Cover

Dedication

This book is for the newest member of the family, our beautiful Jaiah-Rose Webb, born 2/2/2021 weighing in at 2lbs 1oz. You are a blessing and my little miracle and I love you to the moon!

Mamar xxxxx

Prologue

Prologue

December 1870

‘There we are, luvvie, it’s a little girl.’ As the old woman straightened up from the bed with a newborn whimpering softly in her hands, the doctor glanced at her and solemnly shook his head. The child was tiny and weak and if he couldn’t stop the flow of blood that was coming from the mother soon, it was doubtful either of them would survive.

‘You should have sent for me sooner,’ he scolded gently. ‘Another niece of yours, is she?’ The doctor was no fool and he had a good idea where the young women came from, but on the odd occasion Mrs Bradley had called him out to them, she always introduced them as her nieces.

She nodded and sniffed, avoiding his eyes. She’d only sent for him when she could see that the young mother was slipping away. Doctors cost money, which bit into her profits from dealing with these girls whose babies she delivered, and the madam at the whorehouse who sent them paid her little enough as it was. Even so, she was saddened to see the state of the young woman on the bed. She shook her head. She’d delivered dozens of babies in her time; how could things have gone so terribly wrong?

Almost four months this girl had been staying with her now and she seemed to be a cut above the girls who had preceded her. They came with frightening regularity despite the birth control methods they practised, and as far as she was concerned most of them deserved no better. They would come to her once they became too big with child to earn their keep, then, once the birth was over, she would find homes for the babies – which meant yet more money for her – and continue to care for the mother until she was fit to return to work. Usually it wouldn’t be long before the next one arrived and the cycle would start all over again.

But this girl had not come from the whorehouse and the old woman could only assume that she came from a good family who had turned their backs on her until she had got rid of the baby. Now, as she wrapped the infant in an old towel, she looked at the little face approvingly. She’d have no trouble at all placing this one – if she survived that was.

‘I-is the baby all right?’ the young mother asked weakly as she sagged limply back against the pillows.

Mrs Bradley smiled, displaying a mouthful of tobacco-stained and rotting teeth. ‘She’s better than all right; a right bonny little piece. Just look at this shock of red hair, an’ she’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. I reckon she’ll grow into a little beauty.’ Noting the tears that were slowly trickling down the girl’s pale cheeks, she didn’t tell her of her concerns about whether the child would survive.

‘Can I . . . see her? J-just for a moment . . . please?’

Mrs Bradley frowned. She had explained to the girl that the babies were usually taken away as soon as they were born. It was easier that way because if the mothers didn’t see them, they couldn’t bond with them and it saved a lot of heartache. Yet how could she refuse the request if the girl was about to die?

Tentatively she approached the bed and pulling back the corner of the towel she leant towards the girl who lifted her hand and tenderly stroked the baby’s cheek. ‘I want her to be called Ruby,’ she said softly. She was shocked at the feelings that were coursing through her. For months she had longed to just get the birth over with so she could get on with her life, and yet now she had glimpsed this beautiful little human being, she didn’t know how she was going to be able to bear to part with her.

Mrs Bradley sighed. It was usually left to the adoptive parents to name the child but then, what harm could there be in going along with her wishes – for now at least – if it gave her some comfort? She nodded and as she left the room to bathe and feed the newborn, the girl on the bed turned her head to the wall and began to sob quietly, oblivious to the doctor as he battled to save her life.

Some hours later, looking haggard and weary, the doctor went downstairs. ‘I’ve managed to stem the blood flow but there is nothing more I can do for her,’ he told Mrs Bradley. ‘It’s all in God’s hands now. I shall call back tomorrow.’ He glanced at the baby, who was lying quietly in a drawer lined with a coarse blanket at the side of the fire.

‘Is that really necessary?’ Mrs Bradley looked disgruntled as she shuffled over to a tin on the mantlepiece to get his fee. Another visit meant yet another payment. ‘I’m sure as I can see to ’er now if the bleedin’s stopped. She’ll just want peace an’ quiet an’ feedin’ up to get ’er strength back. A few bowls o’ my chicken broth will ’ave her back on ’er feet in no time.’

