A Valley Dream

Book 0: Backshaw Moss

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Historical Romance; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

The first book in Anna Jacobs' wonderful Backshaw Moss series.

1935. At thirty-six, Bella Porter is dependent on her abusive cousin, acting as an unpaid servant. When a kind relative leaves her a house in the village of Backshaw Moss, Thomas tries to take it from her, but she defies him and grasps this chance of a new start in Lancashire.

It is not going to be easy, though. The house is on the edge of a slum and in a state of disrepair, let out as flats. As kind people help her find her feet, however, her confidence grows and when she meets struggling, widowed father-of-three Ryan, she begins to hope she may find the happy family she's always dreamed of.

She's offered partial help with her renovations by the local council who are planning to clear up the slums, but other landlords will do anything to avoid costly improvements and protect their profits. And when Thomas follows her, still after the inheritance, not only is Bella's newfound happiness threatened but also her life. Can her new friends help her rid herself of her tormenter once and for all and finally achieve her valley dream?

(P) 2021 Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

Release date: May 13, 2021

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 368

Sample

Dear readers,

This is the first book in my new series set in Backshaw Moss. It will be the last series set in Ellindale, my imaginary Pennine valley. I really enjoyed writing this story and working out how to finish the whole group of series.

This time, it’s Bella’s story and it’s what is often called a ‘coming of age’ story, which means someone is changing their life for the better. Her name is short for Arabella, but that was too much of a mouthful, so Bella she became.

Whenever I try to find names for characters it always reminds me that I can see some names being suitable for heroines and heroes, others only for villains, and others only for very minor characters. Why that is, I’ve never been able to figure out. I do know that I have trouble calling any character ‘David’ as that’s my lovely husband’s name and I can’t see anyone, even a hero, wearing it.

I love designing the houses my characters inhabit, too. People’s homes are so important, don’t you think? This time we’re not using two-up, two-down terraced houses, but a group of three detached houses built roughly three-quarters of the way through the nineteenth century.

These were solid houses built to last, but in that era houses didn’t usually have bathrooms and certainly not amenities like electricity or even gas. Gas lighting was used in some urban streets in the early nineteenth century, but wasn’t thought suitable for indoors until much later in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This story is set in 1935 and the modernisation process is an integral part of the story.

I was born at the beginning of World War 2 and as I grew up, I watched poor-quality housing being knocked down and modern estates replacing the terraced streets. For most of my childhood, my maternal grandparents lived in a one-up, one-down back-to-back house, i.e. it only had frontage on one street, and its back abutted the house behind it.

My granddad set up his home workshop in the cellar, and I remember sitting down there watching him make things. He was very good with his hands, had been trained as a fitter and turner. When he bought his first car (an Austin 7, before I was born) he pulled the whole thing to pieces, literally, so that he would know how it worked, then rebuilt it. After that he was able to repair anything on it himself. He was a very clever man in many ways.

I do wish I’d taken better note of what was going on around me with regard to housing in the post-WW2 housing boom, but my head was full of school, boyfriends and the books I was reading – at the rate of at least eight books a week while I was at primary school, reducing to four books a week while I was at grammar school.

What can I say? I’m a story addict, whether writing them or reading them. We currently have about fifteen bookcases full of ‘keepers’ and research books in our house and a burglar would be very disappointed at what is to be found, because books quickly lose their monetary value when they’ve been read – but not their ‘love’ value if it’s a story that is dear to one’s heart.

Happy reading, everyone! I certainly had a happy time writing this story and hope you enjoy it.

Anna

James Beaton stared at his godmother’s lawyer in shock. He’d just been told that he’d been appointed sole executor of Sarah Jane Chapman’s estate.

To his surprise the lawyer added, ‘You are apparently the only relative of hers whom she felt she could trust to carry out her wishes, sir.’

‘And she was – well, in her rightful mind?’

‘She may have been old, but there was nothing wrong with her brain, I promise you. She asks that you read her diaries to gain a clearer insight into why she’s chosen these relatives to inherit and why the bequests have been made in such a way. In summary, it’s to nudge those who inherit into finding the courage to make changes to their lives.’

‘Well, well.’ James sat thinking for a moment or two, then shrugged. He had no pressing reason to go straight back to London. In fact, he’d been rather bored lately. ‘Then I shall stay here as she requested and find the best way to carry out her wishes.’

