by Maggie Ford
A New Dream
Cover
Title Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
About the Author
Also by Maggie Ford
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
One
Mrs Granby looked up from making fairy cakes for afternoon tea for the wife of her employer to regard their pretty twenty-one-year-old daughter.
‘Is there something wrong, Miss Julia? You don’t seem your usual happy self, not since you’ve been in my kitchen.’
Julia Longfield’s sweet features gave a half smile as she toyed with two small jelly molds in front of her where she sat at the food preparation table. ‘Of course I’m happy, Cook,’ she murmured.
‘So you ought to be with your fiancé and his family coming to dinner and you two about to announce your engagement an’ all,’ Martha Granby went on. ‘I say that’s wonderful, yet you don’t look all that excited.’
‘I am excited,’ Julia said, but to Martha it didn’t sound convincing.
She gave a humph and resumed beating together the eggs, butter and sugar for the light little cakes Mrs Longfield so enjoyed with her four o’clock tea, now almost a ritual in the twelve years Martha had worked here.
Her brows knitted beneath the line of her kitchen cap. ‘You do realize how lucky you are, Miss Julia, a young man like Chester Morrison to love you? With this country still in such a mess since the war finished, you don’t have any idea how fortunate the two of you are with both yer dads well off.’
Three and a half years since the end of the war, and things were still bad; a million out of work, maimed ex-servicemen begging on the streets. Pitiful it was to see some of them trudging along in the gutter playing an instrument for a few coins to feed a hungry family; pitiful and outrageous considering their sacrifice.
‘Marrying into money too, his father with that printing works, yet to me you don’t look like what a young girl in love should look like, my dear.’
After so many years of listening to Julia’s childish troubles and, as she grew older, her more adult problems, and giving advice, Martha Granby considered herself on sufficiently familiar terms with her employers’ daughter to address her as ‘my dear’.
‘I mean it,’ she went on, ‘a fine handsome young man like that with a good family background. Anyone with half an eye can see how much he loves you. The question is, do you love him?’
‘Of course I do,’ came the reply but to Martha it still didn’t seem to carry the special ecstatic sound of a girl in love.
She put aside the mixing bowl. As cook/housekeeper to the comfortably off Longfield family in their fine house in Sewardstone Road, overlooking Victoria Park, she’d known Julia since she was a little girl of nine who would creep downstairs to confide in her. The child’s parents had seemed too occupied with their own lives to listen to their daughter’s childish upsets.
Later, at private school, Julia had come home during term breaks to tell Martha all her news, little things about her friends at school, her worries and her joys. Martha felt she knew more about the girl than her own parents did.
Nothing of what she was told went any further, not to their housemaid Mary, certainly not to Annie the present scullery hand and especially not to Fred, Mr Charles Longfield’s gardener-cum-handyman and lately chauffeur, who drove him daily to and from his import/export business near London Docks. Fred would have ample opportunity to pass on words overheard about his employer’s eldest daughter.
Julia was the only one who ever came down here to the kitchen. Her two younger sisters and one younger brother never did. As a child it had been the little things; the slights, small hurts and rebellious thoughts that, too angrily revealed to her parents, would have had her being sent to bed.
On leaving college her confidences had taken on a more adult nature, often of some young man of whom her parents would have disapproved, or not being allowed to go out alone with friends to a party or dance. Even her taste for the new, fashionable, less figure-hugging dresses with their calf-length skirts was being frowned on by her mother. Victoria Longfield, with her old-fashioned ideas, maintained that nicely brought up young ladies should not be wearing such outrageous garments. She herself still wore the ankle-length skirts and high-necked blouses of 1912 rather than the fashions of 1922 and kept her hair dragged back in an outdated bun that made her look far older than her forty-odd years.
When Julia had wanted her own lovely long chestnut hair cut fashionably short, one would have thought from her mother’s horrified gasps that she was intending to smash a holy relic. When her daughter had finally rebelled and taken a pair of scissors to her hair, the woman had almost swooned and Julia’s father had gone into a rage. However, not even God could instantly restore what had been chopped off.
Martha had kept her smiles strictly under lock and key. ‘Good for you, my girl!’ she’d muttered that night in her little room off the kitchen.
This afternoon she regarded Julia severely. ‘You’re twenty-one and have a mind of your own now. The important thing is, if you’re not sure you love Mr Morrison, and to me you don’t sound all that sure, you shouldn’t go marrying just for money or to please your families. You could regret it.’
Julia lifted her gaze. ‘But I do love him. I feel happy when we are together. We laugh a lot and hardly ever stop talking and it’s lovely to have him kiss me. He’s so very handsome and tall. I love his fair hair and his blue eyes and I know I’d be devastated if anything were to happen between us. But I’ve never been in love before so I’m still not sure if that is love or not.’
