All posts by V.M.Sang

I was born and educated in the north west of England. I trained as a teacher in Manchester and taught in Salford, Lancashire, Hampshire and Croydon. I write fantasy novels currently. I also make cards, knit, crochet, tat, do cross stitch and paint. I enjoy walking on the Downs, cycling and kayaking. I do not enjoy housework, but like cooking.
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Horselords has been released

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I heard this morning that the fourth novella in the Wolves of Vimar prequels is not available. This one tells the story of Davrael and Kimi; how they met and how they come to be in Grosmer.

BLURB

For all her life, Kimi has been taught that the Wanderers, as the nomadic tribes are known, are violent thieves.

But they are not a threat, and she hopes to have the life of a Settled Horselord, raising horses like her parents. When her family’s horses are stolen, everything changes. Kidnapped by violent tribesmen and threatened with a forced marriage to the chief’s son, she is terrified of what the future will bring.

Fearing for the lives of her father and brothers, will Kimi be able to escape and return home?

Here is a short excerpt.

CHAPTER 1

Ullin, the silver moon, was high in the sky when Kimi heard a gate creak. She shot up in her bed as she heard voices speaking in quiet tones. Horses whinnied and hoofbeats sounded, gradually disappearing into the distance.

She leapt from her bed and ran to the window of her small bedroom. There, in the silver light of the moon, horsemen drove a herd of horses across the plains. 

She covered her mouth with her hand as she gazed through the window overlooking the corral where the family kept their best horses–the same animals that were now disappearing over the horizon.

In her haste, Kimi tripped over her nightgown and crashed against her parents’ bedroom door. The door flew open and banged against the wall as she stumbled into their room. 

Gasping, she righted herself. “The…the horses have been stolen.”   

Her parents sat bolt upright in their bed. “Are you sure, Kimi?” her father called after her as she sprinted to her brothers’ room. He came out of his bedroom pulling on his traditional horselord leathers. 

Kimi grabbed her brothers and pulled them from their beds, not giving them a chance to get dressed. 

“Of course I’m sure. The gate creaked, then hoofbeats. I saw them galloping over the plains.”

Eighteen-year-old Olias looked at his sister, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead. “Are you sure they didna jump the gate? Or break it? Did ya see any people?”

Kimi stared at her brother. “I’m not that stupid, Oli. The gate was open. Unless the horses have developed hands, someone did it for them.”

“By Zol’s balls.” Her elder brother, Yeldin, swore as he sprinted back to his room to get dressed.

“The Wanderers!” Her father turned to her mother as she came out of the room they shared. “It must be one of the tribes of Wanderers, thieving scum that they are.”

The family was one of several settled folk living close to The Barrier, the range of mountains that cut off the Western Plains from the rest of the continent of Khalram. 

Once, the Settlers had been Wanderers themselves, following the herds of wild horses that roamed the plains. Several generations ago, some of the people decided they could rear better horses if they had more control, so they settled in one place. 

There had been mistrust between the Wanderers and Settlers ever since. 

Kimi’s mother emerged from the bedroom. “It don’t matter who it is, Har. They’re getting farther away every minute.”

 “A Wanderer’s allus a thief. It’s bred into ’em,” her father lectured, as he strode down the stairs and out of the door. Looking back, he called, “Get dressed, and quick. Pick up your weapons and come wi’ me. We’ve some horses to get back.”

Kimi ran to her room and dressed in leather trousers like her father’s, and a fringed leather jerkin. She opened a cupboard and took out a fleece-lined jacket. This she donned over her jerkin. Once dressed she rushed out with her brothers to join their parents at the corral.

Her father was inspecting the gate as they approached. He stood and beckoned them to follow as he strode to a second corral. “You were right, Kimi. Someone let ’em  out,” he called over his shoulder. “No sign of ’em breaking the gate. Let’s go after ’em.”

The family caught five horses from a second corral, put bridles on them and leapt onto their backs. 

Kimi rode her piebald mare she named Magpie. She patted the horse’s neck. “We need to be quick, girl, if we’re to get your friends back. Pretend you’re the winter wind.”

The Horselords did not use saddles. They considered the use of a saddle and bit to be an insult and enslavement of their beloved horses. The animals responded to reins attached to a noseband, as well as their riders’ knees. 

Kimi and her older brothers, alongside their parents, cantered westward across the plain following the tracks of their animals. They all carried bows, and the men were armed with knives. 

It was winter, and snow covered the ground. The thieves had taken around twenty of the family’s best animals and they left plenty of signs of their passing in the snow.

After the family had ridden for a couple of miles the tracks split into three. 

Kimi’s father pulled his horse to a halt. “They want to confuse us so as we don’t know which way to go. We need to split up to find ’em.”

Kimi’s mother pulled her horse nearer to her husband. “Don’t you think we’d be better off stayin’ together? We dunna know how many there are.” She glanced around her family. “There might be too many for two of us to take on alone.” She turned and looked at the three tracks. “P’raps we should go after one group and get those horses back. At least we’d have some of our stock.”

“Those’re our best animals.” Kimi’s father shifted his seat on his horse. “We need to get ’em all back. If we allow thieves to get even one, they’ll spread the word we’re easy and keep comin’ back till we’ve no horses left.”

Kimi gripped her reins and her lips trembled. She made up her mind to speak. “Stop!” Her voice sounded loud in the silence of the night. “We can’t waste time arguing.”

“She’s right.” Twenty-year-old Yeldin sidled his horse nearer to his sister. “We must get after ’em quick.”

They took a vote and all three young people voted with their father and the group split into three.

Kimi found herself with Yeldin. They followed one set of tracks to the southwest. The light dusting of snow made the passage easy to follow.

“D’you know how many are in this lot?” Yeldin gazed at the tracks left by the passage of many horses. 

Of the siblings, Kimi was the best tracker despite being the youngest. She dismounted to study the prints left behind. “Nine or ten p’raps, but how many are ours and how many are ridden by the thieves…” She shrugged.

Yeldin smiled at her. “Well, little sis, they took twenty horses. If each group has the same number, then there’ll be six or seven animals in each. That’d be no more’n three riders. We can take ’em on. Let’s get going.”

