Christmas at libertys, p.1
Christmas at Liberty's, page 1
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Copyright
About the Book
The first novel in the Liberty Girls series will be loved by fans of Elaine Everest, Nancy Revell and Mr Selfridge .
September, 1941 .
Mary arrives in war-torn London nursing a broken heart and a painful secret.
When she is offered her dream post as an assistant in the fabric department at Liberty store, she knows this is the fresh start she needs. Amid the store’s vibrant prints and sumptuous interiors, Mary finds a new family who can help her to heal.
But not everyone will give Mary such a warm welcome, and the trauma of her past will soon catch up with her.
As Mary and the Liberty Girls endure the heartache and uncertainty of war, it will take a steady heart to keep the magic of Christmas alive .
About the Author
Fiona Ford is the author of the Liberty Girls series, which is set in London during the Second World War.
Fiona spent many years as a journalist writing for women’s weekly and monthly magazines. She has written two novels under the pseudonym Fiona Harrison, as well as two sagas in her own name in the Spark Girls series.
Fiona lives in Berkshire with her husband.
For Rebecca Irwin and Karen Shaw, my very own Liberty Girls
Acknowledgements
There are so many people who have helped bring this novel to life, that I think I could write an entire book full of thank yous. However, as that would not only be dull but quite an expensive way of doing things, I will endeavour to keep it brief.
First of all, huge thanks must go to all the wonderful staff at Liberty’s who were patient with me to the nth degree. This book is of course fictional and in no way represents the real events of the store in wartime. However, the kindness they have all shown in allowing me to take liberty with Liberty’s and create my very own fictional wonderland is something I will be forever grateful for.
To Rene Hudson, thank you for revealing so many wonderful secrets about Liberty’s during your time working at the store. Your stories about crystal ashtrays in toilets and Russian princesses were so entertaining – I think you should consider a career as an after dinner speaker.
Huge thanks must also go to Martin Wood and Julie Summers, your help and assistance on all things Liberty, fabric and rationing was invaluable.
And while we’re on the subject of huge thanks I am indebted to staff at the Westminster Archives who spent weeks dutifully finding and chatting about long forgotten Liberty’s treasures, staff records and general memorabilia – thank you for making the job such a pleasure.
Naturally, I couldn’t have written this novel without my wonderful agent, Kate Burke, fantastic editor, Emily Griffin and the entire team at Arrow. Thank you all for your patience in helping to create this story.
Very special thanks must also go to The Saga Girls, a unique band of fellow saga writers who understand the highs and lows of all things saga as we chat daily on our special secret site! In particular, Elaine Everest, Jean Fullerton, Nancy Revell and Kate Thompson – I owe you all a rather large drink or two for your guidance.
To Chris and Sylvia Lobina, many thanks to you both for sharing the reality of life in Elephant and Castle, and reminding me of the importance of tea, not dinner!
And of course my parents, Barry and Maureen Ford, thank you for all the plot ideas, suggestions for character names and generally just being an incredible source of help. My lovely friends who frequently put up with too many of my stories which begin with, ‘during the war’, your support is not something I ever take for granted and I’m lucky to know and love you all.
Finally, thanks to you, lovely reader, for choosing to spend some time in the land of Liberty’s. There are endless wonderful sagas out there and the fact you picked this one up means the world – thank you.
Prologue
December 1925
As the familiar pinpricks of light danced invitingly up ahead, the little girl stopped in the middle of the crowded street, unable to tear her gaze away. The sight of the sparkling shop windows always sent a thrill down her spine and she wanted to drink it all in.
Every Christmas, together with her mother and sister, Mary visited London to buy gifts for the family, and this store was always the highlight of the trip. The black and white mock-Tudor building looked like it belonged in a fairy-tale rather than in the heart of London. She was eager to step inside.
Glancing up, Mary realised her mother was too busy telling off her younger sister to have even noticed where they were. She bit her lip in irritation. Clarissa was always spoiling things, and this time Mary had had enough. Before she could change her mind, Mary let go of her mother’s hand and dashed through the crowds of Christmas shoppers, determined to claim her prize.
Ignoring her mother’s cries, she charged on, darting through legs, dodging shopping bags and rounding perambulators. Finally reaching the window, she let out a gasp of delight. Up close the display was even more magical and she pressed her face against the glass. At the centre of the window was the largest Christmas tree Mary had ever seen. It towered above her, ablaze with fairy lights, each bulb sparkling like the brightest stars in the sky. In between the lights, glittering tinsel in hues of red, gold and green hugged the branches, while glass baubles in every colour dangled tantalisingly from the pine. The girl had never seen anything so beautiful and, as her gaze strayed to the mound of Christmas presents elegantly wrapped in red and green paper and topped off with a silver or gold ribbon, she shook her head in wonder.
