Together for Christmas
Read Together for Christmas Online
Authors: Carol Rivers
Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset. Visit www.carolrivers.com and follow her on Facebook and
Twitter @carol_rivers
Also by Carol Rivers
Lizzie of Langley Street
Bella of Bow Street
Lily of Love Lane
Eve of the Isle
East End Angel
In the Bleak Midwinter
East End Jubilee (
previously
Rose of Ruby Street)
A Sister’s Shame
Cockney Orphan (
previously
Connie of Kettle Street)
A Wartime Christmas
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2014
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2014
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
HB ISBN: 978-1-47113-129-5
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47113-131-8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI UK Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY
For the Fallen
Acknowledgements
This year, 2014, has been a great year for me. I would like to acknowledge the reviewers and readers who have kindly recorded the book’s journey on Amazon, Twitter,
Facebook, blogs and websites of all shapes and sizes. I hope you know by now how much I appreciate your feedback.
This is my first year working with my skilled and supportive editor, Jo Dickinson, and inspirational agent, Judith Murdoch. It has been wonderful! Thank you. I am more than grateful to all the
guys and gals at Simon & Schuster, who make everything flow so seamlessly en route to publication.
August 1914
Flora Shine smiled at her watery double shimmering on the surface of the Serpentine in London’s Hyde Park. But all too soon her reflection disappeared, lost in the
ripples that spread towards the excited revellers on the far bank.
‘Just look at them silly chaps!’ exclaimed Hilda Jones, Flora’s best friend. ‘You’d think Britain had won the conflict already from the way they’re carrying
on. And it was only four days ago the prime minister announced we are at war!’
‘And now Mr Asquith’s calling for our boys to volunteer,’ said Flora. She was not for war at all, though watching the rejoicing crowds today it seemed that the rest of the
country disagreed with her.
Hilda nodded, causing her brown curls to bounce on her leg-of-mutton sleeves. ‘Just listen to ’em, boasting they’ll teach the kaiser a lesson he’ll never
forget.’
‘The kaiser should have accepted Britain’s help after Franz Ferdinand and his wife were assassinated,’ Flora said knowledgeably. ‘Instead, he took offence and in no time
at all, the Austrians declared war on Serbia.’
‘I don’t even know where Serbia is,’ said Hilda.
‘Serbia is near Russia and the Russians are on Serbia’s side,’ Flora began to explain. ‘France, who is Russia’s ally, was forced to join in. And Germany stuck with
the Austrians, declaring war on Russia and France. So if you look on a map—’
‘Politics befuddle me brain,’ Hilda interrupted. ‘But I don’t mind the sight of a nicely turned-out uniform.’
Unperturbed by her friend’s disinterest, Flora stretched out on the soft green grass, arranging her long skirt modestly over her ankles. ‘A dirty-brown colour and rough material
doesn’t appeal to me in the least.’
‘Bet you wouldn’t mind an admiring wink from a handsome young soldier, though?’ Unlike her friend, Hilda tugged up her skirt to reveal an enticing three inches of ankle above
her laced boot. ‘Neither of us have sweethearts, do we? What’s to stop us from finding two nice fellows from the army?’
‘No,’ Flora swiftly replied. ‘A soldier might be wounded or killed.’
‘But just think,’ said Hilda, a mischievous twinkle in her big brown eyes, ‘since you’re a nurse you could cure him. That is, if he didn’t end up stone-cold dead
before you could lay your hands on him.’
Flora frowned at her friend’s mockery. ‘War is a solemn matter, Hilda. And anyway, I’m not a qualified nurse.’ Her sunny blue eyes widened under her fringe of strawberry
lashes. ‘I’m just a doctor’s assistant.’
‘Don’t seem to matter to your Dr Tapper, does it?’ said Hilda. ‘He calls you nurse and insists you wear that posh blue uniform.’
‘Only because the patients expect it,’ said Flora, feeling a little hurt. ‘Dr Tapper says the sick and desperate need to see signs of medical authority. Not, of course, that I
have any,’ she added hurriedly.
‘Hark at you!’ Hilda spluttered, looking astonished. ‘If I was one of your patients, I’d cut me tongue out before I’d dare answer you back.’
Flora chuckled and snatched Hilda’s parasol. She gently poked Hilda in the side with it.
