A Precious Gift Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Rosie Goodwin

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!

  A Letter from Rosie Goodwin

  Recipe of Christmas Sherry Trifle

  More from Rosie Goodwin

  Tales from Memory Lane

  Memory Lane Advert

  Copyright

  Also by Rosie Goodwin

  The Bad Apple

  No One’s Girl

  Dancing Till Midnight

  Tilly Trotter’s Legacy

  Moonlight and Ashes

  The Mallen Secret

  Forsaken

  The Sand Dancer

  Yesterday’s Shadows

  The Boy from Nowhere

  A Rose Among Thorns

  The Lost Soul

  The Ribbon Weaver

  A Band of Steel

  Whispers

  The Misfit

  The Empty Cradle

  Home Front Girls

  A Mother’s Shame

  The Soldier’s Daughter

  The Mill Girl

  The Maid’s Courage

  A Maiden’s Voyage

  The Claire McMullen Series

  Our Little Secret

  Crying Shame

  Dilly’s Story Series

  Dilly’s Sacrifice

  Dilly’s Lass

  Dilly’s Hope

  The Days of The Week Collection

  Mothering Sunday

  The Little Angel

  A Mother’s Grace

  The Blessed Child

  Happy Memories

  of

  Pauline Lydia Wilson

  18th September 1942 – 31st December 2018

  A very loving wife to the late Tony, mother, sister, aunty and friend to many.

  On earth you were a little star and now you are shining brightly in heaven.

  Rest in peace beyond the open door until we all meet again, dear friend.

  Friday’s child is loving and giving

  Prologue

  Nuneaton, December 1911

  ‘Miss Holly, the master and the mistress said I was to tell you that you’re wanted in the drawing room the second you came in.’

  Holly Farthing frowned as she handed her hat and coat to Ivy, the maid. She nodded. ‘Thank you, Ivy.’

  After quickly tidying her hair in the mirror in the hallway and smoothing her skirt, she approached the drawing room, wondering what it could be that they wanted. Her grandfather rarely sent for her and when he did it usually meant trouble, which was why she had learned to keep out of his way as much as possible.

  Taking a deep breath, she entered the room to find her mother standing at the window, wringing her hands, a sure sign that something was amiss. Her grandfather was sitting in a wing chair at the side of a roaring fire and the second he set eyes on her, his lips set in a grim line. He was a tall man with a rigid posture who, although advanced in years, was still handsome, boasting a full head of steel-grey hair, a thick beard and piercing blue eyes. Holly briefly wondered why he seemed to dislike her so. She and her mother had lived with him since her mother had been widowed when Holly was just a baby and she could never remember him saying so much as one kind word to her. As a child it had troubled her greatly but now, at eighteen years old, she had become accustomed to his surly ways.

  ‘Ivy told me you wished to see me?’

  ‘Yes, dear. Your grandfather has something he must tell you. Won’t you sit down?’ Her mother gestured to a chair identical to the one her grandfather favoured on the other side of the fireplace, and Holly perched on the edge of it, folding her hands primly in her lap.

  For a second the old man narrowed his piercing blue eyes and stared at her before beginning, ‘The thing is, you’re eighteen years old now, so I’ve been thinking it’s high time you were married. I’ve kept you an’ your mother for long enough.’

  Holly’s deep blue eyes stretched wide as she stared back at him; she was so shocked that for a moment she was speechless.

  ‘M-married?’ she stuttered eventually. ‘And do you have someone in mind, Grandfather?’

  ‘As it happens I do, an’ you’ll meet him tonight. He owns a big hat factory in Atherstone and he’s recently widowed with three young children who need a mother. I’ve invited him to dinner.’

  Colour flooded into Holly’s cheeks as she stared steadily back at him. ‘And may I know the gentleman’s name?’

  ‘Dolby, Walter Dolby. That’s all you need to know for now, except that you’ll be set up for life with him; he ain’t short of a bob or two. So just make sure you mind your manners when he arrives and we’ll take it from there.’

  Holly opened her mouth to protest but clamped it shut again as her mother gave her a warning glance.

  ‘Will that be all?’ She stood up, her straight back and rigid, her stance an indication of how angry and upset she was. It wasn’t lost on her grandfather and he leaned forward in his chair, his hands tightly gripping the arms.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, girl,’ he barked, making Holly’s mother visibly start. ‘There’s many a man would have seen both you an’ your mother out on the streets, but I’ve kept you fed and clothed with a roof over your head for all these years.’

  Holly merely inclined her head and, turning, left the room, closing the door softly behind her. In the hallway she almost collided with Ivy, who had clearly been listening at the door. Quickly straightening her mop cap, which was askew, the girl gave her a guilty smile and stepped aside. Normally Holly would have found it funny but today she was so angry and upset that she couldn’t even raise a smile. Life as she had known it was about to change forever, and it was completely out of her control. Brushing past her, she stalked to the stairs without giving Ivy so much as a second glance. She was halfway up when the drawing room door opened again and her mother chased after her.