Just then, she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. Startled, she looked up at its owner, only to come face to face with her mother.
‘Mary! You mustn’t run off like that,’ the woman exclaimed.
‘I’m sorry, Mummy,’ the girl said in a small voice, ‘I just wanted to see the lights. They’re so pretty.’
The woman’s face softened as she turned away from Mary and gazed back towards the window. ‘They’re rather special, aren’t they?’
‘I’ve never seen anything so magical, Mummy. I want to climb inside.’
Mary’s mother turned her gaze back to the child and smiled. ‘Well, why don’t we see if they’ll let you and Clarissa do just that?’
‘Do you really think they will?’ the child gasped.
The woman winked, holding out her hand for her daughter to hold. ‘This is Liberty’s, darling. Dreams come true here.’
Chapter One
September 1941
Glancing up at the thick black clouds that had suddenly gathered ominously overhead, Mary Holmes-Fotherington quickened her pace along the narrow London street. Although she had been a frequent visitor to London as a driver in the women’s army, the changing landscape still took her breath away. The grimy streets were covered in soot and mounds of rubble surrounded shelled-out buildings, so that the place looked more like a ghost town than a capital city. With only one good coat to her name she was eager to resist the late summer rain she knew would surely soak her straight through. Spotting her final destination just yards away, Mary ran the last few steps, her suitcase banging painfully against her shins at the sudden change in pace.
Seconds later she arrived at the two-up two-down terraced house not far from the Elephant and Castle Tube station. Raising her hand to rap loudly on the door she became aware of her racing heartbeat and clammy forehead. Pausing for a moment to smooth down her hair, she tugged at the collar of her coat to ensure it was straight, then took a deep breath to steady herself. Now more than ever she needed to make a good impression and she was darned if she would allow nerves to get in the way.
Lifting the knocker again, the door swung open before she had a chance to use it, almost caus ing Mary to lose her balance and fall straight into the open doorway. Instead she did her best to compose herself as she came face to face with a heavily pregnant young woman with thick blonde hair and rosy cheeks. Her sapphire-blue eyes gazed at Mary with undisguised curiosity as she rubbed her bump.
‘You must be Mary,’ she said in a broad South London accent. ‘I’m Alice Milwood. Well, don’t stand on ceremony then, come on in before the heavens open.’
Without waiting for an answer, Alice turned her back on Mary, leaving her with no choice but to step inside and follow her down the dimly lit passageway.
Reaching the kitchen, Mary saw Mrs Hanson, the landlady who had placed the advert seeking lodgers whom she had met a week ago. On her hands and knees scrubbing the tiled floor, locks of greying chestnut hair falling in front of her face, she looked for all the world as if she were preparing for a visit from the King, rather than a new lodger.
‘Dot,’ Alice interrupted, taking a seat at the kitchen table and gesturing for Mary to do the same. ‘Your latest waif and stray has arrived.’
At that Dot looked up and, spotting Mary, broke into a broad smile. ‘Still want to move into the madhouse then?’ she chuckled, getting to her feet.
Mary returned Dot’s grin with a tight smile before setting her suitcase beside her feet. ‘Yes please.’
At that Alice grunted and she picked up her knitting. ‘You won’t say that when you’ve been woken up by Dot’s tuneless wailings at five in the morning. She thinks she was born for the stage, don’t you, Dot?’
‘Hey, lady!’ Dot scolded. ‘Respect your elders. Besides, my warblings used to earn me an extra couple of quid up the King’s Head on a Saturday night.’
‘’Til it was bombed,’ Alice teased. ‘I reckon that’s why Jerry raided the place, put the punters out of their misery.’
At that the two women burst out laughing, the affection they held for each other as obvious as the barrage balloons over Tower Bridge. The sound was a welcome one and gave Mary a moment to glance around the kitchen. It was obvious how Dot loved and cared for the place. Although not large, the kitchen was spacious enough to house a large table under the window that looked out on to a small courtyard garden. The floral-print curtains that formed the front of the kitchen cupboards were immaculate, as were the neatly ironed teacloths that lay folded on the wooden work surface ready for use.
For the first time since arriving at the Air Ministry’s South London airstrip a week ago, Mary felt a little of her anxiety start to shift. It already felt like a lifetime since she had emerged from the tiny plane, bleary-eyed and bewildered at this sudden new direction her life was taking. With nobody expecting her, and nowhere to go, she had spent hours sitting on a bench outside a nearby train station, pondering her future. Mary couldn’t recall a time she had ever felt so lost and lonely. She had realised just how alone she was now. After all, nobody knew where she was, and worst of all nobody cared. The tears Mary had successfully kept at bay since she began her journey back to the UK spilled down her cheeks. Ignoring the looks of passers-by Mary gave in to the wave of self-pity that had engulfed her and let the tears flow. She wasn’t sure how long she had remained on the cold wooden bench sobbing. But by the time she’d finished her cheeks felt red raw and her eyes stung from all the salty water. Wiping her face with the hem of her navy skirt, she saw a stray newspaper someone had left behind and reached for it. Idly she flicked through the pages, until like a bolt from the blue an advertisement had called out to her.
