About the Author
Jane Sanderson is a former BBC radio producer, and has used some of her own family history as background for her novels. She is married to author and journalist Brian Viner. They have three children and live in Herefordshire.
Also by Jane Sanderson
Netherwood
Ravenscliffe
COPYRIGHT
Published by Sphere
ISBN: 9781405517980
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Jane Sanderson
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Sphere
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Table of Contents
About the Author
Also by Jane Sanderson
Copyright
Dedication
Foreword
Acknowledgements
Principal Characters
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Two
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part Three
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Bibliography
Q&A with Jane Sanderson
For Eleanor, Joseph and Jacob – cool runnings
Foreword
The following background is intended for those readers who are unfamiliar with Netherwood and Ravenscliffe. When Arthur Williams is killed in a mining accident in 1903, Eve Williams has to find a way to support herself and her three young children, Seth, Eliza and Ellen. She does this by selling her home-cooked pies and pastries, supported in the venture by Anna Rabinovich, a young Russian widow who lodges in Eve’s house with her baby daughter Maya.
Eve’s enterprise attracts the attention of Teddy Hoyland, the Sixth Earl of Netherwood, who invests in her business, making it possible to move into new, large premises in Netherwood. Amos Sykes, a miner and union activist, and former colleague and friend of the late Arthur Williams, advises Eve not to accept help from the earl who, as the owner of Netherwood’s collieries, is Amos’s natural foe. However, Eve ignores his advice and the venture grows from strength to strength. Amos falls in love with Eve and proposes marriage, but is gently rebuffed. He throws himself into trade-union activity, and is sacked from the colliery for his efforts, but is promptly offered new employment with the Yorkshire Miners’ Association.
Eve meets her future second husband when she works for a short time for the Countess of Netherwood at their London home in Belgravia. Daniel McLeod is head gardener there, and he takes a position at Netherwood Hall in order to marry Eve. Her oldest child, Seth, initially resents Daniel, although gradually he comes to terms with his presence in the family.
With Anna and Maya, the increasingly prosperous family move to Ravenscliffe, a detached house on Netherwood Common. Eve’s brother, Silas Whittam, has by now entered the story, having come back into her life after a sixteen-year absence, during which he made his fortune as an importer of bananas from Jamaica. Eve is delighted to see him, and makes him welcome, but Anna, Amos and Daniel find him abrasive and untrustworthy. Silas has little interest in their opinion, however; his priority is to rekindle the closeness that he and his sister shared during the years of their impoverished childhood. These days, he is an ambitious man. He buys a colliery near Netherwood to supply his own steam ships with coal, and he plans to build a hotel near Port Antonio in Jamaica, and expand his business interests into tourism.
When Teddy Hoyland, the earl, is killed in a freak accident in 1905, his elder son, Tobias, inherits the title. Tobias marries a lively American, Dorothea Stirling, whom everyone calls Thea, apart from Tobias’s mother Clarissa Hoyland, the dowager countess, who disapproves vehemently of the match and always uses her daughter-in-law’s full name. Thea is a sexually adventurous young woman, who embarks upon a passionate love affair with Tobias’s sister, Lady Henrietta. Tobias doesn’t know the extent of their intimacy, but is simply pleased that they are close. The affair cools of its own accord, and by the beginning of Eden Falls a new distance characterises their relationship. Lady Henrietta, meanwhile, has found another outlet for her energies; she has joined the campaign for women’s suffrage, and her name is frequently in the newspapers as a spokeswoman for the Women’s Social and Political Union.
Clarissa Hoyland, unwilling to embrace the role of dowager countess, accepts a marriage proposal from Archie Partington and becomes Duchess of Plymouth. With her youngest daughter Isabella, she leaves Netherwood, to live at Denbigh Court, the Partington family seat.
Amos Sykes, encouraged by Anna, runs for Parliament, and by the end of Ravenscliffe has been elected Labour MP for Ardington. He and Anna have fallen in love, and married. But their relationship is challenging. She, having discovered a talent for interior design, has painted a mural for Thea, the new Countess of Netherwood, and this leads to a great many enquiries from other aristocrats keen to commission Anna. Amos hates this idea; it compromises his principles, to work so closely with the people he regards as the enemy. Anna, however, loves her work, which is also an essential financial support for her husband’s – unpaid – political career.
Ravenscliffe ends in 1906. Eden Falls opens in 1909.
Acknowledgements
Thanks are due, as ever, to my wonderful parents Anne and Bob Sanderson, whose love and support is something I tend to take entirely for granted because it has always been there and continues to flow south-west from Yorkshire with steady dependability.
Thank you, too, to everyone at Sphere for transforming my words into books and particular thanks to Zoe Gullen, whose copy-editing leaves no comma unturned, no anachronism unquestioned. Like a good gardener she weeds my manuscripts and pulls out the words I don’t need. My books are always the better for her diligence.
