by Evie Grace
‘Carriages. How wonderful,’ Violet said, touched by William’s gesture. He’d thought of everything. ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll be with you in a few minutes.’
‘Joe isn’t dressed yet,’ Eleanor said, panicking.
‘His clothes are in a box, ready. We can take it with us and change him on the way,’ Violet said.
‘Our flowers,’ May said. ‘Where are they?’
‘In the kitchen in a bucket,’ Violet replied. Eleanor fetched Joe’s christening robe and May collected the bouquets – Violet had a simple posy of myrtle sprigs tied with a ribbon of duck-egg blue to match her gown, while May had chosen rosemary, evergreens and pale pink silk roses.
‘What about food for Joe and a toy to keep him occupied?’ Eleanor said. ‘And our coats – we need our coats today.’
Violet glanced through the window – the sky above the houses opposite was grey and dark, threatening rain or snow. ‘Umbrellas too,’ she added.
John sighed good-humouredly. ‘I’ll go and tell the coachman that we’re nearly ready.’
The party arrived at the church as the bell tolled the hour. John and the footmen helped the ladies from the carriages before Violet and May were ushered into the church where they waited for the people who had joined them – Miss Whiteway and her fiancé, Mr Fullagar, Ottilie, Eleanor and Joe, William’s cousin Mr Robert Lane, other relatives and his rowing crew, some of May’s friends and distant family – to settle in the pews.
John offered Violet his arm as the organist began to play a joyful tune, Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’.
‘I didn’t realise there would be so many people,’ she whispered.
‘It’s delightful, isn’t it?’ John said. ‘Ours was much quieter.’
‘But just as special, if not more so.’
He patted her hand. ‘Let’s walk. Your groom is waiting.’
When they reached the altar, she released his arm, turned to William and gazed at him through her veil. He smiled, the sight of him taking her breath away. How long had they waited for this day? As the vicar guided them through the ceremony and they said their vows, her mind went back to the regatta, how she had seen him wading from the boat towards the beach, his hands up in triumph. If she was being honest with herself, she had fallen in love with him then. With trembling hands, he slipped the ring on to her finger and they were, at last, man and wife.
They stood aside for the vicar to marry May and Tom before both couples went to the registry to sign the register, then returned to the church for the final part of the morning.
The vicar said a few words before inviting Eleanor to bring Joe to the font, followed by Miss Whiteway and Mr Lane, then Violet and William. The guests gathered around the font as the sponsors took their places, Joe’s godmother to the right and his godfather to the left. Violet’s heart was in her mouth when Eleanor handed Joe over, worried that he would cry at seeing a stranger or that the vicar would drop him.
‘Who is the sponsor for this child?’ the vicar said as Joe tried to grab at his spectacles, and the two godparents inclined their heads.
They made their promises to guide and support Joe throughout his life before the vicar made the sign of the cross on his forehead then poured water from the font over his head, at which, after a moment of confusion, Joe smiled.
‘I baptise you, Joseph Noble, in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’
‘Amen,’ Violet murmured. It was done. She felt William’s hand rest lightly against her back and a tear trickle down her cheek. Not only had she married the love of her life, she had gained respectabilty for her precious son. Their son, she corrected herself, because William had taken him on as his own without question.
After the ceremonies, they met their guests – and May’s – at the Shakespeare Hotel for the wedding breakfast and christening celebration, William having decided that the house at Athol Terrace was too small for comfort. Violet couldn’t tear herself away from her new husband’s side for any longer than to congratulate Mrs Ward on her marriage, and check that Joe was happy with Eleanor and Ottilie.
‘Where is Eleanor?’ she asked when she realised that John had taken Eleanor’s place, saying that it was useful for him and Ottilie to practise caring for a little one. ‘I asked her not to impose on you—’
‘Be kind to her, Violet,’ Ottilie scolded lightly. ‘She’s over there – I believe she’s taken a fancy to Mr Lane, who’s being most solicitous in swapping his piece of cake for hers. She has a sudden aching-tooth for marzipan.’
