A Time for Renewal

Book 2: Rivenshaw Saga

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Sagas; Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

The second instalment in the best-selling Rivenshaw series, by beloved saga author Anna Jacobs.

In the wake of World War Two, the whole country is desperate for houses, with very little money available to rebuild. In the town of Rivenshaw in Lancashire, Mayne Esher has no choice but to turn Esherwood, the war-damaged stately home which has been in his family for generations, into flats. Rebuilding Esherwood won't be easy but with Judith Crossley by his side, Mayne hopes to restore it to its former glory. First, he must open it up to some of his long-suffering army friends... and it soon becomes clear that the house isn't the only thing which needs rebuilding.

Victor is fighting his late wife's rich and arrogant mother for custody of his daughter Betty. Ros has been cheated out of her money and has nowhere to go now she's been demobbed from the army. Daniel is still unsettled after his wartime experiences. He's waiting for his divorce to go through and has
family problems that take him away from Rivenshaw. Francis hasn't even been in touch.

On top of these troubles, saving Esherwood proves to be a difficult undertaking for Mayne and Judith. And certain people will stop at nothing to prevent it happening. In this time of renewal, will the group find a way to rebuild their lives, and the old house, as planned?

A heartwarming saga of strong-spirited, resilient women in post-war Lancashire.

(P) 2019 Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

Release date: September 24, 2015

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 292

Sample

Victor Travers left his little daughter at home in the maid’s charge and enjoyed a brisk walk to the village school, a mile away from their home. Like many other ex-servicemen, he was eager to vote in the General Election that was being held now the war in Europe had ended.

For the first time since his wife’s death, a few days after he’d been demobbed, Victor felt a sense of peace. Poor Susan had been failing for months, had been a mere shadow of the woman he’d married. He hadn’t realised she was so close to the end, because he’d been involved in some hush-hush work and hadn’t been able to get leave.

His mother-in-law ought to have told him, though, and she hadn’t. The Army would have allowed him compassionate leave in such circumstances. He was still upset about it all.

Tomorrow he’d start arranging his move to the north where he was going to be a partner in a new building company. He was looking forward to that, but most of all, to having his daughter to himself and getting to know her better. What a delightful child Betty was!

He was surprised at how few people were voting. He saw no one he knew from Helstead, but got talking to a couple of young soldiers from a nearby hamlet. They were still in uniform, so obviously not yet demobbed.

What they said confirmed his own feeling that Churchill and his party were due for a few surprises. However, the results wouldn’t be announced for another three weeks, to allow the votes of service personnel overseas to be counted.

When he got home, he found his mother-in-law’s car outside the house, which surprised him. Since her daughter’s death, Mrs Galton hadn’t visited them, but had expected him to take Betty to her.

Inside, he stopped in shock when he saw her at the turn in the stairs, her hat awry, trying to drag his seven-year-old daughter down. Betty was hanging back, holding on to the banisters with both hands, sobbing and protesting loudly.

When she caught sight of him, Mrs Galton looked flustered, but she didn’t let go of his daughter.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ he demanded.

Betty tried in vain to tug her right hand from her grandmother’s grasp. But Mrs Galton still kept tight hold.

That did it! He strode up the stairs. ‘Let go of my child this minute!’

‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she shouted and to his astonishment, she tried to stand between him and his daughter. But Betty managed to jerk away suddenly and flung herself at him. ‘Daddy! Daddy! Don’t let her take me away from you.’

He held her close as he repeated his question, ‘What are you doing here, Mrs Galton?’

His mother-in-law hesitated, looking as if she didn’t know what to do or say next.

It was Betty who answered his question. ‘She said you wanted me to go and live with her now Mother’s dead. She told Jane to pack all my clothes. Don’t let her take me away, Daddy! I want to live in Lancashire with you, not stay here with her.’

‘Of course you’re coming with me, darling.’

She clung to him even more tightly and a hot little tear fell on his hand.

He looked up to the top of the stairs, where Mrs Galton’s personal maid was standing with a suitcase in her hand, looking nervous. ‘If that suitcase contains my daughter’s clothes, Jane, and you take them out of this house, I’ll have you charged with theft, because that’s what it’ll be.’

The maid’s mouth opened in shock and she dropped the suitcase as if it were red hot. Taking a quick step to one side, she looked to her mistress for guidance.

He turned back to the older woman and gestured towards the front door. ‘Don’t let me keep you, Mrs Galton. I’m sure you have a busy social schedule.’

His mother-in-law let out one of her angry huffs of sound. ‘I tried to do this quietly, for the child’s sake, Victor but, if I have to, I’ll go to the court for custody of my granddaughter, make no mistake about it. And I shall win. I’m sure this is what my poor dear daughter would wish. She told me so.’

‘Nonsense. I was with Susan at the end and she told me she trusted me to look after our child.’

‘You’re lying. But I’ll make sure Betty comes to live with me, whatever it takes.’

‘I think you’ll find the law is on my side there, since I’m her father.’