So that was the trouble. The girl had been too sheltered, for all she was lively and had an outgoing nature, even if she was in some ways a bit stubborn. Martha felt herself relax as the excited flow of words calmed a little.
‘All I know is that he’ll be a perfect husband to me. He’s kind and mild-tempered and generous. His parents approve of the match and so do Mummy and Daddy. They like him very much and I do too. And we do love each other.’
Martha yearned to enquire if Julia had ever ached for him, for his touch, for him to make love to her, but shrank from plying such a direct question. Yet she needed to say something.
‘I might be getting on a bit, dear, but I hope I keep up with modern times. It just seems to me that if a girl isn’t sure about, as you said, what love is, especially with the man her family expects her to be getting engaged to, she ought to speak up before it’s too late, or at least wait a little longer.’
She paused a moment to judge the effect of her words, but when Julia seemed suddenly very intent on toying with the jelly molds, she dared just a little more.
‘In this day and age no girl has to do what her parents tell her when it comes to marriage; something that, good or bad, is going to have to last the rest of her life. And if it feels wrong at the start…’
‘It doesn’t!’ Julia cut in sharply, looking up at her questioner to hold her gaze until Martha was forced to look away.
‘All
I want to make clear, Julia, is just for you to think carefully about it, about love. That’s all I have to say on the matter’.
And with these words, containing more than a tinge of warning, Martha Granby turned her attention firmly back to sifting flour ready to add to the fairy cake mixture.
* * *
In her bedroom Julia should have been dressing for dinner. Instead, still in her underclothes, she stood at the window staring pensively out across the Park, her eyebrows drawn in vague indecision.
The way Mrs Granby had alluded to her marrying for money worried her. Did she truly love Chester or was she bowing yet again to her father’s will, knowing that he saw his business as benefiting from his daughter’s marriage to the son of a family whose business was larger than his own?
He had inherited his own father’s prosperous import/export concern, and at the time had invested well. Everything had been rosy until four years of war had robbed him of much of his trade.
What profit there had once been dealing in spices and silks from India as well as fine Porcelain, ivory artefacts and other similar commodities from abroad had been done for, enemy submarines attacking shipping throughout those four years of utter stagnation. While men fought in trenches, with very little ground ever gained on either side, Britain needed food not spices.
The armistice had seen Germany brought to its knees, with Britain not far behind. While some businesses had profited from war, others hadn’t. Many had been left struggling to regain lost ground. But three years on, Julia was sure that her father’s affairs were sound enough.
He never discussed business with his family, not even with his wife. To his mind women had no understanding of business and financial matters, nor needed to concern themselves with such. In his view, a wife’s job was to run her husband’s home, care for his children and see that they were taught good manners and respect for their elders.
Julia’s brother James, sixteen, was away at public school and hardly ever came home, sometimes staying with friends during the odd term holiday. He would follow his father into the business. Julia’s sisters, Stephanie, almost eighteen, and Virginia, fourteen, would be bound to marry well in time – there would be no cause for them to involve themselves in the brash business world of men. But Julia was fully expected to marry Chester, whose father’s concern was larger than her own father’s. And this fact made her wonder about true love, as she remembered Mrs Granby’s words.
Did her mother really love her father? He was not a man to smile easily and was somewhat quick to anger. Lately he’d become even sterner, almost morose. What did he have to be worried about? Not his family. He saw them all as happy and content, looked after by well-paid domestic staff. He’d never stinted them; her mother was provided with an adequate clothing allowance, she too now she’d come of age. Stephanie and Virginia had no allowance as yet, but were clothed by their mother from good-class department stores like Dickins & Jones and Bond Street boutiques.
But recently Julia had noticed a certain strained look on her father’s face that had begun to worry her somewhat. He seemed preoccupied with her marrying into the Morrison family with their country estate in Berkshire and their London mansion in Chelsea. She hoped that once she was married he might become more amiable.
Mrs Granby’s words still played on her mind. She was unsettled by the way in which she had seemed to question Julia’s feelings for her fiancé. But she did love Chester. True they were seldom alone together, mostly attending parties or gatherings with friends, which allowed them very little opportunity to express their feelings for one another beyond a tender kiss or two.
But the wedding was to be in the autumn and she was excited. Her wedding dress would be white satin under a straight tunic falling in points from waist to ankles, with wide sleeves; her veil a circlet of orange blossom worn well forward on her brow, the very height of fashion. On her feet she planned to wear white, pointed court shoes.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Stephanie coming into her room.
‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ She was already dressed to go down to dinner, her long auburn hair tied back in a ribbon, the way Mummy liked it.
Julia turned from the window and went to her wardrobe to select a fawn evening dress. For a moment she gazed at it then put it back and chose the pale green silk instead.
‘Come on, Julia, hurry up!’ came Stephanie’s exasperated cry.
‘You go on,’ Julia said evenly. ‘I’ll follow in a moment or two.’
