of women had gathered outside the shipping office in Eastcheap, their pale faces masked with dread as they huddled together against the biting east wind. A sleety rain tumbled from a pewter sky pitter-pattering softly on the cobblestones, but not a sound could be heard from those patiently waiting for news of their loved ones, except for the chattering of teeth and the occasional muffled sob.
Eloise Cribb stood a little apart from them, but it was not that as an officer's wife she considered herself to be a cut above the rest. She was no snob, and her strict moral upbringing as the daughter of a clergyman had taught her that all men were equal, but she was uncomfortably aware that her elegant mantle trimmed with fur, and the pert little matching hat, were in sharp contrast to the shabby clothes worn by wives of the crew. She had scanned the gathering for the familiar face of the captain's wife, but she was not there. Eloise knew that the poor lady was in an advanced state of pregnancy, and her heart went out to her. How awful not to know the fate of your beloved husband when you were about to give birth to his child. The wives of the second and third mate were clinging together for comfort, and, as she hardly knew them, Eloise had acknowledged them with an attempt at a smile and then moved away.
She wiped a strand of long dark hair from her forehead, blinking away the raindrops that trickled down her face like tears. In her heart she knew the answer even before the heavy oak door opened and a whey-faced official representing the shipping company appeared at the top of the stone steps. One look at his pinched features confirmed her worst fears. There was an audible intake of breath as the wives, sweethearts, mothers and sisters waited for the inevitable announcement that the Hellebore, which had now been overdue for several weeks, was lost at sea. A long drawn out groan of despair was torn from the women's lips as the official read out the company's statement in a voice choked with emotion. Eloise listened but the only words that registered were those she had dreaded the most. 'The management regrets to inform you that the tea clipper Hellebore went down during a typhoon in the China Sea with the loss of all hands.'
A loud animal-like howl of pain was ripped from a pregnant woman's throat and several others fainted or collapsed in the arms of their friends and relatives. Eloise stood quite still, totally silent, unable even to cry. Her brief marriage to First Officer Ronald Cribb had not been perfect, but she had loved him dearly. The long months of enforced separation had been hard to bear, but it had made their reunion all the sweeter when at last he came home on leave. She shivered convulsively as the harsh fact dawned on her that her two children, Joseph who would be three in June and Elizabeth, a babe in arms not quite four months old, were now fatherless. She was a widow, and she was virtually penniless. Stunned and too shocked to feel either grie
f or pain, she waited in line while the counting house clerk handed out the allotments to the distraught widows. Eloise could tell by his tight-lipped expression that he was close to tears himself, and she felt vaguely sorry for him in his onerous task, but her mind seemed to be detached from her body as she held out her hand to receive the small brown envelope. The clerk murmured condolences, but he could not look her in the eyes and she saw that his hands shook as he fumbled for the next pay packet. Eloise moved away from the head of the queue like an automaton, putting one foot in front of the other and yet barely conscious of what she was doing or which way she was going. All she knew was that she must get home to her babies: poor fatherless little mites, who now depended on her for everything.
Blinded by the rain and tasting the salt tears that were flooding down her cheeks, she stumbled over the wet cobblestones as she headed off in the direction of Shoreditch. It was a long walk to Myrtle Street but she did not want to waste money on the bus fare, and she needed time in which to compose herself. Her heart might be broken into shards, but she must not let the little ones sense her despair. At least they were warm and dry at home, safe in the care of her neighbour's eldest daughter, Mary, who was a stolid reliable sort of child, and could be trusted not to leave Joss and Beth unattended.
Eloise headed north towards Bishopsgate, barely noticing the crowds of workers who were hurrying homewards. She was soaked to the skin and her feet were blistered and sore, but she was oblivious to physical pain or discomfort and she quickened her pace. She wanted to be at home with her children. She longed to hold them in her arms and to inhale their sweet, baby fragrance. Joss and Beth were her last link with Ronald. Her breath caught on a sob as the harsh truth dawned upon her. She would never see him again. She would never have the chance to kiss him goodbye, or even have the small comfort of seeing him laid to rest in a leafy cemetery where she might lay flowers on his grave. She stumbled on through the rain-soaked streets ignoring the curious looks of passers-by, but after a while a painful stitch in her side forced her to stop and lean against a shop window gasping for breath. As the pain ebbed away, Eloise made a concerted effort to be calm. She must try to think clearly. She must not panic. As her breathing slowed down and the fog of misery began to clear from her brain, she knew what she must do. She would collect the children and take them home to the vicarage and to Mother. Mama would make things right again. She always knew what to do for the best.
Gaining strength from the thought of her mother's comforting presence and the familiar surroundings of her old home, Eloise started off again, edging her way through the slowly moving forest of black umbrellas. She tried to focus her thoughts on happier times, recalling her first meeting with Ronnie and the heady days of their whirlwind romance. They had met at a church social during one of his infrequent shore leaves. Ronnie was not a religious man but, having nothing better to do, he had accompanied one of his shipmates to the social evening, and he had always teased her about the way they met, declaring that it was the 'best worst evening of his life'. Eloise was not fooled by his levity; she had known the first moment she had set eyes on him in the church hall that he was the one for her, and she knew that Ronnie had felt the same. He had charmed her with his dazzling smile and craggy good looks. She had noticed particularly how his bright blue eyes were crinkled at the corners, caused no doubt by years of gazing across vast oceans into the far horizon, and his lively sense of humour had quickly overcome her initial shyness. They had danced every dance to the rather out of tune notes of Miss Brompton on the pianoforte. They had sipped the fruit cup, which was so well diluted that there was barely a trace of alcohol in the over-sweet drink, and they had eaten fairy cakes baked by the Misses Bragg, two maiden ladies who owned a millinery in Pear Tree Lane.
