Her Heart's Desire Read online

  HER HEART’S DESIRE

  Vivienne Dockerty

  Copyright © 2013 Vivienne Dockerty

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

  or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

  Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

  publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

  the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

  concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  DISCLAIMER.

  Although places and events exist in my story, this is a work of fiction.

  All the characters, names, incidents and dialogue is from my imagination

  or have been used fictitiously.

  Matador

  9 Priory Business Park

  Kibworth Beauchamp

  Leicester LE8 0RX, UK

  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

  Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 978 1780885 605

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

  In loving memory of my sister Barbara Mary, also an aspiring author,

  who would have loved to have read my books.

  Contents

  Cover

  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

  PROLOGUE

  Set in Victorian Merseyside in 1893, eighteen year old Lily imagines herself to be in love with her cousin, Lawrence, a sea captain.

  Charlie, a twenty-one year old shipyard worker, knows that he is in love with Lily. According to Lily, who is from a better class background, a romance between them will never do.

  Lawrence marries Bertha, Lily’s older sister; now she will never be able to have her heart’s desire.

  Fate takes a hand when both Lily and Charlie find themselves in loveless marriages that neither had wished to be in.

  In 1903, Lily becomes a widow after Roland, her army officer husband, is killed in the Boer War. Meanwhile, Charlie is also left a widower after his wife dies in childbirth.

  Will fate intervene and bring the pair together?

  Chapter One

  Lily Griffiths looked out at the rain that was tippling down the glass of her bedroom window. It looked as if she was going to be trapped in the house for the afternoon; her older sister, Bertha, was sure to have something to say if she suddenly donned her walking outfit and headed for the front door. Especially when Lily had promised to sit for a while with her grand-mama that day.

  They all had to take a turn sitting with Grand-mama. Well, those of the sisters that still lived at home, that is. Lily was one of eight sisters; three were married with their own households and two were working, so were not obliged to do this duty. This just left Bertha, Ellen and herself to sit with the old lady for a little time each day. Grand-mama was a tartar, at least that was what Lily’s mother was apt to say in private to her family. The spacious, red-brick, semi-detached house in Rock Ferry belonged to Grand-mama and the old lady could be relied on to remind you of that fact, should anyone do anything to give her cause to complain.

  Lily had often wondered why her parents had never purchased their own place. Her father could afford it – he owned a large, busy coal yard for heaven’s sake – but maybe they would never have found such a large and rambling house to have brought up their ever-increasing family in. Not that there would be anymore sounds of little Griffiths feet, as Mother, worn out from producing a baby every couple of years, had taken to lying on the settee in the parlour most days, leaving Bertha to run the house and Father to grow his empire.

  Lily sighed and wished not for the first time that her father would allow her to go out to work. Anything would be better than hanging around the house all day, being at Bertha’s beck and call. None of the things she did for her sister were good enough. She couldn’t clean a room properly, nor could she make an appetising meal; her bread never rose, her cakes were all soggy; she couldn’t even make a good job of preparing the vegetables, as she never sliced things thinly enough, or so she was told by her elder sister. Bertha called her a dreamer and perhaps she was. If that was thinking that nice things would come along in her life one day, then a dreamer was a good word to call her.

  She rubbed her hand on the patch of condensation that she had created with her breath on the window and stared out at the rain sodden landscape before her. Perhaps it was this view that kept her parents here. Not much of a view at the moment, because of the mist that was hanging over the river, but on a clear day it was a marvellous view if you liked watching the shipping activity on the River Mersey and looking at the ever-increasing amount of new buildings that had sprung up recently on the opposite shore. She hoped it would be a mist free day tomorrow, as Lawrence’s ship was docking in Liverpool.

  Lawrence was a cousin of the family – well, Lily thought he was a cousin because he was related to the Patterson’s, which was the same as her grand-mama’s surname. He had just completed his first voyage as a sea captain and would be calling to see Grand-mama after tying up at the Port of Liverpool. He always did that, called to see his grand-mama that is, after every trip he had made abroad. First a trainee officer in the Merchant Navy, then he had worked his way up through the ranks under Captain Faraday; now, at twenty-eight, he was the youngest sea captain working for the Allison shipping line.

  “A feather in the family’s cap,” Grand-mama had said, looking fondly on at her handsome relative, when Lawrence had proudly made his announcement in front of her and the family one Sunday afternoon. “Took my advice and didn’t follow your father into trade, as everyone expected you to.”

  No, Lawrence had wanted to be a mariner, just like his Uncle John Wallace, after being fed the tales of a sailor’s travels by his father’s elder brother before he could even walk.

