by Molly Green
‘Yes, but I would never have met Murray if it hadn’t been for the “damned war”,’ June said, feeling a little daring as she repeated the mild swear word. She lifted her cup, the warm comforting smell of chocolate filling her nostrils.
‘That’s true, and you wouldn’t have carried on meeting him if it hadn’t been for me practically forcing you to go to the dance.’ Iris threw her a saucy wink.
‘I’ll let you take all the credit,’ June said with a grin. ‘Even for Murray’s proposal.’
‘Maybe not that,’ Iris said, laughing. ‘But I’m so happy for you, Junie.’
‘Oh, Iris.’ June turned to her friend, her eyes moist. ‘I’m going to miss you so much. You and David will come and visit sometimes, won’t you?’
‘’Course we will. If it wasn’t for Joachim studying his music we probably wouldn’t be moving to London, especially as it’s so risky these days, but we want to be near him so he feels he’s got some support. David was adamant about it and I know he’s right, but we’ll have to put his dream of living in Scotland on the back burner for a while. It’s worth it, though. Young Joachim certainly hasn’t had it easy.’
‘But things have turned around for him, thank goodness,’ June said. ‘It’s a shame he can’t be here this evening.’
‘I know, but he’s studying like mad for his exams.’
June hesitated. Should she say anything? But this was Iris – her best friend.
‘What’s the matter, Junie? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.’
‘Oh, Iris, I must share a secret with you or I’ll burst – Murray and I are going to officially adopt Lizzie once we’re married. That is, if we have approval from her grandmother – whom we’ve not even met yet but who’s invited us for tea next week.’
‘Junie, that’s wonderful.’ Iris hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. ‘The best news ever. I’m sure granny will approve. Does Lizzie know?’
‘Not yet.’ June took a sip of cocoa. ‘She did ask me if I’d still be here after I’d married Uncle Murray, as she calls him, and I assured her I would, so she seemed happy with that.’
‘Little does she know she’ll soon be calling him Daddy,’ Iris said with a grin. ‘And if two engagements and now this latest bombshell doesn’t justify throwing a summer party, I don’t know what does. What do you reckon, Matron?’
June kept a straight face. ‘I think that will be perfectly in order, Nurse Marchant.’
Bertie brought in the special cake she’d made and set it on one of the large tables on which the children had spread white cloths, normally only used at Christmas. She’d piped pink hearts on the edge of the cake and placed two tiny couples in formal dress standing opposite each other on the icing. Athena lit several candles, which flickered around the library, catching David’s frown as he stood by the table with the gramophone and sifted through his record collection.
‘Nothing too serious, David,’ Iris warned as she and June carried trays of food in. ‘This is a party, not one of your stuffy concerts.’
He looked up and gave her a smile of adoration. ‘I thought you and June might like a little Bach this evening to make the party go with a swing,’ he said, keeping his face straight.
‘I’d be quite happy with Bach’ – June laughed as she set her tray down – ‘but I don’t think your fiancée would be too pleased.’
A loud crackle emanated from the gramophone and George Formby’s cheery voice broke through the chatter and laughter. Then footsteps June recognised came from behind and seconds later she felt an arm slip round her waist. She turned to look into Murray’s eyes, his injured eye reminding her how close she’d been to losing him. Her heart fluttered as it always did when he was so near.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I hope I’m not late.’
‘Miss.’ Bobby came running up. ‘Thomas keeps pinching cakes. There won’t be any left at this rate.’
‘I’ll have a word with him,’ June said. ‘Will you go and help the teachers to count all the children, Bobby? Make sure they’re all here.’
Barbara appeared with her small band of helpers and organised Murray and David to assist in putting up the bunting, then throwing a few balloons around the room for the children to catch. The only person who looked distinctly unhappy was Hilda. She was standing at the side, looking on with disapproval. If only she would join in, June thought. Hilda always gave every indication that she was not a happy girl. June was determined to talk to her as soon as she had the chance. Ask what was troubling her and let her know she was there to help.
