A story of the trials and tribulations suffered by two ladies and how their friendship sustains the other throughout their ordeals.
Mary Watson and Lady Elizabeth (Lizzie) Victoria Mountford are close friends and yet they should not be? Circumstances have thrown them together at a time in history when such a relationship did not normally exist; for whilst both girls were born on a country estate, Mary's parents were poor and Lizzie's nobility.
Mary suffers throughout her young life, eventually having to undertake an arduous journey to foreign shores but Lizzie suffers deep sorrow too. Yet despite the tribulations within their lives both young women finally find happiness from the least expected quarters. Throughout their ups and downs each lady is supported by the other, even though far apart.
This novel charts the roads that Mary and Lizzie must travel; from being young carefree girls to young women in polite society. It shows how the poorest and richest must suffer to achieve happiness. This is a story of two women's friendship showing how they survived, regardless of the trials thrown at them.
A romantic historical story novel aimed at those readers who want a story that is devoid of bad language and violence. It is a ‘great holiday read’ offering the reader a light romantic tale in which they can easily lose themselves.
Excerpt
‘The day has been a strange one’ thought Mary as she walked up the steep gangplank of the ship; her long skirt making it difficult to climb. Reaching the half way point she stopped and turned to face the dockside. She allowed her eyes to slowly search until they fell upon the carriage she had just alighted from. She was glad to see it still waiting; raising her hand she gently waved. Suddenly a small gloved hand appeared from within the carriage and began to slowly wave back. No face appeared, not that it was necessary, for Mary knew who was waving to her. Watching for a few seconds she raised her hand once more before dropping her arm, then turning she continued up the gangplank to finish boarding the ship.
The journey Mary was about to undertake would be a long and arduous one but hopefully it would lead her to a new and exciting life. And yet she was filled with trepidation at what the future held. After all she had just said goodbye to the only people she really knew in the whole world and it filled her with such sadness. As she thought about her predicament she knew she was pleased that Lizzie had come to the docks with her, even though her friend could stay only a short while. ‘We have spent so little time together but it has helped settle my mind’ she thought.
As Mary waited to meet the Captain she looked around the vessel. The ship appeared quite large; being approximately 200 feet in length. Having been built to carry goods it had room for 6 passengers as well as the Captain and crew, a contingent of some 25 men and boys. The ship was a carrier for the collecting and delivering of an assortment of goods but it also acted as a passenger liner and postal carrier, sailing between the Homeland and the smaller British Colonies in the Americas. In all the ship would remain at sea for about fifteen weeks before returning and docking once more in its home port.
Captain Morrison proved to be a welcoming soul, personally greeting each passenger boarding the ship. Giving him her name, Mary found herself being warmly welcomed onboard. The Captain introduced her to a young boy called Adam who would be her attendant during the journey. He immediately showed her to the small cabin which would be hers throughout the sea voyage.
Entering the cabin Mary thought, ‘What a clean little room it is. I think I shall be quite comfortable.’
Looking around she was pleased to note that her luggage had already been brought on-board but decided to leave her unpacking until after the ship had sailed knowing it would occupy both her time and thoughts. As she examined the cabin she began to wonder where she would stow what little she had for space appeared limited. Fortunately she was glad to note a small chest of drawers which would suffice her needs.
Happy with her quarters Mary returned to the upper deck, once more searching out the carriage to wave one last time to its occupant. As she watched the small gloved hand reappeared at the window; waving gently before finally withdrawing inwards forever. At that moment the driver took up the reins and Mary watched with sadness as the carriage left the docks. Once it had disappeared from view she turned and wiped a small tear from the corner of her eye; leaving the ship’s side she returned to her cabin.
Back in her room Mary sat at the small table. From her case she took out a small book covered in lavender silk and opened it at the first page. The journal was a gift from her dear friend Lizzie who had given it to her just before she left the carriage.
Mary had thanked Lizzie warmly for the book telling her it was beautiful and that it was perfect for her to use as a journal. She would while away the hours at sea by writing her life story so far and then about her adventures as they happened. Picking up her pen she began writing.