‘And William’s cousin. Oh dear.’
‘What’s wrong with that? He seems like a pleasant enough young man.’
‘There’s nothing wrong – it’s just that it hadn’t crossed my mind that Eleanor would start courting so soon.’
‘She’s seventeen.’
‘I know, but I still think of her as our little sister. I’ll be keeping a close eye on them.’
‘I’m sure you will. I’m so proud of you, Violet. I don’t know how you’ve managed it, but you’ve done well. Who would have dreamed that you would have ended up as a wife and mother, and running a workshop, after all you’ve been through?’
‘It took luck, determination and’ – she glanced towards William, who was helping one of his elderly aunts find her coat in readiness for leaving – ‘the love of a good man.’
After the weddings and christening, they took one day off for Violet to move her belongings into the house at Athol Terrace and to settle Joe in the brand-new nursery on the top floor with its glorious views across the sea towards France. Eleanor came with them, but Dickens stayed at Oxenden Street to keep the place clear of vermin. May set up residence with her husband in the house next door to the workshop.
As Violet wished, she and May continued to work on their embroidery while Eleanor minded Joe and ran errands. Within a week, Violet realised that they couldn’t manage the workload without taking on another needlewoman. She advertised for an experienced embroideress, and among the applicants, she found a suitable candidate by the name of Miss Devlin, who turned out to be the maid who had repaired her dress when Mr Brooke had stepped on it at the regatta ball.
Although she hadn’t done much in the way of whitework before, she picked it up quickly, her needle flying in and out of the fabric with great speed and accuracy. The orders came rolling in, along with the money to pay the rent, wages and other costs, and it wasn’t long before Violet had the satisfaction of changing her mind and returning to Mr Cove to redeem the Rayfields’ jewellery, except for Arvin’s ring. She left that behind.
Miss Whiteway’s wedding dress was ready in time for March, and the three sisters and May had the pleasure of attending the ceremony and wedding breakfast. Mrs Fullagar then visited them after her honeymoon to thank them and order some embroidered linens, and most of all, see her godson. Violet felt rushed off her feet, and so was William, who was setting up a workshop of his own, developing prototype boilers, next to Sawyers Velocipede Manufactory in St James Street.
‘It’s a great success,’ Eleanor said one day when she was pushing Joe’s pram along by the sea on their way home from a long day’s work. ‘But don’t you think – well, I don’t like to ask this, but I wonder if you’re trying to do too much. I mean, you see less of your husband than I expected. He’s often home before us, and I can’t help noticing that you’re usually nodding off by nine in the evening. Is it any way to live?’
‘I’ve been thinking much the same,’ Violet said. ‘It’s all very well what Miss Whiteway used to say, about women having the freedom to work and bring up a family and be affectionate with their husbands, but there aren’t enough hours in the day … Something has to give, and I’ve made a decision – I’m going to take on two more ladies, which will leave me with time to manage the workshop.’
‘Won’t you miss the sewing?’
‘I’ll do some.’ Violet smiled ruefully. ‘I miss William – I should be with him w
hen he’s at home – and I should be making the most of the years I have with our son. I’ve been so preoccupied with making a success of the business, that I’ve forgotten what’s important.’
‘Like Pa did,’ Eleanor said quietly.
‘That’s right. Although he loved us, he forgot to put his family first.’
That evening, after she had kissed Joe goodnight and Eleanor had retired to bed, Violet sat down on the chaise beside her husband. She leaned back and surveyed the parlour, newly decorated in creams and pale blues. There wasn’t a splash of green in sight – she wouldn’t have it in the house.
‘William, I have something I’d like to discuss,’ she said, and she began to explain her plan.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘I’ve been neglecting you and our marriage.’ She felt the weight of his arm around her shoulders as he pulled her close and kissed her cheek.
‘You’ve been doing your utmost to keep the workshop going. I don’t blame you. You said you wanted to keep working and I respect you for that, but it’s wearing you out.’ He turned slightly and pressed his forehead against hers. She looked into his eyes.
