Freda Lightfoot - Always In My Heart

Also by Freda Lightfoot: Also by Freda Lightfoot About the Author Title Page One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two Twenty-Three Twenty-Four Twenty-Five Twenty-Six Twenty-Seven Twenty-Eight Twenty-Nine Thirty Thirty-One Thirty-Two Thirty-Three Thirty-Four Copyright

Historical Sagas

Lakeland Lily

The Bobbin Girls

The Favourite Child

Kitty Little

For All Our Tomorrows

Home is Where the Heart Is

Gracie’s Sin

Daisy’s Secret

Ruby McBride

Dancing on Deansgate

Watch for the Talleyman

Polly’s Pride

Polly’s War

House of Angels

Angels at War

The Promise

My Lady Deceiver

The Luckpenny Series

Luckypenny Land

Wishing Water

Larkrigg Fell

Poorhouse Lane Series

The Girl from Poorhouse Lane

The Woman from Heartbreak

House

Champion Street Market Series

Putting on the Style

Fools Fall in Love

That’ll Be the Day

Candy Kisses

Who’s Sorry Now

Lonely Teardrops

Women’s Contemporary Fiction

Trapped

Historical Romances

Madeiran Legacy

Whispering Shadows

Rhapsody Creek

Proud Alliance

Outrageous Fortune

Biographical Historical

Hostage Queen

Reluctant Queen

The Queen and the Courtesan

The Duchess of Drury Lane

Lady of Passion

Born in Lancashire, FREDA LIGHTFOOThas been a teacher and a bookseller, and in a mad moment even tried her hand at the ‘good life’. A prolific and much-loved saga writer, Freda’s work is inspired by memories of her Lancashire childhood and her passion for history. For more information about Freda, visit her website: www.fredalightfoot.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Also by Freda Lightfoot

About the Author

Title Page

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Copyright

One

1944

Rain pounded upon the windows as the small bus wound its way along narrow lanes. The sound of its grinding gears as it lurched around a bend and began to climb steeply upwards stirred Brenda from a deep sleep. Blinking herself awake, she gazed out at the scramble of sharp peaks, jutting rocks and smooth green-humped hills, disappointed they were not lit by the warmth of September sunshine. Yet she felt some relief to have at last reached the Pennines. The journey had been long and difficult. She still shivered at the memory of being halted and searched by a German guard at the foot of the Pyrenees in Spain. A terrifying moment! Now, after years of danger she was at last safe; in a bus driving mile upon mile over beautiful open moors cloaked in purple heather.

Eventually the vehicle stopped and the driver called out, ‘Trowbridge Hall.’ Hitching her heavy bag high on to her shoulder, Brenda climbed out of the warmth of the bus into the chill damp of the valley. When first she’d set off from France she’d felt dizzy with anticipation, filled with hope. But much as she had longed to reach her destination, now a nervous tension was setting in. She could remember all too well the scowls, furious arguments and strong tone of disapproval on the day she’d been thrown out of the manor house all those years ago.

Today it felt strangely silent as Brenda walked down the rutted track, the only sound that of her boots squelching in the mud, a clogging mist swirling about her. Thankfully it had at last stopped raining. Turning a corner, she paused to gaze up at the tall chimneys, mullioned windows and grey stone walls of this grand house. For a moment her nervousness faded even if the mist did not. When at a low ebb during her recent troubles she would often bring to mind the majesty of these rolling hills, and the autumn glory of the scabious, goldenrod and blue harebells that clustered the verges. The memory of this place had at times helped to keep her sane.

Her heartbeat quickened as she recalled coming to work here back in the spring of 1939. That was the day she and Jack had first met, and despite her being no more than a mere scullery maid and he the son of a wealthy land owner, they’d fallen in love almost at first sight. At just seventeen she’d been young and eager for a new life, utterly captivated by his good looks, his gentle kindness, and the way his blue-grey eyes smiled at her. Whenever her day’s work ended and she’d take a walk for a breath of fresh air, Jack would be sitting on a wall or leaning against a tree waiting for her.

‘I thought I’d show you around,’ he’d said with a twinkling smile the first time she’d found him there. The thought had thrilled her.

‘Oh, that would be lovely.’ She’d felt herself blushing even as her insides tingled with excitement.

They’d stepped out along the path into the wood, the dog at his heels as Jack explained how he didn’t want her to get lost. ‘It’s not a good idea to venture too far on your own as it’s all too easy to lose your way in these woods,’ he’d warned.

‘I confess I am more accustomed to the busy streets of Manchester,’ Brenda had admitted, gazing in wonder at the bluebells in bloom. It was May and she could hear the rippling chatter of fieldfares celebrating the coming of warmer weather. ‘Or at least the Castlefield part of the city. I’m more used to walking along canal towpaths than in woodlands. Never really been out much in the countryside before, but it is so beautiful here I’d love to explore it.’

‘Then take care if you set out for a walk to always leave markers, such as a small pile of stones at every turn in the path to mark your way. We call them cairns. Then you can retrace your steps by following them on your return.’

‘What a wonderful idea. Thank you, I’ll remember that.’

‘And if you should ever get lost, follow a stream downhill towards the river, then walk north along the riverbank back to the house. You can judge the direction by checking the green moss that grows on the northern side of the trees. It certainly does here in the Pennines. But it would be safer and much more fun, don’t you think, if we were to walk out together? And Kit does love a good walk,’ he’d said, introducing her to the farm collie.

Meeting his gaze, she knew in that moment they were meant for each other, and his desire for them to walk out together had little to do with the dog. The expression in his eyes was utterly captivating, reaching to the heart of her.