The Best of Daughters Read online

  Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Dilly Court

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Despite her privileged upbringing, Daisy Lennox has always longed to make something of her life.

  She is drawn to the suffragette movement, but when her father faces ruin they are forced to move to the country and Daisy’s first duty is to her family.

  Here she becomes engaged to her childhood friend – a union both families have dreamed of.

  But, on the eve of their wedding, war is declared, and Daisy knows her life will never be the same again . . .

  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. She is the author of sixteen novels and also writes under the name of Lily Baxter. To find out more about Dilly Court visit her website at www.dillycourt.com

  Also by Dilly Court

  Mermaids Singing

  Born into poverty and living under the roof of her violent and abusive brother-in-law, young Kitty Cox dreams of working in a women’s dress shop in the West End.

  The Dollmaker’s Daughters

  For Ruby and Rosetta Capretti, life in the slums of the East End holds little promise. Despite their humble background, Rosetta is determined to work under the bright lights of the music hall and Ruby longs to train as a nurse.

  Tilly True

  Dismissed from her position as housemaid under a cloud of misunderstanding, Tilly True is forced to return home.

  The Best of Sisters

  Twelve-year-old Eliza Bragg has known little in life but the cold, comfortless banks of the Thames, her only comfort the love and protection of her older brother, Bart.

  The Cockney Sparrow

  Gifted with a beautiful soprano voice, young Clemency Skinner is forced to work as a pickpocket in order to support her crippled brother, Jack.

  A Mother’s Courage

  When Eloise Cribb receives the news that her husband’s ship has been lost at sea she wonders how she and her children are ever going to manage.

  The Constant Heart

  Despite living by the side of the Thames, eighteen-year-old Rosina May has wanted for little in life. Until her father’s feud with a fellow bargeman threatens to destroy everything.

  A Mother’s Promise

  When Hetty Huggins made a promise to her dying mother that she would look after her younger sister and brothers, little did she know how difficult this would be.

  The Cockney Angel

  Eighteen-year-old Irene Angel lives with her parents in a tiny room above the shop where her mother ekes out a living selling pickles and sauces, whilst her father gambles away what little money they do manage to earn.

  A Mother’s Wish

  Since the untimely death of her husband, young mother Effie Grey has been forced to live on a narrowboat owned by her tyrannical father-in-law Jacob.

  The Ragged Heiress

  On a bitter winter’s day, an unnamed girl lies dangerously ill in hospital. When two coarse, rough-speaking individuals come to claim her, she can remember nothing.

  A Mother’s Secret

  When seventeen-year-old Belinda Phillips discovers that she is pregnant, she has no option other than to accept an arranged marriage, and give up her child forever.

  Cinderella Sister

  With their father dead and their mother a stranger to them, Lily Larkin must stay at home and keep house whilst her brothers and sisters go out to work.

  A Mother’s Trust

  When her feckless mother falls dangerously ill, Phoebe Giamatti is forced to turn to the man she holds responsible for all her family’s troubles.

  The Lady’s Maid

  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.

  The Best of Daughters

  Dilly Court

  In fondest memory of Archie, faithful friend.

  Beauty without Vanity,

  Strength without Insolence,

  Courage without Ferocity,

  And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.

  ‘Epitaph to a Dog’, Lord Byron

  Acknowledgements

  Until I read Janet Lee’s excellent book War Girl: The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry in the First World War, published by Manchester University Press, I knew nothing about the FANYs and their selfless courage and feats of bravery.

  The amount of research that this author has done is incredible, and she tells the heroic story of these brave women in such an interesting manner that it captures the imagination from start to finish.

  The characters in my story are, of course, fictional, but the details of the FANYs selfless work are as accurate as I could make them, and I hope I have done them justice.

  Chapter One

  Warwick Square, Pimlico, London 1912

  IN HER FRANTIC dash to escape the police Daisy had lost her hat and broken a heel off one of her shoes. She crept into the house, tucking her purple, white and green suffragette sash into her handbag. Closing the door quietly behind her, she tiptoed across the marble-tiled entrance hall. She paused for a moment to check her appearance in one of the many gilt-framed mirrors that were to be found throughout the house. These splendid examples of the rococo style were a testament to her father’s love of light and space and her mother’s innate vanity. She made a futile attempt to tidy her long dark hair, but she had lost most of the pins in the headlong flight from the scene of the crime, which had been both frantic and undignified.

  She had only narrowly escaped being arrested by the police, who had appeared in force as her fellow suffragettes hurled stones and bricks through shop windows in Oxford Street. She herself had thrown several but to little effect. How Teddy would laugh. Her brother had always teased her about her pathetic attempts at overarm bowling when they played cricket in the garden of Rainbow’s End, their holiday retreat in rural Essex. But Teddy would not be amused by her efforts today. Like most men of her acquaintance he had no sympathy with the movement, and her father was even more entrenched in his attitude.