Kimi’s stomach turned over as Yeldin mentioned taking on the thieves.

Yeldin smiled, and Kimi knew he realised her fear. “You’ve got your bow. You can shoot from a distance. No need to get close.”

They rode for two miles until they spotted movement on the horizon. “There they are,” Yeldin called from ahead. “I’ll circle in from the east and you approach from the west.”

Kimi nodded, pulling Magpie around and galloping in the direction Yeldin indicated. Guiding her horse with her knees and heels she readied her bow, nocking an arrow as she rode.

A small copse appeared. Kimi slowed her gallop as she rode past. She would round this small stand of trees and double back. By now she would be past where the thieves were and she and Yeldin would take them by surprise. True, there were only two of them, but surprise would give them the advantage.

But she was not prepared for the three mounted warriors who came from the stand of trees. 

If you want to find out more, here are some links.

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK: https://books2read.com/u/31XQ0a

This will take you to a page where you can reach the bookshop of your choice.

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DSXZYC82

APPLE BOOKS: https://books.apple.com/us/book/horselords/id6740480997

BARNES & NOBLE: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/horselords-vm-sang/1146825732?ean=2940180987600

GOOGLE BOOKS: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=dTo-EQAAQBAJ

RAKUTEN KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/ebook/horselords-1

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Did you enjoy this extract? Does it make you want to read more?

christmas, serial, short story, stories, Winter

Goldie’s Journey: From Hardship to a Warm Home. (Goldie and the Beare Family Part 7)

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Image by V.M.Sang using Bing Image Generator.

Picture shows a well-dressed Victorian woman with small blonde girl and a slightly older boy walking along a snowy street. A ragged man and boy watch them pass.

Goldie could not believe what was happening. This must be a dream, and soon she would wake to hunger and cold, not to mention fear of Mr Smith. 

She sat on a small stool before the fire. Warmth. Lovely warmth. Even with no clothes on, she felt warm. Warmer than she ever remembered.

This was a beautiful house. She had never been inside a house like this. It was clean, with furniture that was not broken or torn. Thick curtains that would keep out the cold. Clutching Jacob Rabbit to her naked chest, she stood and wandered to feel them. Soft. Almost as soft as Jacob.

“Is this real?” she whispered to the rabbit.

The door opened and Mrs Beare came in. 

Mamma, she said I was to call her.

“I’ve borrowed these clothes from the vicar’s wife, Emily. She has a little girl about your age. Come and let me help you to dress.”

I’m Emily again. I have my proper name back.

Mamma dressed her in what looked like expensive clothes. She had always worn clothes passed on to the poor by richer folk. They had been worn out in places, and the fabric thin.

Mamma held up a white dress. “Arms up,” she said. 

When Emily complied, she dropped the dress over the child’s head. “Now turn around so I can do up the buttons.”

When the buttons were fastened, Mamma tied a blue ribbon around her waist.

The dress was not as long as Mamma’s. It came halfway down her calves. A hint of the frill around the legs of her bloomers peeped from below.

Mamma picked up a brush and teased out the tangles from her golden hair. “I can see why they called you Goldie. And you have a soft natural curl to your hair. It will be easy to fashion.” She held Emily at arm’s length. “You are exquisite. Now let us go and eat dinner before Mrs White has a fit.”

They left the sitting room and entered the dining room. 

 Mr Beare’s eyes opened wide. “I can’t believe this is the same little girl that was asleep in Harold’s room. She’s beautiful.”

Emily smiled and cast her eyes down.

Jane had set a fourth place, and when all four were seated, Mrs White entered carrying a platter on which sat a large goose. She was followed by Jane with a tray of dishes. The pair placed their burdens on the table.

“I’m sorry about the soup, Ma’am,” Mrs White said. “There was not enough to feed you all.” She glared at Emily.

Emily felt her face heating.

“That is all right, Mrs White. It wasn’t your fault,” Mrs Beare replied.

Emily squirmed in her seat and kept her eyes down. It was her fault there was not enough soup.

Mr Beare, Papa, carved the goose and served everyone.

There were potatoes, and a sauce made from some kind of green fruit. Mamma said they were gooseberries, so called because they were served with goose. Another dish had sprouts, and yet another had carrots.

After eating all these delicious foods, Emily had never felt so full in her life. She thought of the thin gruel she had eaten at Mr Smith’s, and grimaced.

After Jane cleared the remnants and dirty crockery, Mrs White returned with a plum pudding. She placed it carefully on the table and Mrs Beare served each of them. 

When they finished eating, Harold looked at her, and took a deep breath. “It’s Christmas, Mamma. We had our presents, but Emily hasn’t had anything.”

Emily grinned. “Yes, I have. I have a new home and family. That’s the best Christmas present ever.”

“But I want to give you something.” He pulled Jacob Rabbit from under the table. “You are now my little sister. You love Jacob, and so I’ll give him to you.”

His parents smiled.

After eating, the family repaired to the sitting room, Emily clutching Jacob Rabbit to her chest. Mamma sat at the piano and played Christmas carols, to which they all joined in singing. After a while, Papa got out the dominoes and they played until Emily ‘s eyes began to close.

Jane had made up a bed for her in her very own room. As she lay, her eyes closing, she believed this was the best day ever.

*****

Mr Smith stomped around the sparse loft room. “What d’you mean, no one’s seen ’er? She can’t just disappear.”

Jack spoke quietly. “P’rhaps she ran away after you beat ’er.”

“Then she’ll be ‘idin’ somewhere.” He turned to the other children. “All of you. Go out and search. Look in every corner, every empty ‘ouse, ware’ouses; everywhere you can think of.”

A few weeks later, Jack went up to Mr Smith, cowering. “I seen Goldie.”

Mr Smith grabbed the boy. “Where? Why didn’t you bring her back?”

“Couldn’t. She were with a well-to-do lady. Dressed nice, she were. Lady were ‘oldin’ her ‘and, like she were her mother or summat.”

Mr Smith sank into his chair. “Couldn’t be ‘er. A girl what looks like her. That’s who you saw.”

Jack shook his head. “Was ‘er a’right. Saw me, she did. Shook her ‘ead at me. Rekernised me for sure.”