June pulled her gaze away from the dejected figure, and allowed happiness to spread through her whole being as she watched Murray having a word with Kathleen and Barbara as they handed out the drinks. Who would have thought her decision to come to Bingham Hall would change her life so dramatically? There was her beloved Aunt Ada chatting to Harold, who somehow looked a little out of place as he rarely stepped beyond the hall, but he was tipping back his glass of beer and making the best of it. Aunt Ada caught June’s eye and beamed, but as soon as she noticed Murray she made her excuses and bustled over.
‘So this is your young man,’ she said, her eyes twinkling up at him as they shook hands. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’
‘All good, I hope,’ Murray grinned.
‘Mostly,’ June teased, smiling broadly at him. She banged a spoon on a glass and everyone grew quiet – except George, who was still leaning on his lamppost.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ she began. ‘Before the party begins, please all stand as we are now going to give three cheers for His Majesty, the King.’ She paused until the children had stopped scuffling and shoving and they had turned their attention towards her. She beamed around at everyone who had become so familiar and dear to her. ‘Hip hip …’
‘Hurray!’ The children’s voices were raucous and shrill as they rose above the staff’s in a fervent chorus. ‘Hip hip, hurray! Hip hip, HURRAY!’
Acknowledgements
This novel would never have been written if it were not for two smashing women. One evening I met author Kat Black for the first time at the Romantic Novelists’ Association Conference. She liked the sound of my latest historical novel and next morning she introduced me to Helen Huthwaite, then the Senior Commissioning Editor of Avon HarperCollins. As a result of that meeting Helen asked if I would write a brand-new series set in a Dr Barnardo’s orphanage during the Second World War. Less than a year later An Orphan in the Snow was born. Thank you both so much for giving me such a fantastic opportunity.
Heartfelt thanks to my dear agent, Heather Holden-Brown, of HHB Agency, aided by her charming assistant, Cara Armstrong. How lucky I was to meet you at that Historical Novel Society Conference, Heather. Your experience both in the publishing and agency world is second to none.
Then I must thank Phoebe Morgan, Editor at Avon HarperCollins who began the publishing process, and placed me with my delightful and talented senior editor, Rachel Faulkner-Willcocks, together with all the lovely friendly team at Avon HarperCollins. You make me feel like a celebrity.
Thank you to Megan Parker at Dr Barnardo’s headquarters in London for gathering much of the information I needed to create an authentic setting for the orphanage. She provided fascinating details such as the wide variety of country houses that were transformed into Barnardo’s homes, the different duties of the staff, together with some charming photographs of Barnardo’s children during the Second World War. I’ve kept several of those faces in mind when they appear in the story.
Huge thanks to Ray Jones who appeared on the TV series ‘Long Lost Family’. He’d been a young orphan in one of the Barnardo’s homes in Scotland during the war. I managed to contact him and he kindly answered all my questions, providing me with facts and snippets I would never have found in books or Google. He generously invited me to contact him whenever I needed any more information.
Grateful thanks to my husband, Ed
ward Stanton, who has an eagle eye for anything military, being an ex-RAF chap, not to mention spotting those blasted anachronisms. I’m in my writing cabin for hours most days and thankfully he rarely grumbles when I don’t cook every meal from scratch.
I belong to a writing group extraordinaire; we’re all published writers and call ourselves the Diamonds. The four of us, Joanne Walsh, Terri Fleming and Sue Mackender, with April Hardy as an honoury member who occasionally turns up from Dubai, meet every month and critique each other’s work with much brainstorming and belly-aching laughs.
Alison Morton is both a friend and an amazing critique writing partner who reads practically everything I write with red pen firmly in hand. She calls it ‘brutal love’ and she’s nearly always right, darn it!
Then there is the Romantic Novelists’ Association – a unique organisation for making writerly friends who support one another through good and bad and are never more than a tweet away! Writing books can be isolating – and not everyone has the company of a fluffy white cat with amber eyes who regularly spreads himself over the mouse mat so I can barely move the cursor, as does my adored cat, Dougal!
