The Child Left Behind

by Gracie Hart

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Gracie Hart

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgements

  Read more heart-warming sagas from Gracie Hart

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Can she find somewhere to call home?

  Victoria Wild is only four years old but already knows about heartbreak, having been abandoned by her unwed mother when she was only a baby. Luckily her Aunt Eliza was there to take her in but times are still hard on Pit Lane and while Eliza does her best to make sure there is always food on the table, Victoria bears the stigma of her illegitimacy. Her aunt also fears the day when Victoria will start to ask about her father…

  But even when Eliza is offered a chance to make a better life for herself and her niece, there are sacrifices to be made. And more trouble is around the corner – in the form of Victoria’s mother, Mary-Anne Wild, who is finally coming home not to be a proper mother to her daughter but to exact her revenge on the man who ruined her life…

  A gritty, heart-warming saga perfect for fans of Dilly Court and Maggie Hope

  About the Author

  Gracie Hart was born in Leeds and raised on the family farm in the Yorkshire Dales. Though starting out as a glass engraver, and then raising her family, Gracie has now written several family sagas.

  Gracie and her husband still live in the Yorkshire Dales and they have two children and four grandchildren.

  Also by Gracie Hart

  The Girl From Pit Lane

  Chapter 1

  Woodlesford Village, near Leeds, 1866

  ‘Bastard, bastard, you’re nothing but a bastard.’

  The schoolchildren’s taunts echoed in Victoria’s ears as she ran down the cobbled street. She brushed away the tears from her eyes. She hated them all. They would never let her forget that she had no father and that her own mother had abandoned her, even if she had left her in the loving and capable hands of her Aunt Eliza. She sniffed and snivelled and clutched her snap tin close to her along with her chalkboard as she rubbed her hand across her snotty nose and tear-stained cheeks. She wanted to put on a brave face before returning to her aunt in her small dressmaker’s shop. She loved being at the shop, but her classmates made her life impossible. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a father, but she was the only one who wasn’t allowed to play roughly on the streets and the only one who had someone at home spending time encouraging her to get a good education. In class, she was the teacher’s pet. This gave her jealous classmates an opportunity to pick on her when they felt aggrieved by the attention shown to her. That was is exactly what had happened that afternoon, when she had recited a poem word for word without fault and the teacher, Mrs Kirk, had given her the apple from her desk that everyone had coveted for showing so much promise.

  Victoria knew as soon as the school bell was rung by the headmaster that she would be bullied on her way home. Especially by brash Tilly Harrison, whose head had been shaved to get rid of nits and had impetigo scabs on her face. Tilly was part of a family of ten, and they all lived in one of the slum houses down by the canal. Victoria knew she was no different from Tilly – she and her Aunt Eliza were also poor – but as it was just the two of them she did not want for love and attention, which was probably why Tilly hated her so much.

  ‘Now, what’s all this about? You look as if you’ve been crying again, my sweetness.’ Eliza dropped her sewing and went to comfort her niece as she entered the small dress shop.

  ‘I didn’t want you to know, but I can’t help it, they make me so sad and that Tilly Harrison is just a bully.’

  Victoria sobbed as soon as she felt the comforting arms of her Aunt Eliza around her. She’d really tried to hold back the tears, but as soon as she had seen the concern on Eliza’s face the tears had welled up again.

  ‘Oh now, don’t you let her get you down. Remember what I told you: one day you will be the princess of Woodlesford and you’ll want for nothing and she’ll not even dare to look at you, let alone talk to you.’ Eliza pulled an offcut of material from one of her shelves and placed it on Victoria’s shoulders like a royal cloak. ‘There, Princess Victoria, here I am your faithful servant. And if I may suggest, your highness, going home for some supper? Perhaps caviar and salmon will be on the menu this evening. Followed by who knows what for a pudding.’

  Eliza wiped her niece’s tears and kissed her brow before putting away the dress she was working upon. ‘I’ve had Grace Ellershaw in today, my love; she ordered a new dress from me, so that will keep the wolves from our door for another month or so. I must say, I was ever so thankful. I didn’t have much work on the books until she made her appearance.’ Eliza tidied her sewing away and reached for her shawl and bonnet and placed them both on as she watched Victoria looking gloomily out of the window.

  ‘In fact, it was so quiet that I made you this out of some old rags. I thought that it might cheer you up a little, although now you are nearly nine, you are perhaps getting too old for dolls.’ Eliza reached for a floppy rag doll from under her sewing, which she had quickly put together from scraps of leftover cloth. ‘She’s got a real happy face and blue eyes.’ Eliza put her arm around her niece. ‘She’s just short of a name. Can you think of one for her?’

  ‘She’s lovely, Auntie, I’ll call her Tilly, to remind me of Tilly Harrison, because I swear I will not let her bully me again. And whenever I look at my new doll it will remind me to smile because Tilly never does.’ Victoria held the doll tight and looked at it as it flopped over her arm, the face smiling at her from underneath the black wool Eliza had used for hair.

