Amy Snow

by Tracy Rees

  *

  During the long years of my suffering I had, as befitted the lady of Hatville Court, visited the poor: handing out baskets, dispensing trite courtesies and so on. I cannot say I enjoyed it. My manner with those people has never been easy. I believe they could sense my discomfort and scorned me for it. The differences are so very great.

  However, I was able to make a connection with one young farm girl. She looked forward to my visits and for my part I found them not so uncomfortable as the rest. I believe she admired my beauty and refinement, and had some aspiration towards improving herself.

  I knew I must not encourage her in that, for her father was a dairyman and her mother likewise an ignorant nobody. The world would never favour her. She was not especially lovely to look at, although she had an open, frank manner and an unruly thatch of beautiful golden hair the colour of corn. Her name was Sophy.

  One day, in May of 1830, I found the girl alone in her cottage in bitter distress. Through her tears she spilled out her sorry tale, one snuffling fact at a time; she was, of course, with child.

  The father was a gentleman who had been staying near Enderby that spring. He happened upon Sophy driving cows from one pasture to another. He told her that her hair in the sunlight put him in mind of an angel; he professed himself enchanted with her smile. I sincerely doubt that he was. Sophy’s smile was exactly like Amy’s – too wide, too clumsy, unrefined. However, he had clearly had designs upon her in that moment and the silly girl believed him.

  It sickens me to hear such tales. What a fiend he must have been to debase himself with someone so greatly inferior to him.

  This gentleman – she knew him only as ‘Bradley’, and whether that was a Christian name or a family name I cannot conjecture – stayed for a week and sought her out more than once.

  I felt some sympathy with Sophy, knowing the horror of such an act. But no! The girl told me I misunderstood her tears. She was not crying with horror but with heartbreak that he was gone. She could not believe it, for he had told her they would marry.

  She had loved every moment with him, she told me. More than anything she had loved their coupling – in the hay loft behind the dairy! She felt her soul flood with light, so she said. I stopped her there. I would not listen to more. I had some extensive experience of these things, after all, and the suggestion that it could be enjoyable was obscene. Profane.

  It was too late for Sophy; the act had taken place. But perhaps it was not too late for her soul, that soul of which she spoke so lightly. I urgently explained that this was an act only to be sanctioned within marriage, that taking pleasure in it was as grave a wrong as a woman can commit. It was difficult for her to understand, naturally, for she had not been educated at all. I insisted that the resulting child could be naught but disgrace and shame.

  I made her a gift of a cast-off dress. This was seen by her family as a great kindness; in truth its size and unaccustomed style hid her steadily altering shape. When her time was near, I offered her a place at Hatville, that she might carry out only the lightest of duties without raising her family’s suspicions. When the child was born, I would take it to the nearest orphanage and Sophy could resume her normal life as soon as possible. She said she wanted to keep it, but I insisted. She need not be marked by it. It would be as if nothing had ever happened.

  Then I lost my last, longed-for baby and I was very ill. Some of my children slipped from me like an involuntary sigh. Others struggled and fought to stay with me – that’s how I understood it anyway. This little son (I was convinced that this child was a boy) fought harder than any and I was told that I was very near death with it. I would have died, to bring him to life, but yet again it was all denied me.

  When I was able to dress and take to my feet again, my sisters had arrived and Sophy had vanished.

  I never learned what happened to her. I did enquire once. She had not gone back to her family and was never heard of again. It was, indeed, as if none of it had ever occurred. Or would have been, but for the appearance of a baby girl, naked in the Hatville snow.

  I do not pretend to understand. Sophy loved her child enough to run away with it, ill-considered plan though that was. And then she abandoned it.

  *

  I imagine that a sort of nervous lunacy descended upon her. Even I have felt the pull to madness that comes with the terrible experience of loving and melding with a child when all was impossible. Likely she simply lost all sense of what she was doing – she had been distraught over the preceding weeks.

