The Lady's Maid
Authors: Dilly Court
Contents
About the Book
In the quiet of a warm summer’s evening, two young mothers are forced to give up their babies. Whilst Kate grows up knowing only poverty and servitude, Josie’s world is one of privilege and luxury.
Despite the differences in their circumstances, Kate and Josie have been friends since childhood. But their past binds them together in ways they must never know.
Until a chance meeting forces Kate and Josie to confront the truth of that night nearly twenty years before – a truth that turns both worlds upside down and threatens to destroy their friendship forever …
About the Author
Dilly Court grew up in North-east London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and four grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband and a large, yellow Labrador called Archie. She is the author of fifteen novels and also writes under the name of Lily Baxter.
Also by Dilly Court
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
A Mother’s Courage
The Constant Heart
A Mother’s Promise
The Cockney Angel
A Mother’s Wish
The Ragged Heiress
A Mother’s Secret
Cinderella Sister
A Mother’s Trust
For my good friend, Diane
.
Chapter One
Maiden Castle, Dorset, September 1854
ZOLFINA COULD TELL
that the gorgio girl’s life was ebbing away on a crimson tide. She laid the naked newborn child on her mother’s breast. ‘You have a daughter, Clara. She is a fine healthy baby – a little small, perhaps, but she will soon grow.’
‘I will not live to see it.’ The words came out in a hoarse whisper as Clara wrapped her arms around her baby.
‘What sort of talk is that?’
‘I’m dying, gypsy woman.’
‘You are not dying, child. You must put these thoughts from your mind.’ A superstitious shiver ran down Zolfina’s spine, and she crossed herself as she glanced up at the towering ramparts of the Iron Age fort in whose shelter she had so recently brought two new lives into the world. It was a pagan place ruled by the gods of the ancients, but there was no mystic or magical power that could save the young mother. Zolfina had seen many a newly delivered woman bleed to death. She had skills in making herbal remedies, but there was nothing more she could do for this delicate fair-haired girl who was little more than a child herself. A doctor might have been able to save
her
, but they were at least a mile from Dorchester, the nearest town, and Clara was slipping away into the world of spirits. Zolfina turned to her daughter, Dena, who was sitting beneath a stunted oak tree nearby, cuddling her own newborn babe. Dena raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question and Zolfina shook her head.
‘Come closer, gypsy,’ Clara whispered. ‘I cannot see your face.’
Zolfina knelt down beside her. ‘Save your strength, child.’
‘Promise me that you will take care of my baby.’
‘You will take care of her yourself, Clara. You have so much to live for.’
‘I’m not afraid to die. But I don’t want to leave her alone in the world.’
Zolfina clasped her hand; it was cold and bloodless. She knew that it would not be long now. ‘I will see that she is cared for, but surely you have family somewhere? There must be someone close to you?’
Tears welled from Clara’s blue eyes and trickled silently down her ashen cheeks. ‘I disgraced my family. They want nothing to do with me, and her father, Alexander, is dead – killed in action in the Crimea. We will be reunited soon in heaven, but I want you to give our child a blessing.’
‘I am not a priest. I am a simple Romany woman – I have no power for good or evil.’
‘I’m giving her to you. Promise me that you will find a good family who will love and protect her.’
Zolfina took the mewling infant from Clara’s arms.
‘You
have my promise.’ She reached for the bucket of water which she had fetched from the Winterbourne river at the onset of Dena’s labour. It was there, on the riverbank, that she had found the exhausted and heavily pregnant Clara. She had helped her back to the hollow at the foot of the earthworks where Dena and her baby now lay on a bed of dried bracken and straw. Romany law said that a woman in labour was impure, and birthing must be accomplished away from the main encampment: Zolfina had acted accordingly, but she had not reckoned on delivering two babies that day, let alone two girls. She beckoned to Dena. ‘Bring your babe here. We will name the little ones together.’
It was dusk, and the flickering fire sent a fragrant plume of woodsmoke rising into the opalescent sky above the dark hump of the prehistoric fort. A barn owl flew overhead screeching its hunting call, and in the distance a dog fox barked. Then there was silence.
Zolfina dipped her fingers in the bucket and made the sign of the cross on the baby’s forehead. The infant uttered a cry of protest as the cold water trickled down her face. ‘I name thee …’ Zolfina paused, looking to Clara for guidance. She had to bend closer to hear the whispered name.
‘Katherine – after my mother.’
‘I name thee Katherine. May God’s blessings go with you for all of your days.’ She gave the baby to Dena, exchanging her for her own granddaughter. ‘What name will you give your little one?’
Dena tossed her head. ‘I will not have her long enough to name her if you have your way, Mother.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Zolfina hissed. ‘Can’t you see that the girl is not long for this world? Do you want to send her to her maker with angry words in her ears?’
Dena hung her head. ‘Josephine. I want to call her Josephine.’
