A Daughter's Dream

by Maggie Mason

Genres: World War II; Sagas; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

Blackpool, 1904

When young Elisha loses her parents, she clings to Primula Cottage - the only home her family has ever known. Once filled with love and laughter under her grandmother Millicent's care, it's now a place of peril under her Uncle Joe's cruel temper and dangerous threats.

Elisha dreams of restoring the cottage's thriving market garden with Jack, a gentle labourer who brings her hope. Together, they imagine a future of love, family, and prosperity. But when tragedy strikes, Elisha's dreams are torn away, forcing her into the brutal life of the workhouse. Her only solace comes from Harriet, a young widow with her own sorrows to bear.

As the years pass, and through heartbreak and hardship, Elisha fights to reclaim her home and her family's legacy. But can one young woman's wish truly overcome a lifetime of struggle?

A gripping and heartrending saga, perfect for fans of Kitty Neale, Katie Flynn, and Dilly Court.

Release date: April 9, 2026

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 108000

Sample

Sixteen-year-old Elisha put the heavy tub of wet washing on the ground, straightened and looked back towards Primula Cottage, which stood back from Common Edge Road, Blackpool. Ram-shackled, with its thatched roof needing to be repaired after the winter storms, its paintwork peeling and its long garden overgrown, it had once been a home that held happiness. Now, its walls were permeated with fear and drudgery.

But despite this, Elisha only had to close her eyes to feel the love that had once been woven into its fabric by her Grandma Millicent, and her ma and da. Doing so now, she imagined she could hear her grandma’s lovely gentle voice, and the sound rolled back the years like clouds floating on an endless journey.

‘Oh, Elisha, look at you. Your ma will have me guts for garters!’

‘Sorry, Grandma, I wanted to help.’

Grandma brushed some of the dirt from Elisha’s frock, ‘I knaw, lass. You take after me for loving the garden. It’s what saved us, you knaw.’

Elisha smiled to herself as she came back to the present and remembered how Grandma had gone on to tell her for the umpteenth time how devastated she’d been when she’d been left a widow.

She, and the granddad Elisha never met, had been living in Lancaster when Granddad had died from TB. Elisha had never known what that was until three years ago when her best and only friend died of the dreaded disease. It was then she’d learnt that its proper name was tuberculosis.

Destitute, Grandma had seen an advert for a housekeeper/nurse to wheelchair-bound Raymond, the then owner of the cottage.

Wanting to hear Grandma’s voice in her head again, Elisha bent to lift the heavy, dripping wet sheet onto the line and allowed herself to go back to that day in this very garden with Grandma and listen to her reminiscing.

‘I used me last pennies to get on the train! By, that was an anguished journey – me wondering if I’d be accepted with me two lads, while all around me excited holidaymakers chatted about the time they were going to have in Blackpool!’

Grandma was silent for a moment, but then said, ‘Eeh, lass, you don’t knaw you were born, you have a good life, and it’s what I strove for. Help me pick these peas – mind, no eating them! I’ve seen you chomping away on a pod afore now!’

The child Elisha was then had giggled.

‘The journey here were a lifesaving mission, Elisha, lass. If Raymond refused me, then it were the workhouse for me!’

But Raymond hadn’t refused her. Desperate for help, he’d accepted her two young boys.

‘We settled in well, lass. Me and me lads – your da and your Uncle Joe. Though Joe were never happy, and that’s why the moment he reached sixteen he went back to Lancaster.’

Remembering her deep sigh and knowing Grandma’s expression was of a mother missing her son, Elisha was glad that Grandma never knew how Joe had turned out. As now he was the object of Elisha’s fear.

Glancing back at the cottage sent a shudder through her. The curtain was pulled back and Uncle Joe stood there watching her. He moved away at seeing her look up at him.

To block out her fear, Elisha desperately brought the memory back and let herself listen again to Grandma telling how she’d fallen in love with Raymond and how, when he died and left her the cottage, she’d worked hard to build a market garden business on the land surrounding it.