  She turned with a start at the sound of footsteps on the stairs but she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was her younger sister. It would have been a different matter if Mother had come upon her in such a sorry state.

  ‘Good heavens, Daisy. You look as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’ Beatrice paused with one hand on the curved mahogany banister rail. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’

  Daisy put her finger to her lips. ‘Not so loud. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.’

  ‘Then you’d better go upstairs and change. Mother is entertaining some of her cronies in the drawing room, and she wanted you to j
oin them ages ago.’

  ‘Oh, no. You didn’t tell her where I’d gone, did you?’

  ‘I couldn’t very well, because I didn’t know.’ Beatrice jumped the last two steps. ‘I love doing that,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Nanny Harris used to tell me off if she caught me doing anything so inelegant.’

  Momentarily forgetting that she was a wanted woman Daisy smiled. ‘You’ll never grow up to be a young lady, Beatrice,’ she said in a fair imitation of their former nanny’s voice. ‘You’re fifteen, not five.’

  ‘And you won’t get anywhere by changing the subject.’ Beatrice angled her head. ‘You’ve torn your skirt and broken the heel off your shoe. Have you been in a fight?’

  Daisy hurried past her, heading for the stairs. ‘I’m going to my room.’

  ‘You’ve been with them, haven’t you?’ Beatrice followed, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Don’t run away from me, because I’m not giving up until you tell me everything.’

  As she reached the first floor landing, Daisy glanced anxiously over her shoulder. Any minute now their mother would emerge from the drawing room to investigate. Mother had ears like a bat, and a nose for trouble. ‘All right,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Come to my room, but for heaven’s sake keep your voice down.’ She ascended the next flight of stairs, limping slightly as she compensated for the lost heel on her right shoe.

  On the second floor, in the sanctity of her blue and white bedroom, Daisy tossed her handbag onto the button-back chair upholstered in toile de Jouy, a theme repeated in the matching wallpaper and curtains. She slipped off her navy-blue linen coat, noting with a frown that several of the buttons were missing, which must have happened when a burly police officer made a grab for her. It would be difficult to explain that away if it came to her mother’s notice.

  ‘Well, I’m waiting.’ Beatrice flung herself down on the bed, folding her arms across her chest as if prepared to remain there until her sister broke down and confessed all.

  Daisy took her shoes off and examined the broken heel. ‘I hope the cobbler can fix it. This was a new pair and ridiculously expensive.’

  ‘Never mind the silly old shoe. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘We were demonstrating in Oxford Street, if you must know. Then the police arrived and some of the women were arrested, but I managed to make a dash for it and jumped on a bus.’

  ‘Looks like you had a tussle with someone. Was he handsome?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Bea. I’ll be in terrible trouble if Father finds out.’

  ‘It’ll be all over the front pages of the newspapers by morning,’ Beatrice said, grinning. ‘I wonder if there’ll be photos too.’

  ‘Oh, God! I hope not.’ Daisy shivered as she stripped off her cream shantung afternoon gown. The hem was torn where she had snagged it with her heel as she leapt onto the bus. It would need some skill to make a repair invisible to Mother’s eagle eye, and the dress was almost new. Daisy sighed. She had spent almost all her clothes allowance and she dare not ask Father for more.

  ‘You’ll be infamous,’ Beatrice said smugly. ‘The Honourable Rupert won’t pop the question if he finds out that you’re a suffragette.’

  Daisy opened the wardrobe and took out the first gown that came to hand. It was a shade of reseda that she did not particularly like, but it complemented her green eyes, or so she had been told on numerous occasions by ardent admirers. She slipped the cool silk over her head. ‘Do me up, please, Bea.’

  Obligingly Beatrice jumped up and tugged the material together. ‘Breathe in.’

  ‘Ouch. You pinched me.’

  ‘You’re such a sissy. How would you get on if you had to go to prison and be force-fed?’

  ‘I’m not that brave. I support the cause with all my heart, but I’m a dreadful coward when it comes to violence of any sort.’

  ‘I think I’d be terribly courageous,’ Beatrice said dreamily. ‘I’d be a real heroine, if only I believed in all that stuff, which I don’t.’

  Daisy twisted her head round to stare at her in amazement. ‘Don’t you want women to get the vote?’

  ‘I don’t really care one way or the other. Politics is boring, and politicians are ugly old men with beards and dull voices.’ She gave Daisy a gentle push. ‘There you are, all done up. Perhaps you’d better go and see what Mother wants. It’s probably something to do with your birthday party.’

  Daisy hurried to the dressing table and picked up a hairbrush. ‘I’m heartily sick of the whole thing. I’d much rather have a quiet family dinner than a big do for my twenty-first.’ She began brushing her hair, wincing as the bristles became caught in the thick tangle of dark curls.