‘Ouch! You see?’ said Hilda. ‘You’re a real sergeant major when you want to be.’ She squirmed away from the parasol as the tears of laughter slipped down her pink
cheeks.
‘And you’re no shrinking violet yourself, Hilda Jones.’ Flora chuckled. ‘You’re never lost for a word or two, especially when poor Mrs Bell asks for your
help.’
Hilda stopped laughing and lifted her dimpled chin. ‘It’s not my job to slave in the kitchen. Mrs Bell seems to forget she has Aggie for the scullery and she piles all her work on
muggins here. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking of changing me job. I’ll never amount to much if I stay there.’
‘You could do worse, much worse,’ warned Flora.
‘I’m sure I could do much
better
,’ Hilda argued. ‘After all, it’s two years now since we left the orphanage. Time for a change, I’m sure.’
‘But you were in raptures when Sister Patricia found you the position. It was like going to heaven, you said.’
‘It’s more like purgatory now,’ muttered Hilda with a scowl. ‘I’m at the beck and call of down-and-outs and drunks. Even the smell of the soup makes me feel sick.
And then, after wearing meself out on the ungrateful rabble, I’m expected to have her ladyship’s private rooms all spic and span for her visits. Sometimes, you know, I’m quite
dizzy with fatigue.’
‘You’re doing God’s work,’ Flora replied kindly. ‘There’s no better calling in life, according to the Sally Army.’
‘Well, I’m no Salvationist!’ Hilda burst out. ‘I’d never wear one of them funny bonnets for a start.’ Her ample bust heaved indignantly under her blouse.
‘Imagine banging a tambourine all day. I wouldn’t be caught dead going into taverns to beg for alms. Charity might be God’s work, but it ain’t mine.’
Flora shook her head disapprovingly. ‘I’ve never known anyone so particular as you, Hilda. ’Specially as we’re orphans and lucky to have jobs. You could have ended up in
the workhouse if it hadn’t been for the nuns of St Boniface.’
At this comment, Hilda recoiled. ‘The workhouse? Never!’ She wrinkled her proud little nose. ‘Mother would never have let such a thing happen. She’d have taken me off to
a better life if she hadn’t been killed by that perishing steam from the orphanage laundry.’
‘It was a job, after all.’ Flora didn’t remind Hilda that the nuns had practically saved Rose Jones from a life on the streets. She knew that would upset her friend.
Hilda scowled at the young men who were now throwing their hats, ties and shirts into the Serpentine. ‘Men can lark about and show off. But we women can’t act like idiots and strip
down to our knickers. We’d get arrested in the blink of an eye. That is, if the bluebottles could run fast enough to catch us!’
Once again, they were smiling.
‘Hilda, you don’t sound like the God-fearing young lady the nuns raised you to be.’
‘I could never be as holy as you, dear girl. In fact, now I come to think of it, these days, you’re the very image of Sister Patricia herself. All chin and long nose under that silly
white wimple.’
Flora ignored the face that Hilda pulled. ‘Sister Patricia was strict but she was kind. We were taught that being humble is what God wants of us.’
Hilda snorted loudly. ‘Answer me this then. Why ain’t the king humble if it’s what God wants?’
‘Perhaps he is,’ Flora replied uncertainly.
‘Don’t be daft. He don’t come to the East End and put right all the slums. He don’t shake your hand or ask how you are. I reckon we was taught to be humble to keep us in
our place. God is on the side of the well-to-do. Just like the king is.’
‘That’s an awful thing to say, Hilda.’
‘Do you think so? It seems sense to me.’
Flora considered Hilda’s outburst; it was quite a revelation. ‘I didn’t know you felt like that about God. Or even the king.’
‘I didn’t know meself until I said it.’ A long moment passed before Hilda added, ‘You being humble an’ all is why the nuns gave you the good job, and sent me into
service.’
Flora allowed a shocked breath to escape. ‘Is that what you really think, Hilda? That the nuns favoured me above you? Well, you’re quite wrong there. I was sent to Dr Tapper because
I’d assisted the nuns in the convent infirmary and had some experience with the sick. That was the only reason. And as for being humble, it’s what we were taught. You should be grateful
we had an education. And a good one at that.’