  Lily’s heart skipped a beat as she thought of Lawrence. He had always been her hero; he was the stuff of her dreams. Tomorrow, when he came to visit Grand-mama, she was going to present him with a floral buttonhole, one that she would make herself from a red rose gleaned from the florist shop, where one of her older sisters, Mabel, worked. That’s if the rain would stop and I could make my way to the little shop on Borough Road, she thought impatiently. He could wear the rose in his lapel when he attended St. Peter’s the following Sunday and he would know then that she loved him. She couldn’t make her feelings for him too obvious, of course, but her small gift might make him look upon her romantically.

  She sighed as she peeked into the ornate mirror on her dressing table, playing idly as she did so with a large, cut-glass perfume bottle full of eau-de-cologne – a present from her father for her birthday. Would he still see her as his little cousin? She had
altered quite a bit since he saw her last in June. It was November now, five months since he had sailed away on a cargo ship that visited various ports on the eastern seaboards of America, picking up goods for the merchants of Liverpool to trade.

  He had missed her eighteenth birthday, the day that her mother had said she could put her hair up if she wished. Instead of the girlish shoulder-length style, her chestnut hair was now caught back into a pretty, curly bun, kept in place by numerous hair pins and tied with an ivory satin ribbon, which went well with her high-necked, cream lace blouse and brown ankle-length bustle skirt that showed off her small, heeled, black button boots. Tomorrow, when he visited, she was going to wear the string of pearls that her grand-mama had given her for her birthday and the matching pearl band from her mother, which would adorn her hair.

  Lily rubbed a little bergamot oil onto her neck – a present from Eliza, one of her older sisters – then gazed again into her mirror at the pair of blue-grey eyes that were staring back at her solemnly. Was she being vain if she compared herself to Bertha? She would be the only other person in the family that Lawrence might want to marry. That is if he wanted to marry a homely kind of person, instead of a pretty girl such as she.

  Bertha was plump and plain of face, though nearer his age at twenty-two and she had never had a courtship. Neither of them had, now she came to think of it. Father didn’t think she was ready to be introduced into society just yet, nor did he think that his pretty princess should go out to work, seeing as she was the baby of his family. That’s if you didn’t count fifteen year old Frederick, the last of the Griffiths children, who could never be thought of as a prince, given that he was such a studious dormouse and lived away at boarding school. No, Father thought there was plenty to occupy his youngest daughter in the home until he decided it was her turn to marry. Given that Mother needed a companion, or so the doctor had said, that, at the moment, must be her role in life.

  Grand-mama, who could be relied upon to give her opinions whether they were sought or not, was of the view that Mannion Griffiths, her son-in-law, had a guilty conscience. He had given her youngest daughter, Hannah, nine children, eight of them girls. He should have behaved with a certain level of decorum, instead of giving in to animal like desires. He was nothing like the husband of her elder daughter, Patricia, who had taken himself off to sleep in a different room now that Patricia was nearing the end of her childbearing years.

  Not that Lily was told of the old lady surmises, but it had to be said that the girl liked to eavesdrop, as that kind of topic was never discussed in front of a child. Now she knew why Mother rested a lot; she was worn out from childbirth and had to recline either on her marriage bed or on the chaise in the parlour.

  Lily was suddenly recalled from the study of her pale-skinned face by the voice of her sister carrying up the stairs. She rushed onto the landing, trying to think of a reason why she should be there in her bedroom, having not offered to help with the drying of the plates after luncheon. However, Bertha’s face didn’t look angry as she stared up at her younger sister; in fact she seemed rather serene, if the truth was told.

  “Oh, there you are, Lily. Mother’s gone to have her nap and while I was clearing Grand-mama‘s lunch tray, she asked could you be spared for a few moments or so. So, be a dear and run along to her room. Don’t worry about helping with the washing up, Ellen has it all in hand.”

  Ellen could always be relied on, thought Lily, as she walked along the small corridor sedately, instead of rushing along like she would have done had she been younger. Ellen was obviously in training to take over Bertha’s duties, should Bertha ever find herself a beau. Ellen would probably always be a spinster, as she had no looks to speak of, unless she found herself an ugly man. She’d always looked peaky for as long as Lily could remember, being the first to fall ill with any winter coughs or chills.

  “Ah, Lily, do come in and make yourself comfortable,” said the formidable looking Margaret Patterson, who was dressed from top to toe in black and indicating that her granddaughter should sit on the plush maroon velvet sofa, near the marble fireplace in which a fire blazed merrily.