‘You’re still only half dressed. I know you want to look just right for tonight but Mummy will go into one of her sulks again if we aren’t at table in time for Chester’s parents to arrive. Virginia’s already downstairs.’
‘I shan’t be long!’ Feeling strangely rebellious, Julia held up the silky green to regard the length of the material. Mother would be rankled anyway by its modern calf-length hemline.
‘If this new fashion continues,’ she said almost every time she took note of the recent raising of skirts from ankle length to what she saw as a thoroughly risqué and unladylike style, ‘young ladies who should know better will be revealing their knees before long. It’s quite vulgar!’
To buy the dress Julia had taken a taxi on her own to Harrods in the West End two days ago. She’d fallen in love with the beautiful water-green silk dress, gold embroidered and sleeveless, with a scoop neck and low waist. The hemline, high enough to reveal the slope of her calf, would shock her mother. But she wanted to shock and continue to shock after all that friction caused by having cut her hair.
Stephanie was eyeing the garment enviously. ‘If I was older I’d choose to wear what I like too. I hate having Mummy still insisting on buying my clothes for me. You’ve got your own allowance and can do what you like.’
Julia laughed. ‘You’ll be eighteen in a few months’ time. Then you’ll have your own allowance do what you like with.’
Stephanie huffed petulantly, watching her sister slip on the evening gown over her lightweight underwear, prinking the material smooth about her waist. With her small breasts she had no need of the strong, unsightly brassieres Mummy insisted she wore.
Easing her shapely legs into white silk stockings, Julia stepped into green court shoes with pointed toes and decorated with a gold tab, then went to the dressing-table mirror to run a comb through her short, chestnut hair. Free of the weight of long tresses, its natural waves sprang back into place.
Stephanie watched with envy. ‘The moment I turn eighteen I’m going to have mine cut too.’ She pouted. ‘I can’t wait!’
‘You’ve several months to go yet. Even then Mummy won’t be too pleased.’ Julia smiled, recalling the furore at having cut her own hair short.
‘We’ll see about that!’ Stephanie retorted. Julia continued to smile.
‘Even at twenty-one whatever I do still causes trouble.’ The smile left her lips as she remembered telling her father she would do as she pleased after having so drastically taken the scissors to her hair. His reply had been harsh.
‘While under my roof, young lady, you will not do as you please! You live in this house by the grace of myself and can be shown the door any time if you decide not to abide by the rules I lay down.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she’d replied, not at all sorry. ‘It’s cut now and there’s little I can do about that.’
‘Nor is there much I can do now about the dreadful mutilation of your hair,’ he’d ranted. ‘But my displeasure remains. Until that deplorable mess you call attractive grows back to something nearer to a woman’s crowning glory, I find it painful to even look at you.’
As head of the family in the old tradition, his word was absolute, even to his choice of where they lived.
Her mother would dearly have preferred the more affluent West London but his business was situated near the docks and the Pool of London between Tower Bridge and London Bridge to which ships from all over the world steamed up the Thames to load and unload. ‘I do not intend wasting my time trave
lling there from the West End every day,’ he’d apparently said when many years ago her mother had pleaded to move. ‘Here is far more convenient.’
So here they lived. Even so, the houses bordering Victoria Park were like bright islands in a dreary sea where business people like her father, with their fine homes and well-tended gardens, lived in splendid isolation from the traditional poverty of London’s East End.
Julia’s smile was back by the time she and Stephanie made their way down to dinner. Tonight her engagement to Chester – the little ceremony of slipping the engagement ring on to her finger – would take precedence over everything else. Thinking of this, a twinge of excitement gripped her. Maybe tonight her father’s lips might soften to a smile as the ring, a band of five diamonds, was placed.
In the large dining room the table looked beautiful. Her mother, still overseeing the final touches, was agitated as usual, easily sent into a panic if even the smallest thing was not quite right.
Victoria had been twenty-two, desperately unsure of the world, and Charles Longfield thirty-three when they married. Now at forty-three she was as unsure of the world as ever while he, in his mid fifties, was only too well acquainted with its glorious ups and its harsh downs.
‘Haven’t they arrived yet?’ Julia asked, seeing everything ready.
Her mother put nervous hands to her lips. ‘No, and they mustn’t, not too soon. Everything is going wrong. Your father isn’t yet home. I cannot imagine what he must be thinking. He should have telephoned me if he was going to be delayed. It’s very remiss of him.’
Words poured from her lips in a torrent. ‘He has still to dress for dinner. After all my well-laid plans, this will prove an absolute disaster. I so wanted it to succeed on such an important occasion.’
‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ Julia consoled, keeping her distance. To go any nearer would mean having to give her mother a comforting embrace and risk her dissolving into tears. That must not happen just before dinner.
‘They’ll understand,’ she reassured her mother. ‘Chester’s father is in business too.’