Thank you to my agent, Andrew Gordon, for his wise counsel and stoical support at times of need. And to my friend Mary Rose Gavin, thank you for giving me the word ‘Pa’ just when I needed
it – on such small details is authenticity built.
Thank you to my daughter, Elly, for enjoying my books; I can’t quite articulate how much that means to me. (To my boys, Joe and Jake, I hope you enjoy them when you do read them; there will be a short test on themes, plot lines and principal characters on our next holiday.) And to all three of you, thank you for the phenomenal frequent rushes of maternal pride that you give me without even realising it.
Finally, and crucially, thank you to Brian Viner for being a gold standard husband: loving, loyal, funny and calmly optimistic. I won’t say I couldn’t do it without you, but I’m profoundly happy that I don’t have to.
Principal Characters
Jamaica
Silas Whittam Millionaire shipping magnate and owner of the Whittam Hotel
Hugh Oliver Second-in-command at Whittam & Co.
Seth Williams Assistant manager at the Whittam Hotel, nephew of Silas Whittam
Ruby Donaldson Cook at the Whittam Hotel
Roscoe Donaldson Ruby’s son
Scotty Porter at the Whittam Hotel
Maxwell Porter at the Whittam Hotel
Batista Kitchen hand and waitress at the Whittam Hotel
Bernard Gardener at the Whittam Hotel
Justine Housekeeper at Sugar Hill, the home of Silas Whittam
Henri Gardener and handyman at Sugar Hill
Netherwood
Daniel MacLeod Head gardener at Netherwood Hall
Eve MacLeod Businesswoman and wife of Daniel, sister of Silas Whittam
Angus MacLeod Son of Eve and Daniel
Eliza Williams Older daughter of Eve by her late first husband Arthur
Ellen Williams Eve’s younger daughter
Mademoiselle Evangeline Eliza’s ballet teacher
Lilly Pickering Housekeeper and child minder at Ravenscliffe, Eve and Daniel’s home on Netherwood Common
Bedford Square, London and Ardington, Yorkshire
Anna Sykes Painter of interior murals, Russian émigrée
Amos Sykes Labour MP for Ardington, Anna’s huband
Maya Rabinovich-Sykes Anna’s daughter by her late first husband Leo
Norah Kelly Housekeeper at Bedford Square
Miss Cargill Maya’s governess
Enoch Wadsworth Labour Party activist, union organiser, Amos’s friend and agent
Netherwood Hall, Yorkshire and Fulton House, London
Tobias Hoyland The Seventh Earl of Netherwood
Thea Hoyland The Countess of Netherwood
Eugene Stiller American portrait artist
Lady Henrietta Hoyland Older sister of Tobias
Parkinson Butler at Netherwood Hall
Mrs Powell-Hughes Housekeeper at Netherwood Hall
Sarah Pickersgill Cook at Netherwood Hall
Ulrich von Hechingen A young German man
Liese von Hechingen Ulrich’s aunt
Ballantyne Butler at Fulton House
The Hon Dickie Hoyland Younger brother of Tobias, living in Italy
Denbigh Court, Devon and Park Lane House, London
Archie Partington The Duke of Plymouth
Clarissa Partington The Duchess of Plymouth, formerly Dowager Countess of Netherwood
Lady Isabella Hoyland Clarissa’s younger daughter, sister of the Earl of Netherwood, debutante
Peregrine Partington Marquess of Hampden, son and heir of the Duke of Plymouth
Amandine Partington Wife of Peregrine
Padgett Butler at Park Lane House
Others
Herbert Asquith Prime Minister
David Lloyd George Chancellor of the Exchequer
Emmeline, Christabel and Sylvia Pankhurst Suffragettes
Mary Dixon Suffragette
Marcia de Lisle Client of Anna Sykes
Mr Arbuthnot Magistrate at Bow Street Court
William Thorpe and Jennifer Hathersage Students at the Slade School of Fine Art, employees of Anna Sykes
PART ONE
Chapter 1
The charabanc laboured up the last stretch of the hill and then, where the road flattened out and swung left, took the corner with an air of quiet triumph, like a runner finding his stride. There was a break in the trees here which revealed, fleetingly, a glittering strip of sea; on cue, the English passengers exclaimed at the vivid turquoise, which was indeed an extraordinary sight, unless the slate-grey monotony of the Bristol Channel was unknown to you and Caribbean colours were commonplace. Certainly the driver, a local man, didn’t even glance at the view; he only stared ahead, and his face remained shuttered.
They were here to see an old sugar estate, built in 1758 and abandoned some time in the middle of the nineteenth century, after emancipation had done for slave labour and the plantation could no longer meet its costs. There were many such places, and together they told the story of Jamaica. This is what Silas Whittam liked to tell his guests, the ones who politely enquired about the island’s history.