And finally, I would like to acknowledge the wonderful work of the founder of the orphanages, Thomas John Barnardo (1845–1905), an Irish philanthropist. At first he took in all boys because he was unmarried, but upon his marriage to Sara Louise, who worked side by side with him, they were allowed to take in girls as well. A staggering 60,000 children have passed through Dr Barnardo’s homes.
Read on for an exclusive extract from the next Molly Green novel …
An Orphan’s War
Coming May 2018
Chapter One
Liverpool, September 1939
Three days after war was declared, Maxine Grey walked slowly down the aisle. Her fingers nervously gripped her father’s rigid arm, as they moved towards the man she had promised to marry – her best friend, Johnny Taylor. Despite the bad luck she’d warned him it would bring, Johnny had turned at her entrance, and now he gave her his wide smile and a cheeky wink. She knew it was meant to reassure her, but if anything it made her more conscious of the huge step she was taking. The strident organ notes of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ almost took her by surprise, making her pause, her ears hum. She pulled in a deep breath to slow down her heartbeat. Her father gave her a quick glance and patted her hand.
She could hear the swish of the satin-like material of her dress; feel it catch at the back of her legs with every stride. It had taken her a month of evenings and half days off from the hospital to make the simple cream dress that swept the floor and the little matching cropped jacket from a McCall’s pattern – the same amount of time Johnny had given her when he’d persuaded her they should get married. There was definitely going to be a war, he’d said, and it would probably come sooner rather than later. She swallowed. How right he’d been.
Another step. She took a deep breath, but the scent of the flowers left over from last Sunday’s service was cloying and she pulled her stomach in tight to stop herself from feeling faint. A final step. She’d reached him. Her father nudged her forward and a little to the right where Johnny stood waiting for her, watching her every movement. His smile had faded now as if it had finally dawned on him too that this was a serious event. How different he looked in his grey suit. Older. Not like her Johnny. Her fingers reluctantly left her father’s arm and she was alone. But of course she wasn’t alone. Johnny was here. They were going to be married. Every bride was nervous on her wedding day, so her mother had said when they’d shared a pot of tea that morning. It was to be expected. She wasn’t to worry. Johnny was a good boy. He’d always look after her.
‘Johnny’s who we always wanted for you, Maxine. Your dad’s so happy. He can die in peace knowing he’s left you in good hands.’
It was no secret that her dad had a dicky heart. Oh, he had a couple of years left, Dr Turnbull had assured them – maybe more – but he’d encouraged the family to enjoy as much time together as possible. And now Maxine was leaving him in the hands of her mother who constantly fussed over him, making him feel closer to death’s door than he probably was.
She took her place next to Johnny, her shoulder only inches away from his, and tried to draw his easy confidence into her own body which was taut with the thought of the unknown.
As the vicar started to address the congregation, Johnny turned towards her and Maxine noticed the same concerned expression he’d had only a few weeks ago, when they were sitting on their favourite park bench feeding the pigeons.
‘I’ve got something to tell you, Max,’ he’d said. ‘I’m joining the army. I think I can be of use with my medical training.’
At his words her heart turned over. Johnny. Her dearest friend. If anything should happen to him … she daren’t think further.
‘So what say you and I get hitched?’ He coated the words with a mock American accent. It had taken her completely by surprise. Yes, she loved him. More than anyone. He was the one she’d run to since she was a little girl, right from when he and his parents had moved in next door but one. Being a boy of eleven, he hadn’t wanted to be bothered with an eight-year-old, and a girl at that, but she’d badgered him until he’d sometimes nodded and allowed her to accompany him when he went off bird-watching, or climbed trees in the nearby woods. Best of all she loved it when he’d take her down to the docks. She could have watched the ships come and go for hours. Luckily he was every bit as fascinated and would tell her where they’d come from and where they were going.
