The Best of Daughters

About the Book

About the Author

Also by Dilly Court

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

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

Copyright

Despite her privileged upbringing, Daisy Lennox has always longed to make something of her life.

She is drawn to the suffragette movement, but when her father faces ruin they are forced to move to the country and Daisy's first duty is to her family.

Here she becomes engaged to her childhood friend – a union both families have dreamed of.

But, on the eve of their wedding, war is declared, and Daisy knows her life will never be the same again . . .

Dilly Court grew up in North-east London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and four grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband. She is the author of sixteen novels and also writes under the name of Lily Baxter. To find out more about Dilly Court visit her website at
www.dillycourt.com

Born into poverty and living under the roof of her violent and abusive brother-in-law, young Kitty Cox dreams of working in a women's dress shop in the West End.

For Ruby and Rosetta Capretti, life in the slums of the East End holds little promise. Despite their humble background, Rosetta is determined to work under the bright lights of the music hall and Ruby longs to train as a nurse.

Dismissed from her position as housemaid under a cloud of misunderstanding, Tilly True is forced to return home.

Twelve-year-old Eliza Bragg has known little in life but the cold, comfortless banks of the Thames, her only comfort the love and protection of her older brother, Bart.

Gifted with a beautiful soprano voice, young Clemency Skinner is forced to work as a pickpocket in order to support her crippled brother, Jack.

When Eloise Cribb receives the news that her husband's ship has been lost at sea she wonders how she and her children are ever going to manage.

Despite living by the side of the Thames, eighteen-year-old Rosina May has wanted for little in life. Until her father's feud with a fellow bargeman threatens to destroy everything.

When Hetty Huggins made a promise to her dying mother that she would look after her younger sister and brothers, little did she know how difficult this would be.

Eighteen-year-old Irene Angel lives with her parents in a tiny room above the shop where her mother ekes out a living selling pickles and sauces, whilst her father gambles away what little money they do manage to earn.

Since the untimely death of her husband, young mother Effie Grey has been forced to live on a narrowboat owned by her tyrannical father-in-law Jacob.

On a bitter winter's day, an unnamed girl lies dangerously ill in hospital. When two coarse, rough-speaking individuals come to claim her, she can remember nothing.

When seventeen-year-old Belinda Phillips discovers that she is pregnant, she has no option other than to accept an arranged marriage, and give up her child forever.

With their father dead and their mother a stranger to them, Lily Larkin must stay at home and keep house whilst her brothers and sisters go out to work.

When her feckless mother falls dangerously ill, Phoebe Giamatti is forced to turn to the man she holds responsible for all her family's troubles.

Despite the differences in their circumstances, Kate and Josie have been friends since childhood. But their past binds them together in ways they must never know.

In fondest memory of Archie, faithful friend.

Beauty without Vanity
,

Strength without Insolence
,

Courage without Ferocity
,

And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices
.

‘Epitaph to a Dog', Lord Byron

Until I read Janet Lee's excellent book
War Girl: The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry in the First World War
, published by Manchester University Press, I knew nothing about the FANYs and their selfless courage and feats of bravery.

The amount of research that this author has done is incredible, and she tells the heroic story of these brave women in such an interesting manner that it captures the imagination from start to finish.

The characters in my story are, of course, fictional, but the details of the FANYs selfless work are as accurate as I could make them, and I hope I have done them justice.

IN HER FRANTIC
dash to escape the police Daisy had lost her hat and broken a heel off one of her shoes. She crept into the house, tucking her purple, white and green suffragette sash into her handbag. Closing the door quietly behind her, she tiptoed across the marble-tiled entrance hall. She paused for a moment to check her appearance in one of the many gilt-framed mirrors that were to be found throughout the house. These splendid examples of the rococo style were a testament to her father's love of light and space and her mother's innate vanity. She made a futile attempt to tidy her long dark hair, but she had lost most of the pins in the headlong flight from the scene of the crime, which had been both frantic and undignified.

She had only narrowly escaped being arrested by the police, who had appeared in force as her fellow suffragettes hurled stones and bricks through shop windows in Oxford Street. She herself had thrown several but to little effect. How Teddy would laugh. Her brother had always teased her about her pathetic attempts at overarm bowling when they played cricket in the garden of Rainbow's End, their holiday retreat in rural Essex. But Teddy would not be amused by her efforts today. Like most men of her acquaintance he
had no sympathy with the movement, and her father was even more entrenched in his attitude.