‘I’ve had her house prepared for you to live in. Her housekeeper and maid are happy to stay on for a while.’

James ended up spending longer in Rivenshaw than he’d expected to – several weeks, in fact. It was a pleasant little town and he’d never visited the Lancashire moors before.

During this time he went through every cupboard and drawer in his godmother’s house, finding it unexpectedly intriguing to see in intimate detail how someone else had lived, having been a reclusive bachelor all his life.

He found Sarah’s diaries and read them all. She had a telling way with words. She’d been concerned that while the employment situation had improved in the south and Midlands in recent years, in Lancashire times were still hard. Not only were the poor struggling to put food on the table, but even those who normally would have made an adequate living were struggling.

He explored the area of the valley she had felt needed support. Much of the hamlet of Backshaw Moss was a slum, but the part near the larger village of Birch End was much better, and he chose to make a start on doing as Sarah had asked there, combining her wishes with his own desire to leave the world a better place.

As the train rattled its way back to London, James couldn’t help thinking about his own situation. He wasn’t in good health so could no longer travel, and sorting out Sarah’s bequests had made him look at his own will again.

From then on he surprised his family by attending most of their social functions, and he was distressed to find out that the nephew he’d once thought a decent chap and worthy heir was anything but.

As a consequence, Thomas Beaton was no longer going to inherit anything, and the first person to benefit from his own and Sarah’s legacies would be his great-niece Arabella Porter, who went by the name of Bella. Why hadn’t he noticed what a miserable life the poor woman had been leading since the Great War, thanks to his nephew, on whom she was totally dependent?

James trusted his lawyer enough to tell him the truth. ‘It must be impossible for my nephew Thomas to overturn my will. He is not a good man.’

The slight smile Albert Neven couldn’t quite hide suggested that he was already aware of this fact. ‘It’s entirely your choice who inherits, Mr Beaton. He has no claim on you.’

As he sat sipping a glass of cognac the evening after he’d signed the will, James wished he could be there to see what the beneficiaries made of their legacies.

He’d asked for Bella to be dealt with first, because she was the one he knew personally. He hoped she wouldn’t give way to Thomas’s bullying. He was quite sure his nephew would try to take her legacy from her, but he trusted Albert Neven to prevent that.

He raised his glass in a silent salute to her. Only time would tell whether his bequests would achieve their aim. He was at least giving Bella and the others a chance for a better life, and that thought gave him great satisfaction.

In the end, it was up to them what they did with it.

The lawyer shuffled his papers and cleared his throat and the small group of family members sitting in the drawing room fell silent, looking at him expectantly. Albert Neven, who had drawn up the last will and testament of the late James Beaton, studied the group, frowned, and looked at his host.

‘Mr Beaton, I particularly requested that Miss Arabella Jane Porter be present today, since she is also a beneficiary of your uncle.’

All heads turned to Thomas Beaton, now head of the family.

‘I’m representing her.’

‘Did she ask you to do that?’

As Beaton harrumphed, his elder son gathered his courage together and said loudly, ‘No, she didn’t. When I spoke to her a short time ago, she wasn’t even aware that she was a legatee.’

His father glared at him and said scornfully, ‘I didn’t need to discuss it with her. It’s only fitting, since she is totally dependent on me, that I take care of whatever this legacy is. Women do not understand business.’

At least two of the women present glared at him and the lawyer ignored him completely, inclining his head towards Stephen Beaton. ‘Thank you for clarifying this, sir. You will appreciate that I am legally obliged to carry out the wishes of your late uncle.’

Bella was standing outside the small side door of the drawing room, which was usually used by servants entering and leaving. Over the years she’d found it a useful place to find things out when excluded from a family gathering. It had saved her a lot of trouble.

Unfortunately she’d been totally dependent on her cousin Thomas ever since the death of her parents a few years after the Great War ended, and still was at thirty-six, sadly.

The slightly open door gave her only a limited view of the room, but she had heard clearly what the lawyer said and was now feeling angry. Why had she not been told about this legacy?

How much had she been left? Could it be enough to live on independently? No, independence was too much to hope for. She not only didn’t have a penny to her name, but lacked any skills that could earn her a wage.

