A Dream to Share Read online




  A Dream to Share

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  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

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  A Dream to Share

  June Francis

  Chapter One

  May, 1907

  Emma Griffiths shovelled the last of the ash and cinders into the buck­et and was about to get up from her knees when a hand landed on her bottom. She fell forward, scraping her wrist on the edge of the brass fender, and swore beneath her breath. She had not expected Doctor Stone to be up to his tricks this early in the day and had forgotten to close the drawing room door. The sound of its opening should have given her fair warning that someone had entered, but considering his bulk, it was amazing how light he was on his feet. He made a circular movement with his hand, humming beneath his breath as he did so. The anger that still burned in her chest since the death of her eldest sister, Aggie, erupted and Emma hit out at him with the shovel.

  Dr Stone wrenched it out of her grasp and caught her on the ear with the handle. ‘My, my! You’re getting saucy. We’ll have none of that. Now you get up and let me have a fondle and a nice kiss… there’s my girl.’

  The blow to her ear had brought tears to Emma’s eyes and, scram­bling to her feet, she cried, ‘I’m not your girl!’ Placing both hands to his fat belly she pushed hard. He staggered backwards, lost his balance and fell heavily on the shabby Axminster carpet.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ The voice was icy.

  ‘You work it out for yerself, missus,’ said Emma, struggling to unfasten her sacking apron.

  Mrs Stone, who was as slender as her husband was rotund, fixed him with a rigid stare. ‘You really are a fool, William. Get up off the floor!’ His florid face wore a sulky expression. ‘The girl’s gone completely mad. Just a bit of slap and tickle, Josie, dearest. She’s never complained before.’

  Emma finally got the knot undone and wrenched off the sacking apron. ‘Well, I’m complaining now and I’m reporting yer to the Servants’ Registry Office.’ She threw the apron at him and would have stormed out of the drawing room, if Mrs Stone had not caught her by the arm.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Emma! You think they’ll care? They’ll put you down as difficult and you’ll have trouble getting another position. Stay, and I’ll see this doesn’t happen again.’

  Emma’s mouth set in a stubborn line and she shook her head. Mrs Stone was alright but she was never going to be able to keep wandering hands Willie in order. Cook had told Emma that he’d got the last all­-purpose maid pregnant and the missus had sent her away to some place for unmarried mothers on the Wirral. Well, that wasn’t going to happen to her. Men! You could stick the lot of them. Well, that is except for her brother Chris, who was with the army in India.

  ‘I’m sorry for you, Mrs Stone, but yer’ve had it. I’m off!’ Emma wrenched herself free and marched out of the room. She felt a familiar aching frustration that girls like her should always come off the worst in such a situation.

  The brown velveteen skirts of Josephine Stone’s gown whispered as they brushed the floor. ‘Please, Emma, stay! It’s getting more difficult every time to find decent help like yourself. I’ll give you three pence extra a week. You know I’ve got a meeting in Birkenhead today and I need you here.’

  Emma’s step faltered. The offer was tempting. Mrs Stone knew how she was placed, giving most of her small earnings to her mother to help clothe and feed her younger siblings. Not only that, she had taken on work as a live-in domestic so as to move out of her parents’ overcrowd­ed house in Cornwall Street, up near the railway wagon and carriage works in Newtown.

  ‘Emma, answer me! You know I’ve got to go down to the surgery and get everything ready. Please change your mind?’ pleaded Josephine. Emma’s hand strayed to a strand of russet hair that had come loose from her mop cap. Her father would call her a bloody fool for walking out of what he considered a good situation and as for her mother, she would blow her top and demand to know how she was going to make ends meet.

  Slowly Emma turned and, resting a hand on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, was about to accept Mrs Stone’s offer when she caught sight of the doctor hovering in the doorway behind his wife.

  His slack mouth hung open and his protuberant eyes were fixed on Emma’s rapidly rising and falling bosom.

