by Dilly Court
Lottie clasped Aurelia’s hand. ‘I can’t pretend to understand, but if you ever change your mind …’
Aurelia smiled, shaking her head. ‘You know me better than that, my dear. Now I really must go, but I’ll see you tonight.’
Aurelia’s invitation was as good as a royal command, and there was no question of gainsaying her. Lottie put on her best gown, which once again happened to be one of Aurelia’s cast-offs and was far too elegant for any but the most formal occasion. Worn over a crinoline cage, the rose-pink gown whittled her waist to a hand-span, and the low décolletage revealed just enough of her firm bosom to tantalise without risking censure. She had intended to wear her hair in a chignon at the nape of her neck, but Ruby insisted that she was well enough to get out of bed and attend to Lottie’s coiffure. The result was even better than Lottie could have hoped for, and at her father’s request she went to show off her finery.
He gazed at her misty-eyed. ‘My beautiful girl, I’m so proud of you, Lottie. I’m so sorry that we were separated for so many years.’
She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Pa.’
‘I missed so much, and you suffered at the hands of my brother. I’ll never forgive Sefton for that.’ Harold picked up a small velvet pouch from the table by the sofa. ‘These were your mother’s, Lottie. They will be the finishing touch.’
Lottie tipped the contents onto the palm of her left hand. ‘Oh, Pa. They’re lovely. I remember Ma wearing this amethyst pendant and earrings.’
‘It was my wedding gift to her, Lottie. She loved amethysts.’
Lottie fastened the clasp of the gold chain. The earrings she was wearing were a pair she had bought cheaply in Poona market and she replaced them with the sparkling amethyst drops. ‘How do I look, Pa?’
Harold dashed his hand across his eyes. ‘Perfect, my love. Wait until Gideon sees you.’ He reached out to clasp her hand. ‘He’s a good man, Lottie.’
She smiled and raised his hand to her cheek. ‘I know it, Pa.’
‘I just wanted you to know that if I have to give my daughter away to any man, I’d be content to place your happiness in his hands.’
Gideon was waiting for her in the stable yard. He looked taller and every inch a gentleman in his black tail coat, white shirt and bow tie and black waistcoat worn with tapered trousers and highly polished shoes. Leaning slightly on his cane, he walked towards her and as he came to a halt in a pool of gaslight, the look of admiration in his eyes and the tenderness in his smile made her feel like a queen. The girl who had been a skivvy at the beck and call of the Filbys was gone for ever, and like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Lottie knew that she had come home at last.
She took a step towards him. ‘I’m ready.’
‘You look wonderful,’ Gideon said softly. ‘You are truly beautiful, Lottie. I’m very bad at expressing my feelings, but I want you to know that I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you.’
‘I love you, too.’ Lottie met his ardent gaze with a tremulous smile.
‘I thought perhaps you had feelings for Tom Bonney. I saw the way he looked at you today, and I know he’s a better bet than a semi-crippled ex-sapper …’
Lottie stepped forward, laying her finger on his lips. ‘That’s nonsense, Gideon. I am fond of Tom, but not in the way you think. He was a good friend to us in the Crimea, but that’s all he ever was. There’s no need to be jealous of him, or anyone, come to that.’
‘I was jealous. I admit it, and the intensity of that feeling shook me to the core. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve taken you for granted because I always assumed that we would be married one day.’
‘You said as much that time in Kadikoi, but a lot has happened since then. I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind.’
‘Never.’ He raised her hands to his lips. ‘I’m sorry, Lottie. I was stupid but I wanted to prove that I was worthy of you.’
‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’
‘I know I don’t deserve someone like you, although I dared to hope that you still loved me. I was going to do this at a more appropriate time, but Aurelia forced my hand by inviting us to dine with them this evening.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Lottie said, puzzled. ‘What difference does that make?’
‘She saw through me today. Lady Aurelia is no fool; she could see that I was struggling with the green-eyed monster. The thought of seeing you with a man who clearly has feelings for you was enough to bring me to my senses, and for that I will always be grateful to her.’