“Well, we’ve searched for ‘er for weeks now. We need to get back to business. There’s no money coming in while you are all out searchin’. If that were Goldie you saw, she’s lost to us.”

The End

I hope you enjoyed the story of Goldie. Please let me know what you thought in the comments.

serial, short story, stories

Finding Family: The Journey of Emily the Orphan. (Goldie and the Beare Family: Part 6)

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Mrs Beare looked at the child, who had cowered away at the mention of the orphanage. She frowned. “What is it, child? Surely the orphanage is better than your Mr Smith?”

“Ma said it was a bad place. When I were bad, she said she’d send me there.”

Mrs Beare put her head on one side. “So you have a mother?”

“No. She went to heaven. Annie found me and took me to Mr Smith. She said I’d be one of her girls when I’m old enough.”

Mr Beare strode into the room. “That settles it. She must go to the orphanage. We cannot allow her to become a fallen woman.”

His wife sat on the bed with an arm around the little girl. She turned to her. “What’s your name?”

“Mr Smith calls me Goldie.”

“But what did your mother call you? Can you remember?”

 Mrs Beare had to lean forward to hear the whisper.

“Emily.”

“Well, Emily, tell me what you did for Mr Smith.”

“Begged. He said I’m pretty so people’ll feel sorry for me and give me more.”

“Emily, I will not let you go to either Mr Smith, or the orphanage. I have an idea, but I need to talk to my husband about it.” She stood. “Stay here. Harold, come along with us. Bring a toy to play with, but leave Jacob with Emily.”

“But, mother…”

Mrs Beare frowned. “Don’t argue, Harold. Do as you are told.”

He handed his rabbit to Emily with a sullen look, and followed his parents. “What if she runs away with him?”

“We will be outside the room. She will not be able to leave without us seeing her. Go and take your train into the sitting room until we call you.”

Mr Beare stood, head cocked to one side. “What is it, Grace? What’s going on in that head of yours?” He laughed. “I can’t see what alternative there is to the orphanage.”

“Oh, but there is, Albert. You know how I…we…wanted more children, but none came after Harold? Remember our prayers, asking God to help us? We thought that He had decided we should have no more children.”

Mr Beare nodded.

“Well, I think He has answered our prayers after all.”

“You mean… .” He looked at the bedroom door.

His wife nodded, a smile covering her face. “Yes. Emily. I think that God has sent her to us, both in answer to our prayers and to help her, too. I think we should adopt her.”

Mr Beare frowned and shook his head. “I’m not sure, Grace. Adopting a street child? She’s a thief. She entered our house and took things.” He gazed at his wife. 

“She took an opportunity that presented itself. She only did it from fear of this Mr Smith. She’s a beggar, not a thief.”

“It’s a big risk, Grace. Suppose Mr Smith still has some influence over her?”

Mrs Beare sighed. “If she’s living here with us I do not see how Mr Smith, whoever he is, can get to her.” She held onto her husband’s arm and gazed into his eyes. “Please, Albert. You know how I long for another child, especially a little girl. And here God has provided us with one. Are you going to reject God’s gift?” She opened her eyes wide and smiled at him through her eyelashes.

“You know I can’t deny you, especially when you look at me like that.” He bent and kissed her. “I won’t reject God’s gift, either.”

If it had not been unladylike, Mrs Beare would have jumped up and down.

“You realise we’ll have a difficult job getting her civilised?”

She grinned. “Yes, but I like a challenge.”

On entering the room, Emily was huddled in a corner of the bed, holding Jacob the rabbit tightly. She stared at Mrs Beare with wide open eyes.

Mrs Beare sat next to the little girl. “How would you like to live here with us, Emily?”

Emily frowned. “You want me to be a maid here?”

“No, no. I…we want you to be our little girl. Our daughter. We want to adopt you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will live here with us. We will give you clothes and food. You will go to school. You will have toys. You will have everything our son, Harold, has. He will be your brother.”

“Not go back to Mr Smith?”

“No.”

“And have a rabbit to cuddle, like Jacob?”

“Yes. And other toys, too.”

Mr Beare entered, looking severe. “You’ll have to be good, though. No more stealing.”

Emily put her hand in her pocket and drew out the brooch she had taken from Mrs Beare’s jewellery box. 

She held them towards Mrs Beare. “Sorry. Mr Smith would beat me if I had nothing to give him.” She hung her head as tears filled her eyes.

“You will call me ‘mother’, or mamma, if you prefer, and Mr Beare you will call ‘father’ or ‘papa’. But first we must get you clean and see to those wounds.”

Mrs Beare called Jane and told her to prepare a bath. When the hot water had been poured into the metal bath set before the fire, Mrs Beare washed Emily’s hair and gently sponged her back. Her clothes she gave to Jane with instructions to wash them, and to dry them as quickly as possible before the range. She then plastered a salve on the raw switch marks.

“What are we going to dress you in? You can’t walk around naked. It is indecent.” Mrs Beare thought for a minute. “Wait here, Emily, I won’t be long.” She left the room and sought her husband.

As she crossed the hallway, Jane rushed up the stairs.

“Ma’am, Mrs White says the dinner is ready, and will be spoiling.”

“Oh, Jane, tell Mrs White I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be too much longer. Try to keep it hot, please.”

Jane dropped a curtsey and went back down the stairs. 

Mrs Beare entered the dining room. “Albert, we can’t have Christmas dinner with Emily with no clothes. The vicar has a little girl about the same size as Emily. I’m sure his wife will not mind lending us an old dress of hers.”

Mr Beare rose and tapped his pipe on the side of the fireplace, where a fire blazed. “And you want me to go and ask.”

“Yes, please. She can’t put her old clothes back. Not only are they ragged, but they were filthy, so I had Jane burn them.”

“And I suppose I’ll have to ask for some underwear, too. All right. I’ll go straight away.”

Mrs Beare reached up and kissed him on the cheek, then returned to the sitting room and Emily.

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christmas, serial, stories

A Child in Need: The Story Behind the Burglar (Goldie and the Beare Family Part 5)

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Image created buy V.M.Sang using Bing AI Generator

“The door’s not closed.” Mr Beare frowned as he mounted the steps. He turned to his wife. “How come you didn’t close it behind you? I know you were in a hurry, but it is not like you to be so careless.”