The doctor shrugged. Mrs Bradley could be a stubborn old devil when she had a mind to be. ‘Very well, but if you have any concerns whatsoever you are to send for me immediately.’ His steely blue eyes stared sternly into her faded grey ones and she nodded, setting her double chins wobbling.

‘O’ course I will, it goes wi’out sayin’,’ she spouted indignantly and following him to the door she saw him on his way before snuggling into the old wing chair at the side of the fire for a bit of a rest. It had been a long day and an even longer night.

*

Two days later, Mrs Bradley opened the door to Ruby’s prospective parents. Despite her initial concerns, the baby seemed to be thriving, which was more than could be said for her mother, who was still hovering between life and death.

The Carters were a middle-aged couple and compared to most folk in the town were very comfortably off as Mr Carter owned his own thriving bakery in Queens Road in the centre of the bustling little market town of Nuneaton. They had approached Mrs Bradley some time before, expressing an interest in adopting a baby boy, but she had no doubt that Rita Carter would take little persuading to accept a girl, especially one as bonny as little Ruby. It was a well-known fact that Mrs Carter had suffered numerous miscarriages throughout the course of their married life and now she was desperate for a child.

‘Come in,’ Mrs Bradley encouraged. ‘The baby I got word to you about is over there, fast asleep in the drawer.’

Rita Carter was a plump, kind-hearted soul and she hurried across the room to peep at the baby. The instant she saw her, tears sprung to her eyes and her face softened.

‘Oh, Stan, come and look at him, he’s just beautiful.’

‘Ah . . . well, that’s the only thing.’ Mrs Bradley looked slightly uncomfortable as Bill Carter raised an eyebrow at her. ‘It’s a little girl. Her name is Ruby, although o’ course, should yer decide to take ’er yer could always change it to a name o’ yer own choice.’

‘But I distinctly told you we wanted a boy to take over the business when I get older.’ Stan looked less than pleased but it was already clear that his wife was quite smitten with the child, judging by the way she was looking at her.

‘Oh, Stan, please just come and look at her!’ his wife implored.

Looking less than happy, he crossed the room to do as she asked. ‘She’s bonny enough, admittedly. But what good will a girl be to us? I thought we’d agreed to wait for a boy who could carry on the family business.’

The old woman held her breath. Unlike his wife, who was a charitable soul, Stanley Carter was known to be a hard man and she suddenly saw the fee for Ruby disappearing out of the window. But she hadn’t reckoned on Rita Carter’s desperate need for a child.

‘I beg you to let me take her.’ Rita was openly crying. ‘Just think of the help she could give in the bakery when she’s a little older,’ she went on cajolingly. ‘We can teach her how to make the bread and see to the ovens and all sorts of things.’

Stan scowled. ‘An’ how much are yer askin’ for her?’ he snapped at Mrs Bradley.

She licked her lips, which were suddenly dry. ‘I thought two guineas would be a fair price . . . it’d be three if she’d been a lad.’

‘Two guineas!’ He looked shocked, but then seeing the tender look on his wife’s face as she gazed down at the infant, he knew he had lost. She would never forgive him if he didn’t let her have the child.

‘Very well.’ Fumbling in his pocket he extracted some coins and flung them begrudgingly onto the old scrubbed table, then looking at his wife he snapped, ‘Well, gather the child and her bits together then, woman. I haven’t got time to stand about here all day. There’s work waiting to be done.’

‘Yes, of course, dear.’ Rita gently lifted the child from the drawer and after wrapping her tightly in her blanket she scurried towards the door.

Once they had gone, Mrs Bradley snatched up the coins and smiled. But then as she glanced towards the ceiling the smile was replaced with a frown. She was sorry for the baby’s mother, but the fact of it was that when the girl died, she would have to spend some of the money she had just made to pay for a funeral – and that consideration far outweighed any pity she felt for the girl who had shared her home for the last few months. Still, she told herself, she already had another girl lined up for a stay so she’d worry about that when she had to.

Humming happily to herself she went to put the kettle on, the coins jingling merrily in her pocket.