Mary Watson – September 1881
My Life
I was born in July 1861 in the small country village of Marston set in the heart of Hertfordshire. My parents were in the employ of the local Lord of the Manor; Father worked as head gardener and Mother as a sewing mistress. When they met Mother had been a parlour maid but after my birth had taken on the job of ‘keeper of the linen.’
My early life was settled, proving to be uneventful. I believe I had a joyful childhood living with my parents in the small tied cottage on his Lordship’s estate. My maternal Grandmother had moved in to the cottage shortly after I was born. She had lost her husband some years earlier, so didn’t hesitate when Father suggested she come to live with us and help look after me. The result was that I grew up in a happy and carefree atmosphere.
We were fortunate that there was enough room to accommodate my Grandmother as well as ourselves. There was always plenty to eat; life seemed idyllic. I was also lucky in being able to attend the local school. It was run by the spinster cousin of his Lordship; taking both boys and girls. In those days girls were not normally taught the fundamentals of reading and writing; at least not common girls like me who came from poor families. Being taught to read and write at such a young age certainly proved to be to my advantage; one I have found invaluable in recent years.
On Sunday we would attend the local church. After the service I was allowed to play with some of the other children whilst my parents chatted with friends and acquaintances. Later we would return home happily chatting about the people we had met that morning. My Grandmother often told me that the village people thought me a charming little girl but, whether this was true or not, I don’t know. What I do know is I was loved dearly by my family and certainly seemed to be liked by those villagers I spent time with. My family life was happy and carefree for quite a number of years. At least until tragedy struck.
It was in June 1875. The day had started like any other. Father had gone to the big house fairly early as we were going to celebrate Grandma’s birthday and he wanted to finish work early. Mother went out not long after he left, leaving me to do my chores before I went off to school. The morning was bright and sunny, promising to be a good day for the celebrations.
Father was working in the garden at the front of the big house when suddenly there was a commotion in the backyard. We later discovered that someone had left one of the stable doors unlocked and his Lordship’s stallion had escaped.
The horse was a big fiery creature; black as the coals, and difficult to handle. No-one could control him but his Lordship. People were running around trying to catch the horse and urge him back towards the stables but with little success. Try as they might they could not capture the beast. Their efforts frightened the horse making it turn and stampede towards the front of the house. Galloping fast across the lawn the horse had run full pelt into one of the footmen who had tried to halt it, knocking the poor man to the ground and striking the man’s head with its flaying hooves, seriously injuring him.
Unfortunately, his screams had excited the horse even more and before anyone could stop it the beast had charged across the front lawn straight into Father. Being a little deaf he hadn’t heard the shouts of warning until it was too late. When, at the last moment, he looked up it had been to see the horse galloping straight at him. He was on his knees so hadn’t been able to get up from the ground quickly enough or roll out of the horse’s way. He had been killed instantly.
Everyone was overcome with grief by the accident, especially his Lordship who had finally managed to take control of the beast. It had been such a terrible tragedy. The shock of losing two of his staff in such a way had so devastated his Lordship that he had had the horse shot immediately. The whole village was shocked and desolate by the news; Mother taking the loss of her sweetheart extremely badly. Little did I know how badly his loss would actually affect her?
During this time my Grandmother proved to be a strong woman, doing her best to support Mother and me by encouraging us to keep going. She organised the funeral which his Lordship attended as well as insisting on paying all the expenses. Mother was inconsolable and it took her many weeks to come to terms with her loss. I would often return home to find her sitting by the fire having done nothing all day and ignoring all our endeavours to help her. Fortunately, Grandmother and I coped with her until she finally began to realise that life must go on. I think Grandmother kept reminding Mother that she still had me to look after.
