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Dilly Court - A Mothers Secret

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Dilly Court A Mothers Secret
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    A Mothers Secret
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A Mothers Secret: summary, description and annotation

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When seventeen-year-old Belinda Phillips falls in love with a handsome Anglo-Indian officer, she knows that he is a man she can never hope to marry. When he is reported missing, believed killed in action, Belinda discovers that she is pregnant. Facing disgrace and ruin, she has no option other than to accept an arranged marriage with a middle-aged widower, knowing she must keep the secret of her childs birth for ever. Reluctantly she sends her beloved daughter to a foster mother in Cripplegate, little realising she has entrusted Cassys care to Biddy Henchard, a woman who runs a notorious baby farm in an area full of poverty and disease. Despite her terrible upbringing, Cassy survives the old womans cruel neglect. All the while she dreams of a mother she has never known, hoping she will come and save her from her dreadful fate. But when Biddy dies suddenly, ten-year-old Cassy finds herself destitute and with little hope of ever finding the mother she so longs for...

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Table of Contents


Also by Dilly Court

Mermaids Singing

The Dollmakers Daughters

Tilly True

The Best of Sisters

The Cockney Sparrow

A Mothers Courage

The Constant Heart

A Mothers Promise

The Cockney Angel

A Mothers Wish

The Ragged Heiress

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Epub ISBN: 9781409023432

Version 1.0

www.randomhouse.co.uk

Published by Arrow Books 2010

24681097531

Copyright Dilly Court 2010

Dilly Court has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and

Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

First published in Great Britain in 2010 by

Arrow Books

Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

London SW1V 2SA

www.rbooks.co.uk

Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780099538820

The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at www.rbooks.co.uk/environment

Typeset in Palatino by Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire

Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Cox Wyman, Reading RG1 EX

In fond memory of Ollie, who did more than

most in the short time he had.

Private Oliver Rupert Ellwood,

st Battalion the Parachute Regiment

19782001

Chapter One

Cripplegate, London, 1863

The dense, evil-smelling London particular had all but drowned the city in a greenish yellow morass of fog and smoke. Each breath she took was difficult and painful as the woman walked on, clutching the warm bundle of life in her arms. The baby whimpered but did not cry. She hugged the child closer to her breast as a drunken man lurched out of the gloom, almost knocking her down as he barged past. Excuse me, mister. Im looking for Three Herring Court.

Bah. The man staggered crabwise but was enveloped by the pea-souper before he had gone more than a few feet. The woman, a maidservant more used to the heat and dust of India than the cold and damp of an English winter, shivered and wrapped her shawl more closely around the babe in her arms. The clock in the tower of St Giles, Cripplegate, struck six sonorous chimes, making her turn with a start. The carriage belonging to her mistress had dropped her close to this spot a good half an hour ago, and she realised with a groan that she must have been walking in circles ever since. The coachman had made it clear that he considered it beneath him to visit this impoverished part of the city. He had told her in no uncertain terms that Three Herring Court was inaccessible except by foot, and even then it was approached down a flight of steps.

Holding out her hand she sighed with relief as her fingers came in contact with a low stone wall. She paused for a moment, making a vain attempt to get her bearings. She had been heading north, past the debtors prison, but the compass points meant nothing to her now and the high prison walls were hidden behind a curtain of fog. She cocked her head on one side, listening for sounds of life, but there were none. She and the baby might as well have been the last living souls on earth for all the company they had on this bleak night. The baby began to whimper in earnest. It was well past the time when at home she would have been fed on bread soaked in warm milk and sweetened with a dusting of sugar.

Hush, little one, Mahdu will look after you. Hitching the baby over her shoulder, she continued on her way, her slim fingers feeling the cold slimy stones until they came to a pillar and then there was nothing but a void. Walking like a blind woman with her free hand outstretched, she almost fell over a small body slumped on the pavement. A startled cry was wrenched from her lips as she stopped, thinking she had come across a corpse, which was not unusual in this part of London on a bitterly cold winters night, but the bundle of rags moved and unfolded its skinny limbs. When the child stood up he reached no higher than her waist.

Look out, you, he grumbled. You nearly trod on me, you stupid cow.

Im sorry, Mahdu said, breathlessly. I couldnt see you in this fog. Anyway you should be at home with your family, not lying about on the pavement for anyone to fall over.

Foreign aint yer? The boy peered up into her face. Is that your nipper?

Im trying to find Three Herring Court, Mahdu said, ignoring his impudent question. Theres a penny for you if you can lead me there.

The boy eyed her curiously. She wasnt from round these parts, it was clear. It was too dark to make out her features or the colour of her skin, but her voice was soft and gentle. Lets see the colour of yer money then, missis. He held out his hand, but the woman was obviously wise to the ways of street urchins and she took a penny from her purse, holding it high above his head. He decided against snatching it from her as there was a copper on the beat somewhere in the vicinity and a scream from the old girl would bring him running. All right then, missis. Follow me. I can find me way easy as pie.

Whats your name, boy? Mahdu had to quicken her pace in order to keep up with him. She did not particularly care for the little creature, and the smell emanating from his scrawny body made her want to retch, but she was curious as to why a boy of seven or eight might be out alone on such a terrible night.

Nosey bugger aint yer? Me names Bailey and I was just resting me body when you come along and trod on me.

She followed him in silence and to her relief, the baby had stopped crying and had fallen asleep on her shoulder. She would miss the little girl more than she was prepared to admit even to herself. From the moment of her birth, the infant had clasped Mahdus heart in her tiny hands. Each stage in the babys development had seemed like a miracle from her first smile to the time when she murmured her first word. It might have been mama, but it could easily have been an attempt to say Mahdu. Now they were to be parted, possibly forever. Mahdus throat constricted as she faced the fact that she had been trying to ignore ever since they left India. Born out of wedlock with the added stigma of mixed race parentage, there had never been a future for baby Cassandra Phillips. Mahdu knew that she would always feel guilty for aiding and abetting her young mistress in her love affair with the handsome Anglo-Indian officer in her fathers regiment. Colonel Phillips would have sent his daughter home on the first ship bound for England had he discovered their liaison earlier, but by the end of that summer which the white women spent in Simla in order to escape the heat in Delhi, it was already too late. Mahdu paused to catch her breath. Stop a minute, boy. I cant go as fast as you. I need to rest for a moment.

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