The Little Angel
Contents (64)
- 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
- Chapter Fifty-Four
- Chapter Fifty-Five
- Chapter Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgements
- Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!
- Very Rich Fruit Christmas Cake
- The Days of the Week collection
- Prologue
- Tales from Memory Lane
Contents
Title Page
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
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Acknowledgements
Also by Rosie Goodwin
About Rosie Goodwin
Welcome to the world of Rosie Goodwin!
A Christmas Message
Very Rich Fruit Christmas Cake
More from Rosie Goodwin
Tales from Memory Lane
Memory Lane Advert
Copyright
In loving memory of Doreen Brownson
22nd December 1925 – 20th January 2017
A beloved Aunt missed by everyone that knew her.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die
Monday’s child is fair of face.
Prologue
Nuneaton, Tuesday, 15 December 1896
‘Excuse me, Mrs Branning, but I reckon I just heard sommat outside the front door.’
Sunday paused in the hallway to glance at the maid. She had been about to enter the dining room to join her husband and her mother for dinner, but now she asked, ‘What sort of thing did you hear, Em’ly?’
The young lass had only recently joined the staff at Treetops Children’s Home from the Nuneaton Union Workhouse and she was as nervy as a kitten.
‘Please, ma’am, it … it sounded like a knock – but it’s late an’ I’m scared to answer the door.’ The girl blinked furiously and began to twist her apron into a tight ball.
Sunday smiled at her kindly. ‘In that case we’d best check what it was, hadn’t we? We’ll do it together – how’s that?’
Striding across to the large double oak doors in a swish of skirts she swung one open – to be met by an icy blast of wind. It was dark as pitch outside and the grass on the lawns, or what could be seen of it in the light spilling out from the hallway, was stiff with hoar frost, each blade seemingly standing to attention and sparkling like diamonds.
‘I can’t see anyone or anything amiss,’ Sunday remarked, her teeth chattering as she peered into the darkness.
‘But I ’eard it, ma’am – I did, ’onest!’
‘Perhaps it was just the soughing of the wind?’ That was the trouble with old houses, Sunday thought. They were draughty places. The wind seemed to find every opening there was, and sometimes it could be so fierce it rattled the windowframes. However, she ventured a little further out onto the top step all the same, wanting to put the girl’s mind at rest.