A token of love, p.1
A Token of Love, page 1
“In search of mystery, intrigue, adventure, charm, and romance in inspiring, faith-based fiction? You’ll find that and more in Carrie Turansky’s time-slip novel A Token of Love. Weaving today’s headlines with Victorian England’s crusade to rescue exploited children and provide them with hope and a future delighted my heart.”
Cathy Gohlke, Christy Award Hall of Fame author of Ladies of the Lake
“This stirring dual-timeline tale will grip your heart from the start and not let you go until you get to the heartwarming ending. A captivating story on an important subject, A Token of Love is Carrie Turansky at her best!”
Roseanna M. White, bestselling, Christy Award–winning author of THE IMPOSTERS
“Carrie Turansky boldly takes on the issue of human trafficking, a heartbreaking topic as relevant today as it was in 1880s London, in her new novel A Token of Love. Courageous characters, delightful romance, and a compelling plot—hallmarks of every Turansky novel—are sure to satisfy fans, old and new.”
Michelle Shocklee, award-winning author of Appalachian Song and Under the Tulip Tree
“A powerful tale offering a glimpse into the heartbreaking injustice that affects many underserved people; an evil as prevalent today as in centuries past. Sensitively written, this tender story addresses the sinfulness of human trafficking, yet there is hope in the courageous faithful who demand protection for society’s vulnerable. Bravo!”
Kate Breslin, bestselling author of In Love’s Time
“A Token of Love is a powerful story of love, loss, and longing as it sensitively explores the issue of human trafficking with hope and dignity. My new favorite novel from Carrie Turansky.”
Carolyn Miller, bestselling author of the REGENCY BRIDES and REGENCY WALLFLOWERS series
“In A Token of Love, Carrie Turansky weaves together the heartwarming stories of two couples in different eras fighting to protect the most vulnerable. A beautiful tale of God at work among His people, this is one novel historical fiction fans won’t want to miss.”
Karen Barnett, award-winning author of When Stone Wings Fly
A
Token
of
Love
Books by Carrie Turansky
A Token of Love
The Legacy of Longdale Manor
The Governess of Highland Hall
The Daughter of Highland Hall
A Refuge at Highland Hall
Shine Like the Dawn
Across the Blue
No Ocean Too Wide
No Journey Too Far
A
Token
of
Love
CARRIE TURANSKY
5
© 2024 by Carrie Turansky
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Minneapolis, Minnesota
BethanyHouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Ebook edition created 2024
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 9780764241062 (paper) | ISBN 9780764244049 (casebound) | ISBN 9781493448142 (ebook)
Epigraph Scripture quotation is from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Kathleen Lynch, Black Kat Design
Cover image of woman by Malgorzata Maj, Arcangel
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and postconsumer waste whenever possible.
To my silver friends,
Lisa and Renee,
and my gold friends,
Cathy, Terri, Cher, and Ann.
“Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver and the other gold.”
—Joseph Parry
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Books by Carrie Turansky
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Questions for Readers
An Excerpt from The Legacy of Longdale Manor
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.”
Isaiah 58:6–8 ESV
1
1885
LONDON
Lillian Grace Freemont took up her pen and let her thoughts flow onto the paper. We must give women more opportunities through education and employment to lift themselves from poverty and shame to positions of respectability and honor. Not only for their own sakes, but for their children, and for the betterment of all society.
She reread her words, and her throat tightened. Some poor women and girls were cast off and condemned to a life of heartache and pain, with no way out. Why didn’t more people speak up for them? Were they too uncomfortable with the subject or simply afraid of what others would think of them if they aligned themselves with their cause? Someone had to take a stand and speak for those who could not speak for themselves.
She rose from her desk and paced across the dark-paneled library of her Eaton Square townhouse. The invitation she’d received to address the Montrose Women’s League was an exceptional opportunity. It was the chance to stir the hearts of influential women and motivate them to work for much-needed change.
But could she write a speech worthy of the occasion?
She believed in the cause with all her heart, but she’d never spoken to a large group. For the past few years, she’d focused her attention on serving in her church. But her growing awareness of the needs around her had strengthened her desire to do more.
She’d only voiced her opinion to individuals or in a small circle of friends. But one of those friends had been impressed by what she’d said and passed her name on to the committee leading the League. That had prompted the invitation to present her thoughts at the May meeting. Knowing she would be speaking to a large group on such a challenging topic had made her toss and turn in bed until well after midnight for the last few days. Her fear of public speaking was enough to make her knees quake and her voice falter.