‘What sort of name is that for a Romany child?’
‘Her father was called Joseph and he was a gorgio. She may never know him, but she will be raised as one of his people. You have seen to that, Mother.’
‘Don’t blame me, my girl. You left me with no other choice.’ Zolfina dipped her finger once again into the water, but this time she was met with a silent, almost defiant stare from the baby’s dark eyes. Zolfina crossed herself – that was a bad sign. The child ought to have cried to cast the devil out. ‘I name thee Josephine,’ she said hastily. ‘May the blessing of God go with you.’ She gave the infant back to Dena. ‘Josephine and Katherine – I renounce the devil and give you both to God. May your lives be long, and may the good Lord give you the strength to deal with whatever ills may befall you.’ As the last words left her lips, Zolfina realised that Clara was trying to speak. She leaned closer, taking her hand. ‘What are you saying, child?’
‘My ring.’
Zolfina looked down at Clara’s left hand, which she raised with such difficulty, and her attention was captured by the heart-shaped emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds. ‘I see your ring, and it is beautiful.’
‘It is my engagement ring,’ Clara whispered. ‘Take it and keep it safe for my child when she grows up. I have nothing else to leave her. Promise me, gypsy.’
‘I promise.’
Clara’s eyelids fluttered and closed. With her last breath, she whispered, ‘Alexander.’
‘What did she say, Mother?’
‘She’s gone to join him – her man. God rest their souls.’
‘Poor creature.’ Dena stifled a sob. It could so easily have been she who was lying there on the cold ground. She had been spared, but perhaps the pain of having her child taken from her was greater than death itself? She held her baby a little tighter; she was so small, so helpless and so precious.
Zolfina slipped the ring off Clara’s finger and crossed the dead girl’s hands on her breast. She covered her with a brightly coloured woollen blanket. ‘We will never know who she was or where she came from, but those hands had never done a day’s work. Clara was obviously a lady and her man was a gallant soldier who gave his life for his country.’
‘It’s very sad.’
‘But she is gone now and we cannot leave her here for the crows to pick at.’ Zolfina handed the ring to her daughter. ‘Keep this safe, Dena. I must return to the camp and speak to Yoska. He will know what to do for the best.’
Dena closed her fingers around the ring. It felt like a lump of ice in her hand and she shivered. ‘It is almost dark, Mother. I don’t want to be left alone.’
‘I won’t be long. You will have to stay here and look after the babes until I get back. We leave tomorrow for our camping ground on Hackney common, but at first light I’ll take Josephine to the big house, as we agreed.’
‘I want to keep her. I cannot bear to let her go.’
Zolfina threw her hands up in despair. ‘No one knows about the baby, not even Yoska. Everyone in the camp thinks that you are still working as a maidservant for the Damerells. If Marko discovers that you have been with another man he won’t marry you – no man will have you – and our family will be disgraced.’
‘I would rather be disgraced and keep my baby.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, my girl. You would be an outcast, reduced to begging on the streets. None of this would have happened if you had not gone with the gorgio. You stay here, and think about what you have done.’
She disappeared into the night, leaving Dena alone with the sleeping infants and the body of the tragic young mother. She laid the babies down side by side beneath the tree while she collected twigs and brushwood for the fire. A grey mist was sneaking inland from the sea, which was less than eight miles distant; it moved wraithlike between the steep embankments, bringing with it a sudden chill. Looking up at the black silhouette of the earthworks against the darkening sky, Dena could hear the sounds of conflict: the cries of the women and children and the warlike yells of the warrior Durotriges as they fought their fatal battle with the Roman soldiers. She shuddered, wrapping her arms
around
her body and forcing the images out of her mind. She had inherited the second sight from her maternal grandmother, but it was an unwelcome gift.
A whimpering sound from Josephine brought her back to reality and she hurried over to pick her up. The hungry mouth sought her breast and Dena sat down, leaning back against the gnarled tree trunk. She undid the buttons on her blouse and allowed the baby to suckle. The sensation was strange, but wonderful and yet bittersweet, for tomorrow she knew she must give her daughter up, never to see her again. Tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks unchecked. She was paying the price for that night of madness when she had lain with Joseph Damerell, the dashing brother of Sir Hector, who had come from London for a weekend shooting party. They had danced beneath the stars and drunk champagne from a silver goblet. He had made her laugh and had charmed her with his teasing smile and soft words. She had known that it was wrong, but at the time it had seemed so right – the laws of purity and the sanctity of marriage had flown out of her mind like a flock of migrating swallows. The result had shocked her; she had not imagined that she could conceive so easily or so quickly. She would never forget that magical night when they had hidden in the summerhouse and slept in each other’s arms. They had awakened to a cold and frosty dawn, making love again just as the sun was rising, but even as they parted with a lingering kiss, she had known that she would never see him again.