‘I couldn’t have done it without your ma and da. Eeh, your da has such wonderful dreams for this place, lass. So, the quicker we get these peas picked, the quicker they can go to market and help him to realise the ambitions he has.’

The lovely fresh smell of the young peas assailed Elisha now – but only in her memory, for all around her were tangled weeds and overgrown paths in this vast neglected garden, once loved, once productive and once filled with laughter.

Elisha brushed away her tears. Tears of grief for her grandma, her da and her ma, and for her da’s dream. All gone in an instant. An instant of laughter and anticipation, two years earlier. But the act of drying her eyes didn’t stop that time coming to life again, as she once more heard that laughter as Grandma had an argument with Grundy, their beloved donkey.

‘It’s naw good you being stubborn today, Grundy!’ she’d said. ‘You’re going to market and that’s that!’

Grundy had opened his mouth and let out what sounded like a laugh. They’d all fallen about giggling. But at last Grundy had decided he couldn’t win and had trotted off pulling a cart full of veg, with Ma, Da and Grandma sitting on the bench behind him.

Elisha could see them waving and smiling. But then she covered her ears as the sound of screeching brakes and skidding tyres came to her and she saw a lorry pile into the cart.

Only Grundy had survived, as the impact had sheared the cart from his harness.

Putting both hands over her mouth, Elisha only just stopped her screams of that day releasing once again. She had to, or she would scream for ever and ever.

What had followed that dreadful carnage was the blur of a triple funeral and the coming back into her life of the uncle she’d rarely seen, as Joe claimed the cottage and the land as his.

Trembling with the sadness that weighted her heart as pain seared her afresh, Elisha was once more aware of Joe watching her as the curtain twitched, alerting every sinew of her body and sending her emotions from grieving the past to the fear and disgust of now.

This heightened as the sun glinted on the jug of brown ale Joe swigged – always when in drink he forgot she was his niece and used her as if she was a whore.

The tears came back at this thought as she bent and picked up the empty wash basket, brushed away the dripping wet sheet caught in the breeze as it tried to wrap around her, and prayed her uncle wouldn’t shout out for her to hurry as he wanted her to do that thing to him that sickened her stomach.

A clever girl, Elisha had been at the top of her class in the church school and constantly told she was destined to make something of herself. And whilst growing up, she’d been encouraged and allowed to study, and had begun to have ambitions of becoming a teacher.

To accommodate this, she’d only been called on to help with the market gardening at very busy times – picking the gooseberries or cutting the sprouts from their stalks and weighing them into bags. Always, she’d been told that she would never work the land but was to realise her ambitions.

That had changed.

Now she was at the beck and call of her hated uncle. Made to cook and clean amidst constant complaining, slaps with the back of his hand and often the snide remarks that he should never have been saddled with her. But worse than his violent outbursts were his sexual demands. He’d never taken her down but made her use her hand to pleasure him – an act that made her skin crawl and brought the bile to her throat.

* * *

A sudden banging on the window compounded her fear. Elisha drew in her breath, vowed to herself that she wouldn’t touch him or allow him to touch her, but then tripped on a loose brick in the path and winced with the smarting of her back and the cheeks of her bottom, still sore from the strapping Joe had given her when she’d refused to do his bidding last time.

But then, wasn’t that a better alternative? she asked herself. Hadn’t it had the effect that Joe desired, as he’d suddenly stopped hitting her and bent double? His knees had buckled as he’d cried out in the same ecstasy he did when he reached that point when she did as he asked. Could she take that punishment again to achieve his desire without touching him?

At this moment, she didn’t think she could.

Elisha closed her eyes. Please God, help me.

Opening the door and hearing his husky, ‘At last. What’ve you been playing at, lass, you knaws what I want!’, she hesitated. Wanted to run and never stop running.

‘Come in then and get on with it!’