His wife followed him into the house, pulling the hatpin from her hat and removing it. She hung it on a hatstand by the door. “Jane was behind me, Albert. She must not have pulled it closed properly.” She went to the top of the stairs leading to the basement and called the maid.

Jane curtsied from the top of the stairs. “What did you want, Mistress?”

“When you came out of the door to go to church, did you close it properly behind you?”

“Oh, Mistress, I really don’t know. I was rushing, see. I’m sorry if I left it.”

Mr Beare hung his cloak and hat on the stand. “You should be careful, Jane. There are all kinds of undesirables around these days. If someone had noticed, they would have been able to walk right in and help themselves.”

Tears trickled down Jane’s face. “I’m sorry, sir.” She curtsied again. “It won’t happen again. I’ll be extra careful in future.”

Mrs Beare placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “It’s partly my fault, Albert. I told Jane to come through the front door instead of the basement. We were late, and it would have taken her a few more minutes to go down to the kitchen and use the servant’s door.”

Mr Beare nodded and smiled at Jane. “Well, let’s forget it, shall we? Go and get changed into your uniform.”

Harold, Mr and Mrs Beare’s eight year old son came out of the sitting room.

“Mamma, someone has opened one of the sweetmeat bags.”

His parents rushed in and Harold pointed to the open bag on the roof of the Nativity scene.

Mr Beare picked it up. “Only one eaten, it seems.”

A scream came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of running feet.

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. So sorry. Someone’s been in the house. They took a bite from a mince pie.” Jane held out the evidence. “I’m sorry for leaving the door open. Please don’t dismiss me.”

“No one is dismissing anyone,” Mrs Beare said. “So far nothing has been taken or damaged except one sweetmeat and one bite of a mince pie. Go back to the kitchen and see if anything else has happened.”

“We’d better be certain nothing else has been taken, Mary,” Mr Beare said. “First let us see if anything has been taken from down here, then we can go upstairs and check.”

It was Harold who noticed the missing spoon in the dining room.

“That’s odd. They only took one small spoon. Look at all the other silver they could have taken.” Mrs Beare drew her brows together.

As they pondered this, Jane came rushing back. She panted before she managed to speak. “They’ve drunk the soup, Ma’am. I went to heat it up, and there was only a little bit left.”

“Let’s inspect upstairs,” Mr Beare said, striding to the staircase. “Jane, go back to the kitchen and help Mrs White finish the preparations for the meal.”

Jane curtsied and left.

The family ascended the stairs. Mr and Mrs Beare went into their bedroom and Harold went into his. 

Mrs Beare inspected her jewellery box and frowned. She turned to her husband. “The moon brooch you gave me is missing, but nothing else. The burglar only took one spoon and one piece of jewellery.”  

Harold ran into their room. “Mamma, there is a girl asleep on my bed.”

Mrs Beare straightened. “A girl?”

Harold nodded. “Yes. And she’s got Jacob.”

All three went to Harold’s room. Peering through the open door, they saw Goldie fast asleep and hugging Harold’s rabbit.

Mrs Beare’s eyes softened. “But she’s so little. Is she the burglar?”

“It would seem so, my dear. She’s obviously a beggar or a vagrant. We need to notify the police.”

The little girl woke, looked at the three people in the room and leaped to her feet, throwing the rabbit to the floor.

Harold dived for his toy, shouting “Jacob!”

The girl ran for the door and tried to duck under Mr Beare’s arm, but he was too quick and managed to grab her. He wrapped both arms around her, and as he did so, she screamed again. 

“It hurts. Please, it hurts.”

“Don’t hold her so tightly, Albert.”

“I’m not. It shouldn’t hurt her.”

The girl was crying now. “Please don’t get the police. I’ll give back what I took. Just give me some money. Only a little money, or Mr Smith will beat me again.”

Mrs Beare took the child’s hand and prized her away from her husband. “But it does hurt her.” She knelt beside the weeping child. “Where does it hurt? Did Mr Smith hurt you?”

The child nodded and sniffed, rubbing her hand over her nose, spreading snot across her face.

Mrs Beare took out a handkerchief and wiped it away. “Show me where he hurt you.”

The child turned around. “My back. He hurt my back.”

Gently, Mrs Beare pulled the ragged dress away from the child’s shoulders. She drew a quick breath. There, across the child’s back were three long welts. The remains of blood traced their path. 

She turned to her husband. “This child has been brutally beaten until she bled.” She stood her fists opening and closing. “We cannot allow her to return to such a man.”

“You’re correct, dear. I’ll contact the man in charge of the orphanage. They’ll take her if I ask him. I have influence.”

Mrs Beare looked at the child, who had cowered away at the mention of the orphanage. She frowned. “What is it, child? Surely the orphanage is better than your Mr Smith?”

“Ma said it was a bad place. When I were bad, she said she’d send me there.”

Mrs Beare put her head on one side. “So you have a mother?”

“No. She died. Annie found me and took me to Mr Smith. She said I’d be one of her girls when I’m old enough.”

Mr Beare strode into the room. “That settles it. She must go to the orphanage. We cannot allow her to become a fallen woman.”

Will Goldie be sent to the orphanage she so dreads?

christmas, serial, stories

Finding Warmth at Christmas: (Goldie and the Beare Family part 4)

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Image by V.M.Sang and Bing AI generator.

Picture shows a small ragged girl sitting in front of a fire in a Victorian sitting room. There is a Christmas tree in the window.

The next day was Christmas, so Mr Smith told them. People would be feeling generous. They would be walking the streets visiting friends and relatives after Church. “Go and make the most of it.  Beggars, look pathetic, and pickpockets, be sneaky.  Merry Christmas, and good pickings.”

As the children descended the stairs, Jack tapped Goldie on the shoulder. “Mr Smith put me on pickpocketing. Go to my old spot by the church. Should do well today.”

Goldie trudged through the snow and leaned against a wall. She thought the church looked pretty with the snow on the roof and spire. Snow coated the ancient yew trees.

She looked at the gravestones. They look as if they’re wearing white hats.