She pulled in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Please, Lord, help me pull this together. Help me find the right words to make the cause clear and compelling. Give me courage to do what I must!
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and she opened her eyes.
Her housekeeper, Mrs. Pringle, stepped into view in the open doorway. “A message arrived for you, ma’am.”
Lillian eyed the envelope in the housekeeper’s hand. “Please, come in. Why didn’t Stanford answer the door?”
Mrs. Pringle crossed the room and handed her the envelope. “The young lad who brought the message came to the kitchen door.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yes, but from the look of him, I’d say he’s from the East End or some other poor area of town. I suppose he knew he might be turned away if he came to the front door.”
Lillian glanced at the envelope. “Is he waiting for a reply?”
“No. He ran off as soon as he handed it to me. He didn’t even wait for a sixpence.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pringle.”
The housekeeper nodded and left the room.
Lillian tore open the envelope and took out the folded piece of paper. Her eyes darted from her name at the top to the signature at the bottom. Forever your loving sister, Serena.
She gasped and sank into the nearest chair. It had been almost nine years since she’d heard from her sister. Serena had run away with a soldier named Robert Dunsmore when she was only seventeen, bringing deep heartache to Lillian and their widowed mother. They had no idea where she’d gone and had only received one brief note five months after she left, announcing the birth of her daughte
Painful memories washed over Lillian, bringing a wave of regret. She should have done more to find her sister and bring her home. Gripping the letter, she scanned the words written in a shaky hand.
Dear Lillian,
I know it has been many years since I’ve written. I am sorry for that, and I ask your forgiveness. I hope you’ll come to me now, despite my past mistakes, for I fear I am not long for this world.
Lillian lifted her hand to her heart. How could her little sister be dying? Serena was only twenty-six years old.
There is much I want to explain. But more important than explanations, I need your help to reclaim my daughter, Alice. I had no choice but to turn her over to the Foundling Hospital when she was only three months old. She is now almost eight, and you must reclaim her soon, or I’m afraid she will be sent out to apprentice as a domestic and we’ll not be able to find her.
I know I should’ve reached out to you and Mother sooner, but I was so ashamed of what I’ve done. I couldn’t bear the thought of facing you after the hurt I caused. I told myself Robert would return, and we would collect Alice and be a happy family. But months and then years passed. Robert has not been faithful to me. He left us to fend for ourselves. I had to go into service to support myself and give my darling little daughter away. Hardship and illness have followed me all these years, and I’ve never been able to reclaim her.
In these last few weeks, my health has taken a bad turn. I’ve been so ill I’m not able to work or rise from my bed. The money is gone. My few friends have turned away. I am afraid I won’t recover. Will you come and let me make amends before it’s too late?
I pray you can find it in your heart to visit me. Then I hope you will go to the Foundling Hospital, reclaim Alice, and give her the home and life she deserves. Please come quickly. I live at 237 Miller’s Court, second floor, Number 2, White Chapel, London.
Forever your loving sister,
Serena
Tears misted Lillian’s vision, blurring the words on the page. Oh, Serena, how can this be true?
She stared at her sister’s address, her heartache increasing. Serena’s choices had taken her down a painful road. But she was not the only one who had suffered in the last nine years. Serena didn’t know their mother had passed away not long after Serena left. Nor was she aware that Lillian had become a widow and lost a child . . . a child she could never hope to reclaim.
Two hours later, Lillian’s carriage rolled to a stop. She looked out the window, and her heart twisted. The row of decrepit buildings lining the street looked like those poverty-stricken hovels described in a Charles Dickens novel. How could her sister have fallen so low?
Ben Fields, her coachman, stepped into view, wearing a concerned frown. “Are you certain this is the correct place, ma’am?”
She spied the small sign with the number 237 hanging above the doorway. “If this is Miller’s Court, then yes, I’m afraid it is.”
He opened the carriage door. “Shall I go in with you, ma’am?”
“No, thank you. Please wait here. I’m not sure how long I’ll be.” She hesitated, then said, “I may need your help.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes, but he nodded and offered his hand as she descended from the carriage.
She took one step, and her foot slipped on the slick cobblestone street. The coachman reached out and steadied her. She looked down at the muck smeared on the side of her shoe and grimaced, not wishing to identify the brown sludge. Visiting White Chapel was not for the faint of heart.