‘I can see right into your soul,’ he murmured. ‘I love you, my dear wife. You must do what makes you happy.’
From then on, she made more time for her family, ensuring that she spent the evenings and Saturdays and Sundays in William’s company. By the middle of June, she had found a new routine.
‘We should invite Ottilie to visit us again,’ she suggested one evening. ‘The sea air would do her good. What do you think?’
‘I’m hardly going to refuse, am I?’ William smiled. ‘I know how much you’re looking forward to seeing our new niece. Ottilie is well enough to travel now?’
Ottilie and her daughter had taken a chill soon after the birth and the doctor had said that it would be unwise for them to travel or receive visitors in case it was contagious. Violet and Eleanor had been disappointed and anxious, reassured only by Ottilie’s regular correspondence. ‘I’ll write to her.’
William yawned.
‘Oh dear, the passion is wearing off. You find me dull, I think.’
‘Not at all,’ he said with a grin. ‘I was thinking of retiring.’
‘So early,’ she said archly, glancing at the clock. ‘I wonder why you’re so keen?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get to bed, my love.’ He stood up and reached for her hand.
Two weeks later, on a hot summer’s afternoon, they went for a walk in Connaught Park, strolling along the terraced lawns before heading down the hill away from the castle.
Violet spread a blanket out beneath one of the trees beside the artificial lake at the bottom. Ottilie sat down with her daughter, Patience, in her arms. She was three months old and a bonny child with blonde ringlets and blue eyes. Violet settled beside her older sister, brushing a beetle from her skirt.
‘Thank you for putting us back in touch with John’s mother,’ Ottilie said, looking towards the water where her husband was standing with William, their attention focused on a model steamship that William had built – as much for himself as for Joe, Violet thought, amused. He’d taken great care over it, even making a wind-up propeller with an India rubber band. ‘We’ve accepted her invitation to call on her and Uncle Edward – they’re keen to mend fences so they can meet their granddaughter.’
‘That’s generous of you and John after what they did.’
‘I want Patience to know her family.’ Ottilie smiled. ‘And if I’m honest, I want to show them how well my husband has done without his father’s help and influence. I couldn’t be more proud of him.’
‘He couldn’t have done it without you,’ Violet pointed out.
‘That’s true. I hope that Eleanor will be as lucky as we are. Is she walking out with Robert Lane? She turned bright crimson when I asked her about him.’
‘They’re courting now, but I won’t let them sit up together yet.’
‘You sound just like Mama. You’re right, though – Eleanor is very young.’
‘I have to remind myself that she’s only a year younger than I was when I met Mr Brooke.’ Violet found that she could talk of him now without regret. ‘Our little sister has barely written a word recently – she’s finding romance more fascinating in real life than on the page.’
‘Which is how it should be, don’t you think?’ Ottilie giggled. ‘Look at our handsome husbands.’
John and William lifted the boat out of the water while Joe looked on with Eleanor, who was holding both his hands to help him walk.
‘Pa,’ Joe called. ‘’Oat.’
‘He means his father’s boat,’ Violet said, recalling William’s joy the first time Joe had called him Pa.
Joe bounced up and down and screamed, the frustration showing on his face because he wanted the boat put back on the water.
‘Hush, have some decorum,’ Violet said, worrying about what passers-by would think about her son making a scene.
‘You sound like Mama again,’ Ottilie said, laughter bubbling up in her throat.
‘I do, don’t I? Oh dear.’
‘I do the same. I wish she was here to see her grandchildren. She’d be very proud.’
‘Duck!’ Joe pointed towards the lake.
Eleanor walked him down the sloping bank to the water where she handed him a piece of stale bread from the paper bag she’d brought with them. Joe put it straight into his mouth and chewed it.