  At first I wondered whether the child Aurelia named Amy Snow was in fact some other unfortunate’s baby and the timing of the thing was merely malign circumstance. But as Amy grew, there could be no doubt. Every time I saw her clumsy, ugly smile, I saw Sophy accusing me. Her thatch of hair, too, and the way it parted in the centre of her brow, was all Sophy, though its dusky colour must have come from the father.

  I even wondered, in dark moments, whether Sophy deliberately left her own child to die before my eyes, as a direct reproach. There are a number of possibilities, I suppose, and I cannot claim to have the energy to spare for their consideration.

  The fact remained that this child, this small girl, who should never have been conceived, who should never have been born, found her way into my household to live a full and healthy life under my very nose. The timing was so cruel, just days after losing my sweet Samuel, as I thought of him in private. At each sight of her, grief clanged loud within me. I told Cook I must never see her.

  It worked well enough for a time – I thought the solution imperfect but functional. But then Aurelia – recalcitrant, contrary Aurelia – made a pet of her, and then a sister, and the rest makes for a very sour history.

  *

  Now Aurelia is gone and so is Amy. Her departure is the one good thing to come out of Aurelia’s death. I breathed my first full breath in seventeen years when her obstinate little form finally vanished into the grey gloom of a January day, months ago. I believed I should have peace of mind at last.

  But the memories of Sophy grew strong; I remembered details I had not considered in years. She chose names – Flora for a girl, Nicholas for a boy – even though I told her the orphanage would do as they pleased. Why should I remember that? She told me the father came from Devon and rode a white horse. Well, of course he did. She would sing to the baby inside her sometimes, when she did not know I was near. Should I have sung to mine?

  Perhaps I hoped these shreds of someone else’s story would leave me if I passed them on to Amy. Perhaps she should know her history, after all those years of gypsies and princesses and Charles Vennaway’s bastard child. I told myself many times that I owed her nothing, that her survival was due to my condescension. But I know the truth.

  When Arabella returned to Surrey bursting with news that she had seen Amy Snow glittering like a ruby pendant at the heart of a Bath society ball, I knew I must chase her, just this once, and tell her what I knew if I could.

  Arabella’s certainty as to how Amy has gained her fortune I believe not at all. My sister is a fool. I am certain that Aurelia left her a great legacy; doubtless she went to some extraordinary lengths to hide the fact. It was well that she did, for Charles would have fought it. Deprived of a bloodline, he grows closer than ever about money. I could not care less.

  I have not seen Amy Snow. I know, I feel it deeply, that I will never lay eyes on her again. Quite as I have always wanted. The life I face is barren and burdened – but thus it ever was. The chapter is closed.

  I am returned, yes, with the knowledge unshared. But really, it is such a very mundane sort of a tale; as secrets go it is hardly original or interesting. What is it, after all, but the story of one small life, obscured for ever?

  Acknowledgements

  I’m tremendously grateful to all the amazing and talented professionals I’ve ‘won’, thanks to the Search for a Bestseller competition. I couldn’t have wished for anyone better to work with, or to bring Amy Snow into
the world for me. So a BIG and heartfelt thank you to ALL at Furniss Lawton, Quercus, Plank PR and WHSmith for their expertise, support and the warm welcome they’ve given me. Special thanks go to my truly inspiring agent Eugenie Furniss and my very brilliant editor Kathryn Taussig. And, of course, to Richard and Judy.

  Also, thank you, Therese Keating, for being the first of the competition team to read and love Amy.

  Huge thanks and love to my own readers, who were my cheerleaders through the writing process and have blessed me with priceless enthusiasm and feedback: Wendy Hammond, Ellen Pruyne, Marjorie Hawthorne, Andy Humphrey and Jane Rees (a.k.a. Mum).

  Likewise to the other friends in my Swansea and London posses who have supported and encouraged me in so many ways over the past year. Lisa Mears, Cheryl Powell, Karen Wilson, Patsy Rodgers, Lucy Davies (Research Associate!), Kathryn Davies, Sarah Cole, Anna Hunt, Stephanie Basford-Morris, Rosie Stanbridge, Ludwig Esser, Jacks Lyndon and Bethan Jones: your friendship and general amazingness make my world a better, richer place and make it possible for me to do what I do.