She entered the old building, stopped in the hallway, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Broken crates, tin cans, and piles of old newspapers lay on the hallway floor. She stepped around them and climbed two flights of creaking stairs to the second floor. When she reached the upper landing, she spied three doors. The number two was scratched into the dark wood of the middle door.
“Give me courage, Lord,” she whispered, then approached the door and knocked three times. A few seconds passed, and no one answered. She turned the knob and found the door unlocked. Opening it a few inches, she leaned closer. “Serena, it’s Lillian. May I come in?”
“Lillian?” Her sister’s voice sounded weak and strained.
“Yes, dear. It’s me.” She entered and quickly scanned the room. Her sister lay on a narrow bed in the corner, curled up under an old gray blanket. Alarm shot through Lillian as she crossed toward her. Serena’s face appeared flushed, and her blond hair lay in stringy locks on the dirty pillow.
Her sister looked up through glassy blue eyes. “I hoped you would come.”
Lillian’s throat tightened. “I’m glad you sent word. I would’ve come sooner if I’d known you were ill.” She knelt beside the bed and gently brushed her sister’s damp hair back from her face. Heat radiated into her fingers. “You have a fever.” She spotted a glass of water on the bedside table and offered it to Serena.
Her sister struggled to raise herself enough to drink. Lillian held the glass to her lips, and after a few sips, Serena coughed several times, sounding as if she could barely catch her breath, then she sank back on the pillow.
“Has the doctor come? What did he say?”
She wheezed. “I’ve no money for a doctor.”
Her sister’s labored breathing sent fear crawling up Lillian’s spine. She quickly scanned the sparse room. A round table, a rickety-looking chair, and two crates were her sister’s only furnishings. A small, square window with dirty glass let in little light. There was no fireplace or stove to keep the room warm, although lack of warmth was not her sister’s current problem. How could anyone recover from an illness, alone, in a room like this?
Lillian turned to Serena. “I have my carriage waiting downstairs. I’ll pack your things, and you can come home with me.”
Serena’s brow knit. “But what will your husband say? Will he allow it?”
A pang pierced Lillian’s heart. “Stephen . . . is no longer with us.”
Serena’s eyes widened. “What?”
“His ship went down in the North Sea five months after you left.”
“Oh, Lillian. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Lillian swallowed hard. Although eight years had passed since Stephen’s death, mentioning it brought pain to the surface. They had only been married a short time, but she had loved him deeply, and he had loved her. She forced those thoughts away and focused on her sister once more.
“I’ll pack your things, then I’ll have my coachman come and help you downstairs.” Her sister had few belongings. It wouldn’t take long to fill the two crates and clear the room.
“I don’t deserve your kindness, not after everything I’ve done.” Serena’s whispered words sent her into a coughing fit.
Lillian shook her head. “There’s no need to think about that now. I’m sure you’ll feel quite comfortable in my home, and you’ll be well in no time.” She forced optimism into her voice.
Within five minutes, she’d collected everything in the room and helped her sister put on a robe.
Serena pulled in a raspy breath. “Please look under the bed. There’s a small wooden box.”
Lillian knelt and pushed the blanket aside. Reaching under, she searched until she found the box.
“Open it, please,” Serena said.
Lillian lifted the hinged lid. Inside lay folded papers, a ribbon, and a few coins.
“Those are Alice’s papers from the Foundling Hospital. You’ll need them when you go reclaim her.”
Lillian’s breath caught in her throat as she unfolded the top paper and scanned the words.
Date of entry: 18 September 1877. Female infant. Three months old. Birth name: Alice Catherine Dunsmore. Mother: Serena Faith Crosby.
Lillian stared at the words. The use of Serena’s surname confirmed the worst. Her sister had run away with Dunsmore, but she had never married him. She read on.
Father: Robert John Dunsmore, Corporal in the 7th Queen’s Own Hussars. Child’s date of birth: 14 June 1877. Place of birth: White Chapel, London. Mother left a round golden token with the words Remember My Love inscribed on the front and tied with a red ribbon through a top center hole.
A flood of emotion swirled through Lillian as she looked up and met Serena’s gaze. How could her sister birth and nurse a child for three months, not counting the months she carried her inside, and then give her up? She tried to restrain her feelings, but it was impossible. “Why didn’t you let me help you?”
