This epic novel, which spans six generations of mothers and daughters, begins in 1815, during Britain's war with Napoleon, and ends after World War II. These life stories, knitted together into an ongoing family saga, show the vast changes to English society. These women were witnesses, participants, and survivors through the Regency Period, the Victorian Age, the Industrial Revolution, and on into the twentieth century, with its world wars and social reforms. At the heart of the novel are the lives, loves, and social causes of six strong women-Violet, a kitchen maid; Amanda, her illegitimate daughter who marries an aristocrat; Felicity, a pianist who dreams of marrying a duke; Norma, the battered wife of a wealthy scoundrel; Prudence, a women's suffragist and social reformer; and Christine, a World War II photojournalist. As different as each of these women is from the others, they all remain true to the motto coined by Violet, who wished a better future for her daughter: "Grasp every opportunity that life offers you"

A Daughter's Inheritance

A NovelBy Geraldine Boyce

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Geraldine Boyce
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-7092-3

Contents

Part One Violet.........................1Part Two Amanda.........................39Part Three Felicity.....................151Part Four Norma.........................215Part Five Prudence......................265Part Six Christine......................303

Chapter One

Violet

Violet Bailey stood behind a large chopping table laden with huge slabs of beef. She picked up a meat cleaver to divide them into more manageable portions before she began to cut them up with a sharp butcher's knife into the appropriate size for the day's stew. She had been doing this task since she was twelve, when she had left Mr. Grayson's class where she had learned to read, write, and add, in order to help her mother in the kitchen at the Craven Arms. Now fourteen, she still seemed too small to do this heavy work. The table came up almost to her developing breasts, but her solid short body seemed to give a balance to the quickness of her movements while she worked.

As the church clock struck nine she cocked her ear for the first sounds of the army unit approaching with replacements for the changing of the guard at the harbor gate. The inn was located on Snargate Street, closer in to the town of Dover than the Grand Shaft, above which were the First Foot Guards barracks on the Western Heights. When Violet heard the drums, she wiped her hands on her apron and pulled it off quickly. As she ran out, her long brown hair flowed behind, then rested on the well-filled heavy tan cotton dress, a hand-me-down from her older sister, Ellen, who had grown too tall for it.

"Don't go! You've got too much to do," Mrs. Bailey called out after her. She turned to the two scullery maids. "That girl will be the death of me, and she'll be out again when they return this afternoon."

"She has an eye for the young officer leading the guards," one of the maids said.

"She'll have little chance of an officer noticing her," the other said.

As the guards turned the corner of the street, Violet saw Lieutenant Oliver Hinton, and her heart warmed at the sight of him. She had noticed him as soon as he had arrived in town, and she knew she already loved him.

As he marched by ahead of his men, eyes straight ahead, Violet saw him glance quickly upward. She followed his eyes to where the eighteen-year-old Ellen was standing at her bedroom window. She felt a swift pang of envy. It isn't fair, she thought. Ellen's tall, with golden tresses and a face of an angel, and besides, she's already engaged to be married to Arthur Mandle. In comparison, Violet felt shabby in the much-washed, faded work-dress. She returned forlornly to the kitchen.

"Hurry up and finish chopping," her mother said. "I've got to get more stew started. We've many mouths to feed before the afternoon ferry leaves."

Mrs. Bailey watched her work and soon all the beef was cut. I shouldn't be hard on her, the mother thought. She's a good worker. In truth she's better than Ellen, who spends much of her time admiring her own reflection instead of making the beds. It'll be good when Ellen marries; then her husband will have to clothe, feed, and buy her trinkets, and I'll be able to hire a new maid who'll do twice the work.

It was the summer of 1815, when the Duke of Wellington's armies were waiting to do battle with those of Napoleon Bonaparte, for England and France were at war. Many British soldiers had already arrived in Belgium. Now officers' ladies were following them to attend numerous parties which were being given in Brussels while waiting for the battles to begin. Their carriages delivered them to the Ship Hotel for their noonday meal and a rest, while their coachmen returned to the Craven Arms. With travelers constantly crossing the English Channel to and from Calais, and the army guarding the docks, Dover was crowded and busy.

Compared to other hotels in town, the Craven Arms was considered small and lowly, having only four double bedrooms for guests and two six-bedded dormitories (one for women, the other for men) on each of the first and second floors. The three bedrooms on the third floor housed the family of five: the innkeepers, Mr. and Mrs. Bailey; their son, Noah; and their daughters, Ellen and Violet.

It was a hot day and the generously proportioned Mrs. Bailey perspired profusely as she quickly seared meat in a large pan on top of an open fire. On her right a spit turned, roasting three legs each of lamb and pork. On the other side of the fireplace was a large oven, baking the day's supply of bread. After the oven cooled down she replaced the bread with large dishes of rice pudding, which would slowly cook all day, coming out of the oven with browned skins on top for the evening meal. These joined her currant duffs and marmalade and golden syrup suet puddings, for which she was famous. Some might question the cooking of a heavy meal on such a hot day, but Mrs. Bailey knew her customers—couriers, carriage drivers, footmen, and salesmen going to the Continent to ply British goods. They all preferred her hot meals so that they could soak their bread in her rich gravies.