The bells began to ring, calling the worshippers to Christmas Mass. Shortly, doors opened along the street as families made their way to the church. Everyone called “Merry Christmas” to their neighbours, and children laughed in anticipation of the presents to be opened later.

No one noticed the small girl, shivering by the church wall.

The door of a house opposite the church opened. A man strode out, followed by a boy of about eight. 

The man turned back. “Hurry. We’re going to be late.”

“Just fixing my hat, dear.” A woman came out pulling on a pair of gloves. She turned back. “Hurry, Jane. You must not be late for church. Not today, on the birthday of Our Lord. Has Mrs White left already?”

A young woman rushed out pulling the door closed behind her. “Coming, Mrs Beare. Yes, Mrs White is probably already in the church. She has everything ready for dinner, so she went ahead.”

They passed Goldie without giving her a single glance. She watched them enter the church, and soon heard singing; beautiful Christmas carols.

The sky looked leaden. The wind blew the snow into little heaps in corners and at the base of walls. Goldie looked at the houses lining the street. 

I bet it is warm inside. I’d love to go into one, just for a few minutes, to get warm.

Her teeth started chattering as an extra strong gust of wind swept along the street. As she watched, the door to the house where the Beare family lived swung slightly open.

Goldie’s eyes popped. The maid must have failed to close it properly in her hurry when she left.

Could I? Should I?

Goldie sprinted across the street.  Has God done this so I can get warm? Looking around, and noticing the street was empty, the little girl slipped through the door. She pushed it so it looked closed, and gazed around.

She found herself in a narrow hallway with stairs climbing on the right. A small table stood at the bottom of the stairs with a vase containing dried flowers. 

Doors opened on the left and right. Goldie picked the left one. It opened onto a large room filled with warmth from a fire damped down behind a metal fire guard.She ran to its heat and held her hands out to it with a blissful smile. 

As the cold seeped out of her bones, she gazed around the room. Three chairs faced the fire. One had large arms and wings on either side of the back.  

That one would swallow me up.

The second chair was closer to her size, and with no wings it might be more comfortable.

Gentleman and ladies’ chairs. Too big for me.

The third chair looked like a child’s seat. Much smaller than the others, and placed right in front of the fire where she could warm her feet. She sat in it and held her feet out to the warmth of the fire.

In the window stood a large tree. The family had decorated it with wooden ornaments, all different shapes and brightly painted. She also spotted some little bags hanging from the branches. A large star decorated the top.

How pretty.

Below the  tree was a scene with little figures. There was a man and a woman gazing at a  baby lying in a crib filled with straw. At one side, three more men, one with a lamb over his shoulder, knelt before the baby. On the other side, three men carrying elaborate boxes with a camel behind them had their eyes on the baby. A donkey and cow completed the scene. 

Over the fireplace was a large mirror that someone had decorated with holly. The glossy, green leaves contrasted with the bright red berries. Branches of green rested on other surfaces and gave a sweet scent to the room. 

Goldie crept towards the tree. She longed to taste the sweets hanging there. She reached out her hand, but pulled it back. After standing there for a few minutes, she pulled a bag from the tree and opened it. Taking out one of the sweets, she popped it into her mouth. Sweetness burst over her tongue. She had never tasted anything so sweet, and she was unsure if she liked it. She spat the sweetmeat out and threw it into the fire, dropping the bag on the floor, where the other sweets tumbled out.

On the mantelpiece, a clock ticked. How long would the church service last? When she’d sat outside before, it had seemed like a very long time.

It’s only just started. I can stay here for a bit longer. Then I can go and get money when the people come out.

She gazed around the room and decided to explore the house. 

Rising, Goldie crossed the hallway and entered a room with a large table in the centre. It was set for three people with crystal wine glasses and silver cutlery. In the centre was  a bowl with holly and ivy. 

She picked up a silver spoon and popped it into her pocket. 

Mr Smith will be pleased. He might even give me extra food like he did when I got some silver coins. These people won’t miss a little spoon.

That would be worth more than she could collect by begging. 

On leaving the room, she sniffed. The enticing smell of food drew her to the stairs leading to the basement. Her stomach growled. Maybe she could find something to eat down there before going upstairs. Careful, in case there was a servant who had not gone to church, Goldie crept slowly down.

The stairs led into a kitchen with a range at one end and a scrubbed wooden table in the centre. A cupboard stood opposite the window and on it were some pies and a large cake. Goldie picked up one of the pies and bit into it. 

“Ow! That’s hot.” She placed the pie back on the plate and peered around. There on the top of the range was a copper pan with soup in it. She felt in her pocket and fished out the spoon she had taken from the dining room. Dipping it into the pan, she first blew on it, then took a sip. 

“Mmm. Delicious.” She continued eating until her stomach felt full.

Putting the spoon back in her pocket, she returned to the hall and then climbed the stairs to the landing. The first room she entered was a large bedroom overlooking the street. She peeped out of the window. No one about. They’re still in church. Good.

The bed was huge, and covered with a red counterpane. Opposite it was a dressing table. 

There was a glass tray on the top, and a pair of glass candlesticks, one on each side. A small box decorated with painted roses stood in the middle of the tray. She lifted the lid.

A brooch took her eye. It sparkled with what she thought might be diamonds and was in the shape of a crescent moon. She slipped it into her pocket. Mr Smith would be so pleased with her that he would never beat her again. 

She heard a voice in her head. Her mother’s voice. We might be poor, but we are honest. Taking things that belong to someone else is wrong.

She took the brooch out and stared at it.

Ma wasn’t goin’ to be beat if she didn’t take something. She had a job in the mill.   She put it back into her pocket

I wonder if there is anything in the next bedroom?

She made her way across the landing and into what was obviously a child’s bedroom. A small bed with a blue counterpane stood opposite the door, and on it was a fluffy rabbit with a blue bow around its neck. On a chest of drawers Goldie noticed a toy train. Blue curtains hung at the window, tied back with a blue cord.

Goldie yawned. The warmth and the soup filling her stomach made her sleepy. What a lovely rabbit. She picked it up and cuddled it. It was soft and warm. She stroked its fur, burying her face in it. The rabbit seemed to want her to cuddle it more so she sat on the bed and leaned back, holding the toy close to her chest.

Slowly her eyes closed.