  There was a myriad of clutter in the high-ceilinged room, with small mahogany tables covered with floor-length embroidered cloth; a writing desk, a black piano sporting a couple of large, white candles in silver holders; an ebony display cabinet showing off a highly prized porcelain tea set from China (courtesy of Lawrence) and an upright moquette-covered armchair, in which the old lady spent most of her days within the oppressively heated room. On the small mantelpiece above the fireplace, there was barely a space on top of the brown chenille tassel cover, where pot dogs vied for room with framed family pictures and blue and white statues rubbed shoulders with inscribed porcelain souvenir mugs of members of the royal family.

  “What have you been up to since I last saw you, Lily?” Grand-mama peered in her direction, scorning the use of a pair of lorgnettes that were sitting on a side table, though her sight had deteriorated with age. “Have you been helping your mother, as I asked you to?”

  “Yes, Grand-mama, I helped her by looking through the drawers in the bedrooms this morning, to see if anything wanted mending or darning. Sister Eliza said she would take the mending home with her after her visit at the weekend.”

  “Good, good. All my grandchildren seem to have been gifted with some sort of talent – with the exception of you. Do you perhaps have a talent that we are unaware of?” The elderly lady stared haughtily at her youngest granddaughter, hoping that she had applied enough severity to her words to make the child consider. Lily just seemed to drift through her life and didn’t appear to devote herself to anything.

  Lily gazed back, taking in the smell of lavender that always lingered around her grand-mama. She was reminded, not for the first time, that Grand-mama had a likeness to the queen. She had seen Queen Victoria; her father had taken her to Liverpool in May 1886, when Her Royal Highness had visited the city, with the Duke of Connaught and Prince and Princess Henry of Battenberg. It was principally to declare the Exhibition of Navigation, Travelling, Commerce and Manufactures open, but the exciting part was when the royal party took a river cruise. Lily and her father, from their position on the landing stage, saw them embark on the steamer, The Claughton, before their very eyes! Grand-mama even wore black, lacy, fingerless gloves and a similar black lace headdress, just like the queen did, though her long-sleeved, floor-length dress of black bombazine wouldn’t have cost as much.

  “Lily! I asked you if you have any talent that we are unaware of? Pay attention, child, you really are a dolly dreamer.”

  “I seem to be good at arranging flowers, don’t you think, Grand-mama?” Lily directed her gaze to a small, white posy bowl sitting on a nearby table, which held the last of the few roses picked from the garden the day before. “If Father would let me, I would quite like to become a florist like Mabel and open my own shop one day.”

  “Pipe dreams, I think, Lily. As you know, Mabel is allowed to go out to work, for reasons I would rather not be drawn into discussing with you. Your father would prefer that you, the last of his female children, make a good marriage. Flower arranging, I am sure, will be much appreciated by a devoted wealthy husband, if a suitable one can be found. Perhaps I should have given you piano lessons; as you know, I cannot play a note with these fingers now.”

  Lily cast her eyes to the ground demurely. Piano lessons indeed; no one had ever been allowed to touch the ornate ebony instrument that took pride of place at the side of the mantelpiece (except to polish it, of course), only Grand-mama. Recently, though, her fingers had become so red and swollen that she hadn’t the hand span she needed to play the Chopin that she loved.

  As to her father finding her a wealthy husband, there was only one man on Earth that could be suitable for Lily and that was Lawrence Patterson.

  “Would you excuse me, Grand-mama?” she asked a little later, after an uncomfortable silence had developed between them. She had notice
d that the rain had turned to spits and spots on the windowpane, with a rainbow beginning to appear in the distant sky. “I would like to go for a walk now that the rain has stopped and I am sure Bertha will have some errands for me.”

  “Yes, yes, do go and have a walk, Lily. I can feel your restlessness and I am sure that you would benefit from some exercise. Do remember to wear a raincoat over your jacket and take an umbrella. I wouldn’t be happy if you came home looking like drowned rat.”

  Lily smiled at her grand-mama’s attempt at humour, glad to escape the cloying atmosphere of the room where the large sash windows were permanently shut.

  “Where are you going, Lily?” Bertha had heard her sister’s boot-shod feet tapping along the quarry tiles in the hallway. She poked her head out of the kitchen doorway, her round face lighting up with a smile as she looked upon her younger sibling fondly.

  “I’ve had permission!” Lily took her navy walking coat down from the highly carved regency hall stand, which was crowded with the different jackets and outdoor apparel belonging to various members of the family. “Grand-mama said a walk would do me good and I have a mind to walk to Borough Road and have a word with Mabel.”

  “Then take an umbrella and make sure your hat is securely pinned this time. I don’t want to hear about another hat of yours being run over by a mail coach.”