'Oy, look where you're going, ducks.' The strident voice of a costermonger whose barrow she had bumped against brought Eloise back to reality with a jerk. She bent down to retrieve the oranges that had bounced into the gutter, which was oozing with muddy rainwater mixed with straw and detritus from the streets. She gave them back to him with a murmured apology.
He squinted short-sightedly into her face. 'I should get home and out of them wet duds if I was you, miss. You'll end up with lung fever if you're not careful.'
Eloise managed a wobbly smile and went on her way. Battling against the wind and rain, it took her over half an hour to reach Myrtle Street. It was not the most spiritually uplifting of places in which to live, but the rent was reasonably cheap, which was essential as they always seemed to be short of money. Although Ronnie earned a good wage he was a spendthrift by nature, and no matter how many times she had tried to make him live within their means he had never complied, laughing at her attempts to balance the housekeeping, and telling her that 'there was plenty more where that came from'.
Cold, wet and tired, Eloise quickened her pace as she walked down the narrow street lined with red-brick terraced houses which had been built half a century ago to house the navigators, mostly Irish immigrants, who were needed to construct the vast network of railways. They had long since moved on, following the progress of the railways and canals. Now these two up and two down dwellings were crowded with people of all nationalities, sometimes two or three different families sharing one house and a single privy in the back yard. Eloise knew she ought to be thankful to have the house to herself, but living in this deprived area had been a shock after the relative comfort of the large vicarage in Dorset where she had grown up. Papa had not been happy when he was given a parish in Clerkenwell, but he had seen it to be his duty and had moved his family from the country to London. Eloise had been just sixteen then, fresh from Miss Mason's Academy for Young Ladies, and hoping that she might go on to become a teacher, but Papa had insisted that she should stay at home and assist her mother with her parish duties. It had not occurred to her to flout his wishes, and it was no hardship as Eloise adored her gentle mother; they were the best of friends, more like sisters, so other people had often remarked, than mother and daughter.
As Eloise opened the front door, she had one thought uppermost in her mind. She would put the children in the perambulator that Ronnie had bought when Joss was born, and she would take them home to Mother. She stepped into the front room and shivered as the warmth enveloped her. A coal fire was burning brightly in the grate and beside it sat Mary, with Joss dandled on her knee. She stopped in the middle of the nursery rhyme she had been reciting to him and stared at Eloise with large brown eyes that were too knowing for her tender years. 'Is it bad news then, missis?'
Eloise took off her sodden, and probably ruined, fur hat. Rainwater was dripping from her clothes staining the floorboards on which she had expended much time and energy, polishing them until they gleamed like satin. She nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Joss was holding his arms out to her, smiling with delight. 'Mama, Mama.'
She bent down to kiss his curly blond head. 'In a moment, darling. Mama needs to change out of her wet clothes.'
'He's not coming home then?' Mary said in a matter-of-fact voice.
The harsh reality of Mary's words struck Eloise like a blow, but she bit back a sharp retort. The child was merely stating the truth. There were many seafarers' families who lived in the area, and there were few who had not been touched by some sort of disaster be it death by drowning or crippling accidents. She shook her head. 'No, Mary. I fear not.'
'You go upstairs and change out of them wet things then, or you'll be next. I don't mind staying on for a bit with young Joss, and the baby is still asleep.'
Eloise made her way slowly up the narrow staircase; the boards creaked beneath her feet and her high button boots squelched, leaving little pools of water on the bare treads. In the bedroom at the front of the house, Beth lay sleeping in her cradle, her thick golden eyelashes forming crescents on her rosy cheeks. Her breathing was so soft that Eloise had to resist the temptation to touch her, just to make sure she was still alive, but then the baby stirred slightly in her sleep and
Eloise began to breathe again, but her relief was tinged with bitterness. It was so unfair that Ronnie would never see his beautiful daughter and that Beth would grow up without knowing her father. Eloise bit back a sob, and she was trembling as she stripped off her wet clothes and towelled her skin until it glowed pink. Her breasts were engorged with milk and tingling. Soon it would be time to feed Beth, and she must do this before she could even think of leaving the house. She must focus on practical things; it was the only way to keep going.
She put on a clean shift and her only other pair of stays, lacing them as best she could with fingers that burned painfully now that the feeling was returning to her extremities. She took a clean white cotton blouse from the cupboard and a plain navy-blue serge skirt. She took off her wet stockings and dried the inside of her boots as best she could with the end of the towel. She would have to put them on again as her old boots had worn out months ago, and although her mama would gladly have bought her a new pair it was more than just pride that prevented Eloise from asking for help. Papa was not exactly mean, but he kept a tight hold on the purse strings, and Eloise knew that when Mama gave her money or bought her clothes it came out of her own allowance, which was not overgenerous.
She sighed as she pulled on a dry pair of much-darned stockings. Money had been tight since Ronnie's last leave. He had come home hell bent on enjoying himself and had taken her to the music halls, theatres, Cremorne Gardens and the Zoological Gardens. They had eaten out almost every night, either taking Joss with them or leaving him with Mary's mother, Fanny, who was pleased to oblige for a mere penny or twopence. No matter how much Eloise had protested that they could not afford such a lifestyle, Ronnie had merely laughed. If she closed her eyes she could still see the merry gleam in his blue eyes and hear the infectious sound of his laughter. 'If I can't take my lovely wife out and show her off when I come home on leave, then it ain't worth the pain and trouble of separation.' She could hear him now. 'Don't worry, my love. I'll send more funds when I get to my next port of call. I promise you that.' But like the rest of his promises, that one was never kept.