I hope you are enjoying this story. Please leave your comments in the box.

If you would like to read more of my work, you can click on the book covers in the side bar and you will be taken to a page where you can choose your favourite online store.

Maybe you would like to read a poem each day next year. Follow this link to see book 1 and this one to see book 2, or click on the book cover in the sidebar.

book release, book reviews, fantasy, novel

Smorgasbord Christmas Book Fair – New Book Spotlight and my Review #DarkFantasy #YA – Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver by D. Wallace Peach

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I am very happy to share the news of the upcoming release by D. Wallace Peach of her YA/Teen Dark Fantasy – Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver on pre-order for January 2nd… I thought it would be a great way to bring the Christmas Book Fair to a close for this year with this post […]

Smorgasbord Christmas Book Fair – New Book Spotlight and my Review #DarkFantasy #YA – Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver by D. Wallace Peach
christmas, serial, short story

The Struggles of Goldie: A Tale of Hunger and Survival (Goldie and the Beare Family part 3)

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Image created by V.M.Sang using Bing AI image generator.

They had not eaten all day, and Goldie’s stomach growled. She crossed the room to where Annie stood with a cauldron. As she approached, Annie lifted a bowl and spooned some of the contents of the cauldron into it. She handed it, along with a spoon and a slice of bread, to Goldie.

Goldie looked into the bowl. There was what looked like a piece of fat and a few carrots floating in a greasy liquid. She sat on her mattress and spooned some into her mouth. It tasted like it looked; a greasy, watery liquid with very little sustenance. But she was very hungry, so she wiped the stale bread around the bowl and forced the meagre repast down. When she had taken the bowl back to Annie, she lay on her pallet. Still hungry, she fell asleep.

The next few weeks were the same. She went out with Jack and sat next to him on a pavement somewhere richer folk would pass. He told her that Mr Smith was very pleased with the money they were making. Soon he was going to let Goldie go out on her own. 

She shivered at that thought. Yes, Jack had taught her the things to say, how to say it and what to do, but the thought of being out there on her own made her tremble. What if she was no good at begging? She had seen enough to know that Mr Smith would make no concessions for a novice. She had been lucky so far and had not been beaten, but if she did not make enough money, she would certainly feel the switch.

She crept out on her first day. Where to go? It was not Sunday, so it was no good going to a church. The shops. Yes. She would go to the shops. Sometimes people bought food for her from one of the stalls. 

I hope Mr Smith doesn’t find out about the food. I don’t think he’d understand.

She sat on the pavement and shivered. Winter was on the way. Her clothes had become even more ragged in the weeks she had been in Mr Smith’s ‘employ’, as he called it. She was permanently hungry, and getting even thinner than she had been when she first started ‘working’. A tear formed in the corner of her eye. Her stomach rumbled. It did nothing but rumble these days.  Mr Smith and Annie gave them enough food–just. How she longed for a full stomach. Or a fullish one would be enough.

Here comes a kind-looking woman.

Goldie let a tear fall. “Missus, a coin please. I’m so very hungry.”  That’s true. “I have no home. No one to feed me. Please. Just a farthing.” She held out her hand. 

The woman walked past, drawing her skirts in as she did so.

Not kind at all.

The next three people passed with barely a glance at her.

A man threw a penny in her direction. It struck her on the arm. She rubbed it and went to pick up the penny. 

As she did so, she heard the man say to his companion, “I don’t know why these beggars are allowed where decent people live.” He glanced at Goldie. “But one has to do one’s bit. I give alms as the Church says we should.”

I bet he’s never been hungry.

The men disappeared around a corner.

A costermonger pushed his barrow along the street. He had fruit for sale.

I wonder if I have enough to buy an apple. She looked at the few pennies, halfpennies and farthings she had collected. No. I don’t want to be beaten.

That evening, after eating the thin gruel Annie provided, Mr Smith came to her mattress. She cowered. What had she done?

“I knew you would be good. Folks are sorry for a pretty little girl. That was a nice haul you got today.” He stared at her with his eyes narrowed. “You must do the same tomorrow. Make them feel extra sorry for you. Mebbe you can get some silver coins. Threepenny bits, tanners or even a shilling. You work on ’em. Here.” He handed her a bowl and spoon. “Some extra as a reward.”

Goldie stared at the gruel, then, dipping her spoon into it, she gobbled the foul stuff. 

That night she slept badly. She shivered, and not only from the cold. What would Mr Smith do if she did not get any silver coins? Would he take the switch to her?

The next day her fears were realised. It was cold, and snow began to fall. The middle classes stayed at home, except for the men rushing to work, and rushing home again. 

Goldie pulled her shawl closely around herself, but it made little difference. People were too anxious to get home out of the snow to think about the little girl on the street corner. She dragged her feet on her way home.

“You must have spent some of the money.” Mr Smith’s eyes blazed. “You can’t have only got this much.” He tipped the two pennies and one farthing onto the table.

“It snowed.” She began to cry. “Everyone hurried past.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” Mr Smith reached for his cane. “You spent some.”

That night she felt the switch for the first time.

Swish “One.” Swish. “Two.” Swish. “Three. I’ll be lenient and stop at three, but if you spend any more of my money, you will get the full six.” He leaned the cane against the wall and left.

Sobbing, she lay on her stomach. Her back burned. She reached around and her fingers came away bloody. She had not had anything to eat. Mr Smith had refused to allow her any gruel. 

A shuffling made her turn. One of the other children, a girl of nine, crouched by Goldie’s pallet. 

She held a bowl half full of gruel. “I knew he wouldn’t feed you tonight so I saved some of my food for you.”

Goldie sat up and passed her hand over her eyes. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you giving me your food?”

“Mr Smith is a bad man. He treats us bad. But it’s better than the streets. Lots die in the cold out there. Lots get other horrid things done to them. Lots become cripples. I like you, so I give you some food.”

Goldie had not heard this girl say so much before. She had always been quiet. 

She took the bowl. “Thank you.” She put it to her mouth and drank the thin broth. Although it did not satisfy her hunger, the empty feeling went away a bit.

christmas, Holidays, Poetry

The Littlest Christmas Tree. A Poem

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This is from the second book in my 2 book series of poems, ‘One Poem a Day.’ The first one is called ‘From January to June’ and the second ‘From July to December.