The inn's clients did not seem to mind the half-mile walk from the docks where they embarked or disembarked. They considered the inn good value for its clean rooms, good food, fine ales, and buxom serving maids. It was also a stagecoach stop en route to London, with horses for hire, which Noah tended, while Mr. Bailey managed the business and poured ale and porter from morning until closing time. Mrs. Bailey was in charge of the kitchen.

Many an evening Lieutenant Hinton came into the tavern with other young officers. One night a serving maid called through the open kitchen door, "One of the officers wants a dish of beef stew."

Mrs. Bailey, busy at the stove, called over her shoulder, "Violet, get a tray ready. Spoon some into a bowl for him, slice some bread, and take it in."

The Lieutenant was sitting at a table waiting for it. "Ah here's the famous beef stew. Set it here." Violet set the plate down in front of him. Then, laughing, he swung around and grabbed her.

"You're a pretty morsel," he said, pulling her onto his knee. Violet, surprised, looked at him. He was so handsome, with his dark brown curly hair, a face that narrowed into a pointed chin, and a dark face, which might have been naturally that color or might have been browned by parading in Dover's sunshine and ocean sea breezes. She knew it was not proper to remain there and she tried to pull away, but he held her tighter. She again struggled to rise as his friends joined in his laughter.

"Look! She's blushing. She must be a virgin. That makes her even more of a treat."

A Major walked over and said, "Leave her alone, Hinton. She's too young for you."

The Lieutenant let her go, and without a word he turned and began to eat his stew.

"What's a virgin?" Violet asked when she returned to the kitchen.

"You shouldn't be asking questions like that," her mother scolded.

The scullery maid looked at her and said. "A virgin's a girl untouched by a man."

Well then, I'm not a virgin, Violet thought, because I've been touched by a man, and she hummed happily to herself as she worked.

Rumors, overheard by Mr. Bailey at night, changed daily, but it was more likely only days rather than weeks before the First Foot Guards would leave. When a group of officers came in a few days later, it was common knowledge that it was their last night, for the regiment had orders to sail the next morning.

The drunker he got, the more aggressive Lieutenant Hinton became with the serving maids. Carousing more loudly than usual, he and his friends stayed until closing time before staggering out on to the street. Violet watched them through the dining room door, then sadly turned back to serve her diners. The group of officers, arms around each other, continued singing as they went down to the corner of the street. The Lieutenant stopped suddenly, turned around, retraced his steps, and entered the inn's main hallway, where lit candles had been placed in sconces at the bottom of each flight of stairs to lead guests up to their rooms when they retired for the night.

Holding onto the banister to steady himself, he climbed to the third floor. Remembering the room from which Ellen looked out at him each morning, he banged loudly on the door. He heard a rustling in the room and knocked again. When Ellen opened the door slightly, the Lieutenant pushed it open, walked in, took a ring off his little finger, and gave it to her.

"Arthur!" Ellen shrieked, dropping the ring.

"I've got to see you one more time," the Lieutenant said, slurring his words. "I'm leaving for France—"

But before he could finish, Arthur Mandle gripped him by the collar, threw him out of the room onto the hallway floor, kicked the ring after him, and slammed the door.

Lieutenant Hinton lay there cursing. He was not used to being denied anything he wanted. He got up slowly and started down the stairs. Violet, coming up to bed after working hard all day, met him on the second landing. She stood to the side to let him pass. But instead he pushed her to the wall, and in a manner which indicated, even in his drunken state, that he was adept in this procedure, he reached under her skirts, pulled down her pantaloons with one hand, unbuttoned his trousers with the other, and entered her.

Violet gasped at the pain. His face came close to hers and he explored her open mouth with his tongue. She had daydreamed that he would kiss her, but not like this. She could taste the beer on his breath. He groaned as he climaxed, remained inside her for a moment, then withdrew, straightened his clothing, and continued staggering down the stairs. Violet sank to the floor. It had all happened so quickly, she did not know what to think. She felt injured, misused, and exhausted, yet confused because he must have wanted her.

When she felt able, she got up, pulled up her pantaloons, straightened out her skirt and petticoat, and slowly pulled herself up the banister to the third floor. Upon reaching the landing she stepped on something uneven. She looked down and saw it was a man's gold signet ring. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. When she entered the bedroom she shared with Ellen, Arthur jumped up quickly.

"You look a terrible mess," Ellen said. "What have you been doing?"

Violet looked down to the floor. "Nothing."

"She's been working hard all day," Arthur said, kindly, kissing Ellen. "I'll go, I'm sure she wants to go to bed."