‘Jamaica’s ruins,’ he would say musingly, as if for the first time. ‘They’re everywhere, resonant with sorrow, redolent of disappointment and lost dreams.’ Silas ran the tour from the Whittam Hotel to the old sugar estate out near Hope Bay. He had had pamphlets printed, telling a potted, palatable version of plantation life, spiced up with a few distinctly less palatable details – all perfectly true: a slave whipped to death for looking the overseer in the eye; a Creole heiress, granddaughter of the original planter, who hanged herself when, after the Emancipation Act, her slaves simply set down their cane bills and walked away into the hills. The great house, the sugar mill, the boiling house, the slave huts: all of them stood in varying states of dereliction, and the guests from the Whittam Hotel picked their way in and out of them, imagining the goings on. The estate was on high land and the views were remarkable; it was comforting, said one of the visitors to her companion, to think that the slaves, in the midst of their travails, would at least have been able to enjoy this vista, the majesty of the Caribbean Sea, which winked in the sunshine in the near distance.
The driver always parked in the shade of a cotton tree, and took out his tobacco tin as the passengers disembarked. Once a week he made this trip, and his surliness was as steadily dependable as the heat of the sun. His name was Scotty, but he had nothing to say on that subject or any other. He brought them here; he waited; he took them back. While they explored the plantation he squatted against the trunk of the tree and chewed tobacco, and took very little care where he spat. Sometimes, as they came back towards the vehicle, he seemed to take aim.
It was unsettling for the guests. On their return one or two of them would always complain. Certainly no one ever took the trip more than once.
Ruby Donaldson followed the same coastal road as the charabanc twice a day, with her boy, Roscoe. She was a cook at the Whittam Hotel, he a pupil at Port Antonio School, and they had walked this route together for three years now, side by side, although he would no longer let her hold his hand. Sometimes, like today, they left home early and took a detour to Eden Falls, where Roscoe liked to swim in the lagoon, while Ruby watched him from the bank, as patient and still as the hill behind her. Ruby never swam: even as a child she had always preferred to be dry rather than wet. But Roscoe – he was half boy, half fish. Sometimes she checked him for fins and gills.
Today he carefully folded his school clothes and placed them on a rock, to keep the red ants out of his shorts.
‘Count until I come up again,’ he said to her. ‘See how long I can stay under.’ Then he swallow-dived into the blue water with no more of a splash than if he were an arrow fired from a bow. For a little while she could see the shape of him, a skinny shadow moving down into the darker depths of the lagoon. Then, too quickly, she lost him, his shadow blending with other shadows, his shape swallowed by the water. On this side of the lagoon, far away from the falls, the water was as still as glass.
Unease came stealthily upon her and her placid, clear-eyed face grew troubled. Roscoe was gone and her
e was she, sitting on the bank in the early morning, counting aloud like a fool-fool. So she stopped counting and stood, brushing dry grass from the seat of her green print dress, trying to dispel her fear with busyness. She turned her back on the water, told herself that when she turned again to face it he would be there, bobbing like a cork, droplets of water hanging like crystals in his black hair. And she kept herself from turning too soon. If she did, she told herself, he wouldn’t be there; and if he wasn’t there when she turned, he would be drowned.
Something delicious had woven itself into the breeze and carried itself down the mountain, and instinctively Ruby sniffed the air. Someone was cooking up fish for breakfast; herring sprats, blackening over hot coals. She imagined the cook at the barbecue pit, flipping the fish onto a platter with a stick, pulling away the hot flesh, avoiding the pesky pin bones, burning her fingers. She hated her, this unknown woman, for her trivial concerns. Envied her too. Then Ruby turned and the thread of hope she had carefully spun snapped at the sight of the untroubled water. You would think to look at it that no living thing moved beneath its surface, least of all a strong and beautiful boy. She walked to the rock that he’d dived from and picked up the small, tidy pile of clothes. She buried her face in his shirt and inhaled; the smell of him was of warm cornbread. She put the clothes back on their rock, cupped her hands to her mouth and called for her son, summoning him from the depths, demanding that he return to her.
‘Roscoe!’
Her voice came out shrill with panic and her chest heaved with the beginnings of grief. Poised, ready to shout again, she waited. Nothing. The pool returned her gaze with a glassy stare. He was dead then, claimed by the water. This she knew for a fact. Still, though, she shouted again.
‘Roscoe!’
And then, on the very far side, where the lagoon boiled and foamed as the falls hit the water, the boy rushed upwards like a newborn child expelled from the womb into the world, gulping at the air. Warm relief flooded Ruby’s body then, hard on its heels, fury. She sat down again, made lightheaded by the swift exit of fear. Roscoe, oblivious, trod water and grinned at her from a distance, and his teeth flashed in the sunshine. He began to swim away from the falls with the ease and skill of a water-dweller, until he was close enough to be heard.
Eden Falls Page 1