Thomas had deliberately kept her helpless over the years, not even allowing her to do a typewriting course, claiming it ‘unladylike’. In reality, she was sure that was because he found it useful to have another pair of hands around the house without needing to pay her any wages.

Even if she had found a job, women were always paid far less than men, anyway. The ladies she met at church worked as clerks or typists, earning wages of a mere twenty-five or thirty shillings a week. That was not enough to live on decently. One of them had gone hungry last winter, missing lunches for a month in order to buy a new winter coat.

At least by living with Thomas she got enough to eat and was warm in winter. And best of all, she’d had the pleasure of helping to raise his children, something he’d had little interest in.

As if in answer to her prayers, she heard Mr Neven say, ‘Your uncle specifically asked that Miss Porter be present to hear the details of her legacy. I cannot therefore continue to read the will without her.’

‘Why did James do that?’

‘I can’t tell you his reasons, I’m merely carrying out his orders. If Miss Porter is not able to be here today, I shall have to come back and read the will another time when she is at home.’

‘I think I heard her come in a short time ago,’ Thomas’s wife Muriel said hastily. ‘Shall I go and fetch her?’

Thomas sighed irritably. ‘If we must. But warn her that she had better not interrupt.’

Bella didn’t need to see his face to know he would be glaring at the lawyer.

She could see dear Stephen’s face, though, and he was scowling at his father from across the room. They clashed regularly now that Stephen had got a job, married a wife with a little money of her own, and left home.

Bella realised Muriel was standing up to come and fetch her so hurried off to the small parlour at the rear of the house where she spent most of her days. She only had time to go and stand by the window before her cousin’s wife came into the room.

‘Idling again, Bella. There is always the mending to be done, you know.’

She didn’t attempt to defend herself, simply waited in silence.

‘Your presence is required in the drawing room at the will reading. James has apparently left you some trifling bequest. You need not say anything except to express your gratitude. My husband will deal with it for you, since it’s family money.’ She turned without waiting for an answer.

Bella followed her into the drawing room and took the seat Thomas pointed to, a hard chair at the back of the main group. Only the lawyer nodded a greeting.

Mr Neven began to read the will and list the bequests. There was nothing for Cousin Thomas except James’s wishes for a long and happy life.

Thomas glared at the lawyer. ‘I can’t believe he would have left me out. You must have got it wrong.’

The lawyer breathed deeply. ‘I can assure you, sir, that our accounts are quite accurate.’

‘I suppose he spent a lot when he was gallivanting all over Europe in his younger days. A fool and his money are soon parted.’

The lawyer ignored this and went on in a chilly voice. ‘To continue, apart from minor bequests to his servants, the rest will be divided between three family members. Two recipients are not to be named here, only Miss Arabella Jane Porter.’

‘But surely this is—’

Mr Neven interrupted Thomas without hesitation. ‘Please allow me to finish, Mr Beaton. Miss Porter, my client has left you a cottage in a small village called Backshaw Moss, which is in Lancashire.’

Thomas interrupted before she could ask what sort of property, speaking loudly and slowly. ‘I don’t understand, Mr Neven. How could he own property there?’

‘The cottage was left to him by his godmother, I gather. It would, he thought, provide Miss Porter with a little pin money of her own. It upset him to see her so shabbily dressed. He felt it didn’t reflect well on the family.’

James had told his lawyer to say that, if Thomas quibbled. He’d tried to cover every eventuality in his verbal instructions before he signed the will, sure that his mercenary nephew wouldn’t willingly accept Bella receiving money from his uncle, when she was only a distant cousin.

‘I must insist that you name the other two beneficiaries. I now have a duty to ensure that James’s wishes are carried out.’

‘No, sir, I have that duty, and you can be sure I shall carry it out faithfully.’

Bella was grateful to be left anything, of course, but her heart sank at the words ‘pin money’. Not enough to make her independent, then. And the remark about her shabbiness would infuriate her cousin, who would no doubt blame her for not paying more attention to her appearance. As if she had any choice about what she wore. She dressed mainly in hand-me-downs from other family members.

‘How much exactly is this property worth if I sell it?’ Thomas demanded.