He took a small shagreen-covered box from his breast pocket. ‘I bought this at the same time that Farrell purchased a ring for Aurelia.’ He flicked it open and went down on one knee, despite the dampness of the evening dew on the none-too-clean cobblestones. ‘There’s only one way I know how to say this, Lottie. I love you with all my heart and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?’
Torn between tears and laughter, she took the box and the amethyst surrounded by tiny diamond chips glinted in the gaslight. ‘How did you know that this was my favourite stone?’
‘Your father showed me the necklace you’re wearing now. He told me how much you loved it when you were a little girl.’
‘I love the ring, and I love you, too. Please get up. You don’t have to kneel to me.’
He struggled to his feet, smiling ruefully. ‘That wasn’t the most elegant proposal, but it was heartfelt. I want the world to know how much I love and adore you. Will you be my wife, Lottie?’
She laid the box in his outstretched palm, and held out her left hand. ‘I will.’
Read on for an exclusive extract from Dilly Court’s gripping new novel
coming in November 2016
Chapter One
Doughty Street, London, December 1862
The grandfather clock wobbled dangerously, its pendulum swinging to and fro in a carillon of chimes as it toppled off the carter’s wagon and hit the frosty cobblestones with a resounding crash. With her arm around her sobbing mother, nineteen-year-old Alice stood on the pavement outside their home, watching helplessly as the bailiff’s men picked up the splintered wood and hurled it on top of her late father’s favourite armchair. For a moment it was as if Clement Radcliffe was still sitting there, his spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose as he studied the morning newspaper. With his nightcap slightly askew on his balding head and his moth-eaten red velvet robe wrapped tightly around his thin frame, he had always seemed oblivious to the world about him. An academic by profession and inclination, Clement had rarely come down to earth, and when he did it was usually to ask for another lump of coal to be placed on the fire, or another candle to make reading easier. And now he was dead.
‘Gracious heavens, that clock should have come to me.’ Jane Radcliffe clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Your father, God rest his soul, knew how much my dear husband wanted it, but Clement was his favourite, even though Robert was the elder son.’ Her thin lips disappeared into a pencil-line of discontent below the tip of her nose, which was glowing red in the cold air. ‘And now the disgrace of having the bailiffs come in and take every last stick of furniture is too much to bear.’ She turned her head, focusing her attention on her sister-in-law. ‘You married an extremely selfish man, Beth. Your husband spent most of his time with his head in a book instead of working to support his wife and child. My dear Robert always said his brother was a fool with money.’
Beth Radcliffe buried her face in her already sodden handkerchief, mumbling something unintelligible.
Alice contained her anger with difficulty. In their precarious situation it was not a good idea to antagonise Aunt Jane, who, despite her strong religious convictions, was notoriously judgemental and quick-tempered. Dressed in unrelieved black Jane seemed to tower over them like a dark cloud. Although it was six years since her husband had died from congestion of the lungs, Jane had clung stubbornly to the role of grieving widow. Her
mourning clothes were old-fashioned and now tinged with green, but she wore them like a badge of honour. She shunned all forms of entertainment and spent more time in the church of St George the Martyr than she did in her own home. Jane Radcliffe was well known for her good works, but Alice suspected that her aunt’s charity was handed out with as little warmth as the frozen River Thames during the famous frost fair.
‘As usual it’s left to me to pick up the pieces. My brother-in-law was a wastrel and it’s my Christian duty to take you both into my home.’ Jane folded her hands in front of her, raising her eyes to heaven as if she expected a divine being to acknowledge her good deed. ‘I would have treasured that clock.’
‘I’m sorry,’ was all Alice could think of to say. It was just days until Christmas and her whole life was disintegrating before her eyes. Although it was a shame to see the old clock smashed to bits it was the least of her worries. With a feeling close to despair she glanced up at the terraced house in Doughty Street where she had been born and raised. It was not a mansion, but there were two reasonable sized rooms on each of its three floors, plus the basement kitchen and scullery. It was a desirable residence with a pleasant view of Mecklenburgh Square at the front, and a small back garden with a scrap of lawn and an ancient apple tree. In springtime it had showered pink and white petals onto the grass, and in summer she had sat beneath its shady branches reading or sketching. In autumn she had picked and eaten the juicy fruit but she had always been on her own. A shy girl and an only child, she had longed for the company of brothers and sisters, but her mother was delicate and suffered bouts of illness that laid her low for weeks if not months. With only the servants for company it had been a lonely life, but Alice had discovered early on that she had a talent for drawing and painting, and that had been her greatest pleasure.
