Fairfield Hall (51 page)

Now it was her turn to take up the story, but there was a little more she wanted to know about Fairfield Hall before she did so. ‘What happened to Dorothea?’

‘When her brother was killed,’ James explained, ‘she refused to accept that Charlie was his heir. She did everything she could think of to contest it, but when she lost her
son, she never recovered from the shock. Poor woman. She committed suicide in 1919, shortly before the dowager countess’s death. But the loss of her son, James, and then two of her grandsons,
hastened Lady Elizabeth’s death too, I think. She was a very brave lady. It was she who made sure that the wills of both Theo and Charlie were honoured and that Bertie inherited the house and
the estate.’

‘So she openly acknowledged him as her grandson, then?’

‘Yes, and she lived just long enough to see him move into Fairfield Hall with his wife, Emmot Cartwright.’

‘Did Lady Elizabeth ever see Annabel again? I got the impression they were fond of each other.’

‘Just once before she died and after that, Annabel used to visit the village frequently. The locals idolized her and she’d never forgotten them. She still advised Bertie about the
estate and when he and Emmot had a son, Robert Albert, she was the baby’s godmother. They also took steps to have the hyphenated surname Lyndon-Banks made legal. So, here we are. Robert was
my grandfather. He only died in 2005, so of course I knew him well. My father now runs the estate, but one day it will pass to me, though I hope that’s a long way off yet. My dad’s only
sixty.’

She smiled at him. ‘So, now it’s my turn.’ Again she glanced at the portrait. ‘Annabel and Ben only had the one son, Richard Charles. Annabel and Ben took over Meadow
View Farm when her grandparents died. She lost Ben in 1951, but she lived another ten years. Richard took on the farm and married a WAAF during the war – the Second World War, that is, of
course – but she was killed in the bombing of the airfield where she was stationed. He didn’t remarry for a long time – not until the mid-fifties – and then to someone much
younger than him. He and Christine had two sons, Edward, who still runs the farm, and Stephen, who became a successful lawyer in London.’

‘Do you happen to know what happened to Annabel’s father, Ambrose?’

Tiffany pulled a comical face and laughed. ‘Oh, he got his title eventually. He was knighted in the twenties for services to the fishing industry and he’d also made a lot of his
steamships available for the war effort. A lot of them were lost, I believe.’

James was looking at her, his head on one side. ‘You’ve done an awful lot of research into the family. Is that why you’ve come today, to find out about the other side or . .
.’ He stopped as a thought struck him. ‘What did you say your name is?’

Tiffany chuckled – a delicious, infectious sound. ‘I didn’t.’ There was a mischievous pause before she added, ‘It’s Tiffany. Tiffany Jackson.’

Now it was James’s turn to look surprised. ‘So you’re . . .?’ He pointed to the portrait, not quite sure of the relationship, but realizing now that there must be
one.

Tiffany nodded. ‘I’m Lady Annabel’s great-granddaughter by her marriage to Ben Jackson. I’m Stephen’s daughter.’

‘How wonderful.’ He reached across the space between them and grasped her hand in both of his. ‘I’m
so
pleased to meet you. Do go on, please. I want to hear
everything.’

‘My grandfather – her son Richard – lived to be ninety. He only died five years ago, but his second wife – my grandmother – is still alive and living at the farm,
though my Uncle Edward and his wife and son run it now. My uncle was born three years before Annabel died. He can’t remember her, though he has vague memories of being taken to visit an old
lady in bed. Whenever we visited, Grandpops – that’s Richard – used to talk about her a lot, but Annabel would never talk about her life before she married Ben Jackson, he said,
nor even about Charlie.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘Perhaps it was all too painful. I’m ashamed to say that my family – the Lyndons, that is – didn’t treat her very kindly, even though she rescued the estate. But
the villagers worshipped her.’

Tiffany nodded. ‘I know.’

‘My own great-grandfather – Bertie – idolized her,’ Jamie went on. ‘She’d been very kind to him and his mother when everyone else shunned them. And it was he
who insisted that both Ben and Lady Annabel should be buried here in Fairfield churchyard.’

‘And during the night before her funeral the villagers lined her grave with flowers. Is that right?’

‘It is. How did you know that?’

‘My grandfather told me and he also said that everyone in the village – from the youngest babe in arms to the oldest inhabitant – attended her funeral service.’

‘They did. My father remembers that day vividly though he was only eight at the time. But it made such an impression, he’s never forgotten it.’

Jamie was gazing at her now, frowning a little. ‘Obviously, we’re connected by all this, but – but we’re not related in any way, are we? We’re not cousins, or
anything.’

Tiffany laughed. ‘No, no. I’m descended from Annabel and Ben Jackson, not James Lyndon.’

‘And I’m descended from the wrong side of the blanket.’ But his grin told her that he wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered.

It was warm and comfortable by the fire and Tiffany didn’t want to move, but she had to. Reluctantly, she stood up and James rose too. ‘I hope you’re not driving far tonight.
It’s very icy and more snow is forecast.’

