Anne Douglas
Authors: The Handkerchief Tree
Table of Contents
A Selection of Recent Titles by Anne Douglas
CATHERINE’S LAND
AS THE YEARS GO BY
BRIDGE OF HOPE
THE BUTTERFLY GIRLS
GINGER STREET
A HIGHLAND ENGAGEMENT
THE ROAD TO THE SANDS
THE EDINBURGH BRIDE
THE GIRL FROM WISH LANE *
A SONG IN THE AIR *
THE KILT MAKER *
STARLIGHT *
THE MELODY GIRLS *
THE WARDEN’S DAUGHTERS *
PRIMROSE SQUARE *
THE HANDKERCHIEF TREE *
* available from Severn House
Anne Douglas
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain and the USA 2012 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.
This eBook edition first published in 2012 by Severn Digital an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Copyright © 2012 by Anne Douglas.
The right of Anne Douglas to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the the copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Douglas, Anne, 1930-
Primrose square.
1. Edinburgh (Scotland)–Social conditions–20th
century–Fiction. 2. World War, 1914-1918–Social
aspects–Scotland–Edinburgh–Fiction. 3. Love stories.
I. Title
823.9'14-dc22
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-305-1 (epub)
ISBN-13: 978-0-72788-196-0 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-406-6 (trade paper)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.
The lady from the council was due at two. Ten minutes to go.
‘Shall I see if she’s coming?’ Shona Murray asked from the door of Mrs Hope’s house in Edinburgh’s Dean Village.
‘Might as well,’ answered Mrs Hope, small and plump, her round brown eyes on the dresser clock. Ten minutes to go. How must the poor bairn be feeling?
Look at her now, moving into the street, wearing Kitty’s black dress that was too big for her, only eleven years old and facing such change! If only she, Addie Hope, could have taken her in.
She’d wanted to, and not just because you got paid if you gave a home to a boarded-out orphan. She’d wanted to do what Emmie asked and had even sort of said she would – at which memory, Addie bit her lip. But what could she do? She’d five children of her own and little enough room as it was in the house in Baxter Row. What could she do but agree with her man, Jock? It just wasn’t possible to give the lassie a home. So, it was the orphanage for Shona. What a mercy her poor ma would never know.
Outside, unaware of the guilt churning up Mrs Hope’s mind, Shona was standing in the sunshine of that afternoon in May, 1919. Small, with delicate features, hazel eyes and a plait of auburn hair that could look gold in the sun, she was keeping watch on Baxter Row.
Baxter Row was a terrace of little houses designed for the workers of the flour mills in the Dean Village, which was in fact the surviving village of two, for one had been demolished to make way for a cemetery. Such a strange event, you might have thought, but now it was almost forgotten. All that was known was the place that was Shona’s home, in the valley of the Water of Leith, beneath the famous Dean Bridge.
And, oh, how Thomas Telford’s handsome bridge dominated the houses of Baxter Row and all the area! Built to carry the main road north over the Water of Leith, it had been a huge engineering success, as solid today as when it was opened in 1832 and, of course, busier than ever. Only half a mile away was Edinburgh’s bustling West End, but down in the village, under the bridge, it was quiet, even peaceful, in spite of the grain mills and bakeries. Here was a place of tradition and character, and well beloved by its residents, Shona being one of them.
Of course, it wasn’t much like the sort of village you saw pictured in books and calendars, being much more straggling and separated out, not built to any plan, but just developed as time passed. Though there was a school and a church, the important feature was not a village green but the Water of Leith, Edinburgh’s nearest thing to a river. At one point it was lined with buildings, houses and mills, some of which were very old, with a history that could be traced back to the twelfth century. Elsewhere, it ran between grassy banks, where there were trees and shrubs – a delightful place to walk.