  I would like to thank York Writers, a truly talented and motivated writing group, for supporting my literary dreams and for being the first to comment on the opening pages of Amy Snow.

  And last but very definitely not least, thank you to my wonderful and ever-supportive parents, without whom I would probably never have seen the competition flyer at all and Amy would still be six pages long.

  *

  The following books have been invaluable resources in helping me to understand the context of Amy’s life and times:

  Judith Flanders: The Victorian City. Atlantic Books, London 2012

  Ruth Goodman: How to Be a Victorian. Penguin, London 2014

  Michael Paterson: A Brief History of Life in Victorian Britain. Robinson, London 2008

  David Turner: Victorian and Edwardian Railway Travel. Shire Publications, Oxford 2013

  The Railway Traveller’s Handy Book 1862: Hints, Suggestions and Advice for the Anxious Victorian Traveller. Old House, Oxford 2012

  The World of Amy Snow

  Tracy Rees writes about what it might really have been like for a young woman like Amy living during the Victorian time

  Was Hatville typical of a grand estate in the Victorian era?

  Yes, I would say that Hatville was a typical early-Victorian estate. One of the things that really impressed itself on me when I started researching the period was how much change there was throughout the Victorian era. Of course, it spanned more than sixty years. Amy’s early life at Hatville is set in the early years of Victoria’s reign when Regency tastes and customs still pervaded Great Britain.

  The inside of a house then was often sparsely decorated, partly because it was customary to dedicate time and attention to the outside of the house instead, so as to impress visitors with a display of wealth and status. This attitude would definitely have influenced the Vennaways, and so I was able to take great pleasure in creating the wonderful grounds of Hatville, with streams and orchards and rose gardens, all lovingly tended by Robin.

  Another reason was that furniture – carpets and the like – were terribly expensive at that time. Of course this wouldn’t have been an issue for the Vennaways, but even the wealthy people of the time preferred a rather severe interior. Given the Vennaways’ cold, joyless personalities, this was perfect for my story. I really couldn’t see them taking pleasure in creating a warm and welcoming home! By the time Amy reaches Mulberry Lodge in 1848, times and tastes were changing. Constance Wister represents the modern Victorian, purely delighted with all the novelty and variety newly on offer.

  What sort of food would the family be eating at Hatville?

  Because of their wealth, the family at Hatville would have been able to enjoy elaborate, rich food that the poorer people of the time wouldn’t even have been able to imagine. Even to modern tastes the meals seem rather lavish! Meals typically had many courses and were devoured in rather large quantities. Even the servants at Hatville would have eaten well, thanks to being able to eat the same hearty breakfast as the family (though not at the same time, of course!). Dinner menus were often presented in French, and consisted of soups, fish, different meats (roasts, chops, etc.) and desserts, all accompanied by the correct wine. Madeira wine, so much enjoyed by Mrs Riverthorpe, was one of the correct choices to accompany dessert.

  What were clothes like in the Victorian era?

  As with everything else Victorian, clothes varied a great deal between the classes and also across the decades. Early and late Victorian fashions were relatively unfussy – everything in the middle was pretty lavish! In Amy’s time, balloon sleeves and high collars were very characteristic features, and shawls and bonnets were essential! Hair would typically be worn coiled and braided and piled on the head, so Amy with her shorter hair would have been quite unfashionable. For girls like the young Aurelia, skirts were shorter and long frilly bloomers were worn. For servants, like the young Amy, the emphasis was of course on practicality. My next book will be set a little later in the era, in the 1850s, when the crinoline made an appearance. I’m sure I’ll have some fun with that!

  For gentlemen, costume was less sober in the early Victorian years than it became later. Top hats, waistcoats and gloves were all mandatory, and interesting colour combinations were often seen! Quentin Garland’s penchant for pastels was quite usual for this time.

  What was travel like in Amy’s time?