  ‘Sorry, missus,’ said Emma regretfully. ‘Pity you weren’t the doctor. His patients would fare a lot better if yer were.’ She did not linger to see or hear their reaction to her words but ran upstairs.

  Emma knew from Cook that Mrs Stone had wanted to be a doctor. Unfortunately there had been three brothers in need of an education, so there had been no chance of her fulfilling that dream. Instead the young Josephine Beeston had done what she thought was the next best thing and married a doctor.

  Emma reached her bedroom on the top floor of the three-storeyed terraced house and hurried inside. She locked the door before pouring water into the bowl on the washstand. She lathered her hands with car­bolic soap, then rinsed and dried them on a rough towel, before unfas­tening the buttons on the front of her grey frock and removing it.

  There was a rap of knuckles on the door. ‘Four pence, Emma. That’s my last offer. You do realise if you leave without notice I will not pay you for this week’s work and neither shall I give you a reference.’

  Her employer’s words were a blow to Emma, although she knew it was what most employers would do if a servant quit without giving notice. Yet somehow she’d expected Mrs Stone to pay her the money she had earned. Her mistake! ‘Sorry, missus,’ she called through the door, ‘but I don’t trust the doctor. If you had any sense yer’d leave him, too.’

  Josephine gasped. ‘You really do have a nerve for a girl in your posi­tion, Emma. No doubt you’ll live to regret acting so recklessly.’

  As Emma listened to her retreating footsteps, her knees seemed to turn to jelly and she sagged against the bed. What had made her say that? For better or for worse Mrs Stone was trapped in her marriage – and without what some would see as the consolation of children.

  Emma straightened and stood shivering in drawers, chemise, flan­nelette petticoat and black stockings. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small mirror on the chest of drawers. Anxious brown eyes gazed back at her from a small heart-shaped face. Why was she worrying about Mrs Stone? There was no way she was going to be any worse off for Emma’s leaving. No doubt she would be able to hire a maid prepared to put up with the master’s advances. She should be wor­rying about herself.

  Emma sighed and drew back the chintz curtain that concealed the alcove next to the fireplace and took out her Sunday best clothes. As she dressed in a plain brown skirt, a cream blouse buttoned to beneath her chin and a snugly fitting brown jacket, a sound at the window caused her to look up.

  She stared in dismay as hailstones pelted the glass making a noise like rapid gunfire. It was a good twenty minutes�
� walk to the Servants’ Registry Office on Brook Street and she would get soaked if the weath­er carried on like this. It was hard to believe yesterday had been Empire Day and there was blossom on the trees.

  With a moue of irritation, she reached for the hat that Cook had given her after Emma had put a finger through a green felt one that had once belonged to her dead sister. Despite its age, Emma had been reluc­tant to dispose of Aggie’s hat because she was reminded of her every time she wore it. In her mind’s eye she had been able to picture her sis­ter with the hat tilted to one side and her eyes sparkling beneath its nar­row rim. She had been so pretty and full of vim that Emma still found it difficult to believe her sister had killed herself. Aggie had been gutsy, not one to give up even when the worst kind of trouble befell her. How Emma would love to get her hands on the bloke who had made her sis­ter pregnant. She dreamed of seeing him get his comeuppance.

  Emma’s eyes were bleak as she placed a brown hat sporting a cock pheasant’s tail feather on her small head and tucked a wayward tendril of hair behind a dainty ear. It had been good of Cook to give her this hat and she was going to miss her.

  Collecting the rest of her belongings, she unlocked the door and hurried downstairs. Raised voices could be heard coming from the sur­gery on the ground floor. Emma’s footsteps faltered but then she squared her shoulders and made her way to the kitchen.

  The hailstones had stopped and the sun was shining through the sash window, reflecting off the copper pans hanging on a bilious green painted wall. Bacon sizzled in a heavy cast-iron frying pan on the gas stove and the smell of it made Emma feel hungry all over again.