‘No. I’m staying at The Lyndon Arms tonight. We’ve come to stay the weekend at the farm’ – she grinned – ‘for Mother’s Day, you know, but when I
said I was coming here today, Dad insisted I should stay overnight in the village.’

‘Then will you stay to have dinner with us? I’m sure my mother and father would love to meet you.’

Her long, sleek black hair framed her lovely young face as she looked into his eyes. Unless she was very much mistaken, he didn’t want to let her go. And she didn’t want to
leave.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly, her dark, violet eyes dancing. ‘I’d love to stay.’

As he ushered her towards the door, she glanced back once more towards the painting that had been the focus of their attention and their conversation. ‘So, the portrait
survived?’

‘Ah, now Mr Merriman could have told you all about that. When Dorothea gave instructions for it to be destroyed, his grandfather and Thomas Salt took it down to the village. Jabez made a
box for it and it was hidden for years in the church. Of course, when Bertie inherited the Hall, he had it reinstated here in the dining room.’

Again, he too gazed at the lovely woman in the picture. ‘You know, you’re very like her,’ he murmured.

‘Oh, I hope so, Jamie. I really do hope so.’

Rose and Myrtle Sylvester look up to their older sister, Peggy. She is the sensible, reliable one in the household of women headed by their grandmother, Grace Booth, and their
mother, Mary Sylvester. When war is declared in 1939 they must face the hardships together and huge changes in their lives are inevitable. For Rose, there is the chance to fulfil her dream of
becoming a clippie on Sheffield’s trams like Peggy. But for Myrtle, the studious, clever one in the family, war may shatter her ambitions.

When the tram on which Peggy is a conductress is caught in a bomb blast, she bravely helps to rescue her passengers. One of them is a young soldier, Terry Price, and he and Peggy begin courting.
They meet every time he can get leave, but eventually Terry is posted abroad and she hears nothing from him. Worse still, Peggy must break the devastating news to her family that she is
pregnant.

The shock waves that ripple through the family will affect each and every one of them and life will never be the same again.

ISBN: 978-0-330-54431-3

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Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape.

Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twenty-seven further titles including
Plough the Furrow
,
Sow the Seed
and
Reap the Harvest
, which make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy. Many of her novels are set in the heart of her home county, but in
Tangled Threads
and
Twisted Strands
the stories included not only Lincolnshire but also the framework knitting and lace industries of Nottingham. The Workhouse Museum at Southwell in Nottinghamshire inspired
Without Sin
and Derbyshire formed the backdrop for
Pauper’s Gold
. Part of the story in
Suffragette Girl
took place in Davos, Switzerland, but
Forgive and Forget
centres wholly on the rich history of the beautiful city of Lincoln. A visit to the wonderful National Tramway Museum in Crich, Derbyshire, was the inspiration for
The Clippie Girls
, set in
Sheffield during the Second World War.

For
Fairfield Hall
the setting returns once again to Lincolnshire, with the magnificent Gunby Hall being the inspiration for the house in the story.

Plough the Furrow

Sow the Seed

Reap the Harvest

The Miller’s Daughter

Chaff upon the Wind

The Fisher Lass

The Tulip Girl

The River Folk

Tangled Threads

Twisted Strands

Red Sky in the Morning

Without Sin

Pauper’s Gold

Wish Me Luck

Sing As We Go

Suffragette Girl

Sons and Daughters

Forgive and Forget

Jenny’s War

The Clippie Girls

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The setting for this story is inspired by the beautiful National Trust property, Gunby Hall and Gardens, near Skegness in Lincolnshire, which appears on the cover. My sincere
thanks to Astrid Gatenby and all her team of helpers for all the help and encouragement I received on my visits there. Also thank you to four of the volunteer room guides who took the time to meet
me and chat about the history of the house: Jane Hughes, Judy Morgan-Anstee, Veronica Stonehouse and Rose Williams.

I am very grateful to Gordon Smith of Grimsby for his kindness in allowing me to visit his home to see a film about the Grimsby Chums. Gordon and the late John Robinson came up with the idea for
the film, which was made by Terry Marker, with the help of the Grimsby Branch of the Royal Lincolnshire and Royal Anglian Regimental Association. The Grimsby Chums was the 10th (Service) Battalion,
The Lincolnshire Regiment, a ‘Pals Battalion’ formed at the outset of the Great War from volunteers from Grimsby and the surrounding district. The film is a moving tribute to those
men.

A great many sources have been used for research, but I must give particular acknowledgement to Peter Chapman’s superb book
Grimsby’s Own: The Story of The Chums
, published by
the
Grimsby Evening Telegraph
and the Hutton Press (1991). Much of the material from his book also helped in the production of the film, as did information from the Imperial War Museum.

My love and thanks as always to my family and friends who are my constant source of encouragement and support as are my agent, Darley Anderson, and his staff, my editor, Trisha Jackson, Natasha
Harding, Fergus Edmondson and all the team at Pan Macmillan.