Violet lay on top of her bedcovers and waited for Ellen to get into bed. When she was sure her sister was asleep, head turned to the wall, she got up and lit a candle, poured cold water from the water jug into the basin, removed her underwear, and began to wash the stickiness from between her legs. Noticing that her beige pantaloons were bloody, she rinsed them, wrung them out tightly, and threw them under the bed to put into the wash trough the next morning. When she had finished, she opened the window and emptied the basin water onto the street below.

She removed the ring from her skirt pocket and looked at it. The initials engraved on the outside were OEH, and on the inside were the words "Love Mother." She opened the second drawer in the chest she and Ellen shared and took out a small black box in which she kept her treasures. She opened it, looked lovingly at the few trinkets in the box, and added the ring, then put the box back in the drawer and quietly closed it. After putting on her nightgown, she climbed into bed and lay there thinking. Despite still hurting, she had a strange feeling of elation. Ellen's not the only one to have a lover, she thought.

* * *

Brigadier General Dashwood-Danby paraded next morning, in full uniform regalia, followed by the Regimental Band and his First Foot Guards regiment, as he proudly led his thousand men to war. Watching in a crowd of local bystanders lining the streets, Violet hoped that Lieutenant Hinton would glance in her direction as he marched ahead of his unit, but he looked straight ahead. She prayed for his safe return.

Couriers from the Duke of Wellington often stopped for ale and a meal at the Craven Arms on their way to deliver messages to the government in London. Mr. Bailey listened to their stories of the numerous parties being held. On the day of June 14th, the messenger stopped for a pint of beer and to hire a horse to take him to London.

"There's a big ball being given in Brussels tonight by the Duchess of Richmond," he said.

"Why are they wasting time on all these balls while battles are waiting to be fought?" Mr. Bailey asked. "I'd rather they fight and get this war over with."

The messenger settled his leather pouch on his shoulder and drained his glass. "I must be off," he said as he went outside to mount the horse that Noah was holding for him.

As the days passed, more news reached England. It appeared that Lady Richmond's ball had not delayed the battles, but perhaps had given the enemy spies a false impression that the Duke of Wellington was occupied for the night. In actual fact, after being given the news that Napoleon was approaching from an unexpected direction, he had left the ball early and after two hours sleep had gone straight to headquarters to review his plans to best offset the enemy's approach. He decided to make his stand closer to Brussels while his allies, the Prussians, would be attacking from the south on the banks of the Rivers Sambre and Meuse. The First Foot Guards were immediately deployed to mass at Quatre Bras.

There had been a terrible rainstorm on the march there, which had turned all roads into rivers. In his misery, as he marched, Lieutenant Hinton, thought back as to why he had joined the army. He was already twenty and had not yet settled to any career when his three older brothers had suggested to their mother that he join the local Bedfordshire Regiment. Lady Hinton, however, more ambitious for her youngest son, preferred that he apply to the more elite Royal Horse Guards. When he was refused, he applied to the King's Dragoon Guards, and again he was turned down. He learned that the First Foot Guards needed men, and for lack of anything better to do, he joined up. His mother bought him his commission. Now twenty-two, he was going to war for the first time.

Word had reached the British that the Prussians had been quickly vanquished by the French, who now planned to attack them and a small contingent of Dutch and Belgian allies. Orders were for each officer to assemble his unit of men behind them, then, with swords drawn, lead them into battle. The Lieutenant could see the French Cavalry gathering in the distance. As the size of their massing continued to grow, Lieutenant Hinton became more terrified. He could feel the sweat running down his back. When the Captain gave the order to advance, he wanted to stop and turn back, but he could not because his men, obeying their orders, pushed him forward. As horses galloped towards them, he saw a mounted French officer above him raise his sword and felt the hard blow to his neck.

His head, still attached by only a tendon, hung to one side and weighed him down until he toppled over and sank into the mire.

During the next three days of fighting, each country's armies advanced and retreated many times. In the end it was the charge of the Scots Greys, with bagpipes blaring, that won the day for the British and their allies.

* * *

Mr. Bailey, washing his glasses late at night, saw the courier come in.

"I'm glad this is the last time I'll be passing through on my way to London," the courier said.

"Tell me about it. Here's a pint on the house."

"Thanks, I need it. I usually leave my message for the Duke of Wellington at Headquarters. But this time my orders were to deliver it directly to him." The courier stopped to take two gulps of ale and wiped the froth from his mouth with his coat sleeve. "He had gone off alone on his steed to revisit the battlefields. I galloped up the slope to where the last battle was fought, and when I reached the top I saw such a sight that will sear my soul forever."

"I hear it was a bloodbath," Mr. Bailey said.

"The Duke sat slumped on his horse in the middle of the dead, some piled high on top of each other, where the two armies must have met. The rest lay covering the ground as far as the eye could see."

"I didn't think Generals worried too much about how they won wars," Mr. Bailey said.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from A Daughter's Inheritanceby Geraldine Boyce Copyright © 2012 by Geraldine Boyce. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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