The next few months seemed to pass slowly and before long Christmas had arrived. The weather turned for the worse and as such the little cottage suddenly became draughty. Normally Father would have seen to the repairs but Mother had no thought for doing anything other than pushing old newspapers or rags into the cracks around the windows and door. Soon the snow began to fall and with the temperature dropping it became colder. It was during this time that Grandmother contracted pneumonia, with a fever soon taking hold of her. Before the Season had passed Mother and I found ourselves alone. Grandmother had, so I was told, gone to join her husband in heaven; although I have often wondered since if she felt so bad at my Father’s loss that she didn’t want to celebrate another birthday for it would always remind her of that terrible day.
Losing both her husband and her parent affected my Mother deeply and though she tried her best to carry on it was obvious she was finding it too difficult. I honestly don’t think she ever fully recovered from the loss nor did she ever understand or perhaps realise just how much I suffered as well.
Being an only child meant I now had to take on some of the jobs Father would normally have done; such as looking after the vegetable patch, feeding what few chickens we had, collecting the eggs and bringing in the firewood. But even though I kept busy there were moments when I too felt lost. The problem was I had no-one to turn to or talk to about my sense of loss. The villagers rallied round but even so Christmas and the New Year were quiet affairs. We managed to cope for some weeks until Mother became ill.
With her health becoming worse, Mother found she could no longer go to work so had to give up her position at the big house. With the cottage being tied to the job we soon realised we would have no alternative but to leave the village. The decision proved to be a hard one for Mother; after all her heart was here.
Finally, she accepted that we were left with little choice but to go south to stay with relatives. It took about two weeks to sort out our affairs. Packing as much as we could carry, we finally set off for London where we were to stay with my Father’s brother and his family.
Up to that moment in time I had never met my relations, although I had often overheard my father talking about his brother. His comments had not always been good ones but being young I never really understood why Father kept calling him a layabout; often saying the man could never hold a job down too long because of the drink. To me my Uncle didn’t sound very nice but by the time we arranged to go and stay with the family Mother thought he might have changed. In some ways I was excited at the forthcoming journey for I had never travelled far from our village before; the closest being to the annual market three miles away.
We arrived in London within a few hours. I was shocked by the hustle and bustle of the place; keeping a tight hold of Mothers hand so I wouldn’t get lost. The dirty, busy streets all seemed the same and never ending. Finally we turned into a side street somewhere in the poorer part of town. After a few yards we stopped in front of a dull brown door; painted on it was the number 36. Mother raised her hand and knocked loudly. After a few seconds the door flew open and a portly man with rosy cheeks stood looking down at us. He looked so like my Father that I stared and for a moment I thought Mother would faint from the shock of seeing him.
Before she could say anything the man grabbed hold of her arm, pulled her towards him and hugged her, all the while shouting a hearty welcome. Then, letting Mother go he held out his arms towards me; reluctantly I let him hug me. He smelt of ale. Drawing us inside we were greeted by the rest of the family; my Aunt giving both of us warm, welcoming hugs.
The family lived in a small townhouse. Mother told me they had been lucky to get it so cheaply; for a nominal rent of 2 shillings a week. My Aunt made us some hot tea and toast which we sorely needed as we hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
As soon as we had finished the refreshments we were taken on a tour of the house which proved to be quite large; having two bedrooms and a large attic room. Uncle explained that he was working at the local hostelry and my Aunt ‘did’ for a lady who lived in a large house some streets away. I understood this to mean that she cleaned her house.
Unfortunately, their house was damp; not really the ideal place for Mother but as we had no other choice but to stay and make the best of it, quickly settling in after helping move my Cousin’s stuff into the attic room. Mother and I were to share the second bedroom whilst my three cousins took the attic room which was large enough to accommodate all of them with ease.
Within a matter of weeks we had settled into a regular routine. I still found it hard getting used to the noise of London and a house full of people; not an easy thing to do when you have lived a quiet life in the country. Of course the air of London was not to my liking, being sometimes so smoggy that I often couldn’t see my way through the streets. But neither of us could complain; we were just so grateful to have a roof over our heads.
It took a while but eventually Mother and I got used to living in London. Each day I would help Mother get dressed before doing some chores for my Aunt. Mother would, when feeling strong enough, teach me my lessons or help me to do some sewing.
