my own mind. I have loved your father, Ellie, and I honour him as a good man, but there have been many, many times when I have regretted my wilfulness, and envied my sisters – and never more than where you and your sister are concerned.
Your future now lies with your aunts, and I beg you, for my sake, to be guided always by them.
The plans and arrangements they will make for you have already been discussed with me, and if my worst fears come to be, and I do not survive the birth of my child, then you will read this letter in the knowledge that everything your aunts do for you is with my knowledge and approval. Always remember that I love you and that what I have done I have done in your best interests and out of my love for you.
May God bless you, my darling daughter, and may I rest in peace knowing that you will be dutiful and obedient to your aunts, my sisters.
I am your loving mother,
Lydia Barclay Pride
However her mother may have signed herself, the letter had been written as Lydia Barclay and not Lydia Pride, Ellie recognised bleakly.
People were starting to leave. Dutifully, Ellie went to say her goodbyes to them, gently guiding Connie with her.
Connie’s normally expressive face was blank, her clothes for once uncreased and unmarked, her agile body stiff and unyielding.
‘Ellie, what is to happen to us?’ she burst out in a frantic whisper. ‘In her letter to me, Mam says that I am to obey my aunt and be a good daughter to her, but I am not her daughter, am I? I am Father’s daughter.’
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