She gave her mother a comforting hug. ‘We’ll be all right, Mama. I’ll find work so that I can look after you.’
‘Pull yourself together, Beth,’ Aunt Jane said impatiently. ‘Stop snivelling and pick up your valise. There’s no point in loitering about here.’ She started off along Doughty Street, heading for the gated entrance despite the bitter east wind that tugged at her widow’s weeds. ‘We’ll walk to Queen Square. There’s no need to waste money on a cab.’
Alice picked up the valise and portmanteau, which contained all that was left of their worldly possessions. Her mittened fingers were numbed with cold, but her concern was for her mother, whose pale cheeks were tinged with blue.
‘Are you all right, Mama? It really isn’t too far to Queen Square.’
‘I can walk.’ Beth mopped her eyes on a white cotton hanky that Alice had given her last Christmas, having spent hours embroidering it with tiny rosebuds and her mother’s initials. ‘I won’t allow that woman to get the better of me.’
‘I should say not.’ Alice walked on, measuring her pace so that her mother could keep up with her, although Jane was striding on ahead brandishing her furled black umbrella, whacking any unwary pedestrian who got in her way.
Beth tried valiantly to keep up, but Alice was too burdened with the heavy luggage to help her mother and their progress was slow.
By the time they reached the house Jane was divesting herself of her cape and bonnet in the large, echoing entrance hall. She handed the garments to a young maidservant who could not have been more than ten or eleven years of age. The child’s knees bowed beneath the weight of the merino cape and she seemed to disappear beneath the folds of the material.
‘Hang them up, you stupid girl,’ Jane said impatiently. ‘Do I have to tell you how to do every single thing?’ Ignoring the child’s quivering lips and the tears that had sprung to her eyes, Jane turned on her sister-in-law. ‘You managed to walk this far then? It just proves that you can do it if you try. Sloth is one of the seven deadly sins, Beth. You will not be allowed to idle away your time under my roof.’
‘Mama is unwell,’ Alice protested angrily. ‘She has a delicate constitution.’
‘Bah! Rubbish. There’s nothing wrong with her that cannot be cured by long walks, a plain diet and prayer.’ Jane fixed Beth with a stern gaze. ‘You will accompany me to church on Sunday, and we will read the Bible together every evening. You may reside here, but only if you adhere to my rules. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Jane,’ Beth said meekly. ‘It’s very good of you to take us in.’
The sight of her mother being browbeaten by Aunt Jane was almost too much to bear, but Alice managed to bite back the sharp words that tingled on the tip of her tongue. Her mother had suffered enough recently and did not deserve such treatment. As for herself, she was young and strong and she would survive, but one look at her mother’s ashen face was enough to convince her that this situation could only be temporary. There had to be another way, although she was at a loss to know where it lay.
‘And you, girl,’ Jane spun round to face her. ‘I can see that you’re going to be trouble, so you can take that look off your face. The devil finds work for idle hands, and I’ll see that you are fully occupied from the time you rise in the morning until you retire to bed at night.’
Beth clutched her daughter’s arm. ‘Alice is a good girl. She took care of both of us during Clement’s illness. She has been such a help and a comfort to me.’
‘Enough of that trite sentimentality,’ Jane said severely. ‘Snippet will show you to your rooms, and luncheon will be served in the dining room at noon.’ She reached for a bell pull and tugged at it. ‘Snippet. Where are you, girl?’
The sound of clattering footsteps preceded the child, who came running and skidded to a halt on the slippery floor. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Show Mrs Radcliffe and Miss Alice to their rooms.’ Jane stalked off, disappearing into a room on the far side of the hall.