By August 1878 we had been living in London for some eighteen months. One day my Uncle announced that having two extra mouths to feed was putting too much pressure on the family’s resources. Unfortunately, because of Mother’s poor health she wasn’t capable of doing even the lightest of work.
She later confessed to me, “What little money I have has nearly gone. You are growing Mary and will soon need some new clothes.”
Sighing she continued, “Where the money is to come from I know not?”
After much discussion it was finally decided that as I was old enough to work I could contribute to the household income. The problem was I was slightly built so it would have to be light work.
When my Aunt discovered that I could read and write she took it upon herself to ask her ‘lady’ if she knew of anyone who might need a companion. Very soon a lady called Mrs Maberley was found. She lived in a better part of the city. It would mean my leaving early each morning to ensure I arrived on time. Luckily, by this time I had become familiar with the local streets so no longer had the fear of getting lost. It was decided I would start work in a week’s time.
Mrs Maberley proved to be the most generous and thoughtful of employers and I enjoyed working for her. I would arrive in time to have breakfast with her and leave after afternoon tea. My days were spent doing light chores such as sewing or mending clothes and linen. Often I would read to her or write the letters she dictated. Her eyesight had been deteriorating for some time so my being able to read and write proved to be a godsend.
Occasionally we would go into town together shopping or to visit her friends. As we walked along Mrs Maberley always took my arm for she was wary of tripping on the rough walkways. I was feeling quite happy with my lot; the additional money allowing me to pay for Mother to have a doctor. Unfortunately even with the medicine she remained pale and I became concerned for her health. The little house being damp didn’t aid her recovery either.
By the time winter was upon us the weather was proving to be particularly bad. Mother contracted a cold and my fear was that it would turn into pneumonia. I knew she was finding it difficult to shake off the illness and her breathing had become laboured.
Those days she spent much of her time in bed trying to keep warm. I did my best to encourage her to eat; making her hot broth with fresh vegetables which should have helped build up her strength, but I feared she was not improving.
Returning home last Monday I was surprised to discover Mother had developed a fever. The doctor was sent for and after examining her he announced that he held out little hope as the fever was taking its toll of her already weakened state. Fear gripped me. What more could I do?
Finally I made the decision to stay home and nurse her; sending a message to that effect to my employer. Fortunately Mrs Maberley was most understanding and I was grateful to her when she sent a basket of fruit to aid Mother in her recovery.
Christmas passed slowly but by the time New Year arrived I found myself alone. Mother was with me no more. Her health deteriorated so badly over Christmas that she passed away in her sleep four days after the end of the old year. I am totally bereft not knowing what to do for I have lost the last of my immediate family.
Today I sent a message to Mrs Maberley explaining the situation. What kindness she has shown me; insisting I take as many days away as I need to organise and attend to my Mother’s funeral. These are very sad days for me.
Four days after the funeral I decide to return to my workplace. I am surprised to discover that Mrs Maberley has made the decision to offer me a home, announcing that I can live with her if I so wish. The relief I feel is, I must confess, great for I am of an age when I feel I can no longer continue living with my relations.
My Uncle’s drinking has got worse and he often wanders around in a stupor at night, sometimes coming into my bedroom. Whilst Mother was alive it proved to be no problem but now I am sleeping alone I worry at the intrusion. My Aunt and Uncle have always been warm and caring people towards me or as much as is possible for someone who is not one of their own. But I no longer feel comfortable sleeping in the bed where I have lost my dear Mother. And so gathering my few possessions together I have made my goodbyes to my relatives and left their little house without a backward glance
Third Book in Five Book Series - Southern Swallow - a tale of 12th Century China. Li K'ai-men becomes entangled in an intrigue that becomes his undoing.
Ireland 1967. The Summer of love. Or was it?
A holiday weekend. Amazing weather. American student Dakota Lacey is hiking around Kerry.
But there’s a sinister, dark side to the atmosphere. Lone female hikers are being brutally attacked.