She turned with a start at the sound of footsteps on the stairs but she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was her younger sister. It would have been a different matter if Mother had come upon her in such a sorry state.

‘Good heavens, Daisy. You look as though you've been dragged through a hedge backwards.' Beatrice paused with one hand on the curved mahogany banister rail. ‘What on earth have you been doing?'

Daisy put her finger to her lips. ‘Not so loud. I don't want anyone to see me like this.'

‘Then you'd better go upstairs and change. Mother is entertaining some of her cronies in the drawing room, and she wanted you to join them ages ago.'

‘Oh, no. You didn't tell her where I'd gone, did you?'

‘I couldn't very well, because I didn't know.' Beatrice jumped the last two steps. ‘I love doing that,' she said, chuckling. ‘Nanny Harris used to tell me off if she caught me doing anything so inelegant.'

Momentarily forgetting that she was a wanted woman Daisy smiled. ‘You'll never grow up to be a young lady, Beatrice,' she said in a fair imitation of their former nanny's voice. ‘You're fifteen, not five.'

‘And you won't get anywhere by changing the subject.' Beatrice angled her head. ‘You've torn your skirt and broken the heel off your shoe. Have you been in a fight?'

Daisy hurried past her, heading for the stairs. ‘I'm going to my room.'

‘You've been with them, haven't you?' Beatrice followed, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Don't run away from me, because I'm not giving up until you tell me everything.'

As she reached the first floor landing, Daisy glanced anxiously over her shoulder. Any minute now their mother would emerge from the drawing room to investigate. Mother had ears like a bat, and a nose for trouble. ‘All right,' she said in a low voice. ‘Come to my room, but for heaven's sake keep your voice down.' She ascended the next flight of stairs, limping slightly as she compensated for the lost heel on her right shoe.

On the second floor, in the sanctity of her blue and white bedroom, Daisy tossed her handbag onto the button-back chair upholstered in toile de Jouy, a theme repeated in the matching wallpaper and curtains. She slipped off her navy-blue linen coat, noting with a frown that several of the buttons were missing, which must have happened when a burly police officer made a grab for her. It would be difficult to explain that away if it came to her mother's notice.

‘Well, I'm waiting.' Beatrice flung herself down on the bed, folding her arms across her chest as if prepared to remain there until her sister broke down and confessed all.

Daisy took her shoes off and examined the broken heel. ‘I hope the cobbler can fix it. This was a new pair and ridiculously expensive.'

‘Never mind the silly old shoe. Tell me what happened.'

‘We were demonstrating in Oxford Street, if you must know. Then the police arrived and some of the
women were arrested, but I managed to make a dash for it and jumped on a bus.'

‘Looks like you had a tussle with someone. Was he handsome?'

‘Don't be silly, Bea. I'll be in terrible trouble if Father finds out.'

‘It'll be all over the front pages of the newspapers by morning,' Beatrice said, grinning. ‘I wonder if there'll be photos too.'

‘Oh, God! I hope not.' Daisy shivered as she stripped off her cream shantung afternoon gown. The hem was torn where she had snagged it with her heel as she leapt onto the bus. It would need some skill to make a repair invisible to Mother's eagle eye, and the dress was almost new. Daisy sighed. She had spent almost all her clothes allowance and she dare not ask Father for more.

‘You'll be infamous,' Beatrice said smugly. ‘The Honourable Rupert won't pop the question if he finds out that you're a suffragette.'

Daisy opened the wardrobe and took out the first gown that came to hand. It was a shade of reseda that she did not particularly like, but it complemented her green eyes, or so she had been told on numerous occasions by ardent admirers. She slipped the cool silk over her head. ‘Do me up, please, Bea.'

Obligingly Beatrice jumped up and tugged the material together. ‘Breathe in.'

‘Ouch. You pinched me.'

‘You're such a sissy. How would you get on if you had to go to prison and be force-fed?'

‘I'm not that brave. I support the cause with all my heart, but I'm a dreadful coward when it comes to violence of any sort.'

‘I think I'd be terribly courageous,' Beatrice said dreamily. ‘I'd be a real heroine, if only I believed in all that stuff, which I don't.'