A Tapestry of Dreams

by Jessica Blair

Genres: Family Life; Sagas

Synopsis

The year is 1850, and Susannah Charlesworth loves the estate and open air life of the North Lincolnshire Wolds. She stands to become a very rich woman too - inheriting the estate, as well as her father's and uncle's wealth, one day. But then she meets the dashing Daniel Bullen and Susannah's life is about to change forever.

As the eldest son, Daniel will take over his father's mill. He sees it as providing for a lifestyle he wants to pursue, but in order to avoid jeopardising the fortune that awaits him, Daniel must be careful how he conducts himself . . . and a marriage to Susannah will ensure that he becomes a very rich man indeed.

Whilst their marriage, and the children Susannah bears, ensures that their union is a happy one at first, Susannah soon begins to realise that there is more to Daniel Bullen than she thought - and that she hasn't married the man of her dreams. When Susannah's father dies, Daniel learns that the huge wealth that he thought he would amass has gone to Susannah's uncle. The fragile bonds between them are broken.

To find inner peace and save the family business, Susannah realises that she and her children must leave Daniel's cruel clutches. . . But can Susannah ever find happiness in this tapestry of dreams . . . ?

Release date: February 6, 2014

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 401

Sample

The heavy oak doors opened smoothly, and light from several oil lamps in the hall of Griffin Manor streamed across the four stone steps and on to the wide gravelled drive. A group of high-spirited ladies and gentlemen poured on to the paved veranda at the front of the house. Laughter rang out on the balmy night air as one joke led to another. ‘Goodnights’ started to be exchanged. Mixed with arrangements to enjoy another night’s gambling at the card and roulette tables soon were offers of other pleasures suggested by several elegant young women as they bestowed good-night kisses.

‘Well, gentlemen, once more it has been a pleasure to have you here, and we look forward to seeing you all again soon.’ These words were spoken by a very self-assured young lady and met with murmurs of agreement from all the dozen or so men who were leaving, but Daniel Bullen knew they were directed especially at him. All the young men had frequently taken their pleasures and entertainment at Griffin Manor after first visiting it six months ago, but Daniel was now a personal friend of one of the owners.

Situated in the rolling countryside of the Aire Valley, pleasantly set away from the woollen mills of Keighley and the pollution rising from the woollen mills and workers’ houses that crammed the conurbation of Leeds and Bradford, Griffin Manor had been bought by brother and sister Hugh and Penelope Huston early in 1849. They had seen the potential in developing the deserted and neglected manor house, situated near a stone bridge crossing the River Aire, as a place of entertainment for the young bucks of families riding high on the wealth generated by the West Riding’s wool industry. They had tastefully renovated the old house and laid on unrestricted gaming amidst plenty of good food and the best wines, as well as certain other attractions.

Griffin Manor had turned into a moneyspinner for Hugh and Penelope, who were on their way to making a fortune. Its success was in no small measure due to Penelope’s charm. Her striking looks and soft appealing voice made her difficult for any young man to overlook. That allure had enthralled Daniel Bullen from first seeing her, and Penelope, knowing what she might gain one way or another, was not slow to use her advantage. Now, as the young men milled outside the Manor, she made sure he saw the kiss she blew to him, knowing he would recall the other kisses, and more, they had shared in the privacy of her opulent turret room.

Heading for their traps and carriages, other gamblers, flush with winnings or regretting their losses, smiled as the group of young men burst into song. They straggled over to their horses, hitched to rails provided for this purpose on some grassland to the east of the house.

‘Race you home,’ someone shouted.

‘Couldn’t,’ came the slurred answer. ‘My head would drop off.’

‘Let’s see if it will,’ someone else challenged.

‘No, I couldn’t manage without it and I must get home before midnight.’

‘Like Cinderella?’

‘Who’s Cinderella?’

‘Ignoramus!’

‘Ignoramus! Ignoramus! Ignoramus!’ the chant went up, to the embarrassment of the target, until they all reached their mounts.

Amid general struggling to get into their saddles, the young man who had just been taunted protested that he needed help.