  ‘That’s it. Never let anyone get the better of you. Think why they are being so nasty and usually you’ll find that they are either jealous or their lives are just downright terrible. There will always be Tilly Harrisons in the world, Victoria, we just have to learn to live with them. Now, let’s go home and get the fire lit and the kettle on.’ Eliza guided Victoria through the door and locked the door of the small lean-to behind her before walking down the main street of Woodlesford with Victoria by her side. ‘I can’t really promise caviar and salmon but I think there’s still a little blackberry jam left …’

  ‘Did George come with Miss Grace to the shop?’ Victoria asked Eliza as she quickly walked beside her.

  ‘No, he didn’t, he’d be busy having lessons like you,’ Eliza said sharply.

  Victoria glanced up at Eliza. ‘George is too old to go to school! I like George, he always talks to me and sometimes even gives me a piece of spice.’

  ‘He has a private tutor at home. Now, I don’t want to hear another word about George Ellershaw, he’s best left alone. Besides, the Ellershaws are far above us, my dear. He’s only sweet to you because he thinks he’s doing his bit in patronising the poor, which we all are to the likes of him. Indeed, I think that�
�s the very reason why Grace and her friends order the odd dress or two from me.’ Eliza sighed. She was trying to guide her young niece through the many pitfalls of life, but just how well she was doing it, only time would tell. The last thing she wanted was for Victoria to become too friendly with George Ellershaw, who, in her eyes, was not at all like his sister but showing more of the same traits as his heathen father, the way he flounced around in his own importance.

  Eliza sat next to the dwindling fire in her cottage at Pit Lane. Victoria had been put to bed after having a supper of bread and the last of the jam and now Eliza was left on her own with her thoughts and worries and an empty stomach. By the time the rent was paid and the coal bought and Victoria’s needs seen to, there was precious money left and she often found herself going without a meal for the sake of her niece. She yawned as she darned the near-threadbare stockings for Victoria to wear the following day. They would have to suffice until she could afford a new pair.

  How she wished that her sister, Mary-Anne, would send sufficient provisions for her young daughter, or perhaps return home and take her off her hands. She loved Victoria dearly, but when she had offered to be her guardian until she was sent for she hadn’t realised the hardship that it was going to bring to both their lives. The letters and monies sent from Mary-Anne were few and far between, with no mention of Victoria being sent to join her mother. It broke her heart to see Victoria give up hope on ever meeting her mother, let alone starting a new life in New York. It was always the same tale from her sister: John’s next job would give him better money, then she would send for her. Or, we’re looking for a bigger place to live before we are able to take her off your hands. But the new job with better money never appeared, nor the bigger living quarters, and so Victoria kept Eliza company and it seemed that was how it was going to be until she was grown and able to fend for herself.

  Eliza put down her darning and poked the dying embers of the fire before placing the guard around the hearth. Tomorrow was another day and who knew what it might bring. It was no good looking on the dark side of life. They were both well, had a roof over their heads, and were, to some extent, fed. There were a lot who were worse off and she knew it. She picked up the lit tallow candle and made her way to bed.

  At least Mary-Anne had a man in her life. Eliza had never glanced twice at one since Tom Thackeray had walked out of hers. Life was hard, but at least she was her own woman and that counted for a lot, she thought, as she changed into her night gown before blowing out the candle to leave her alone with her regrets in the dark of her bedroom.

  ‘Aunt Eliza, Aunt Eliza, look what the postman’s brought, it’s a letter from Mama!’

  Victoria ran in from playing in the small front garden with her stick and hoop and pulled on her aunt’s skirts as she brandished the letter.

  ‘Now, isn’t that good timing? Your mama must have known that we would receive it on a Saturday and that you would have time to sit with me and read it together. Here, let’s open it and we will see what she has to say. Hopefully, she will have sent us some money too.’ Eliza dried her hands from washing up and sat down at the kitchen table with Victoria on her knee. ‘Careful, Victoria, we don’t want to tear any money that might be in it.’ Victoria carefully unsealed the letter to reveal a page of paper with Mary-Anne’s writing upon it, but no money was forthcoming, no matter how Eliza shook the envelope.

  ‘Never mind, I had hoped she would have sent us something but at least she has written to us.’

  Eliza’s heart sank, yet another letter with no means of support within it. She was beginning to think something must be wrong in her sister’s life that the money she used to send so regularly had dried up with no excuse or reason being given. ‘Let’s read what she has to say to us together.’ Victoria wriggled on her aunt’s knee and looked keenly at her mother’s words.

  Apartment 29

  Orchard Street

  New York

  2nd March 1866

  My dear Eliza and my darling Victoria,

  I do hope that this letter finds you both well. Both John and I are working long hours; he’s working hard for the new railroad that is making its way through New York and I have just secured a position at a tailor that supplies garments to the theatre. The hours are long but I endure them as I think that every hour worked means I can save some money for my fund to bring you back to me, my darling Victoria. I promise it will not be long, providing that I can secure you a safe passage and home.