Elisha’s throat tightened, but then the sound of the garden gate’s latch saved her. She turned to see a young man, not much older than herself, enter the garden. He had a heavy-looking bag slung over his shoulder.

Taller than her, he had a cheeky grin as he sauntered up the path.

‘Tell him to get out of ’ere and come back another day . . . Go on! And get back here quick!’

Blinking away her tears, Elisha turned. The young man spotted her and called out, ‘Is this where Joe Finley lives?’

‘Aye, it is.’

He looked around the garden, pushed his dirty tweed cap back off his head revealing a shock of jet black, curly hair, and let out a long, slow whistle. ‘By, it’s in need of more than a bit of seeing to.’

He was closer to her now and she could see his twinkly dark eyes that gave him the look of someone amused.

‘I’m Jack Randal. I’m a stranger to Blackpool. I’ve come from Blackburn looking for work. Walked it, I did, and I’ve spent the last couple of weeks on the step of the pub asking folk for a job . . . and for a bit of spare change to get sommat to eat . . . Anyroad, Joe told me he had a small holding and might be able to set me on, though he could only offer me one meal a day and a bed to kip in. So, here I am.’

Yes, here he was – a beacon of hope, as surely her uncle wouldn’t do anything to her with him around?

Though mystified at this turn of events, Elisha could only think that Grandma’s money must be nearly gone and that her uncle had decided it was time to try to restore the market garden and make it earn some badly needed cash for them.

‘Cat got your tongue, or sommat?’

‘Naw. I’m sorry. You took me by surprise. I’m Elisha. Me Uncle Joe hadn’t said owt about hiring anyone. But he said you were to go away and come back another time.’

Hoping he wouldn’t and trying to stop him doing so, she added, ‘He’s indoors if you want to ask if he’s still of the same mind to take you on . . . Are you a gardener, then?’

‘I like gardening, and knaw a thing or two about it. Me da had an allotment. Only, he died and I were put out of our cottage. They wouldn’t let me take on the renting of it . . . me ma died two years back you see. She had a bad chest.’

‘I’m sorry. I knaw what that feels like. Joe’s me uncle. And me only relative.’ As she told him of the accident that had taken the rest of her family, she felt like adding that she would be so glad of him coming and living in the shed – a huge potting shed that needed a good clean out – as he may stop things from happening.

But as she thought this her uncle opened the window and bellowed, ‘Oi! Scarper you! I told you to come on Friday!’

A shiver shook Elisha’s body. Without thinking she said, ‘Don’t go!’

Jack’s expression changed from embarrassment to concern. ‘Is owt wrong, lass?’

Afraid for him now, Elisha shook her head. ‘Naw . . . I – I just thought that one day won’t make a difference, you can sleep in the shed, he won’t knaw. Go out of the gate and turn left. There’s a jitty there. You’ll see the shed. Climb the fence and you’ll see a loose panel. Slip in through there. I’ll get sommat to you – a blanket and some of the stew I’ve got cooking. Mind, I can’t say what time.’

‘What’re you two talking about, eh? Bugger off, lad. I’ve business to see to. Come back when I told you to . . . And you, Elisha. Get yourself in here, now!’

Elisha couldn’t stop the tremble of her lips.

Jack didn’t comment. But then, he’d have no idea what she faced.

He straightened his cap. ‘Ta, Elisha, I’ll see you later, lass.’

He lifted his hand in a wave and slipped out of the broken gate onto Common Edge Road.

Elisha watched him go, trying to delay going inside, hoping Jack would get into the shed where he would hear any loud noise from the cottage, but her uncle’s urgent, ‘Come here, now!’ made her hurry towards the house.

When she got to the door, the sound of creaking wood told her that Jack was entering the shed. The thought gave her comfort. Though it was crowded out by her uncle’s urgent, hoarse whisper, ‘Hurry, I want it now!’

Elisha’s heart sank to see him stood with his trousers around his ankles and his need exposed to her.