  ‘You going then?’ said Cook, sounding vexed. She was plump and motherly looking and answered to the name of Mrs Pomfret despite never having married.

  ‘You heard the row,’ said Emma, trying to sound cheerful. Cook scowled. ‘I thought you might have stuck it out.’

  ‘It – It’s not you who he takes advantage of, Mrs Pomfret. Surely yer can’t b – blame me for not wanting to end up like the last all-purpose maid?’

  ‘No, Emmie.’ Cook heaved her enormous weight up from a chair and waddled over to the stove. ‘It’s just that I’ve got fond of you and I know Mrs Stone likes having you around. You remind her of her own dear sister; she had russet hair and brown eyes just like yours.’

  Emma wrinkled her tip-tilted nose. ‘You’ve never mentioned a sister to me before.’

  ‘That’s because she died. The old man wouldn’t give his permission for her to marry an American archaeologist, who came over here to look at the Roman artefacts. It broke her heart and she just wasted away.’

  ‘Fathers!’ exclaimed Emma in disgust. Hers had been stiff with con­demnation when his wife had told him of Aggie’s condition. Within the hour, he had chucked her out onto the street and told her never to dark­en his door again. When his eldest daughter’s body had been found floating in the canal, instead of being filled with remorse, he’d put his head in his hands and vowed he’d never forgive her for bringing shame to his name. The way he’d gone on about his name, anyone would think he was the Duke of Westminster living at Eaton Hall rather than a porter at Chester General Station.

  ‘Mine was alright,’ said Cook, her eyes softening with reminiscence. ‘What with Mother dying when I was born and him never marrying again, I was his own little ewe lamb until he passed over.’

  Emma’s lips twitched as she stared at Cook, trying to imagine her as a little ewe lamb. ‘I’d best be getting along to the Servants’ Registry Office right away, make me complaint and enter me name on their books as available for work.’

  Cook placed a hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Well, good luck. I’ll pray for you, Emmie. Don’t forget us now. Come round and see me when you get the chance, let me know how you’re getting on.’

  Emma was touched. ‘Thanks, Mrs Pomfret.’ She leaned forward and, with tears in her eyes, kissed the woman’s rosy cheek before mak­ing a hasty departure.

  She left the house and headed for Northgate Street. Crossing the road to the cathedral, she went through an archway to the side of the building that led to the cobbled Abbey Square. Making for an opening in the city wall, believed to have been a short cut used by monks in medieval times when they needed to attend their vegetable gardens, she was soon crossing the Shropshire Union Canal, it was then the sky darkened again. Marble-sized hailstones rained down and she ran, hop­ing the onslaught would be of short duration. It wasn’t and she sought shelter in the cocoa house on Brook Street.

  An overpowering smell of damp clothes, cigarette smoke, toast, baking scones and milky chocolate greeted her. The last thing the shiv­ering Emma wanted to do was to spend money but, recklessly, she decided a mug of cocoa would warm her up nicely. Spotting a place at a table in a far corner of the crowded room, she made her way towards it. Two of the seats were occupied, one by a woman Emma estimated to be in her mid-twenties, and the other by a younger, auburn-haired woman. The elder wore a fashionably large hat, trimmed with ostrich feathers and pale mauve silk flowers, and was obviously well-to-do.

  What was she doing in a common cocoa house and so early in the morning? wondered Emma, and hesitated before asking whether they minded if she sat at their table.

  Dark eyes looked up from beneath the ostrich plumes and regard­ed her slowly. ‘Certainly,’ said the elder woman with a smile, removing a large crocodile handbag from the empty chair before resuming her conversation with her companion. ‘So Hannah is worried, Alice?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Victoria.’

  Emma seated herself, shooting a glance at the redhead, Alice, who delved into a drawstring bag on her knee and produced an envelope. She was obviously of the servant class, although dressed with some style in a close-fitting dark green costume and a narrow brimmed straw hat trimmed with daisies and green ribbon. She handed the envelope to her mistress.