This poem is from Book 2 and is today’s poem.

Image by V.M.Sang and Bing AI

December 16th.

As it gets nearer to Christmas, Christmas trees are going up everywhere. Yes, I know some have been up since November! Here’s a poem about one.

The Littlest Christmas Tree.

The other trees looked oh, so tall
To him, who was so very small.
And now it is the time of year
When everyone is filled with cheer.

Some men came for the tallest tree.
They took him with them, full of glee.
He was going into town.
In Market Square he’d wear a crown.

The littlest tree watched on as folk
Bought others. He was full of hope
That soon he would be picked to go
To a home to put on a show.

But people passed him by and said,
“That one’s too small. That one instead.”
His branches drooped. He felt so sad,
Until a man came, with a lad.

Most other trees had long been sold.
The little tree stood in the cold.
“Look, there’s a small one,” said the lad
As he turned towards his dad.

“It will just fit in our hall.
We can’t have one that is too tall.”
And so they came with spade and dug
Around his roots, all in the mud.

The littlest tree went home with them.
The lights and baubles gleamed like a gem.
He was so happy in that home
With all the love around him shown.

But Christmas passes soon away.
Then there came that dreaded day.
They took away the lights and balls.
“What happens now?” was all his thoughts.

He saw the tall trees passing by
On lorries, going off to die.
Their needles withering and brown
On their proud branches, drooping down.

Fear now filled the littlest tree.
“Is that what’s going to happen to me?”
But then the Dad came with a spade.
“I’ll not throw that for which we’ve paid.”

He dug a deep hole for the roots
And tamped it down with his big boots.
“We’ll let him grow, and then next year
We’ll bring him in again. Don’t fear.

And so the littlest tree was glad
That he’d been bought by this kind dad.
For now he has nothing to fear.
He’s decorated every year.

If you enjoyed this poem, and would like to read more, you can buy from the online store of your choice by clicking the cover below or in the side bar.

The books are available as ebook, hard back or paperback.

Here is the blurb for book 1

Take a lyrical journey through the first half of the year with V.M. Sang’s FROM JANUARY TO JUNE.

This anthology captures the essence of everyday life, nature, and the world around us through the versatile medium of poetry. From haiku to narrative poems, and the humor found in limericks, From January To June is a diverse collection of poetry.

A calendar in creativity, a diary in verse; this collection is the perfect companion for daily reflection and inspiration, providing a poem for each day that resonates with the diverse experiences of life.

And the blurb for book 2

The second book of poetry in V.M. Sang’s One Poem A Day Series takes us through summer to midwinter.

Each day there is a poem to read. These poems are often related to the season, for example, Harvest, or the first flight by the Montgolfier brothers, and of course, Christmas.

The poems are varied in type and length. There are haiku, haibun and tanka, limericks, sonnets, odes and narrative poems among the collection. Some poems are comments on serious subjects, while others are amusing and entertaining.

Many of the poems in this collection are in the traditional vein, so if you enjoy this type of poetry, this book is for you.

book reviews, novel

Heart-Wrenching Story of Family Betrayal

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I think this was a recommendation by Sally Cronin. Thanks, Sally. An amazing book. I finished it a couple of days ago, but it’s still resonating.

I think I’ve just found my new favourite author.

OVERVIEW 

A heart wrenching story told with sympathy and understanding. Set in the 1960s, some of the treatment of the children seems harsh and wrong to us now, but in those days, people thought they were doing the right thing.

STORY

Charlie and Chloe are twins. When we first meet them they are eight years old and their mother died three years previously. They are living happily with their father, Graham, although they miss their mother, of course. 

Then one day Graham brings home a woman whom he says he is going to marry. She is the nurse who cared for their mother in her final days.

But she isn’t the kind, understanding woman that she makes everyone believe. 

Charlie sees through her right from the start, and their world gradually turns upside down.

The book takes us through many years as the children become adults.

I don’t want to say more as anything else would be a spoiler.

BLURB

A gripping ‘cuckoo in the nest’ domestic thriller

After the death of their mum, twins Chloe and Charlie are shocked when their dad introduces Lynne as their ‘new mummy’. Lynne, a district nurse, is trusted in the community, but the twins can see her kind smile doesn’t meet her eyes. In the months that follow they suffer the torment Lynne brings to their house as she stops at nothing in her need to be in control.

Betrayed, separated and alone, the twins struggle to build new lives as adults, but will they find happiness or repeat past mistakes? Will they discover Lynne’s secret plans for their father? Will they find each other in time?

The Stranger in My House is a gripping ‘cuckoo in the nest’ domestic thriller, exploring how coercive control can tear a family apart. Set in Yorkshire and Cardiff, from the 60s to the winter of discontent, The Stranger in My House dramatises both the cruelty and the love families hide behind closed doors.

CHARACTERS

The people in this story are well-rounded. No one is perfect.

Charlie is a perceptive little boy. But he lets his resentment eat away at him as he grows up. Not surprisingly, really, given what he has to go through. He is also stubborn in refusing to try to get on with Lynne, his new stepmother.

Chloe is more malleable. She wants to get on with Lynne, and tries to persuade Charlie he’s wrong about her.

Graham is a lovely father; kind and supportive until he becomes more and more under Lynne’s influence. He believes her over his children.

Lynne is shown as a manipulative woman who is willing to wait for years for what she wants. She says she has been in an abusive relationship, but managed to escape.

Lynne has two children of her own, Evie and Saul, both older than Charlie and Chloe.

Evie is lovely, and knows exactly what her mother is like and she helps the twins whenever she can, even if only lending an ear.

Saul, on the other hand, is a bully. He bullies Charlie, but if Charlie says anything, Lynne takes Saul’s side and convinces Graham that Charlie is making it up.

WRITING.

Excellent writing. I felt sympathy for the children and got angry with the adults, just as I would in real life.

The characters are believable written in a sympathetic way, except, of course, Lynne and Saul, whom I was anxious to see get their just deserts.

There were no grammatical errors or typos.

I would fully recommend this book. I couldn’t put it down.

