by Vicky Adin
Fictional characters were added to reflect historical figures, such as Old Joe, who was based on a Mr W B Smith, who ran the Travellers Rest at Wairoa. The Helvellyn, its captain, the doctor and the people who died on board are also factual, as is the journey, the storm and a passing ship. Captain George Taylor of No. 1 Company is another historical figure.
I am grateful to historian James Cowan for his detailed narrative of the New Zealand Wars and the people involved, which assisted me to describe the battles of Rangiaowhia and Orakau Pa. Again, the names of the officers, regiments, action and places involved are factual and accurate, to the best of my ability.
After Daniel arrives in Foxton, most people he meets are fictional except for Captain Francis Robinson, who was a well-known and respected figure in Foxton. Daniel’s drinking friends are also fictional; however, the stories he tells, especially those of Te Kooti, are factual. Charles Pownall was the first person to design, build, and use the flax-stripping machine in Foxton. John Proctor, the racehorse trainer, his son Harry Proctor and Mary Pemberton Proctor, who bore witness at Daniel and Emma’s wedding, were real people. Other named people living in the Foxton area at the time were J R Stansell, who owned Whyte’s Hotel and ran the Royal Mail coach, later becoming mayor, and the Reverend Samuel Barnett.
After considerable research, the historical events mentioned, such as the destruction of the Pink and White Terraces, the Minnie Dean story, Labour Day celebrations, the death of Queen Victoria and conscientious objectors in World War One, are factual and taken from newspaper reports, archive files and government records.
Since much of the story is based on family members and historical figures, I offer apologies to anyone who considers I have misinterpreted these individuals, their descendants, their actions or beliefs in any way. I wrote the story based on my personal experience and extensive historical research.
I hope you have enjoyed this story of a pioneering life.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my grandchildren
Latest release due late May 2019 – Pre-order now
The Costumier’s Gift
The dual-timeline sequel continuing the family sagas of
Brigid The Girl from County Clare and Gwenna The Welsh Confectioner
Awarded a BGS Gold Standard Quality Mark
Why does a stranger hold the key to untangling Katie’s family secrets?
1903 – Jane is the talented principal costumier at Auckland’s Opera House in its Edwardian heyday. She thrives in this place where she can hide from her pain and keep her skeletons to herself – until the past comes back to haunt her. Brigid, her beloved foster mother, and her best friend Gwenna are anchors in her solitary yet rewarding life. As the decades go by, the burden of carrying secrets becomes too great, and Jane must pass on the hidden truths.
Today – Katie seeks refuge from her crumbling personal life with her grandmother, who lives in past with the people in her cherished photographs. All too soon, Katie learns she must identify the people behind the gentle smiles – including the Edwardian woman to whom she bears a remarkable resemblance – and reveal generations of secrets before she can claim her inheritance. She meets the intriguing Jared, who stirs her interest, but she’s not ready for any sort of romance, so is shocked when she learns that he holds the key to discovering her past.
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The Costumier’s Gift
KATIE – Present-day Auckland, New Zealand
Living in the past
April
Katie had only herself to blame and now it was too late: too late for Granna; too late for her; just plain too late. Saddened, Katie shrugged the thought away.
Her mother’s death fifteen months before had shaken her. No, more than that, shattered would be a better term, but she doubted the old woman sitting before her, endlessly chattering about the past, even knew her daughter had gone.
“Janey, Janey. You’re here,” said Granna, looking through Katie to someone else. “Say hello to our Katie here. She’s your ... oh dear, I can’t remember now, your great-granty-something-or-other she is, but you know her, don’t you? Our Janey’s ever so clever.”
“Who’s that, Granna?” asked Katie, knowing she wouldn’t be able to make sense of the answer, if one came.
Part of her wanted to find out about the people Granna talked about, but none of it mattered. No one else cared about Granna or the past, and since Katie had no plans to marry or have children, there’d be nobody to care in the future either.
“My Janey is so special,” said Granna, continuing her conversation with no one in particular. “Those designs are superb. Oh my ... is this for me?”
After Katie’s grandfather died, roughly twenty years earlier, her grandmother had continued to live in their substantial and beautiful villa alone. A decade later, Granna could no longer manage on her own and moved in to her daughter’s family home. Trying to hold her own family together, and looking after her mother as her mind slipped further away from reality, was too much for Katie’s mother’s overworked heart.
Oh, why had nobody noticed, Katie lamented.
But Katie noticed things these days. She noticed the delicate bones in Granna’s fingers, and the soft, papery skin riddled with dark lines under the loose flesh. Those once-strong fingers had been so creative and so gentle. Now they looked as if they would break if you touched them, except Granna was nowhere near breaking – at least not physically.