‘Better give him a hand, Jeremy,’ said Daniel to the man beside him.

‘Suppose so,’ replied Jeremy, a trifle blearily.

They slid down and took hold of ‘Ignoramus’, with one heave lifting him on to his horse’s back. With that Daniel slapped the animal’s rump, sending it into a gallop, with the rider’s startled cries soon fading into the distance.

Laughter broke out and the other men left the paddock and headed in various directions to their homes along the Aire Valley.

After a mile Jeremy bade Daniel goodnight and turned down a drive leading to a large house half concealed behind a stand of oaks.

Daniel, with a further mile to ride, was left to his own thoughts and in no hurry to have them interrupted by a barrage of questions when he arrived home at Ash Tree Villa.

No doubt his father would still be up, ostensibly dealing with business affairs though Daniel suspected it was really so as to remind his son what was expected of him – the mill should always be uppermost in his mind. Not that his father put any restrictions on Daniel’s out-of-work pleasures, but always with the caveat that business came first. It rankled with Daniel that he could not be more open with his father – speak to him man to man. After all, he knew from local rumours that Tristan Bullen had been no angel in his young days, and still at times discreetly sought his own diversions. But he also knew how much his father loved all his family. He had worked hard for them, seized opportunities, and now rode his luck to bring them a luxurious lifestyle.

Daniel slowed his horse to a leisurely walk, enjoying seeing the countryside tinged with an air of mystery by the white moonlight. Cloud shadows, driven by a freshening wind, chased each other along the slopes of the valley like riders in the night. He breathed deeply, drinking in air that still retained a trace of warmth on this late-August evening. He turned into the stableyard, slid from the saddle and quietly led his horse into its stall. He knew the grooms would all be asleep and did not mind settling his own mount for the night. Once that was done, he hurried to the back door and let himself into the house. He made his way quickly along the stone passage that led to the large stone-flagged hall, the focal point of Ash Tree Villa. He would have made straight for the stairs but, seeing a light under the door of his father’s study, knew he was expected to glance in.

‘Ah, you are back,’ Tristan greeted him amiably, looking up from the sheaf of papers he was about to put into the top drawer of his grand mahogany desk. ‘Sit down. Sit down,’ he said, waving to a chair. ‘But before you do, pour me another whisky. And get one for yourself.’

Pleased to find his father in a good mood, Daniel poured generous measures.

‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’ asked Tristan as they settled back in their chairs.

‘Yes. I was at Roger’s. Four of us are in the midst of a billiards contest,’ Daniel lied.

‘Did you win?’ Tristan studied his son closely.

‘Three of the matches. I lost the fourth, but that’s not the end of it. When we decided on these meetings, we thought it best to play six contests so I can still come out on top.’

‘See that you do.’ There was almost a note of command in Tristan’s voice, a warning that he would brook no failure. ‘A Bullen must always win!’

About to counter that it was only a game between friends, Daniel decided not to; instead he asked, ‘Have you been working all night, Father?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know you shouldn’t…’

Tristan interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I like doing it. I get pleasure from the thought of all I will leave as your inheritance.’

‘But you should think of your own health. You know Dr Withenhope advised you to cut back on work. Hand more over to me and to Thomas and Ralph. We can all help.’

Tristan looked at his son with an expression that Daniel knew spelled an end to the matter. ‘My health is my own concern. And I’ll be the judge of when all of you may take more responsibility and what direction that will take. Now, if you are thinking of preaching – don’t!’ He gave his son a meaningful look, drained his glass and replaced it on his desk. He stood up then and went to the door.

Daniel tightened his lips and shrugged his shoulders. He should have known better than to try and advise his father.

Tristan stood with his hand on the door knob and looked back at him. ‘Those papers you saw me put in the drawer as you came in… I commissioned a report on wool supplies for the future. I want you to read it.’ He did not wait for any response but left his son to it.

Daniel sat back in his chair, sipped his whisky, thought about the report and considered reading it, but then his mind slipped back to thoughts of Griffin Manor and Penelope Huston. The report was forgotten.