‘That is not up to you.’ The lawyer looked across at Bella. ‘I’m not sure of the property’s value, Miss Porter, but it is rented out in three separate flats and brings in a total income of around £200 per annum. Your cousin called it a cottage, not a house, so I doubt it’s very big. Oh, and the legacy also includes a few trinkets that belonged to Mr James Beaton’s godmother. There is nothing particularly valuable, but he thought you might like to have some jewellery to wear. He had noticed when he saw you at church that you seemed to have none, and the other ladies did.’

Bella’s breath caught in her throat and hope began to rise in her. She could live in one of the flats, and even two thirds of £200 would be enough to live on if you didn’t need to pay rent and were frugal in your ways. And the trinkets might be worth something, too. Even a small amount of money in the bank would be a comfort.

It gradually sank in that she would be able to leave here, she really would. Only, did she dare do it? Because she was very sure that Thomas would try anything – including force – to stop her.

Before she could say anything, Thomas turned to her. ‘You can be sure that I’ll manage the money very carefully for you, Bella. It’ll give you a little more pin money if carefully invested.’

Which meant he intended to keep most of it, she was sure. All the years of humiliating and patronising treatment suddenly boiled over, and she jumped to her feet. ‘I would prefer to manage it myself, thank you, cousin. I shall go to Lancashire and look at this cottage. If it’s suitable, I shall move into part of it and continue to let out the rest.’

There was a very brief silence, then Thomas stormed across to stand over her, dominating her five foot two inches with his six foot of generous flesh. ‘You will do no such thing! I’m not having an unmarried female relative of mine living on her own in such a ramshackle way. Goodness knows who the other tenants might be. Why, they might even be men, which would not be at all respectable. Besides, you have a perfectly good home here.’

She took an involuntary step backwards and it took all her courage to say, ‘I’m grateful for that, Thomas, but I’ve always longed for a home of my own, even though it might only be a cottage.’

If the kitchen cat had got up and done a dance, Thomas could not have looked more astonished. For a moment he gaped at her, then he shouted, ‘I will not have it! I warn you now, Bella, that if you leave this house and go to Lancashire, you will not be welcome to come back here again, whatever you find there.’

Mr Neven moved quickly across to stand beside her. ‘Mr Beaton, please. I’m sure you don’t mean that.’

Thomas glared at him. ‘Oh, but I do! I always insist on being obeyed in my own home. Besides, what does a foolish spinster know about managing money? She’ll only waste it and end up as a burden on me again.’

He thumped his clenched fist down on a nearby side table, setting the ornaments rattling. ‘Go to your room at once, Bella! And don’t leave it till I send for you.’

The lawyer gaped at him in utter amazement.

That gave Bella the courage to say, ‘No. I shall only go there to pack, and then I shall leave the house for ever.’

She was proud that she’d not let her voice wobble, but she was shuddering with fear inside and guessed she’d need help to actually get away. ‘I’d be grateful if you could wait for me, Mr Neven. I, um, need to ask you about some of the details.’

Mr Neven was shorter than Thomas, but somehow his self-control made him seem more powerful as he turned to Bella and said gently, ‘If that’s what you truly wish to do, Miss Porter, you are of course free to leave at any time. You are certainly not a prisoner here.’ He didn’t even look at Thomas as he added, ‘Go and pack all your things, my dear lady. I shall be happy to wait for you and take you somewhere you can spend the next few days till we can finalise the financial details and make arrangements for you to go to Lancashire.’

But even then, Thomas had to add insult to injury. ‘Go with her, Muriel. We must make sure she doesn’t take with her anything to which she is not entitled.’

This time the shock on Mr Neven’s face at such an insult was echoed on the faces of the other family members. Stephen even took a hasty step forward, then stilled as the lawyer spoke loudly and clearly to his elderly clerk.

‘Penscombe, please go with Miss Porter and make sure that she isn’t bullied or coerced as she packs. Fetch me at once if anyone attempts to do that. And you’d better make a list of everything she takes with her in case anyone claims afterwards that something is missing.’

Bella’s voice came out as a shaky whisper. ‘Thank you, Mr Neven.’

Muriel stood up and led the way out without a word. Bella and the clerk followed her.

Bella felt sick with disgust at how Thomas had treated her. No one except Stephen and the lawyer had spoken in her defence, and she knew she couldn’t expect any help from the rest of the family later if things went wrong.

But to treat her like that! And in public, too. Shame upon him.