Chapter One

Chapter One

December 1885

‘Are them bleedin’ ovens all lit?’ Stan Carter asked shortly as he joined Ruby in the kitchen one cold, grey December morning.

‘Yes, Dad. And the kettle’s boiled for your tea. How is Mam this morning?’

‘About the same,’ he said grumpily. He seemed to have forgotten that it was Ruby’s fifteenth birthday, and she had no intention of reminding him. She never did or said anything to put him in a bad mood if she could avoid it. She had learnt a long time ago that it didn’t pay her to, especially during the last year when her mam had been ill and confined to her bed. She crossed to the enormous soot-blackened kettle and tipped some water onto the tea leaves she had placed ready in the big brown teapot before placing the tea cosy over it and leaving it to mash. Then she rushed over to the stove and flipped the bacon and eggs she had just cooked out onto a plate for him. Thankfully they were cooked just as he liked them. Woe betide her if they hadn’t been. Her cheek was still bruised from a few days before when he had stormed that his egg yolks were too hard before slamming them up the wall, plate and all.

‘I’ve made Mam some porridge. She might manage to keep that down,’ she told him as she put his meal in front of him, but he merely grunted as he tucked in so she went to ladle some of the porridge into a dish and after sprinkling it generously with sugar she placed it on a tray and left the room. Once upstairs in the bedroom that her parents had shared until recently, she placed the tray down and swished the curtains open before saying cheerfully, ‘Morning, Mam. It looks like we’re in for some snow.’

The sight of her mother lying there looking so ill made her stomach turn over with fear, but she kept the smile in place as she hoisted her up onto the pillows and placed the tray across her lap. It wasn’t hard. Her mother seemed to have shrunk in the last few weeks and she barely weighed more than a feather.

‘So, how are you feeling today?’ Ruby asked as she straightened the blankets. Her father had moved into the spare room so at least she knew her mother was allowed to get some rest now.

‘I-I’m all right, pet.’ As a fit of coughing shook Rita’s frail frame she quickly covered her mouth with a piece of linen she had to hand. But not before Ruby had seen the scarlet blood on it, although she made no comment. Ruby moved towards the fire to stir it back into life before throwing some lumps of coal onto it and Rita managed a smile as she watched the girl she had always loved as her own. She patted the bed, and when Ruby came to sit beside her, she felt beneath her pillow and extracted a small paper-wrapped package and handed it to her. ‘Happy birthday, pet. It’s not much but I hope you’ll like it.’

Ruby flushed with pleasure as she opened it to reveal a little silver locket suspended on a fine chain.

‘Oh, Mammy, it’s beautiful. But however did you manage to get this?’ It had been months since Rita had been well enough to leave the house.

Rita smiled. ‘My mother gave it to me on my twenty-first birthday but seeing as I won’t be here when you’re twenty-one I’d like you to have it now.’

The smile instantly vanished from Ruby’s face and her eyes welled with tears as she flicked her long red plait across her shoulder. ‘Don’t talk like that, you know it upsets me. O’ course, you’ll be here!’

Rita shook her head sadly as she took Ruby’s small hand in her own. No one would ever have believed she was now fifteen, for she was so small and dainty that she looked no older than ten or eleven at most. ‘You know that isn’t true,’ Rita said softly. ‘And when I’m gone, I want you to promise me something. I want you to leave here too. If you don’t, him downstairs will work you to death.’ Just as he has me, she thought, although she didn’t say it.

Ruby was openly crying now as she wrapped her arms about the woman who had always shown her nothing but kindness.

‘But I couldn’t do that,’ she answered. ‘He’s me dad for all his faults and he needs me to help him.’

Rita shook her head. It was time to share the secret she had hoped she would never have to tell. ‘But he ain’t your dad, sweetheart,’ she whispered, her breath growing laboured. ‘You see, I was never able to have children of me own so we adopted you when you was but a few days old. I rue the day now, ’cause he’s almost worked you into the ground ever since you were knee-high to a grasshopper, and I want you to know I’m sorry.’