Tristan Bullen eased his large frame back in his chair at the head of the heavy oak table that stood in the elegant dining-room of Ash Tree Villa. The half-panelling of dark oak complemented the patterned wallpaper that his wife Ann had chosen. She had been careful that it did not draw attention from the oil paintings of Yorkshire scenes that she knew her husband treasured and which had influenced their son Thomas, who at the age of nineteen still enjoyed sketching. Ann noted Tristan’s gaze flick over them as they always did at the end of the meal, before his final dismissal of them all.

He glanced back towards the table, noting the presence of each family member. Ann, of course, and the five children: Daniel, Jessie, Liza, Thomas and Ralph. Satisfied that they were paying attention, he let his gaze wander for a moment. They all waited, holding themselves in readiness with some trepidation. Whoever his eyes finally settled on must say the grace-after-meals, and woe betide them if they got a word of it wrong. Finally Tristan let his gaze rest on Ralph, the youngest child at sixteen.

Ralph felt his stomach churn. The last time he had got a word out of place he had suffered the lash of his father’s tongue. He swallowed and began, ‘We give you thanks, almighty God, for…’ He paused. Twenty-one-year-old Jessie gripped her hands tightly together in her lap, the next word ready on her lips, willing her brother to say it. ‘… these and all your benefits…’ The rest of the grace tumbled out. Everyone’s eyes turned to Tristan, who nodded and stood up. Everyone felt the tension drain away but no one else moved.

Tristan went to the far end of the table, holding out his right hand to his wife. She took it and stood up. Holding hands, they walked to the door. Their touch was special to each other; they both knew they had the love and respect of their partner.

Ann accepted that her husband was an enigma. He was master in their household and let no one question his authority. His rule was inflexible, his will iron-hard and the lash of his tongue as sharp as a leather thong; but she knew that his love for her and all their family was unbounded. He would show that when he thought it was merited, but he was not a man at ease with words of endearment. She also knew he never had, nor ever would, lay a hand in punishment on her or on their children, no matter how sorely provoked by disobedience. Punishment from Tristan came in other forms.

 

When he had started to court her at sixteen neither of them had any prospects except the drudgery of continued employment at a Keighley mill along with hundreds of their fellow workmates. Tristan’s mother and father had succumbed to the harsh working conditions there when he was fourteen. He had escaped incarceration in the workhouse by hiding out in the woods until he’d ventured to join a queue seeking employment at Ellison’s Mill. He was taken on, no questions asked. The wage was a pittance but it ensured he could feed himself legitimately, supplementing that which found its way into his pockets via his light fingers. But Tristan had a sharp mind and a determination to extricate himself from this harsh existence. He was determined to better his lot.

One day, walking hand in hand with Ann along the riverbank, he suddenly stopped and she noticed an expression in his eyes that she had never seen there before. She tried to penetrate that faraway air, but eventually asked, quietly as if she shouldn’t, ‘What is it, Tristan?’

He had hesitated at first, and then in a hushed tone told her, ‘See those fine houses along the hillside, above the river’s flood-line? One day we’ll live in one like them.’

She had laughed, not with derision at his earnestness, but at the thought of herself, a factory girl, ever setting foot in such a place. But Tristan’s promise had been kept. First he had persuaded Ann to leave the factory and go into service at one of the high-class houses. ‘Learn how these people live so that, when we move in, their ways will not be strange to you. You will know how to be mistress and to handle your own domestic staff. Meanwhile I’ll learn all there is to learn about the wool trade and running a big mill.’

He had done so, and had let his employer, Mr Ellison, see his ability and desire to achieve. These actions did not go unnoticed by the mill owner who quickly recognised that he had an asset in Tristan Bullen, a young man who was worth promoting. Tristan accepted those promotions and, in the knowledge that the mill owner had no son to take over from him, was ready to seize his chance when the owner fell indisposed due to a health problem.