She wasn’t staying here one second longer than necessary after such insults, let alone pleading to be allowed back if things went wrong. She’d throw herself off a cliff first.

The next hour passed in a blur of activity as a battered old trunk and two equally worn suitcases were brought quickly down from the attics by two of the servants and dumped in her bedroom.

‘These came with you and they can leave with you, too,’ Muriel said. ‘We would never use such shabby luggage. These were only kept in case one of the servants needed some luggage to accompany us on a trip.’

Bella didn’t comment, simply started taking her things out of the drawers and wardrobe.

The clerk pulled out a notebook and began to enumerate and list each item. ‘So that you can see they don’t belong to you, madam.’

‘Do you think we’d try to steal such pitiful possessions from her, Mr Penscombe?’ Muriel demanded

‘I’m sorry if what I’m doing upsets you, Mrs Beaton, but I’m only doing as instructed. Mr Neven doesn’t want there to be any grounds for claims that Miss Porter took anything from here which didn’t belong to her.’

‘It’s rank impertinence to send you up to watch me!’

Penscombe didn’t bother to hide his disgust at her attitude and continued to take notes.

The trunk was found to contain some old clothes which smelled strongly of mothballs.

When Bella started to pull these out, Muriel said sharply, ‘These must have come here with you when your parents died, so they can leave with you as well. Not even the servants would wear such shabby garments, and long skirts like that haven’t been in vogue for years. They must have been forgotten or they would have been torn up and used for rags. They’re even longer than your frumpy clothes.’

There was no need for this gratuitous insult. It was Thomas who had decreed that Bella cover her legs ‘decently’, as became her age and position in his household, completely ignoring the fact that his wife, who was older and plumper than her, wore the shorter, more modern skirts.

Bella was embarrassed to have all her faded and worn underwear exposed, but she kept her expression calm as she pulled the rest of her things out of drawers and cupboards, packing them any old how, desperate to get away.

She did allow herself one act of satisfying defiance: she took the basket of family mending from the bedside table and said, ‘You’ll have to do this yourself now.’ She thrust it into Muriel’s arms, making her cousin squeak in shock and dump it quickly on the windowsill.

Bella hadn’t expected to have enough possessions to fill the three pieces of luggage, but by the time she’d put in her books, her sketching materials, and some packets of miscellaneous papers, they were all full.

Muriel insisted on checking the papers. ‘What on earth are these scribbles? You don’t need bits of scrap paper.’

When she screwed one bundle up and tossed it in the wastepaper basket, the clerk said hastily, ‘I don’t think Mr Neven would wish you to destroy anything belonging to Miss Porter.’

‘This is merely rubbish.’

‘Nonetheless, it belongs to Miss Porter. Shall I fetch Mr Neven so that you can ask him about it?’

‘No, you shall not. But I shall tell him how impertinent you’ve been when we go down.’ She stepped back and folded her arms.

Bella put the papers into her suitcase. They were only little stories she used to make up for the children of the house. ‘I keep them for sentimental reasons, cousin Muriel. I’ve always been fond of your children.’

‘Ah. I see.’ For a moment even Muriel looked shamefaced.

Bella turned to the clerk and said apologetically, ‘I’d better pull that old coat out from the bottom of the trunk and put it on top to protect my books and papers.’

‘Here, take this. And keep it.’ Muriel picked up the old travel rug Bella had used to keep herself warm when sitting in her room reading, because heating wasn’t often allowed on this upper floor of the house or in the servants’ attics.

When the clerk immediately wrote that down, Muriel recovered rapidly from her one kind gesture and went back to glaring at him.

After Bella had finished, she checked every cupboard and drawer one final time, with Muriel peering over her shoulder, then said, ‘I can’t carry these cases down by myself.’

‘I’ll send someone to do it,’ Muriel said.

‘I’ll wait until they arrive then come down with them to rejoin Mr Neven,’ Penscombe said quietly.

Muriel’s voice was a near screech. ‘Do you think my servants are going to steal something?’

‘Of course not, madam, but I cannot disobey my employer’s instructions.’

Muriel let out a choked sound and turned to Bella. ‘Come back downstairs, you ungrateful wretch!’ She set off, once again not waiting for an answer because she knew she would be obeyed.