‘Get on with it, you knaw what to do. And you do it well, an’ all.’

‘Naw. Naw. I ain’t doing it. It’s disgusting!’

His smarmy expression changed.

‘Get on with it . . . And hurry. I told you; I could do a lot worse to you, but I don’t. I just ask you to do this for me.’

Not sure if knowing Jack was nearby fuelled her defiance, Elisha spat out, ‘I hate you. You’re vile!’

Joe lunged forward. Stumbled and fell as his trousers tripped him up.

Elisha ran for the stairs, her footsteps resounding on the threadbare carpet.

Getting to her room, she thanked God for her da having put a bolt on her door to give her privacy.

It ground into place.

His banging and kicking on the door had her praying, Please don’t let him get in to me!

At last, all went quiet.

Elisha waited.

‘You’ll pay for this; you can’t stay in there for ever!’

The sound of his footsteps going down the stairs gave her a chance to breathe again. But with the relief came the desperate tears. Yes, she’d dodged touching him this time, but what of the next time?

Despair clothed her.

The times that she had done as he’d shown her, to save him beating her any more, she’d been physically sick the moment he’d told her to stop. Running outside, she’d held her ears against his cries. Knew he was experiencing a good feeling by the sounds he made – she hadn’t wanted to be part of that. He was her uncle. He shouldn’t make her do such things.

Hearing the door slam, she went to the window. Uncle Joe was walking down the path, his stride telling of his anger. Once through the gate he turned towards the Shovels Inn. She prayed he would get blind drunk and be carried home on a handcart as happened at regular intervals, for then he would sleep for a night and day, wake with a sore head and not remember anything, or have those feelings for days that meant he wanted her to relieve him.

Dropping to her knees, she asked, ‘Take me away from here. Please let me never have to do that thing again!’

Calming herself, Elisha remembered her promise to Jack.

Getting up, she poured some of the cold water from the jug on her washstand into the bowl next to it and swilled her face. This done, she went back down the stairs, relieved of that feeling of fear and dread.

The delicious smell coming from the kitchen met her, as did the sound of the lid of the huge iron pan bobbing up and down. She needed to attend to the stew before it burnt to the bottom.

Torn between saving the stew and going to check that Jack was still there, Elisha hesitated. Jack seemed like a saviour to her. But she reminded herself that besides being twinkly, his eyes had reflected his hunger. With this thought she lifted the lid of the stew.

Relief entered her on finding it just how it should be, with meat and veg tender, and a sip from the large ladle told of the gravy being thick and delicious.

Drawing the pan onto the cooler side of the hotplate, she wiped her brow as the embers from the fire heating the stove wafted up. But as hot as they were, she needed to top up the flames to keep the stove and ovens warm.

This done from the wood basket that stood in the corner by the back door, Elisha turned and went over to the sink. Leaning on it, she looked around the kitchen. How can this room, that had been the hub of our life, look the same – lovely, inviting and as bright as the days when all those I loved were still here?

The scrubbed wooden table still straddled the middle of the kitchen – how many laughs they’d had as they sat around it and enjoyed a hearty dinner. And the curtains still hung, fresh and cheery, as their pattern of yellows and blues brightened what could be a dark space at the back of the cottage, letting in light but shielding the rays of the sun. The deep pot sink, where they had stood washing clothes and pots and filling buckets to swill the stone floor, still gleamed as if life hadn’t changed. But oh, it had!

Taking a deep breath, Elisha looked into the mirror hanging above the sink. A girl with no sparkle looked back at her through puffy eyes. A girl who had always been laughing but now showed the scars of bruising on her cheeks.

Telling herself that things could be better for a couple of days, she managed a smile – saw remnants of the girl she used to be . . . Beautiful, her da had called her, ‘Just like your ma!’ That showed through now, as she did have her ma’s long chestnut-coloured, wispy hair and large blue eyes framed by black eyelashes that curled upwards.

