A Thimble for Christmas by Dilly Court EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Dilly Court
- Language: English
- Genre: Friendship Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Long Acre, London, December 1875
It was snowing so hard that Amelia could barely see the houses on the other
side of the narrow street. Large flakes swirled and whirled in an icy ballet,
some of them sticking to the windowpanes like delicate feathers, only to
curl up and vanish as if a conjuror had waved his magic wand. It would be
dark soon and Amelia strained her eyes to peer at the street below. Her
father, Dr Harold Sutton, had been called out on an emergency early that
morning but he should have been home by now. Since her mother’s death,
ten years previously, when Amelia was just eleven, she had done her best to
take care of her father, a selfless medical man, who put his patients first and
his own wellbeing last.
Amelia shivered and wrapped her woollen shawl a little tighter around
her slim shoulders. She had only just lit the fire, adding a miserly two
lumps of coal to the burning kindling, but the feeble flames did little to
warm the large room, with its high ceiling and badly fitting windows. The
old brass coal scuttle was almost empty and if Pa did not get paid for his
efforts today there would not be enough money to buy food, let alone fuel
for the fire. Harold Sutton was no businessman, and he often refused to take
payment from his poorer patients. It had been his late wife who brought
money to the marriage, but her allowance had stopped abruptly on her
death. It was only recently that Amelia realised they had been relying
almost entirely on her mother’s income. Her grandfather, Nathaniel Norris,
a man who had accrued a fortune importing indigo and large amounts of
guano, had never made them welcome at his grand house in Albemarle
Street. Now his doors were firmly closed against both Amelia and her
father.
Amelia sighed. There was no point dwelling on the past. She had never
had anything like a close relationship with her maternal grandfather, and
she would rather starve than go cap in hand to him and ask for help.
She moved away from the window and placed a soot-blackened saucepan
on the trivet in front of the fire. She had made soup yesterday from a few
vegetables she had bought in Covent Garden Market, together with a
cabbage that had fallen off a barrow and been crushed underfoot.
A few
spoonfuls of pearl barley had thickened the rather tasteless concoction,
which would have benefited greatly from the addition of meat or even some
bones, but the butcher was no longer her friend. A large bill that she was
unable to pay had soured their relationship to the extent that she was not a
welcome customer. It was the same at the grocer’s shop, although she had
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