Tristan made some far-reaching decisions which paid off, putting a substantial amount of money into Mr Ellison’s bank account. A year later, recognising that his health was deteriorating again and wanting the business to continue to thrive and provide a good income for his wife and daughter, Ellison put a proposal to Tristan: ‘I need to recognise your loyalty and acumen. I will sign the mill over to you with the proviso that a quarter of the annual profits go to my wife and daughter, and that if ever the profits fall below ten per cent they will all go to my family.’

Tristan did not hesitate, except to add his own proviso that if ever the Ellisons wanted to sell their shares in the business, he had first refusal.

With this agreed Tristan was ready to take his place amongst the mill owners of the West Riding, but before that was made public knowledge he brought Ann out of her employment and enjoyed a moment of intense pride when he took her over the threshold of Millside House, close to the business he had taken over. In her turn Ann was proud of what he had achieved. Once he had built up the business and was able to buy out Mrs Ellison and her daughter they moved into Ash Tree Villa, placing Millside House in the hands of Tristan’s trusted manager.

 

Now, glad to be to be holding her husband’s hand as they walked together, Ann was pleased and relieved that Ralph had not jumbled his words. They were two steps from the door when Tristan stopped and turned back to view his children who were still sitting at the table, knowing they should not move until their parents had stepped into the hall.

‘Well done, Ralph,’ he said quietly.

Ann was pleased he had done so, and noticed her son swell with pride at his father’s praise.

‘Daniel, my study in ten minutes.’ The sharp delivery of this sent a shiver through his eldest son, who, annoyed that he had reacted like a ten year old and not a man of twenty-two, tightened his lips in exasperation.

The door closed behind Ann and Tristan. Daniel’s siblings looked at him and, as they rose from their chairs, bombarded him with questions.

‘What does Father want you for?’

‘What have you been up to?’

When Daniel denied any wrongdoing, they poured scorn on him but he remained adamant. ‘I’ll know soon enough,’ he added.

Ten minutes later, not a moment before or after, he knocked on the door of his father’s study. He waited until he heard a gruff, ‘Come in.’

Daniel stepped into the study to find his father seated behind the desk. He closed the door and, as he crossed the floor to the chair indicated by his father, tried to read his parent’s expression, but it remained inscrutable. He sat down. Knowing his father’s whims, he made sure that he sat with a straight back and determinedly held at bay any sign of nervousness.

‘Do I need to remind you again of your responsibility to this family – to the business I have built up, enabling you to live in a style far beyond any I enjoyed at your age?’ his father began. ‘You have never known hardship, never known poverty, never known what it is to go hungry. Be thankful that you haven’t! Don’t let any behaviour of yours take you down that road – you wouldn’t like it.’ Tristan kept his eyes fixed firmly on his son as he spoke, allowing the warning to sink in.

Sensing the explosion that was about to follow, Daniel held his father’s gaze, determined not to appear fearful.

His composure faltered when his father slammed both hands down hard on his desk, shattering the silence. Daniel was more than startled by it. He felt his defiance drain from him, but forced himself not to react. His father’s tone of voice was harsh and remorseless as he began to speak again.

‘As my eldest son you stand to inherit a mill which is not the biggest but decidedly the best in the area. It has taken me a lot of hard work, after seizing the opportunity that came my way, to bring it up to the standard I desired. The task required an understanding of people, and I couldn’t have managed it without the faith and support of your mother. I will not see all that endeavour go to waste because of you! Heed this warning – you have two brothers, my will can easily be altered in their favour.’

Daniel spread his hands in a gesture of innocent supplication. ‘What have I done, Father?’

‘It’s not just what you have done, but also what you haven’t done. I think you know what I mean but I’ll tell you, shall I?’ His eyes remained fixed firmly on his son, who did not dare avert his gaze. ‘You have a responsible position at the mill, but there are times when you absent yourself without any reason – setting the worst possible example to our employees. Orders that needed your approval for despatch have been held up, which does not please our customers; repairs to machinery that needed your sanction were delayed, with adverse consequences for production. The report that I put in that drawer has not been looked at; it remains exactly as I left it, and I have not received any indication that you pursued the new sources of supply I had identified.’ He held up his hand to stem Daniel’s protests. ‘Stop! I don’t want to hear any shoddy excuses; I don’t want to be told what it is you get up to instead of devoting yourself to the business. Make no mistake, I know all about it.’ His gaze became even more penetrating. ‘Straighten your life out, Daniel, heed what I say. Continue on this path and you’ll lose everything, finish up in the back streets. No decent girl will look at you then. Do you want to end up broken and penniless, without anyone to call on for help? Those you call your friends now won’t want to know you. Pull yourself together. It’s your choice what you do with your life. Take the right road, Daniel.’

