by Tania Crosse
When she reached Fencott Place, she grabbed Charlie and flung open the door to the hotel. ‘Lily! Daniel!’ she screamed at the top of her voice.
A second later, they both came running from the kitchen, Trojan barking at their heels. Anna saw the horrified astonishment on their faces at the desperate, filthy state they were in.
‘Gilbert tried to take Charlie!’ she gasped. ‘He’s stuck out on the mire. Jack’s with him.’
‘I’m on my way. Lily, call 999.’
Daniel was already out of the door and Lily was running to the phone. ‘And then I’ll get you and Charlie in a nice hot bath,’ she called over her shoulder.
Anna stood there, quivering, and then burst into tears.
‘It was only mild concussion but William insisted I stay in overnight. Do you know how Gilbert is? He must have been in the mire nearly five hours before they finally got him out. He’d lost consciousness long before. Daniel and I just couldn’t shift him, there was so much suction. And the fire engine was out on another call and we had to wait.’
Anna sighed, drained after the day’s events and yet with every nerve on edge and ready to leap into action.
‘Yes, I know. They’re still working on him. They say he should recover from the exposure, though he’d been drinking heavily which didn’t help. Alcohol draws the heat from the body core, William said. But they’re more worried that he seems to have inhaled some of the putrid water. What’ll poor Frankie think when she finds out?’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking. Interpol are trying to find her.’
Anna nodded, and for a minute or two, they sat in silence, each lost in thought.
‘But Charlie’s safe. That’s the main thing.’ And Jack squeezed her hand.
‘What’ll you do now?’ Anna asked gently. A light mist hovered over the gardens of Ashcroft Hall, enshrouding the tulips and swathes of delicate forget-me-nots.
‘Now Gilbert’s dead, you mean?’ Frankie’s voice was flat, expressionless. ‘I still can’t believe it. Pneumonia. Probably from the water that got in his lungs. Or the exposure, or both. Well,’ she sighed resignedly, ‘probably sell this place. I’ve got power of attorney over everything. Lady Prue had another stroke, you know. A severe one this time. It’s left her like a cabbage. Outwardly, anyway. Who knows what’s going on inside her head? I reckon it was the shock of finally accepting what Gilbert was really like.’
‘And you?’
Frankie turned to Anna with a wistful sigh. ‘My feelings for Gilbert died long ago, I realise that now. I’ll survive. I’m a very rich widow. I’ll take care of Lady Prue, of course. Employ a couple of nurses. She could go on for years. And perhaps, one day, I’ll start to live again.’
‘But … we can always be friends? I feel so guilty—’
‘Don’t be. You’ve freed me as well.’ And she encircled Anna in a warm embrace.
The bride and groom posed for photographs in the glorious August sunshine. Anna had never seen Ethel look as radiant as she did in her gauzy veil and ivory gown. She and Bert were made for each other. Ethel, a broad smile on her face, was lapping up the joy of her special day, but catching Anna’s eye, gave her a cheeky wink.
Anna grinned back and gave the thumbs up sign as Jack came over to her, leading Charlie by the hand. A warm tide lulled her in contentment as she smiled at them. Oh, she couldn’t be happier! After all that had happened, they had won through in the end. If only her parents had been there to know how happy she was with Jack. A vision of her mum, with the purple roses around her neck, flashed across Anna’s mind. But they had all been bruised along the way. Her mum from her unfailing love for the man her dad had once been. Ethel, separated from Bert while he did his National Service. Poor Lady Ashcroft, forced to renounce the man she truly loved and now reduced to such a sorry state. Dear, dearest Queenie with her heartbreaking, lifelong secret. Carrie, with her scare over Jeffery’s health. And now Frankie, torn apart by sadness and regret.
And herself?
Life had been hard on her. But with Jack by her side, she felt she could climb mountains. He bent down to speak to her and she turned to him, her heart lurching at his closeness.
‘Can we make a date for this time next year?’ he whispered. ‘At the church in Tavistock?’
Anna blinked at him, and elation spiralled up inside her. His eyes held hers, soft and intense with love.
Oh, yes, her heart sang. And the world stood still.
Acknowledgements
As always, I should like to thank my agent and my publishers for their continued support. My gratitude also goes to Paul Rendell, Dartmoor guide and historian and editor of The Dartmoor News, who once again checked my manuscript for details on Dartmoor history. A huge thank you must go to Christine Barron, former theatre sister at Tavistock Hospital, for her information on Didworthy Sanatorium, to Dr Marshall Barr, founder of the Berkshire Medical Heritage Centre, for his information on the treatment of tuberculosis in the 1950s, and to my good friend, Sir Michael Willats for his input regarding vehicles of the time. Roger Paul of the Princetown History Club also contributed local facts for this novel, and Mr and Mrs Cribbett kindly shared their memories with me.
Author’s Note
Readers who know Dartmoor well may recognise my model for Holly Cottage. The real building was condemned a few years earlier than in my book, but I have changed the date to suit my story. Happily, unlike some of the other buildings mentioned in the novel, the cottage survived by virtue of the fact that it was used as a pigsty by a local farmer but has now been restored to a residential dwelling.
My model for Ashcroft Hall might also be recognised, but I must point out most strongly that the Ashcrofts bear no resemblance whatsoever to the aristocratic family who lived there for a brief period.
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About the Author
TANIA CROSSE was born in London but at a very young age she moved to Surrey, where her love of the countryside took root. She always enjoyed reading and has composed stories ever since she could hold a pen. After studying French literature at university, she devoted twenty years to bringing up her three children. But her passion for writing never left her and, side by side with her in-depth historical research, she began to pen her novels in earnest as her family grew up, focusing on Tavistock and the surrounding area of Dartmoor from Victorian times to the 1950s. Tania and her husband live partly in Berkshire and partly at their cottage on Dartmoor, where Tania retreats to write and absorb the atmosphere of the places that inspire her.
By Tania Crosse
Lily’s Journey
Hope at Holly Cottage
LILY’S JOURNEY
When fifteen-year-old Lily Hayes loses her mother, she is forced to leave the bright lights of London to live with her estranged father in the wilds of Dartmoor. The dour Sidney Latham can be sullen and he has a temper on him, but Lily is determined to make the best of things. As Sidney’s gruff manner slowly thaws, Lily learns more about her family’s past. And discovers that some secrets are best left hidden.
Though Lily’s life has taken a dramatic turn for the worse, there are some things she is grateful for – the fact that she has met the handsome and charming Edwin Franfield being top of the list. But when tragedy strikes, a stranger with troubles of his own becomes her surprising saviour.
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by.com
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Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
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First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2010.
This ebook edition published by Allison & Busby in 2014.
Copyright © 2010 by TANIA CROSSE
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–1689–0