Ruby stared at her incredulously. It had never occurred to her that she wasn’t their real daughter, although she had often wondered where her red hair, pale skin and freckles had come from. And then Stan’s voice bellowed up the stairs and the moment was broken.

‘Ruby, get your arse down ’ere right now else you’ll feel the length o’ me belt, girl!’

‘Go,’ her mother advised as panic gripped her. ‘But promise me you’ll do as I ask, and never doubt that I love you.’

With a little nod, Ruby left the room, her mind reeling at her mother’s disclosure.

She had never had reason to doubt that the people who had brought her up were anything other than her birth parents but now she wondered where her real mother could be, and whether she would ever know.

*

Rita died late that night and Ruby felt as if her whole world had fallen apart. She was buried in Chilvers Coton churchyard the week before Christmas when the ground was covered in snow and so hard that it took two men almost a whole day to dig the grave. There was no wake because Stan said that it was a waste of money, and that night Ruby sat wrapped in misery at the side of the fire. Eventually she sank into a light doze only to jump awake as Bill’s hand roughly shook her shoulder.

Blinking up at him she was surprised to see in the dim glow from the fire that he was clad in only his nightshirt and she frowned. He had been drinking steadily ever since they’d returned home and now his fetid breath fanned her cheek.

‘Wh-what is it? What do yer want?’ she muttered as she struggled to sit upright in the chair. Her heart was thudding uncomfortably and she felt uneasy. Why was he looking at her like that?

‘Now then, me little beauty,’ he slurred. ‘Now yer mam ’ash gone I reckon it’s time fer you to take her place. Come on up to bed wi’ me, there’sh a good girl.’

Ruby shook her head vehemently. ‘N-no. I have to be up at four to light the ovens so I’m stayin’ in ’ere tonight,’ she choked as sweat stood out on her brow.

‘Oh no you ain’t.’ He chuckled. ‘Tonight yer goin’ to keep yer old dad warm in bed.’ As his hand snaked out and roughly tweaked her tiny developing breasts, she shrank away from him. But before she could move, he took her arm in a vice-like grip and he was dragging her behind him up the stairs. Once inside the bedroom her mother had died in only days before, he flung her roughly onto the bed as she sobbed with terror. And then in a single movement he snatched his nightshirt off and stood before her naked, his manhood standing to attention. He was on top of her in seconds and although she fought for all she was worth, he soon prised her thin legs apart and thrust himself into her making her scream with pain.

‘Dad . . . Dad, stop! Please,’ she begged, but he was bucking away now making horrible grunting noises while she lay there feeling as if she was being torn in two. And then just when she was sure that she was going to die he suddenly gave a great shudder and dropped onto her pushing the air from her lungs and making her gasp. She was too terrified to try to move him in case he did it again, but thankfully soon he began to snore and she managed to roll from beneath him. Her most private parts felt as if they were on fire and she was sticky, but even so she crept from the room as quiet as a mouse and tiptoed back down to the kitchen where she sat and sobbed broken-heartedly. It was then that her mother’s words came back to her, I want you to leave here too.

Could it be, she wondered, that this was what her mother had feared would happen?

After a time, she pulled herself together enough to pour some water into a bowl and scrub herself thoroughly from head to foot, but even though she scrubbed until she was sore, she still felt dirty. It was then that she knew what she had to do: somewhere out in the big wide world was her real mother and from this moment on she would not rest until she had found her.

Giving herself no time to change her mind she dressed quickly, then quietly crept back up the stairs to collect her few clothes and the locket her mother had given her for her birthday. Tying them into a bundle, she went back down to the kitchen and wrapped her shawl about her shoulders. From the hiding place behind a brick in the fireplace she collected the small amount of money her mother had slipped her over the years. Ruby had never questioned it before, but now it occurred to her that perhaps her mother had been trying to make sure she had something put by should she need to leave suddenly, and once again she wondered whether her mother had guessed this might happen one day. She would never know now, she reflected as she stared about the room for the last time. Then she turned decisively and hurried through the shop, where she snatched a loaf from the counter and thrust it into her bundle. Who knew when she might be able to eat again? Opening the door, she slipped through it and closed it quietly behind her and taking a deep breath she set off into the snowy night.

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