  New York is thriving now the Civil War is over. New businesses open every day and you would be amazed by the masses of people on the streets. It is a strange world here, completely different to the one in Leeds. New York never sleeps and you can get most things that you want at any time of day or night providing you have the money.

  At the moment, people are afeared for the safety of their money as the other week there was a Bank Robbery in broad daylight in Liberty, Missouri. The papers are full of the cowboy gang they are saying is led by a man called Jesse James, pronounced ‘Jessie’. I thought that would make you laugh, Victoria. Fancy, a man, an outlaw, with the girl’s name Jesse!

  Eliza looked at her niece as she giggled at the news and squirmed on her knee.

  I miss home, I miss you both. Times may have been hard but maybe I should have stayed. Remember, Victoria, that I will always love you no matter what and when I look up at the moon of an evening I know the same moon is looking down upon you. So I send you my love and I make a wish for you.

  Eliza, I can never thank you enough for the love you show my daughter and I know that she is in good hands. Until my next letter then my dears, when I hope to be able to send you some money. All my love and kisses, my darlings.

  Mary-Anne

  Victoria curled up in her aunt’s lap and sobbed. ‘I wish my mother was here. I wish I could go stay with her.’

  ‘You will one day, my little one, you will, your mother will not let you down,’ Eliza whispered as she stroked her niece’s long dark hair and hoped that the Lord would forgive her for lying.

  Chapter 2

  New York

  Mary-Anne softly patted her swollen cheek with iced water, trying to contain the swelling under her eye and on her cheekbone. The last thing she wanted was a black eye – just the other month she had received comments from her workmates over marks on her arms that had been made by John holding her too tight.

  She breathed in deeply and looked at her reflection in the mirror, pulling a strand of hair over the side of her face to hide the bruising, sighing at the thought of the colours that were bound to develop over the day while she was at work. She held her head in her hands and swore to herself. Somebody was bound to see it and she’d just have to make up an excuse. After all, she worked with actresses, she’d just have to become one herself.

  She closed her eyes and fought back the tears. Now she knew how her mother had felt when her stepfather had beaten her. Although John was in no way near as bad as him – he was a good man when he was sober – he did have the same trait of not being able to take his drink, especially after a drop or two of whisky, which he was all too easily plied with by his fellow Irishmen.

  He’d not been this way when they had first sailed over from Liverpool. Back then, he had been full of ideas for the future – how they were going to build a new life together, have children of their own. They had tried to put down roots, and had started well when John was working for his brother, but family love soon wore thin, and it was only a matter of months before John walked out of a perfectly decent job and went to work down in New York Harbor. There he had unloaded skins and furs from the boats that had sailed down the mighty Hudson River, and seen to the cargoes of ships from all over the world. All had been well until he’d been caught pilfering bottles of whisky to share with his so-called friends. Nothing in his life seemed to go smoothly. His love of politics and his outspoken views also made his bosses wary of him. Mary-Anne only hoped that he would keep his mouth shut in his new job of na
vvy for the railway that was to be built through New York.

  She stood up quickly as she heard John move in the bed behind her; she didn’t want to hear his excuses yet again for his violent behaviour the night before. She didn’t want him to beg her to forgive him. His words were empty, and along with his fists they had hurt her too many times before, especially when he raged about her inability to give him a child of his own. Last night, as he had before, he’d raged on about her daughter, Victoria, so much so that now she had been forced to abandon any thoughts of seeing her in the near future, or even sending any money to help support her sister with her upkeep. John begrudged her only child every penny, so she could send nothing home unless she managed to sneak the odd dollar from out of the savings box under their bed.

  One of these days John Vasey will go too far, she thought, quickly making her way out of the small one-room apartment and closing the door quietly behind her. No matter how kind and loving he was when not cursed with the liquor, she knew she would leave him one day. She would not stand by a man who let drink get the better of him. Once she had summoned up the courage, she would go back home, by fair means or foul, and return to her daughter Victoria and sister Eliza and hopefully claim some of Edmund Ellershaw’s estate for his daughter born out of his uncontrollable wicked ways.

  Despite the years that had passed, she still blamed Ellershaw for her downfall, and even her current situation. He should be made to pay for her suffering and his child’s upbringing. She should have demanded so when she had the opportunity back in Woodlesford. But for now, she would just have to survive the best she could by using the skills that she had been born with. She focused her thoughts on the day’s work ahead in the sewing rooms of Lord and Taylor, repairing and designing outfits for those appearing in the music halls and on the stages of this great city. It was a job she loved and excelled in, it gave her a steady wage and she was treated kindly by the owners. She made her way down to 20th Street and to a world of glitz and glamour; a world millions of miles apart from the harsh realities of her life with John. But it was a world where she could forget her worries and concentrate on sewing spangles and sequins onto her beloved costumes.