‘Good luck, miss,’ Penscombe whispered to Bella.

She mouthed ‘Thank you’ at him and left the room, not pausing for a final look around. This bedroom might have been hers for many years, but she’d often wept herself to sleep here and would be happy never to see it again. In fact she hated the whole house, but not as much as she despised Thomas and Muriel.

She found that her cousin and the lawyer were the only ones left in the sombre, book-lined room.

‘This is your final chance, Bella. Have you come to your senses?’ Thomas demanded.

She raised her chin. ‘Yes, I have. That’s why I’m leaving. I should have done it years ago.’

Thomas just about spat words at her. ‘Don’t ever dare try to return.’

‘I won’t.’

The only thing she’d regret was that she’d never see the children again, Bella thought. Though they weren’t really children any longer, but young men and women. They’d given her a lot of pleasure when they were younger. She’d been the only adult to play with them and read to them, apart from the nanny or the nursery maid – and definitely the only person ever to cuddle them.

How Thomas and his wife could have created such nice children she would never understand. Sadly, once they’d grown up, she’d become totally superfluous here and recently had started secretly looking for a post as a lady’s companion. It hadn’t been a prospect that she relished, and she was delighted that it would no longer be necessary.

The two boys had started work a few years ago. Stephen had left the household when he married, associating more nowadays with his wife’s family than his own. Oscar was engaged, at his father’s command, to a rich but rather stupid young woman with whom he never looked comfortable.

Penelope had been married off at nineteen to a much older man chosen by her parents, and had wept in Bella’s arms at the prospect of it. She was now a shadow of the vibrant young woman she had been, and after two years was showing no signs of bearing a child to her husband.

Alma, now almost eighteen, had joined her mother recently in social engagements designed to find her a suitable husband as soon as possible. She’d been looking pale and unhappy most of the time since that had started.

If a woman didn’t have a husband she was nothing to people like the Beatons, Bella thought in a sudden surge of bitterness. Yet she’d read in the newspapers about modern women doing all sorts of things, including becoming members of Parliament, engineers, and scientists. Was it too late for her to achieve something, however modest? She hoped not.

‘If you’re ready, Miss Porter, I’ll take you wherever you wish to go,’ Mr Neven said.

‘I just need my outdoor things.’ When the maid had brought them, she took a deep breath and said quietly, ‘I’m ready now.’

Thomas remained where he was near the fire. He’d glared at her as soon as she entered the room, but now he began to read the newspaper, ignoring her completely.

Bella had nothing to thank him for, so she didn’t say anything. Head held high, she led the way out. And if her stomach was churning with nervousness, he couldn’t see that.

Not until the trunk and suitcases had been dumped on the pavement and the front door closed did she confess to Mr Neven, ‘I don’t have any other relative who would dare take me in after Thomas has thrown me out. And … and I don’t have anything but a few shillings, which won’t pay for lodgings and expenses for more than a day or two.’ She could feel her cheeks burning with shame as she added hesitantly, ‘Do you think you could advance me some of my inheritance, just a little?’

The clerk tactfully moved a few paces away.

Mr Neven blinked at her in shock, then turned to stare back at the house. ‘My dear lady, I didn’t realise— Your cousin is quite a wealthy man. Did he not know how short of money you were?’

‘Of course he did. It’s how he’s kept me captive for years. I was nothing more to him than an extra servant to whom he didn’t need to pay wages.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘That settles it. I have been uncertain about his, um, let us say, his general moral attitude towards the world.’

She nodded, but she’d have put it more strongly.

‘I’ve been thinking of asking him to find himself another family lawyer once I’ve settled this will, and today has decided it. Turning you out on the street is the most unchristian act I’ve ever seen – and him a so-called pillar of society! Miss Porter, I’m quite sure my wife will be happy for you to stay in one of our spare bedrooms for a few days until we can arrange for you to travel north to this village. And of course I’ll advance you some spending money.’

Her relief was so strong, it was a few seconds before she could string any words together. ‘Thank you. I shall be extremely grateful – for your help.’

A passing cab was hailed. Bella and the two men got inside while her luggage was being strapped to the rear rack. She didn’t look back as the large Humber was driven away.

She wasn’t upset about leaving, she was furiously angry with Thomas’s attitude – but she was afraid of facing the world on her . . .