This appraisal gave her a warm feeling as she opened the door, smiled at how it creaked and stepped outside.

* * *

Knocking on the shed door, Elisha called out, ‘Are you still there, Jack?’

‘Aye, I am. Is the coast clear?’

‘It is. Me uncle’s gone to the pub.’

The shed door creaked louder than the kitchen door had as Jack poked his head around it. His eyes showed signs that he’d been asleep. But as he looked at her, his face lit up as it had earlier, and his eyes sparkled, though instantly his expression changed to concern.

‘Are you all right, lass?’

Lowering her head to hide her blush, Elisha nodded. ‘Aye, I’m fine . . . I – I wanted to get you settled afore me uncle comes back. What do you need?’

‘A blanket, maybe, and a pillow if you can spare one. Oh, and a bite to eat, as me stomach’s dropping out.’

Knowing she was taking a chance, but not caring, Elisha said, ‘Come up to the cottage and we’ll get all you need and carry it out together.’

As they stepped inside the cottage, Jack looked around the living room. ‘Well, I didn’t expect this, it’s lovely.’

A pride entered Elisha as she followed his gaze. Yes, it was lovely. Made so by her ma and her grandma, and she’d kept up the caring of it.

The mahogany dresser displaying the best china stood proudly against one wall beneath, and almost touching, the low-beamed ceiling. And in the centre, around the huge fireplace that was set into the opposite wall, stood a sofa with a flowery loose cover draped over it and two matching armchairs. All had shiny mahogany arms.

In front of the hearth lay a beautiful rag rug of many colours, made by herself, Ma and Grandma. And, on the walls, pictures of Ma and Da’s wedding, and of her grandma and herself – a room that had only known love in the past.

Elisha could be transported back to that love just by looking around, if her fear left her, like now.

Jack muttering, ‘Mmm, sommat smells good an’ all’, brought her back to the present.

‘Aye, I’ve a stew on the stove. Come into the kitchen and have a bowl of it. I’ve some fresh bread I baked earlier for you to dip into it.’

Jack didn’t speak for a while as he tucked into the stew, but after a few mouthfuls and appreciative mumbles, he looked across the table at her. ‘Sommat ain’t right here, Elisha, I can feel it. It’s like you’re a prisoner. And how did you get those bruises, lass?’

Afraid to say anything, Elisha gave a nervous laugh, ‘I’m just clumsy. I can trip over sommat that ain’t there!’

Jack giggled, but his eyes held an intensity as he looked at her. ‘It’s your uncle, ain’t it? I can sense you’re afraid of him. Well, don’t let him intimidate you, Elisha. Stand up for yourself.’

If only he knew how much she tried to do that, had done today, but knew she would pay for it one way or another.

Changing the subject, she asked, ‘So, what did me uncle ask of you, is he thinking of getting the market garden business up and running again? It thrived once and brought in a good income that kept me and me ma and da and grandma going.’

‘Aye, that’s what he talked about. He said he didn’t knaw owt about gardening and veg growing, and was looking for someone who did. That he couldn’t pay much but could offer a bed and board. I didn’t realise that would be in a potting shed and me sleeping on a pile of sacks!’

Afraid that he was going to say that he wasn’t going to stay and take the conditions offered, Elisha thought quickly.

‘It’s bigger than most potting sheds though, and has a window and a stove. We could clear one end, and you could take the armchair and the spare bed from my room . . . me grandma used to sleep in it as we only have two bedrooms and Ma and Da had the other bedroom.’

‘I’m sorry about what happened, Elisha, it must have been hard for you to get over all of that.’

Elisha bowed her head.

‘We’re in the same boat, you and me. We’ve both lost them that were dear to us. We can help each other. I already feel I’ve met someone who understands.’

‘Ta, Jack, I do an’ all. It’s sometimes like they didn’t exist. Me uncle cares nowt for their memory. Nor does he care about me. I – I was working towards being a teacher but if I pick up a book and pen, he ridicules me. Mind, he don’t see what I do in me own room. I often get me books out and study late into the night.’

