No Wings to Fly Read online

  No Wings to Fly

  Jess Foley

  Random House (2010)

  * * *

  Tags: Sagas, Fiction

  Synopsis

  One woman's struggle against great odds, with a heart tragically divided.Having spent her childhood with a cold, unfeeling stepmother, Lily Clair's life is changed for ever when she is sent as general maid to old friends of her family. Soon into the dull routine comes Joel, handsome son of a wealthy entrepreneur, and for Lily, young and vulnerable, their meeting is a revelation.Riding high on the crest of her new-found happiness she cannot be prepared for the violent attack that comes in the night, or for its devastating, life-changing consequences. But live with the consequences she must as, with a heart torn, she deals with one hand of fate after another.Building to an unforgettable climax set against a plague-ravaged rural England, Lily Clair's story is one of love, passion, betrayal, tragedy and longing. In her search for happiness, she is a woman you will never forget ...

  Also by Jess Foley

  So Long At The Fair

  Too Close To The Sun

  Saddle The Wind

  Wait For The Dawn

  No Wings to Fly

  Jess Foley

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Jess Foley

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  No Wings to Fly

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  PART 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

  PART THREE

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  PART FOUR

  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

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN: 9781446429921

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Arrow Books in 2006

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Jess Foley 2006

  Jess Foley has asserted the right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2006 by Century

  Arrow Books

  The Random House Group Limited

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA

  Random House Australia (Pty) Limited

  20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney

  New South Wales 2061, Australia

  Random House New Zealand Limited

  18 Poland Road, Glenfield

  Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Random House (Pty) Limited

  Isle of Houghton, Corner of Boundary Road & Carse O’Gowrie

  Houghton 2198, South Africa

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 0 09 946646 8 (from Jan 2007)

  ISBN 0 09 946646 5

  For Jenny and John

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  ‘Well, you certainly don’t think the matter’s going to end here, do you? Because I can assure you it’s not.’

  Lily could hear her stepmother’s words through the open casement, hissing, sharp and staccato on the summer air, but she could not see her from her seat on the lowest bough of the apple tree. Lily had taken a bite from the ripe pear in her hand, and the juice had run down her wrist. Now, though, for the moment, the pear was forgotten as she concentrated on trying to hear the exchange coming from the room. She could not go closer in order to hear better and get a better view; she dared not give her presence away and anger her stepmother still further. She could, however, see her brother’s form through the glass, albeit dim and shadowed in the shade-darkened room. She could not make out his expression, or indeed any feature of his face. All she could hear was the murmur of his voice when he spoke, mumbled and indistinct. Her stepmother’s words, however, were clearly audible.

  ‘Your father’s going to learn about this the minute he gets in,’ she said. ‘Make no mistake about that. Because if you think we’ve got money to burn, to waste on new clothes for you, when you can’t look after what you have, then you’ve got another think coming. Look at your jacket torn.’

  Another murmur from Tom, though once again not loud or distinct enough for Lily to catch the words. She had seen him just a few minutes earlier, sneaking into the house, trying to get by without their stepmother seeing him. He had not been sharp enough, though, and had been caught and brought up halfway across the kitchen.

  ‘And what about your cap?’ Mrs Clair’s voice again. ‘Where d’you suppose your cap is now?’

  Tom’s faint voice came, mumbling, brief, and then the woman’s:

  ‘Is it, indeed? Well, you won’t get it back now. It’s gone for good, you can bet on that. What are you looking for – to get dismissed from school? Go back next month without a jacket, without a cap and they’ll send you packing. It’ll be the ragged school for you. That old Mr Neville, that miserable so-and-so, isn’t likely to give your cap back. What were you doing in his yard anyway?’

  Another mumble from Tom, followed by Mrs Clair’s harsh tone.

  ‘Well, then, you’ll have lost the ball too, and serves you right. And what were you doing playing and wasting time when you were told to come straight home from the farm?’

  Lily shifted slightly on the apple bough, straining to hear, but she still could not catch Tom’s murmured reply.

  When Mrs Clair’s voice came again, it sounded closer to the window. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice ringing out, obviously directed at Lily, ‘and if you out there have had your ears full, perhaps you’d like to get something done. I know you’re there.’ She appeared at the casement then, overlooking the rear yard with its strip of lawn and the apple tree rising up out of it. Quickly, Lily scrambled down from her perch.

  ‘And don’t run away just because you’ve been caught.’

  At the words Lily came to a halt beside the tree, looking at her stepmot
her.