  Beatrice moved swiftly to take the brush from her. ‘Let me do it. You’re all fingers and thumbs. Perhaps it’s the shock of coming so close to being arrested. What would Father say if he had to go to a police station and bail you out?’

  ‘Don’t,’ Daisy groaned. ‘I can’t bear to think of it.’

  ‘Well, dear, if you will live dangerously, you must face the consequences.’ Beatrice coiled her sister’s hair into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck, fixing it with hairpins and a tortoiseshell comb. ‘How’s that? Aren’t I a clever girl?’ She snatched a silver-backed mirror from the dressing table and held it so that Daisy could see the full effect of her coiffure.

  ‘Yes,’ Daisy said, smiling. ‘You would make a wonderful lady’s maid.’

  Beatrice replaced the mirror with a thud. ‘If I were a fugitive from the law like you, I’d be careful not to annoy my sister in case she decided to turn me in.’

  ‘You wouldn’t really.’ Daisy rose from the stool and gave her a hug.

  ‘It all depends upon how I’m treated. Be nice to me, or I’ll tell Mother, and that would be a thousand times more frightening than ending up in Bow Street.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better go downstairs and face the inquisition.’ Checking her appearance in the cheval mirror, Daisy frowned. ‘I look a bit peaky. Do you think they’ll notice?’

  Beatrice shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter if they do. Mother and her generation are so old-fashioned. They think that having a pale complexion is the sign of a true lady.’

  Daisy squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath. ‘Wish me luck, Bea.’

  ‘Where have you been all afternoon, Daisy?’ Gwendoline demanded, looking her daughter up and down with a disapproving frown.

  ‘I went shopping, Mother.’ Daisy cast a surreptitious glance at her mother’s friends but they kept their eyes tactfully averted, sipping their tea or nibbling daintily on slices of seed cake.

  ‘It’s a pity that you didn’t consult me first, Daisy. You are so thoughtless.’ Sunbeams slanted in through the tall windows, tinting Gwendoline’s golden hair with playful highlights. She sat erect like a queen granting an audience to her subjects, or, Daisy thought ruefully, like a judge about to pronounce the death sentence. At the age of forty-five Gwendoline Lennox was still a handsome woman who had kept her figure by rigorous attention to the teachings of Dr Banting. She ruled her family with an iron hand in a chain mail glove. Outward shows of affection were alien to her nature and she did not believe in spoiling her children. She did, however, take her position as the wife of a wealthy stockbroker very seriously indeed. Patroness of several charitable institutions, Gwendoline did her duty to the poor and needy.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’ Daisy shifted from one foot to the other. She could feel an undercurrent of sympathy emanating from her audience, but she would have been surprised had any one of them been brave enough to speak up for her.

  ‘I should think so too.’ Gwendoline turned to the woman seated next to her on the sofa. ‘More tea, Jane?’

  ‘No, thank you. One cup is quite sufficient.’ Lady Pendleton smiled and patted the vacant space beside her. ‘Did you buy anything nice, Daisy dear? Do sit down and tell us.’

  Daisy sank down on the sofa, stifling a sigh of relief. Lady Pendleton was one of her mother’s oldest friend
s and the Honourable Rupert, as Bea insisted on calling him, was her son. It was an open secret that the matriarchs were united in their ambition to arrange a match between Rupert and Daisy. The problem was that although Daisy liked him well enough, she thought of him simply as Teddy’s best friend. They had played together as children but then the boys had gone away to boarding school, followed by university, and now Rupert was just about to complete his officer training at Sandhurst, while Teddy, somewhat reluctantly, was a junior clerk in their father’s office in the City. She turned with a start as she realised that Lady Pendleton was speaking to her. ‘Was it something to wear at your birthday party, Daisy?’

  ‘It wasn’t anything very interesting, Lady Pendleton. I needed some stockings and some embroidery silk.’

  ‘And that took you all afternoon?’ Gwendoline did not look convinced.

  ‘I expect the dear girl was window shopping.’ Mrs Harper-Colton, a plump middle-aged widow with a kindly disposition, smiled at Daisy from the sofa on the far side of the imposing Carrara marble fireplace.

  Her companion, Miss Spruce, a genteelly poor spinster, nodded her head in agreement. ‘I can spend hours just looking in the windows of the department stores, especially Selfridge’s. And sometimes I go inside, not intending to purchase anything you understand, because I never wear rouge or anything like that, and anyway my limited means does not allow me to indulge in luxuries, but I simply love to breathe in the glorious scents in the perfume department.’ She paused for breath, blushing and staring down at the cup and saucer clutched in her hands. ‘I’m sorry. Once I start chattering I find it hard to stop.’