‘But…’

‘Wait a moment, let me finish. Maybe I should take some of the blame; perhaps I’ve spoiled you, been too easy-going… or maybe too severe at times. It’s not easy to get the balance right, but I hope I’ve always been fair.’ Tristan paused, waiting for Daniel to say something, but when nothing was forthcoming, added, ‘All right, Daniel, I’ve had my say. Now all that remains is for you to choose which way you wish your life to go. It’s up to you.’ His tone softened a little. ‘Don’t disappoint your mother; don’t break her heart.’ He gave a nod of dismissal.

Knowing it would be useless to utter another word, Daniel stood up and walked briskly to the door. He was seething at the reprimand even while he realised it was justified. When he left the study, not wanting to be questioned by his siblings, he strode quickly to the stairs. Moments later he flung himself on to his bed and, with his father’s words still echoing in his mind, stared blindly at the ceiling. There was only one thing for it – he must choose!

‘Enjoy your ride, my dear.’

Eighteen-year-old Susannah Charlesworth smiled and blew a kiss to her father, who could not hide the love and pride he felt. She blew another to her uncle Gideon, standing beside Francis, his younger brother. The men watched her put her horse into a walk for about fifty yards before changing to a trot.

‘She sits well,’ commented Gideon.

‘Her mother’s teaching,’ replied Francis, a little catch in his voice at the recollection of his wife, lost to him in death five years ago. ‘They always rode together. Now our grooms are on the lookout for Susannah whenever she goes riding alone. She sometimes meets up with Rosalind Webster and her brother. As you know, they are about the same age and all get on well.’

They saw Susannah turn and wave then put her horse into a gallop. She was at one with the world she loved, here on the family estate on the northern edge of the Lincolnshire Wolds. She slowed her horse to ease the strain of the climb to the ridge from where there were panoramic views across the Humber and Yorkshire. Looking back, she silently thanked the sixteenth-century ancestors who had chosen to build Stockdale Manor below this ridge, taking advantage of the position to give the house a southerly aspect while protecting it from the winds that could bring icy blasts from as far away as the Arctic. Since that date the estate had been carefully developed and expanded by successive generations. At the same time the house had grown to its present size, two storeys and two substantial wings being added, giving it a solid, established look. As a little girl Susannah had loved to roam its many rooms and have adventures in her mind as she did so. She used to revel in the stories her father told her of how he and his elder brother had once done the same. Noticing her interest, her father had gently instilled in Susannah a love for this land.

He had not hesitated to take responsibility for the estate when Gideon had renounced all claim to it, in order to go into banking in Hull.

‘I have no interest in the land as a living,’ Gideon had told their father. ‘You know I love it and that Stockdale will always be dear to my heart, but leave it to Francis; he’ll care for it and make it his future, pass it on to a son when he marries.’

Their father, content in the knowledge that his younger son would cherish the estate, also recognised Gideon’s capabilities and set him up as a banker in Hull, the thriving port on the banks of the Humber. The brothers supported each other after their parents were killed when their coach overturned while they were on the way to attend a civic reception in York. They had both settled to their independent lives, determined to be a credit to their parents,

Francis concentrated on improving his estate. Keeping his crop production at the same level and turning some wasteland into extra pasture, he was able to increase his flocks of wool-producing sheep, introducing the Lincolnshire Longwool, which was noted for its prodigious quantity of coarse wool.