Widow seeks clean and tidy female lodger for room to rent near Elephant and Castle Tube , the notice had read.
With a sudden surge of optimism, Mary had taken the next train to London, and arrived at the address. Knocking tentatively at the door, Mary almost broke down in tears when Dot welcomed her inside. Over a much-needed cuppa, Dot revealed she had been widowed in the last war and now made ends meet by renting out two rooms to lodgers. To Mary’s surprise and delight, Dot hadn’t asked her many questions as they drank their tea in the sunshine-filled kitchen and had merely nodded when Mary explained she had just returned from living with her sister in Ceylon. Now she was back in England she needed to find board and lodging. Dot had smiled kindly at Mary and said her luck was about to change. She had a room that was about to become vacant in a week once the current occupant had left to become a Wren.
Choking back her disappointment that she couldn’t move in immediately, Mary had asked Dot if she could recommend anywhere for her to stay in the meantime and had been directed to a nearby bed and breakfast not far from the Walworth Road.
‘So have you been living here long, Alice?’ Mary asked now as their giggles subsided.
‘Since the spring, but me and Dot go way back, don’t we?’
Dot nodded as she filled the kettle and placed it on the range. ‘I’ve known Alice since she was a nipper. She was a cheeky little brat then’n’ all.’
Rolling her eyes, Alice smiled at Mary. ‘When me and my husband Luke’s place was bombed out in the spring raids we were homeless and Dot took pity on a poor pregnant woman and invited me to lodge with her.’
‘And I’ve regretted it ever since,’ Dot chuckled, setting a fresh pot of tea on the table between them. ‘The only reason I did it was because I knew you’d not want to move up to Scotland to stay with your in-laws. Oh, and of course I wanted your Liberty’s discount.’
Alice laughed. ‘She’s not joking.’
‘You work at Liberty’s?’ Mary gasped.
Alice gave her a genuine smile. ‘Certainly do.’
Mary’s eyes widened at the news. She and her mother had loved visiting the store every Christmas, but she had never considered the people that worked there had lives outside of the shop. In her mind they were as much a part of the store as the gorgeous fabrics and beautiful interiors.
‘How long have you worked there?’ Mary asked.
‘About ten years,’ Alice replied. ‘I joined as a Saturday girl in the stockroom and worked my way up to become a deputy in the fabric department, though I’m only part-time now.’
Dot poured the tea and handed them each a cup. ‘Wanted to become an ARP warden, didn’t you, love?’
‘Got to do your bit for the war effort,’ Alice said firmly. ‘They’re ever so good up Liberty’s though; most of the male staff have joined up, so us women have had to step into the breach, means we’ve got a lot of vacancies to fill. Nobody wants to work up a shop when there’s so many factories crying out for pairs of hands.’
Mary nodded. ‘I thought that’s what I might try to do actually.’
Dot raised an eyebrow. ‘You want to work in one of the factories? I didn’t think you’d be suited to that sort of thing.’
‘Why not?’ Mary bristled.
‘Well, I thought you said you’d just come back from Ceylon or something?’ Dot said, narrowing her eyes in confusion. ‘Sounds a million miles from a life in a factory.’
‘As Alice said,’ Mary said quietly, taking a sip of tea, ‘we all have to do our bit.’
‘What were you doing in Ceylon?’ Alice asked.
‘My sister Clarissa lives there. She runs a tea plantation with her husband Henry.’
Alice raised an eyebrow. ‘Fancy! I’ve never been further than Bognor Regis.’
Dot chuckled. ‘And you won’t be going any further for a while in your condition either, Alice.’
‘How far along are you?’ Mary asked, gesturing towards Alice’s bump.
‘Six months.’ Alice smiled, rubbing her hands over her extended belly. ‘And I’m hoping he or she doesn’t get any bigger. My back’s killing me as it is.’
Mary shot her a sympathetic glance. ‘I don’t imagine life is any easier with your husband away. Dot mentioned he was in the RAF.’
‘That’s right. Luke’s a flying officer,’ Alice said proudly. ‘We’ve been wed coming up five years now. This baby will be our first.’
‘Do you have any children, Dot?’ Mary asked politely, turning to her new landlady.
Dot shook her head. ‘No, me and my George weren’t blessed before he was killed in Flanders, God bless his soul.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mary said quietly.
‘You weren’t to know.’ Dot smiled kindly. ‘I’d have loved a house full of nippers, but it wasn’t to be. Still, I’m looking forward to Alice’s baby coming along.’