A bird tweeted out in the garden and Granna turned her head. Her dark velvet eyes glanced across Katie’s face and momentarily held her gaze. Eyes that shone with love and purpose. In days gone by, you could get lost in those eyes, drawn into their protective warmth. Now, the depth that lived within them belonged to another era.
Putting Granna into the rest home had been the most difficult decision Katie had ever made. Her father had wanted nothing to do with the batty old woman, he’d said and washed his hands of the whole affair. Katie had no such choice. Left with sole responsibility when her mother died, she could see no other option.
Prone to wander, Granna had taken it into her head that she was living in the house where her Granma Gwenna had once lived and nothing anyone said could change her mind. ‘I know where I’m going, Katie dear,’ she’d say – but she didn’t. Wherever the house in her mind had once been, the rest home was new and in a foreign-to-Granna area.
Granna’s safety was paramount.
Every available surface in her gran’s room was covered with her cherished photographs. When she’d first moved in, the managers tried to persuade her to keep them on one shelf and limit the number, promising to change them regularly, but Granna was having none of it. She didn’t say anything but simply took them from the drawer and put them back. At one time, they tried taking them out of the room but Granna had thrown such a hissy fit, they gave in.
One photo in particular always drew Katie’s attention. The sepia tones had faded but the clothes and hairstyles worn by the two women were unmistakably early Edwardian. One of the faces looking back at her was her own – the resemblance was uncanny. But there was no name on the back to say who she was. Granna called the older woman something that sounded like ‘Moh-ree’ but Katie had never heard her call the second woman by name.
She made a mental note to look in her mother’s collection and see if she could find anything with names. She’d put off going through the house and sorting her mother’s possessions, but the time had come. Her father had a new love now and the woman didn’t want the old stuff around.
“You should see those costumes our Janey used to make,” said Granna. “The fabrics were glorious, but Mam wasn’t allowed to go to the theatre to see them on the stage until she was much older. Moh-ree was strict about that ...” and off she’d go again telling a story, half in the present and half in the past, about people Katie didn’t know and whose relationships didn’t make sense. She was sure Granna often confused the generatio
ns, and Katie hadn’t been able to work out which name belonged with which era. She couldn’t even put a name to Granna’s ‘Mam’.
Although she didn’t recognise anyone else, for some inexplicable reason, her grandmother knew who Katie was. Born on the same day as her, sixty years later, and named after her, they’d had a special relationship until Katie had gone off to university. Now Katie wished she’d paid more attention to her mother, and her gran.
The nurse came in. “Hello, Mrs Bridges, how are you today?”
Granna turned towards the newcomer and a polite smile creased her face. “Hello. Now, who are you? Have you come to see me? I do so like visitors, they are such interesting people.”
“I’ve come to make you more comfortable, Mrs Bridges.” Katie watched the nurse pat her gran’s arm.
Granna wriggled in the La-Z-Boy chair and plucked ineffectually at the mohair rug she was sitting on. “I do so like this colour, don’t you?” she asked. “It reminds me of roses.”
Granna Katy had kept a wonderful garden once. The two of them had often wandered around it together while Granna named all the flowers. Katie’s eyes rested on the deep-pink throw she’d given her gran. She, too, loved that colour.
“How is she doing overall?” Katie asked the nurse. “Her memory of long-ago events seems faultless to me.” But then, she couldn’t say whether Granna was right or not.
“Very well, actually, for her age. She keeps active and goes to all the exercise classes, especially when there’s music playing.” Despite her memory loss, Granna was still a relatively fit and healthy ninety-year-old.
Katie smiled. She’d watched her grandmother more than once at these classes, dancing in her own world rather than following the instructor.
“And she still plays the piano,” continued the nurse.
“I’m glad,” said Katie. “She’s a better pianist than I ever will be, even though she sometimes make mistakes. The music seems to come alive under her fingertips.”
Katie remembered the piano lessons with her gran at her house when she was young, and the comings and goings of the other students.
“It’s good she still enjoys her music,” said the nurse. “Most times, though, she’s forgotten she’s played almost as soon as she stands up from the keyboard.”
Granna’s voice interrupted their conversation. “I remember my Moh-ree. She’s a wonder and such a great cook. She always makes my favourites. I can still taste those little biscuits that went with my tea. She’ll be here soon.”
Everyone knew Granna couldn’t hold a conversation the way most people did, but with a little bit of persistence she could tell you what she wanted.
“That’s nice. There’ll be a cup of tea coming shortly,” said the nurse.
Surprisingly sprightly, Granna unexpectedly got up from her chair. “We should go to Gwenna’s Sweet Treats for tea. It’s been an age since I visited her. Granma will be cross with me if I don’t call. Now, where did I leave my gloves?”