Alice was curious. ‘Is your name really Snippet?’
The girl hung her head. ‘It’s Clara, miss. Clara Snipe, but the missis chose to call me Snippet because I ain’t very big.’
Beth reached out to lay her hand on Clara’s arm. ‘We will call you Clara.’
‘She won’t like it, ma’am. I’ll get it in the neck if she thinks I’ve been blabbing to you.’
‘Then we’ll only call you Clara in private,’ Alice said, smiling for the first time that morning. ‘Now, if you’d care to show us to our rooms, Clara, we can unpack and be ready in time for luncheon.’
Clara pulled a face. ‘Don’t get too excited, miss. What her majesty calls luncheon wouldn’t feed a sparrow. I knows that only too well.’ She picked up the valise despite Beth’s protests, and with a great deal of heaving and pulling she managed to get it to the foot of the stairs.
‘Let me help.’ Alice could not bear to see such a small girl struggling valiantly with a heavy case.
Clara held up her hand. ‘I can do it, miss. Her majesty says it is lack of willpower if you can’t do things for yourself. I got to practise me willpower.’ She began to bump the case up the stairs and Alice picked up the valise, proffering her free arm to her mother. She shivered as an icy draught whistled past her head. Outside there was the promise of snow, but inside the Radcliffe domain the chill of previous cold winters lingered like a bad memory. The polished floorboards were bare of rugs and carpets, and the pristine expanse of whitewashed walls was unrelieved by the addition of pictures or mirrors. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the high ceilings as they made their way upstairs, and when they came to a halt the house reverberated with silence.
‘I’m so sorry, Alice,’ Beth whispered as Clara opened the door to a room on the second floor. ‘To have brought you to this breaks my poor heart.’
Alice glanced at the Spartan interior, comparing it mentally to her cosy bedroom in Doughty Street with its floral curtains, matching coverlet and brightly coloured rag rugs. ‘It’s not so bad, Mama,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘Yours is next door, and it ain’t no better,’ Clara said gloomily.
‘I’m sure this will suit me very
well.’ Beth slumped down onto the bed. ‘A few pictures on the walls will brighten is up.’
‘The missis don’t approve of anything what ain’t of a religious nature.’ Clara folded her skinny arms around her body, shivering. ‘There ain’t much she does approve of, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘We don’t, but you’d better not let her hear you talking like that,’ Beth said gently. ‘Anyway, this is better than being cast out on the streets. Misfortune brought us to this sorry pass, and we should be grateful to Jane for taking us in.’
Alice could not agree, but she was not going to make things worse by speaking her mind. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack, Mama. Where am I to sleep, Clara?’
Her room, she discovered, was identical, and as cheerless as a prison cell. She thanked Clara and sent her off with a smile, but when the door closed she sank down on the bed, which, as she had expected, was hard and lumpy. The four white walls seemed to close in on her, adding to the winter chill, and the only patch of colour in the room was the faded crimson and blue tapestry of her valise as it rested on the snowy Marseilles coverlet. An oak chest of drawers and a washstand with a white enamel bowl and jug were the other items of furniture, and a piece of drugget matting was the sole concession to comfort.
As she opened her case and started to unpack Alice could not help wondering whether this was her aunt’s idea of a punishment. She had never bothered to hide her contempt for her sister-in-law, and Alice had not forgotten a conversation she had overheard when Jane scolded Pa, insisting that he had made a mistake by marrying for love instead of choosing a woman of property. Alice knew that her uncle had done well in the City, but it was common knowledge that the house had been part of Jane Hubble’s dowry and she was inordinately proud of her family history. There had been a Hubble fighting the French at Agincourt, and somewhere along the line a Hubble ancestor had been elected to Parliament, and another had been a royal physician. Alice would not have been surprised if Aunt Jane had claimed that a Hubble had discovered the Americas. A wry smile curved her lips. Aunt Jane had been an only child, and her one surviving relative was a bachelor cousin, so it seemed that the name of Hubble was already consigned to history. That was a cross that Aunt Jane would have to bear.