‘That ain’t right. You should be free to do what you want to do. I like to read – maybe I can borrow a book or two from you . . . I mean, if you don’t mind.’

‘You read!’

‘Aye, I do. Me da said that if you can work with what you know instead of what you do, you can be a rich man . . . he was thinking about solicitors and the like – not that I’m clever enough for that, but I like working with numbers and he said if things were different, I’d have made it to being an accountant or sommat of that nature.’

‘Me grandma said that we can all make of ourselves what we want to with a bit of determination and hard work.’ She told him her grandma’s story.

‘She sounds like my kind of lady. And me da would have loved her as that was his way of thinking. Anyroad, if we’re to sort things for me, we’d better get on and do it as your uncle could come back at any minute and chuck me out.’

‘You want to stay then?’

‘Aye, I do. I can make sommat of that garden, like your grandma did, and we can approach the customers she had and hopefully start to supply them again besides stand market as she did an’ all.’

An hour later, they had the chair and the bed set up in the shed, and Jack had a fire going in the cast iron stove that stood in the corner.

‘Home from home! All I need now is a kettle, teapot and a mug and I’ll be well away.’

‘I ain’t got a spare kettle, but I can let you have a saucepan, and there’s a tap just outside the door. The tea, cup and a drop of milk are easy to do though.’

‘Ta, Elisha, I feel as though I have landed on me feet. I just hope that Joe’s all right with it all. He seems to blow hot and cold.’

‘He’s never in a good mood with me, but I expect he’s different in the pub. He lives for a drink.’

‘Ain’t he ever married?’

‘I don’t knaw, he wasn’t in our lives really. Grandma used to fret about him and want to hear from him, but she rarely did unless he wanted money.’

‘Well, that ain’t right. Anyroad, we’ll see how things pan out.’

Wanting to know more about him, Elisha asked, ‘How old are you, Jack? Did you have a job in Blackburn?’

‘I’m nineteen turned, and aye, me da were a carpenter and taught me his trade. We had a good thing going between us, but then me da became ill and I had to care for him. We fell behind with the rent, had little food, and, well, here I am.’

Elisha had the urge to take him in her arms and make his world better, as she knew he would hers. With this came a feeling she’d never known before, but it seemed to bind her and Jack together.

In the silence that followed this revelation, they gazed at one another. Jack suddenly turned away. ‘What about you, how old are you?’

‘I’m sixteen turned.’

‘Have you any friends? What do you do besides keep this place going and cooking for your uncle?’

‘Nowt, other than read and study like I told you. I used to help a bit with the family business, but mostly I studied. Me grandma paid for a tutor for me. But I’ve naw friends to speak of . . . I – I lost me best friend to TB. I knaw a few others from school days, but I weren’t close to any of them.’

‘Strikes me you must have been a bit lonely.’

‘Naw, never that until . . . well, until the accident.’

‘You’ve had a rough time of it, Elisha, I hope things turn around for you soon.’

She wanted to say they already had with him coming into her life, but she turned to go, telling him that she was to tidy up the kitchen before her uncle returned. Truth was, she wanted to be done with all her chores and upstairs locked in her own room before he did.

‘I’ll come with you and get that saucepan and stuff, oh, and if you could lend me a book, Elisha, that’d be good. I couldn’t carry owt other than a change of clothes in me bag. And the landlord took everything that was left in our cottage as payment for the back rent.’

As they walked back to the cottage, Elisha told him, ‘I have a few Charles Dickens novels, I think you’d like them. Me others are Jane Austen, and I still have a couple from me childhood. They’re by Rudyard Kipling.’

‘Eeh, I didn’t expect owt so highbrow, but I’ll give Charles Dickens a go.’

‘They ain’t highbrow, they’re about folk like you, homeless, and how they survive, though in London, which is different to doing it here in Blackpool.’

‘Wha. . .