While Granna searched the drawers, the nurse rearranged the rug on the chair, retidied the already-tidy bed, wrote something down on the chart by the door and pulled the window closed. “It’s a wee bit windy at the moment. Do you think you should wait until it’s died down before you go? How about doing some lacework instead? You can show it to her later.”
Granna accepted the crochet hook and fine cotton thread and sat down again. Katie never ceased to be amazed her gran could move the hook so swiftly, in and out and over and under and around in a constant motion. She still created such intricate lace. The results weren’t perfect and she ended up with dozens of motifs and long edgings that would never get joined together. But Granna appeared satisfied with what she could see. “No, Janey didn’t make lace, she was the famous costumier.”
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BOOKS
by
VICKY ADIN
www.vickyadin.co.nz
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Gwenna The Welsh Confectioner
Against overwhelming odds, can she save her legacy?
(Set in Auckland, New Zealand)
Winner
IndieB.R.A.G medallion
Chill with a Book Readers'’Award
Gold Standard Quality Mark
Amid the bustling vibrancy of Auckland’s Karangahape Road Gwenna Price is troubled. For all her youth, she has become the master confectioner in the family business since her father died. She promised to fulfil her Pa’s dreams and open a shop, but with her domineering and incompetent stepbrother Elias in charge, the operation is on the brink of collapse.
In an era when women were expected to stay at home, Gwenna is a plucky young woman with uncommon ambition. She is determined to save her legacy. Despite the obstacles put in her way, and throughout the twists and turns of love and tragedy, Gwenna is irrepressible. She refuses to relinquish her dreams and lets nothing stand in her way.
Utter brilliance. I was captivated from beginning to end. Vicky really brings the characters to life and you can really engage with what it must have been like to be a young girl like Gwenna going into business at the turn of the century in a male dominated society. I was totally engaged with every character, each one contributing to make this a truly wonderful story, my only disappointment was when it ended. This is the first book I have read by this author but it won’t be my last.
***** 5-star Amazon review
Brigid The Girl from County Clare
Winner of a IndieB.R.A.G medallion, a Chill with a Book Readers’ Award
Like making lace – she pieces together a
new life from a single thread of hope
(Set in Australia and New Zealand)
Brigid is torn. If she stays, she is another mouth to feed in a land plagued by starvation and poverty. If she leaves her beloved Ireland, she will never see her family again, but leave she must. There is not enough food.
Heartbroken, she boards the ship that will take her to a new life in Australia, comforted only by the knowledge her cousin Jamie will make the journey with her. Her skill as a lacemaker soon draws attention, but life doesn't always run smoothly in the harsh new landscape. Brigid must learn to conquer her fears and overcome the stigma of being a servant, a female and Irish, if she is to fulfil her dream.
A new start in New Zealand offers hope – until the day she encounters the man who seeks her downfall.
The historical aspects of the story are so accurate and described so perfectly that the reader will frequently need to remind herself/himself that the story is fiction ... This is a thoroughly satisfying read. It is the kind of story that passes the test as a work of history and is equally satisfying as a novel that will have your attention from first to last.
**** 4 stars – Frank O’Shea, The Irish Echo, Sydney
The Cornish Knot
Can one woman’s secrets change the life of another a century later?
(Set in New Zealand, Cornwall and Italy)
On the anniversary of her husband’s unexpected death, Megan sits at home heartbroken and disconsolate. A mysterious package arrives containing a journal written a century earlier, which shakes her out of her self-imposed seclusion.
She embarks on a journey following in the footstep
s of the journal’s author, from New Zealand to Cornwall, France and Italy, uncovering a past she knows nothing about. She is pursued by a much younger man in Venice. She meets an intriguing fellow countryman in Florence and finds herself caught up in the mysterious world of art and captivated by a series of unknown paintings. As she unravels her history and reveals its secrets, can she also find love again?
An engaging tale of grief, loss, love and family intrigue ... wonderful story, and a real page-turner, which leads the reader through all the twists and turns of a well-constructed plot. I loved the insightful descriptions of family relationships, the fully realised characters and the various locations in which the action takes place. Seldom have I read such a poignant and faithful account of the effects of bereavement. I can’t wait to read more.
**** 4-star Amazon review
The Art of Secrets
Emma wants to forget; Charlotte never can.
Together they remember.
(Set in New Zealand)
Emma is an enterprising young journalist with a bright future, but her life and career are falling apart. In a last-ditch attempt to save her position, she accepts the assignment to interview the bestselling author – Charlotte Day.
The ageing Charlotte has a reputation for being cantankerous and is highly secretive about her past, one she considers too painful to relive and too shameful to share. Preferring her roses to people, she is persuaded into meeting this girl who gets through her defences, forcing her to confront her past.