  OK, I’ll admit it. My choice to set Amy Snow in the 1840s, rather than any other decade, was completely random. I said to a colleague, ‘Give me a year in the nineteenth century’, and she said ‘1848’, then walked off, without even knowing why I was asking. I then discovered that I had unwittingly plumped for the most interesting time in the whole era in terms of travel. It was the cusp – the time when the battle between coaches and trains was at its fiercest, the time when, in retrospect anyway, transport was poised between past and future.

  I got carried away on a massive railway tangent when I was doing my research – it was absolutely fascinating! In the 1840s train travel wasn’t new but it was developing at an unprecedented rate. People wanted to invest in it, speculate on it and generally get involved. As a result, management companies formed and reformed about every five minutes! Amy arrives in London at Bricklayers’ Arms but a few years later this terminus had fallen into disuse and London Bridge was used instead. I learned that building a railway line and station sometimes meant razing whole residential neighbourhoods, which is quite staggering!

  As with every social change there were those who were skeptical and those who welcomed it. The Begleys, whom Amy meets on her train journey from Ladywell to London, embody these attitudes.

  A Quick Interview with Tracy Rees

  What’s your comfort food?

  Oh, food in general is pretty great, isn’t it? A chocolate orange or creme egg can never be a bad thing – aside from the sugar jitters I get because I EAT TOO MANY! But when I’m on the straight and narrow, I really love: brown rice with veggies and halloumi, Pad Thai, brown toast with peanut butter and banana. I’m hungry now . . .

  What’s your favourite tipple?

  A glass of really nice red – probably from Chile or Argentina – or champagne! Or both. Why not? But not in the same glass.

  Dog or cat?

  Dog. I love cats too, but I long for a dog. My living arrangements don’t allow for one at the moment but when that changes, how will I choose between all those gorgeous breeds? To the special dogs in my life – Skip, Ruffles, Romeo, Billy, Tasha, Kelvyn, Tom and Jenny – lots of love and hugs.

  What keeps you sane?

  Whatever finely balanced and precious degree of sanity I possess is due to: amazing friends (truly, no-one could have better); writing at least half an hour of drivel first thing every morning (in the hope that writing later in the day will be less drivel-like – let’s not examine that one too closely); exercise (it’s a fact, though not a welcome one); bei
ng out in nature, and green tea.

  What would people be surprised to discover about you?

  The secret world inside my head maybe . . . in it I’m a rockstar, performing spectacularly with any number of music legends, regardless of whether or not they’re actually still alive. In this other universe I’m be-sequinned, adored . . . oh, and I can sing!

  Town or country?

  Both! I am a penny-and-bun girl. A have-my-cake-and-eat-it girl. I’ve spent much of my life moving back and forth between London and Wales trying to decide exactly that. After many years and a lot of angst I’ve decided that I need clean air, space, coastal walks, my family AND the buzz of London. So I’m based in Wales but visit London a lot.

  What’s your favourite holiday read?

  Oh so many! Isabel Woolf, Rosanna Ley, Patricia Scanlan, Marian Keyes . . . and WHY did the Twilight saga have to end?

  What scares you?

  Just life! Seriously, I don’t have any of the usual fears: spiders, snakes, rats, the dark, heights, buttons . . . I love them all. But that’s not to say I’m never afraid, quite the contrary. Life can be difficult and painful and we humans are tender little souls. But I like to focus instead on the things that help me rise above anxiety (see sanity question above!). I used to be scared of spiders but I conquered that in 2000.

  Sweet or savoury?

  Sweet by natural inclination. Savoury by sheer, iron-willed, extremely impressive determination and strength of character.

  Read the book or watch the film first?

  Read the book. Always, always read the book.

  Night in or night out?

  Totally, totally depends on my mood. If I had to pick a ratio . . . it would be 5:2 in favour of nights in. I do love to curl up in peace and quiet with a book, DVD or sketchpad. A blanket and a glass of red wine in winter; a glass of rose in the garden in summer. As for nights out . . . anywhere my friends are is good for me!