‘That was for the mother duck,’ Eleanor said with a chuckle. ‘Watch.’ She threw a piece and the mother duck and one other rushed towards it, quacking and scrapping over it. Joe laughed, and Eleanor gave him another piece of bread. This time, he held it aloft and made a great effort to launch the bread towards the mother duck and her ducklings, but somehow managed to throw himself in with it.
Violet leapt up, hitched up her skirts and ran straight towards where her son was splashing about, coughing and crying in the water, but William got there first. He paddled across to Joe in his shoes and socks, scooped him up and carried him back to safety while the ducklings swam hurriedly away in a row behind their mother.
‘Eleanor, what were you thinking, letting go of his hand?’ Violet held out her arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said anxiously. ‘Is he all right?’
‘No harm done, although he’s very soggy,’ William grimaced and handed him over.
‘Poor Joe.’ Violet comforted him. ‘Oh, William, look at your shoes.’
‘They’ll dry out – I’ll stuff them with some newspaper when we get home. I think he’s learned his lesson – he won’t do it again.’
‘His brother – or sister – might, though,’ Violet said softly, so nobody else could hear.
William’s eyebrows shot up behind his curls.
‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
She nodded. ‘I’m certain now. The baby quickened – I’m about four months gone. You’re going to be a father twice over.’
He smiled. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘It will be a while.’
‘How long?’
‘I’ve worked out that the baby will be born in November. William, don’t you have any idea about these things?’
‘No, but it doesn’t matter because I have you to guide me.’
It felt right, she thought. They were equals as she’d hoped they would be, each supporting the other. She carried Joe back to the blanket and rejoined Ottilie. Eleanor sat down with them, a little upset that she and Joe had inadvertently frightened the ducks away. Violet used a handkerchief to wipe the dirt and weed from Joe’s face and hands. She took off his sodden clothes and wrapped her shawl around him, making him look like a shepherd in a woollen tunic. He plonked himself down beside his cousin and stared at her.
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’ Violet said as Patience reached out to pull his hair.
‘No, darling,’ Ottilie said, taking hold of her chubby wrist.
‘Let’s make a daisy chain,’ Eleanor suggested to distract them. Ottilie handed Patience over to her and she took the two children on to the lawn to pick daisies.
‘You are happy with William?’ Ottilie said.
‘He’s everything I could wish for in a husband. What about you and John? You have no regrets?’
‘None at all. John’s doing very well – he has some regular clients and we’re able to put money aside for a rainy day.’
‘Would you consider returning to live in Dover?’
Ottilie shook her head. ‘I consider Woolwich our home now, but we’ll visit as often as we can, and you must come and stay with us.’
Violet gazed at their children, smiling in the sunshine with crowns of daisies on their heads, and she cast her mind back to the time when she had been at her lowest ebb, an unmarried mother with no money and mouths to feed. Miss Whiteway’s order for her wedding dress had given Violet that tiny thimbleful of hope that their fortunes would take a turn for the better, and they had.
Life was better than ever, but she was realistic. There were bound to be times of struggle and darkness, but in the meantime, she would hold on to what she had: a loving husband, happy family and friends on whom she could rely.
Acknowledgements
I should like to thank Laura and everyone at MBA Literary Agents, and Cass and the team at Penguin Random House UK for their continuing enthusiasm and support.
Dear Reader,
I feel a little guilty for putting poor Violet and her sisters through hard times in A Thimbleful of Hope, but I did enjoy writing about them, and researching Dover’s maritime heritage along the way.
I have fond memories of Kent – I was born in Whitstable on the coast, and I spent many happy times with my grandparents in Canterbury. One of my grandad’s favourite pastimes was a drive to Dover to look out across the channel to France. We would watch the boats coming in and out of port before being treated to an ice-cream with a flake.
I also remember the thrill of spotting the iconic White Cliffs on the ferry on our way back from family holidays in Europe, knowing that we would soon be home – although on one particularly memorable journey, the ferry crashed into the dock with a huge bump which buckled the doors, so the cars couldn’t be driven off. I’ll never forget watching our bright yellow campervan dangling from a crane above the deck as it was lifted onto dry land.