Gideon immersed himself in the banking world but, encouraged by his brother, often visited Stockdale. He had never married, having lost out in love to a rival. He nursed no jealousy, feeling only regret that he had been too slow to press his case. He held his lost love in his heart, and rejoiced on his brother’s marriage to Rachel in 1830 and then again on the birth of their daughter two years later. After a number of miscarriages, tragedy struck when Rachel died in childbirth in 1845, the longed-for son with her.

Gideon became a more frequent visitor to Stockdale Manor then, which led Francis to confide in him later, ‘If it hadn’t been for you, I would have gone under. Thank you for making me see I still had a beautiful daughter, who deserved not just my love but the love that Rachel would have given her as well.’ A strong family bond was strengthened even more and Susannah gained a special place in her uncle’s heart.

 

‘It’s a lovely morning. Walk with me, Francis, I have some news for you.’ Gideon cast a glance at his brother, and caught his momentary expression of mixed curiosity and surprise.

‘Of course,’ replied Francis. ‘This sounds serious.’

Gideon gave a little laugh. ‘Well, it is and it isn’t. I’m opening an office in Bradford.’

At this unexpected announcement Francis stopped and stared unbelievingly at him. ‘You are going to leave?’

‘No! Let me explain before you jump to too many conclusions. But let us keep walking, there’s no point in just standing here.’ Gideon stepped out and Francis, all ears for the explanation, fell into step beside him. ‘I have been thinking about other opportunities for a while. The business in Hull is running smoothly; I have a good staff who know my business operations and how I work. I pay them well so they would never betray my trust – they know it would only be their loss if they did. I have begun to feel I need a fresh challenge. I believe the West Riding textile trade offers that. It is an important industry that is showing signs of further expansion. I feel it presents a challenge I will find stimulating.’

‘I can see that, and understand you don’t wish to restrict your business to what you have already achieved. The textile trade in the West Riding could offer you what you need in the future, but have you thought it all through? Might you not find life over there alien? It will be very different from life in a Yorkshire port from which you have easy access to Stockdale, where you know you are always welcome. This is your second home. Won’t you miss it if you move?’

‘I will, but I’m not going to the end of the world. I’ll still come back.’

‘But you won’t come as frequently, and both Susannah and I will miss you. I know she won’t like the idea.’

Gideon tightened his lips for a moment then said, ‘Francis, I have to tell you, I have been looking into the possibility of this expansion into the West Riding for some time.’

‘You never said anything.’ He made no attempt to disguise the hurt he felt at not being told before now.

‘It was never meant as a snub to you, but I wanted to make a thorough investigation into the prospects there before I mentioned it to you. If I hadn’t liked them, then no harm done. But I do like them, so I’m telling you now.’

‘And how far have you got?’

‘I can go into partnership in an established business. The owner, Mr Moorsom, is an ageing widower with no family; he is looking for someone who would be interested in keeping the business going under his name; while he acts as sleeping partner. He operates from the Keighley side of Bradford so has as his clients mill owners from both places. This is an opportunity for me to buy into established connections while working towards an expanded business, to which Mr Moorsom has no objection.’

‘Hmm. You seem to have gone into this thoroughly and your mind is already made up.’

Gideon nodded. ‘I have.’ He saw the disappointment in his brother’s eyes. ‘Don’t look like that, Francis. I need a new challenge. After all, what else is there in life for me?’

‘If only you hadn’t lost that girl… how different things would be.’

‘Let’s not talk of it. Just a brief episode that’s better overlooked,’ said Gideon brusquely. He never referred to his disappointed hopes if it could be avoided, and his brother did not even know the identity of the lady in question.

Francis nodded. ‘I’ll say just one thing more: there are other ladies out there. It is never too late.’

Gideon gave a wan smile and shrugged his shoulders. Francis knew now was the moment to revert to the subject of his brother’s move. ‘So you have fixed up the new partnership. What about your living arrangements? I presume you’ll move over there?’

‘I’ll buy a house close by, but I’ll not give up my home in Hull. After all, I will be spending time in both places.’

‘Have you looked at any properties?’

‘Not really. There are several possibilities but I…’

‘You don’t know yet. So I suggest that you and I and Susannah take a lo. . .