‘You’ve been watching too many cowboy films,’ she’d answered, trying to make light of his clumsy proposal, not wanting to hurt him by saying she didn’t think she loved him in the way a wife should love her husband. She saw his face drop.
‘You do love me, don’t you?’ As if he’d read her mind he grabbed both her hands and planted a firm kiss on her lips, then grinned at her. ‘You always said you’d marry me when you grew up.’
‘It’s what children say to one another.’ Maxine bit her lip. ‘Why don’t we wait and see what happens. If there really is going to be a war—’
‘Not “if” but “when”,’ Johnny said, his grin fading. ‘And if the worst should happen—’
‘Don’t say it!’ Maxine jumped up. ‘Don’t tempt fate.’
‘We have to be realistic.’ Johnny took hold of her hand and gently pulled her back onto the seat again. ‘If it does, then at least you’ll get a pension as a soldier’s widow. And if you start a family – which I’d love more than anything in the world – you’ll be glad of the extra money for the baby.’
She couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to think beyond Johnny becoming a soldier. He was more of a brother than her own flesh and blood. Her real brother Mickey had never taken any interest in her whatsoever, even though there was only thirteen months between them.
For a moment neither of them had spoken. Then he took her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him.
‘I love you so much, Max,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘Right from when you were a snotty-faced kid. I’d do anything for you – you know that. And because I’m older you’ve usually left me to make the decisions – so I’m making this one for you. You’ll make me the happiest man in town and the envy of all the lads if you say yes.’ He looked at her, his eyes the colour of the conkers they used to play with. ‘Maybe this will help make up your mind.’
He drew from his pocket a small navy blue velvet box.
And then she knew. Before he’d even flipped open the lid on its little spring with his thumb, she knew she couldn’t turn him down. He was quite the dearest man she’d ever known. If there was a war and he died, she’d never forgive herself for not making him happy by telling him she would be honoured to be his wife.
The emerald shone back at her, as though to reinforce her thoughts.
She hadn’t the heart to tell him that emeralds were considered to bring bad luck.
‘Do you, Maxine Elizabeth, take
John Laurence to be thy wedded husband?’
The words rang in Maxine’s ears and she gave a start, pulling herself out of the past and back to the church. Forcing herself to be calm she repeated the words of the vicar as though in a dream, her voice low and trembling. She felt the brush of Johnny’s hand, and when he said his vows she realised he wasn’t quite so assured as he made out. Twice he stumbled on the words and sent her a rueful smile, but when it was over he grasped her hand and they stepped to the back of the altar where they signed the register.
She looked down at her signature. Strange how it was still Maxine Grey. But it would be the last time. From now on she would be known as Mrs Maxine Taylor. And on letters even worse – she would be Mrs John Taylor.
Would Maxine Grey be gone forever?
‘Now we’re married you won’t have to work anymore.’
Maxine regarded her new husband with astonishment when he spoke to her later that day. Breaking away from the small party the two sets of parents had thrown proved more difficult than she’d imagined, but now they were in a comfortable bedroom in the Royal Hotel, which Johnny had chosen for their first three nights together. He’d already had his call-up papers and would be leaving in four days. Maxine’s mind whirled with events that were racing ahead. He’d never mentioned her giving up work before. She hadn’t even thought to discuss it as she’d never thought to marry him. During this past month she’d seen very little of her fiancé to talk about such matters, what with making the wedding dress in every spare moment she’d had from the hospital. Now that war had been officially declared she’d naturally assumed she’d carry on and finish her training.
Her parents had wanted her to become a nurse ever since they’d watched her bandaging her dolls and talking to them in a wise and encouraging seven-year-old voice.
‘You’re a born nurse,’ her mother had told her. And years later, when Maxine was secretly applying at the teachers’ training college, her mother had announced, ‘Your father and I are going to do everything in our power to see that you’re trained in the best hospital. We’ve decided you’re going to the Royal Infirmary, right here in Liverpool, so you can come and see us regularly. You’ll make us so proud.’