  ‘I’ll talk to you in a minute,’ she hissed up the stairs. ‘He’s going back to the mill shortly and then we’ll be able to talk in private.’

  Holly nodded and hurried on her way, too shocked to even answer. Once in the privacy of her room she let out a sigh and flopped down onto the side of her bed.

  Married! Her grandfather wanted her to be married, and worse still to someone she had never even met. Rising, she began to pace the floor. As soon as she heard the front door slam, she peeped from the window and watched her grandfather climb into the coach that the groom had fetched from the stables at the back of the house and leave for the mill he owned in Attleborough. Seconds later a tap came on her bedroom door and her mother appeared looking pale and terribly upset.

  ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,’ she muttered, rushing over to Holly and wrapping her arms about her slim figure. ‘I had no idea he had this in mind until he told me this morning.’

  Holly wriggled free of the embrace and resumed her pacing. ‘Well, you know the old saying, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink,’ she spat, with a toss of her head.

  Her mother chewed on her lip as she watched her precious girl marching up and down as if she was trying to wear a hole in the carpet.

  ‘P-perhaps Walter will be nice?’ she suggested softly, and Holly snorted in disgust.

  ‘Nice! Is that a good enough reason to marry someone you don’t know, just because they’re nice? It sounds to me like this Mr Dolby is merely looking for a replacement mother for his children, but I’ll tell you now, it won’t be me! When and if I ever marry it will be because I love the person, not because Grandfather has ordered it!’

  ‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.’ Her mother was openly crying now and Holly’s mood softened slightly. She’d lost count of the times she’d seen her grand father make her mother cry with his harsh words and often wondered why she allowed him to be so hard on her. It was as if he had some sort of a hold over her and she was afraid of him.

  ‘Look … I’ll go through with this farce and meet him for your sake,’ Holly reluctantly agreed. ‘But I warn you, if I don’t like him, nothing will induce me to see him again, let alone marry him!’

  Her mother nodded helplessly. ‘In that case we must look in your wardrobe and decide what you should wear. You’ll want to look your best.’

  ‘I will not!’ Holly disagreed with a glare. ‘Why should I dress myself up like a dog’s dinner for a stranger? He’ll take me as I am or lump it!’

  ‘All right, dear, whatever you say.’ Afraid to say another word, her mother turned and quietly scuttled from the room like a frightened mouse. Crossing to the cheval mirror that stood to one side of the four-poster bed, Holly stared at her reflection. A serious young woman with unruly long, blonde curly hair and periwinkle-blue eyes that were fringed with thick, fair lashes stared solemnly back at her. It was almost as if she was staring at a younger version of her mother, for they had the same fair hair and eyes. Holly was trying to see herself as Walter Dolby might see her and she supposed that she was reasonably attractive, although she would never term herself as beautiful. She was slightly too tall and slender for a girl and while her complexion was clear she considered her mouth to be a little too wide and her nose too snub. Yet another tap on the door interrupted her thoughts and Ivy appeared, looking worried.

  ‘I just thought I’d pop up and check you’re all right,’ she said cautiously. Holly usually enjoyed her chats with Ivy, and because she had been tutored at home and so never mixed much with people her own age, the maid was the closest thing to a friend Holly had ever had. They were complete opposites in looks for Ivy was short and inclined to be skinny with mousy straight hair and grey eyes, but what she lacked in looks she more than made up for in personality. She often had Holly roaring with laughter as she spoke of her family. She came from a large family – eleven in all – and when she had first started working at the house as a maid at the age of fourteen, she declared she felt as if she had died and gone to heaven. She was paid a pittance and was often expected to work all the hours God sent, but despite that, for the first time in her life she had a room all to herself and regular meals, so she considered herself very lucky.

  ‘We’re all crammed into a tiny cottage, two-up, two-down in the courtyards in Abbey Street,’ she had once told Holly bitterly. ‘Crammed in like sardines in a bloody tin, we are.’ She had flushed then and apologised for swearing, much to Holly’s amusement. She usually provided a breath of fresh air in her grandfather’s rather formal household, but today Holly wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Holly instantly felt guilty for snapping. None of this was Ivy’s fault after all. She sighed. ‘Sorry, Ivy, I take it you heard what was said, then?’

  Ivy nodded vigorously, setting her mop cap dancing as if it had a life of its own. ‘I couldn’t help it, I were polishin’ the hall table an’ I just want to tell yer I think it’s bloody awful what yer gran’-father is proposin’.’