I give it 5*

My ranking of books. In order to get a particular number of stars, it is not necessary to meet all the criteria. This is a guide only.

5* Exceptional. Wonderful story. Setting well drawn, and characters believable–not perfect, but with flaws. Will keep you up all night. No typos or grammatical errors.

4* A thoroughly enjoyable read. Great and original story. Believable setting and characters. Very few grammatical errors or typos.

3* I enjoyed it. Good story. Characters need some development. Some typos or grammatical errors.

2* Not for me. Story not very strong. Unbelievable and flat characters. Setting not clearly defined. Many typos or grammatical errors.

1* I hated it. Story almost non-existent. Setting poor. Possibly couldn’t finish it.

Have you read anything by Judith Barrow? I definitely intend to read more of her books.

serial, short story, stories

The Story of Goldie: A Journey Through Poverty Part 2

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Artwork by me and Bing AI

“Come on.” Jack dragged her out of the door, pinching her arm as he did so.

“Ow!” Goldie shook him off as they descended the stairs. “What’ll happen to Peter?”

“Get switched. Prob’ly have a meal stopped, too. Shouldna ’ave kept money back. Mr Smith likes switchin’ ’e does. Don’t give ’im any chance to switch you. Do as ’e says, right and proper, and you’ll be a’right.” 

Goldie looked around. “What’s this place? Who lives in these rooms?”

Jack shrugged. “Mr Smith lives in one. Annie in another. The rest are Mary and her girls.”

“Mary said she wants me for one of her girls when I’m grown. What do her girls do?”

Jack paused on the stairs. “They’re whores. Know what them is?”

“I think so. A whore lived near us, before mamma died.” She sniffed and ran a hand across her face leaving a dirty smudge. “Lots and lots of men visited her. Mamma said she sold her body to them.” She screwed her face up. “I didn’t understand what she meant.”

They reached the door and Jack led her into the street. Rubbish blew past them, and the wind whipped Goldie’s hair into her eyes. A scrawny cat jumped onto a wall opposite.

Jack turned right along the street. Tall tenement blocks of houses rose on either side, cutting out the sunlight and making a corridor for the wind.

Goldie pulled her threadbare cardigan closely around her as she followed Jack along the familiar streets. As they passed one house, she paused, snuffling back tears. She turned to the boy. “I used to live there.” She pointed at the house. “We lived in a room at the back.”

“Did you have brothers an’ sisters?” Jack took her arm and pulled her away.

Goldie shook her head. “Papa went to heaven when I was very little. Mamma worked in a mill. She said I’d work there soon.” She sniffed. “I don’t want to work in a mill. Some of my friends got hurt real bad. They had to go under the machines to get bits of cotton. They call them sca…scave…scavengers.”

“Did you run away?” Jack asked.

Goldie nodded. “Mamma got poorly. She was being sick all the time and pooing. Our room smelled real bad. Then Mamma went to be with Papa in heaven.” She began to cry.

“Then Annie found me. I was very hungry and cold and she promised me somewhere to sleep and food to eat if I worked for Mr Smith.” Working for Mr Smith would be better than the mill.

Even if Mr Smith were a hard man, and it seemed he was, if she were a good girl and did as she was told, she would not get the cane.

Jack continued to lead her through the streets of the town.

Following, she found herself in a part of the town she did not know. The children sat on the ground opposite a church. 

Bells rang from the steeple calling the people to worship. 

Goldie noticed the gravestones surrounding the building. Her mother would not have the luxury of such. Goldie did not know what happened to her mother’s body. People came and took it away. 

A woman arrived to take her to the orphanage. The little girl had a fear of that place. Her mother had often threatened to send her there when she was angry.

Goldie looked around. This was where the ‘posh’ people lived.

The street was clean. Goldie looked at the houses. Most were tall with three stories above road level, and some had steps leading to a basement. Doors opened and people dressed in their best clothes flocked towards the church.

The men wore black or dark brown suits with white shirts and colourful cravats. High black hats were the height of fashion and every man sported one, removing it before entering the building.They shepherded their wives dressed in more colourful attire, although still fairly sober for church. Most of the dresses had bustles, but a few of the older women still wore the wide, hooped crinolines. Like the men, all wore hats.

They hustled their children into the church, barely looking at the two ragged children sitting opposite.

Goldie’s face fell. “What will happen if we don’t take anything back to Mr Smith? Will he switch us?”

Jack patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, Goldie. When they come out, they’ll feel they should do something for charity and then they’ll give us money. I ain’t never been here on a church day when I got nothing.”

The few passersby sniffed as they walked past, and one or two crossed the road. A couple dropped a few small coins in the children’s hats, but it was a  pitifully small amount. Then the church doors opened. The people spilled onto the road. A carriage drawn by a bay horse drew up and a family climbed inside.  The carriage trotted away.

People chattered outside the church. Goldie noticed the congregation beginning to disperse and was about to give up hope of anyone giving them alms. 

It was then that Jack stood. “Please spare a coin. Me and me sister is ’ungry. We ain’t ’ad nuffin to eat since yesterday morning.” He reached out a hand as a couple passed.

The woman searched in her bag and tossed a penny to the pair.

A little girl looked at Goldie. “Mamma, we can’t let such a pretty little girl starve. Give her something.”

The mother puckered her brow. “How do we know they will spend it on food? You know what these beggars are like.”

The girl looked shocked. “Mamma! You heard what the vicar said. ‘Jesus said when you feed one of these poor people, you are feeding me.’ And he said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’ Jesus would not have left them begging without giving them something.”

The girl’s father came up to them. “She’s right, you know.” He felt in his pocket and dropped a coin into the hat. Then he shepherded them away.

Jack looked into the hat on the floor. His eyes opened wide. “A shilling! He gave us a whole shilling!”

During the next few hours several more people gave them money, and when the daylight began to fade, they made their way back to the house where Mr Smith lived.

When he saw how much they had gathered, his face almost split with his grin. “I knew you would be good as a beggar, Goldie. Now go and get something to eat.”

I hope you are enjoying this serialisation of my story inspired by Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

I love hearing from you. Please leave your comments in the comments box.

If you would like to read some more of my writing, click on the book cover in the side bar to take you to a page where you can buy from the retailer of your choice.