  Going solely by the strength of Mrs Clair’s voice, one might have expected a large person, but she was below average height, and lean to the point of thinness. She looked a little harassed today, but that was nothing new. Her light brown hair, thinning a little, was coming adrift from the pins. At thirty-five, the prettiness that had once been hers was fading.

  ‘Sitting out there with your ears flapping,’ she said. ‘Just because you’ve finished at the Mellers’ doesn’t mean you’re done for the day. Your father’ll be in soon, and there’s water to be drawn and vegetables to bring in, so I suggest you get busy. Or you’ll find yourself in trouble too. I’ve enough to do with your brother.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ At once Lily turned and started across the yard to the well.

  ‘And what are you eating?’

  Lily turned back to face her. ‘A pear.’

  ‘Where’d you get it?’

  ‘Mrs Meller gave it to me.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose she thinks I don’t feed you enough, is that it? Well, throw it away; otherwise you won’t want any dinner.’

  Lily did as she was told. She would have liked to take a final bite, but she knew better, and drawing back her hand, she threw the half-eaten fruit into the straggling bit of shrubbery beside the lawn. As she did so, her stepmother turned her back on the window and moved out of sight.

  After Lily had drawn a pail of water she stood for some moments beside the well, leaning against the upright. She was a girl of just above medium height. She had dark brown hair, and dark eyes, but a very fair skin, and in her regular features was the promise of a nascent beauty. Of late, her coltish form had begun to soften. She had turned fifteen just a month before, on July the second.

  She sighed, absently wiping her juice-stained hand over her pinafore. On the early August breeze she heard the chimes from the church clock striking the hour of five. Her father would be in before too long. From where she stood beside the well she could look to the right and see almost to the end of the long garden path, and the area at its foot that passed for an orchard. She turned her attention to the house again. It was a small, 25-year-old dwelling that had been built in the second year of Victoria’s reign. It had red brick walls and a tiled roof, and stood four-square on its little plot in Hawthorne Lane, a lane that went nowhere where horse-drawn vehicles were concerned, for the way ended in a stile, beyond which green meadows stretched away towards the next village.

  Her eyes and ears focused on the window, Lily could no longer see or hear anything that passed inside the kitchen, though she could well imagine the tongue-lashing that Tom was still receiving. The worst of it was, it would not end with their stepmother’s anger – an anger that often seemed to spring from nowhere, and with the least provocation; the end would come when their father returned from the factory.

  ‘Lily?’

  Mrs Clair had appeared at the window again. Lily straightened. ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you’d finish drawing the water,’ Mrs Clair said, her voice full of irritation, ‘and sometime today would be as well. Dora’s got to have her wash, in case you’d forgotten, and there’s the vegetables to be got ready.’

  ‘Yes, Mother – coming right away.’

  Later, Lily was setting the table for the evening meal – the main meal of the day. She, her brother, stepmother and small half-sister were in the kitchen, the room where the whole family congregated. Mrs Clair was sitting sewing in the light from the window, a little nest of stockings in her lap. Near her feet her daughter, Dora, a placid five-year-old – now washed by Lily, and wearing her nightdress ready for bed – sat cooing over her doll. Tom was sitting on a three-legged stool beneath the long-case clock, nervously shifting and stretching a piece of string between his fingers. Tension was evident in every sinew of his body.

  On the soft summer air footsteps sounded in the yard and after a few moments they heard Mr Clair open the back door and enter the scullery. At the sound of her father’s steps, Lily looked across at her brother. Their stepmother did likewise, in the same moment hissing in a whisper, ‘Yes, my lad, you might well look concerned.’

  Seeing the apprehension in Tom’s eyes, it was all Lily could do not to move to him, but she remained standing by the table, waiting.

  Tom was five years younger than Lily. Small for his age, he was two or three inches shorter than she. In spite of his small, lean stature, though, he had a particular beauty – Lily had always thought so – with his finely shaped head, well-formed features and thick, dark brown hair. Now, beneath his perplexed brow, his hazel eyes looked wide with anxiety, and he shifted on the stool as if he might rise and run from the room. Reading his discomfiture, Mrs Clair said sharply to him, ‘You stay where you are, my boy. You’re not to move until you’re given permission.’

  Next moment the children’s father was opening the kitchen door and stepping into the room, glad to be home at last. There was not yet an opportunity for him to relax, however, for as he took off his hat his wife said plaintively, ‘Before you sit down, Edwin, I want you to deal with that boy. He’s been a wretch today, and has caused me no end of trouble.’