  Holly shrugged. ‘Aw well, there’s nothing for it but to meet the chap, I suppose, but don’t get worrying. Before I’ve even met him I can tell you I have no intention of marrying him, whether it upsets Grandfather or not.’

  Ivy gave her a smile, then, glancing at the door, she told her, ‘I’d best get on. I’ve just been told to lay the table in the dinin’ room wi’ all the best silver an’ china. Poor old Cook is runnin’ round like a headless chicken tryin’ to get everythin’ ready an’ the mood she’s in I don’t want to go upsettin’ her.’

  ‘It’s all right, you get on, I’m fine,’ Holly assured her, and once the girl had gone she lifted a book and tried to read. Unfortunately her head was so full of meeting Mr Dolby that all the words kept blurring into one, so eventually she gave up and went to sit by the window. It looked set to be a very long day, and an even longer night.

  Early that evening the first snow began to flutter down. It was no surprise; they had been expecting it for the last week but Holly hoped that it might put Mr Dolby off.

  At seven o’clock precisely she went downstairs to find her mother and grandfather in the drawing room.

  ‘Is that the best you could find to put on?’ her grandfather snapped, as he stared at the plain grey dress she was wearing. ‘And couldn’t you have done something a little bit more elaborate with your hair instead of scraping it back into a ribbon!’

  Holly shrugged. ‘I’m perfectly clean and tidy,’ she answered, but she had no time to say anything else, for just then they heard the doorbell ring and Ivy hurrying along the hallway to answer it. Holly suddenly felt sick and the colour drained from her cheeks as she heard Ivy taking the man’s hat and coat.

  ‘They’re waitin’ for you in the drawin’ room, sir,’ they heard her say, and the next minute Holly’s worst fears were realised when Mr Dolby appeared in the doorway and gave a polite little bow towards herself and her mother.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Farthing, Miss Farthing, Gilbert.’

  ‘Come on in, Walter,’ Gilbert Mason boomed in a jovial voice. ‘You’re just in time for a drink before we go in to dinner. Now, what will it be? Whisky, brandy or perhaps you’d like a glass of wine?’

  While her grandfather was pouring the drinks, Holly had time to study Walter Dolby from the corner of her eye and her heart sank. He must be forty at least, if he’s a day, she thought glumly; even older than her mother. And he certainly hadn’t been at the front of the queue when looks were handed out, although he seemed to be kindly enough. In fact, he looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt. Mr Dolby was tall and thin with a large moustache that wobbled on his top lip. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his nose seemed to cover half his face and Holly knew instantly that she could never marry him. He was old enough to be her father at least, no matter how friendly he was.

  The next twenty minutes were spent in stilted conversation, which Holly deliberately didn’t participate in, unless a question was directed at her, in which case she answered to avoid appearing rude, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Ivy finally came to tell them that dinner was ready.

  Mr Dolby offered her his arm, which she reluctantly took, and led her into the dining room where he pulled a chair out for her and then, to her dismay, sat down next to her.

  The meal that followed was excellent. A thick, warming pea soup was followed by a beef dinner with all the trimmings that had been cooked to perfection. For dessert, Cook had made one of her special sherry trifles, and this was followed by coffee and biscuits. Normally Holly would have thoroughly enjoyed it but tonight she hardly ate a thing. The food seemed to stick in her throat and the smell of the oil on Mr Dolby’s hair made her feel nauseous.

  ‘So, Miss Farthing, or may I call you Holly? Your grandfather tells me that you’ll be starting a Red Cross course after Christmas.’

  Holly nodded. ‘Yes, I’m greatly looking forward to it. In fact my greatest ambition is to become a nurse.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked astounded. ‘But surely a woman’s place is at home, running the house and caring for her children?’

  ‘I believe that tradition is becoming rather outdated now,’ Holly informed him haughtily, dabbing at her mouth with a crisp white napkin. ‘More and more women are pursuing careers, and of course there are the suffragettes who believe that women should have equality and the right to vote.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk about those hussies at my table! They’re a disgrace to their sex, chaining themselves to railings and smashing shop windows,’ her grandfather growled, before giving Walter Dolby an apologetic smile. ‘I do apologise for my granddaughter, Walter. I’m afraid she’s at that age where she is very susceptible to these silly modern ideas. But for all that, I think she’ll make someone a wonderful wife. She’s more than capable of running a house and she’s quite a fine pianist too.’

  Angry colour rose in Holly’s cheeks. Her grandfather was talking about her as if she wasn’t even in the room, and to make things worse she could see that her mother was becoming increasingly agitated – so much so that at that moment she tipped a glass of red wine all over the tablecloth.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Emma flustered. ‘Now look what I’ve done.’ She was dabbing ineffectively at the scarlet stain that was slowly spreading across the crisp linen cloth.