  ‘Before Bert disappeared, he popped this under her bedroom door,’ murmured Alice. ‘Kenny says she should ignore it and that Bert only did it to try and spoil the wedding. But it’s not herself or me she’s frightened or – well, that’s not exactly true – it’s Tilly. She’s not yet four, and he threatens to snatch her on Hannah and Kenny’s wedding day in a couple of weeks’ time.’

  ‘Shush, Alice. Let me read it for myself.’ Victoria bowed her head.

  ‘So what can I get you, Miss?’ The waitress’s sharp voice startled Emma, who had been listening unashamedly to the exchange between the two women.

  She glanced up. ‘Cocoa, please.’

  ‘Anything to eat?’ The waitress’s pencil hovered over a notepad. Emma shook her head.

  The waitress moved off and there was silence at the table.

  ‘She really should take it to the police,’ Victoria’s cultured voice continued.

  ‘Hannah won’t have that. She said they might call at the house and upset her mother, who’s in a state as it is over Bert’s disappearance,’ said Alice, her knuckles gleaming white as she clutched her bag tightly. ‘If only we knew where he’s gone. Mrs Kirk has told the neighbours that our wedding was cancelled because Bert suddenly got the opportunity of a better job in Liverpool and I refused to go. All lies, of course,’ she added indignantly. ‘She just can’t bear for the neighbours to know the truth about her precious son.’

  ‘I do see your problem but he could just be making empty threats. It’s not as if he knows where you’re living – and as it’s unlikely Tilly will be left alone now he’s made known his intentions, I would stop worrying.’

  ‘But you don’t know him, Miss Victoria!’ she burst out. ‘He’s crafty… and his threat to spoil Kenny and Hannah’s wedding makes me feel sick with worry. He’s caused them enough unhappiness as it is.’

  It was at that point the waitress arrived with Emma’s cocoa and so she missed what was said next. Swiftly she glanced at the bill and paid what she owed, wanting to get rid of the waitress so she could hear more of the conversation. As she spooned two sugars into the steam
­ing liquid, she wondered what else was in the letter. He sounded a bit of a swine this bloke, Bert. Warming her hands on the mug as she sipped the hot beverage, she cocked her ears.

  ‘I think you should take note of what your half-brother says.’

  Alice sighed. ‘I just wish Seb and Mr Waters hadn’t been involved in that shipping accident off the coast of America. I’d feel safer with a couple of men in the house.’

  Victoria nodded. ‘I would feel happier if they were both home too. For Papa to break a hip at his age is a serious matter. I really wish I could be with him – but what with my heart condition and Grandmamma getting more forgetful by the minute – it was out of the question. We just have to be patient.’ Victoria crumbled the remains of a scone on her plate with restless fingers. ‘I’ve written to Sebastian ordering him to hire a nurse. He can’t deal with Papa’s business affairs and look after him now he’s out of hospital.’

  ‘You still haven’t told Seb that I’m working for you and living at the house, Miss Victoria?’

  Her employer smiled. ‘Certainly not, Alice! It would distract him from his work. Besides it’ll be a lovely surprise for him when he even­tually arrives home to find you waiting for him.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Alice, her expression uncertain. ‘If only I hadn’t­ been so scared of Father in the past and trusted Seb more. If I’d been less impatient and intolerant. If I’d listened to Hannah and not got myself engaged to Bert.’ She sighed. ‘I just hope Seb’s mother hasn’t written to him about me.’

  Victoria said firmly, ‘Gabrielle might sometimes behave as if she rules the household but I’ve told her she’s not to. If she disobeys me then I’ll be very cross with her.’

  ‘She still doesn’t approve of me,’ said Alice gloomily.

  ‘That’s not surprising. You hurt her son and you’re not of her faith.’ Victoria glanced towards the window where a shaft of sunlight pierced the condensation and her face brightened. ‘It looks like the hailstones have stopped. We’d best make a move or we’ll miss the train and be late for the meeting.’