  Mr Clair was a tall man, still handsome for his forty-four years, though tending to heaviness about the middle. Usually upright in his carriage, and fairly vital in his mien, there was this evening a look of weariness about him that came from more than having worked a hard day at the tile factory. At his wife’s words his look of weariness increased, and he sighed and put a tired hand to his face. ‘God almighty,’ he said, ‘can’t a man even get in the bloody door before trouble greets him?’ Without looking at Lily he thrust out his hat, and in silence she took it. Then he lifted his hand and pointed at Tom. ‘You – get here in this scullery.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Tom stuffed the piece of string into his pocket, got up from the stool and scampered across the room, past his father and into the scullery beyond. Mr Clair glared out into the kitchen, at nobody in particular, then took off his jacket and undid his belt buckle. As he drew out the belt he followed the boy into the scullery and closed the door.

  Silence in the kitchen. Dora looked at her mother as Mrs Clair moved to the table, her lips set in a grim line. Lily stayed where she was, holding her father’s bowler hat, her face turned towards the scullery. Almost immediately there came her father’s voice barking out from the other side of the door, ‘Don’t move! Don’t you move, you little wretch.’ And then a brief silence, a whimpering murmur from Tom, and then the sound of the belt striking. Lily could hear it through the door. As Tom’s half-stifled yelps stabbed into the quiet, Lily pressed her hand to her mouth, and choked back a sob.

  ‘Yes, and you can stop that fuss,’ her stepmother said, ‘– unless you’d like some of the same. What I have to go through with you two would test the patience of a saint. You don’t see your little sister making such trouble.’

  After a while the door to the scullery opened and Mr Clair came through, holding his belt and jacket. In silence he handed the jacket to Lily and she took it into the hall and hung it up along with his hat. As she went back into the kitchen he finished fastening his belt then turned and rapped out over his shoulder, ‘Now, Thomas, you get upstairs, and stay there till you’re sent for – and let me have no more complaints about you. You won’t get off so lightly next time.’

  Quickly Tom passed through the room, head lowered so that no one would see his reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. After the hall door had closed behind him, Lily heard his footsteps creaking on the treads as he ascended the stairs.

  As the boy’s footfalls faded, Mr Clair moved to his chair and sat down. ‘I need a rest and a smoke, and then I’ll go and wash.’ Turning to his wife he added, ‘Unless, of course there’s something else you’d like me to deal with before I do.’

  ‘I had to tell you about him,’ she said defensively. ‘That boy – he’s the end.’

  Mr Clair sighed again, then bent to his boots to undo the laces. ‘Som
ething happened today,’ he said, ‘– and it’s not good news.’

  ‘Something happened?’ Mrs Clair sat up straighter. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later on, when there aren’t so many ears around.’

  Mrs Clair nodded and looked at Lily. ‘Are you going to stop there all day, miss?’ Her voice was all impatience and irritation. ‘The table won’t get laid with you just standing there. And when you’ve done that you can take your sister up.’

  Lily finished setting the table, and then went to Dora who stood on the hearthrug between her father’s spread knees, showing him her doll. As Lily approached, the child grabbed at her father’s hand and wailed, ‘Oh, have I got to go to bed yet, Papa? Can’t I stay up a while longer?’

  The response came from Mrs Clair. ‘No, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘You be a good girl and go with Lily, and I’ll be up later to tuck you in.’ To Lily she said, ‘Take her up now, will you.’

  This was a task that Lily undertook almost every evening. It helped her stepmother out, and it was no unpleasant chore for Lily, for she was fond of her half-sister, and had helped care for her since her birth.

  Now, as Lily trailed a hand over the child’s golden locks, Dora looked up at her and gave a sigh. ‘Must I, Lily?’

  Lily gave a nod. ‘Your mama says so, dear.’

  As Dora sighed again, Mr Clair drew her to him and kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, my pet,’ he said. ‘You go on up with Lily, there’s my good girl.’

  Dora moved from her father’s embrace, saying to her mother, ‘Will you be coming up to see me, Mama, before I go to sleep?’

  ‘Yes, of course, dear, but you close your eyes in the meantime.’

  Lily took Dora by the hand and led her into the hall and up the stairs to the room they shared. There was no need for a candle on these summer evenings. The light of the day was bright enough as it filtered through the curtains.

  In the bedroom Lily pulled back the covers. ‘There, now – into bed with you, like a good girl.’