Shona had learned the history of her village at school. How the Ancient Incorporation of Baxters, or Bakers, had pretty well run everything in the early days, even though the weaving community had considered themselves important, too. But the weavers hadn’t lasted as long as the baxters, baking still being a popular occupation. Why, Shona’s own street even bore the baxters’ name – her own dear street, her home, and seeing it in the sunshine, so peaceful, so much hers, she was afraid she might be taking her last look. Did they let orphans go visiting from orphanages? She shivered in the warmth of the sun, realizing just how little she knew of where her life was taking her.
If they did let her out, she’d come straight back. Not to see her old house – she couldn’t bear that yet – but to visit all the people she knew who lived in her street, who worked at the mills, like Mr Hope and her dad (until he’d gone to war and never come back), and Mrs Hope who’d been so kind. She’d talk to all the neighbours, who’d been kind as well, and their children she went to school with, and played with after school in the street. She’d go walking with Kitty Hope in that lovely valley of the Water of Leith, so like being in the country, and feel at home again. If only she could.
Seeing no sign yet of Miss Lucas, Shona balanced on one foot, then another, keeping her eyes on the far end of Baxter Row, never letting them stray to the house next door to Mrs Hope’s. That had been her parents’ house, her home for her whole life – until some weeks before when Emmie Murray, her mother, had died from the Spanish Influenza. Died so fast she’d scarcely had time to ask Mrs Hope, her friend, to look after Shona. So fast, Shona had almost been too late to kiss her goodbye, but then her mother hadn’t wanted her to, and had tried to push her away in case she caught the flu.
‘I don’t care about the flu!’ Shona had cried, but her mother’s hand had already fallen to her bed and her eyes had closed.
‘Come away, pet, come away,’ Mrs Hope had said, and packed a few things for her and taken her next door, where Jock Hope and the five Hope children were waiting. Since then, Shona had not been back to her old home, now locked with its curtains drawn, but she’d been told that new tenants would soon be moving in and tears at the thought stung her eyes.
Best brush them away before Miss Lucas came, she decided, for today she must be ready to face the future, which was an orphanage in Murrayfield. A fine house, Miss Lucas had said, in a very nice area of the city. As though Shona cared about the area if it wasn’t the Dean, if it no longer held her mother.
She’d been so happy in the Dean, in that little house she couldn’t yet look at, especially before her dad had been killed in the war. There’d been three of them then – her mother and father and herself. After the terrible telegram, of course, there’d been just the two, and Shona, at eight, had soon understood she must try to make her mother happy again. If she hadn’t managed that, they had at least faced life together and become very close until, like a poisoned arrow, the Spanish flu had struck. Now Shona was the only one left, with no relatives except her Auntie Mona, her mother’s sister, in Canada – someone she would never see.
She’d been told, of course, that the council had cabled her aunt, Mrs Mona Webster, informing her of her sister’s death and asking what she would like to do about her motherless niece. Her aunt’s reply had been brief. ‘Regret Unable to Help
Stop
Letter Following
Stop
.’
But so far there had been no letter.
‘Thank the Lord for the council, then,’ had been Mrs Hope’s comment – with which Shona could only agree.
Suddenly her eyes sharpened as she picked out a tall figure in the distance and her heart gave a lurch. Miss Lucas, at last! Wearing a blue walking out two-piece and a straw hat over her pinned up dark hair, she was smiling and waving, but Shona was already on the move.
‘Miss Lucas is here!’ she cried, running into the house Mrs Hope had spent so long tidying after her children had left for school that day. ‘Mrs Hope, Miss Lucas has come!’
Her face turning pale, it was hitting Shona afresh that her time had also come. To say goodbye. To put on her coat, take her bag and go, away from the life she knew to something unknown, something she must face and didn’t know if she could. But as Mrs Hope ushered in Miss Lucas, Shona swallowed hard, straightened her shoulders and even tried a smile. She’d always been a brave one, her mother had liked to say, even when days were dark, and she’d be a brave one now. For her parents’ sake.