People only had to look at the two of them to see that. Betty had his dark, straight hair and olive complexion, not her mother’s fair hair and pale skin. But the child’s features were shaped like her mother’s and he thought she too would be a beauty one day.

Mrs Galton glared at him. ‘You’ve been away from home for most of the last few years. You don’t even know that child.’

‘Like many other men, I’ve been fighting for my country. I think the courts will take that into account.’

‘They’ll also take into account the fact that a seven-year-old girl needs a woman to raise her. You’ve let Betty run wild in the short time you’ve been back and see the result: she came down with a severe head cold when you and that silly young maid of yours started looking after her. A man simply can’t fill a mother’s role. He has a job to do, money to earn.’

‘My job will never come before my daughter, and it won’t have to, thank goodness, because I have a private income. I’ll find a woman to help where necessary, but make no mistake about it, I’m bringing Betty up – and in the way I choose.’

In the few weeks he’d been back, they’d already had several serious disagreements about what that way should be.

‘A maid is not the same as a grandmother. And your income is very small. My husband left me financially comfortable and I can give that child everything she needs. You still have your way to make in the world, unless you’re intending to live like the hoi polloi.’

‘I have my business life carefully planned, and it’ll be a successful one, I’m sure.’

‘My lawyer thinks you’re about to make a highly risky investment – and using the proceeds from selling this house, too. How dare you sell it?’

‘I believe I own it. It was your wedding present to us, after all.’

‘We bought it so that Susan could continue to live near us in Helstead. Now my poor daughter is dead and you have no right to take my only grandchild away to the other end of the country, to a nasty industrial town.’

‘Rivenshaw is a small town on the edge of the moors, with very little industry, actually. I’m told it’s a pretty place.’ He found it an effort to be polite to this arrogant woman. The more he’d got to know his in-laws, the more he’d disliked them. Cecil Galton was dead now, but Amelia was still running the village as though she were its queen. If the war hadn’t taken him away from Susan, Victor would not have stayed in Hertfordshire this long.

He suspected her parents had threatened her when he was called up and made her afraid of moving away from them, but he couldn’t prove that. And what did such details matter now that she was dead? He contented himself with repeating what he’d said several times already, ‘You’ll find that I’m perfectly capable of earning a living and looking after my child. Your lawyer knows nothing about the building industry.’

He kept his arm round Betty’s shoulders and her whisper was all he needed to validate his choice.

‘I want to be with you, Daddy.’

‘And I want you with me, my little love.’ He glared at the sour-faced woman still standing nearby. Her views of the world were as old-fashioned as her clothes. The recent war hardly seemed to have dented the shield of arrogance she held between herself and those she deemed her inferiors.

He could understand her distress at the death of her only child, but he didn’t think she or her late husband had loved their daughter for her own sake, any more than they’d loved their granddaughter. They’d simply considered the two of them possessions. No wonder Susan had insisted on running away to get married, her one major defiance of them. She knew they’d have stopped her.

That Betty was now seen as a replacement for the frail, compliant daughter they’d lost showed how little Amelia understood the child. His Betty would never be meek. She had a mind and opinions of her own already and he liked to see that. He wanted a freer and happy childhood for her, one not dominated by the great god Money.

The silence had gone on for too long, so he went past his unwelcome visitor to open the front door, with Betty still clinging to his hand. ‘I think you should leave now, Mrs Galton, and please don’t come back without an invitation.’

Her face turned a dull shade of red and she glared at him. For a moment he thought she was going to refuse, then she marched down the bottom few stairs and out of the house, her heels drumming their way across the tiled hall floor.

Since she hadn’t given any instructions to her maid, he looked up and jerked his head to indicate that Jane should follow her mistress out.

She slowed down as she passed him and whispered, ‘If you want to keep her, you should get Betty away today, Mr Travers. They knew you were away voting, so thought this would be the easiest way to do it. But Mrs Galton has her lawyer waiting to step in within the hour if this fails.’

She continued down to the hall and out of the front door without waiting for an answer, leaving him staring after her in shock, unable to believe his own ears.

He realised Betty was crying, so sat down on the bottom stair and pulled her into his arms, cuddling her close and pushing his handkerchief into her hand. ‘Sorry, love. I won’t leave you on your own again. What happened to Edna? She was supposed to be looking after you.’

‘Grandmother sacked her. She told her to leave the house and never come back again.’

‘How could she do that? She doesn’t employ Edna.’

‘When Edna said she wasn’t leaving me, Grandmother said if she didn’t, her family would be turned out of their house in the village.’ Betty wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t think that was fair, do you?’

‘No, darling, it wasn’t.’

‘I like Edna. She’s fun. But Grandmother tells her off for letting me play outside and shouts at her a lot.’

‘You can play outside all you want when we get to Rivenshaw, my darling.’

‘And you won’t get me a strict governess?’

‘Heavens, no. I’d be terrified of one myself.’

Betty giggled and cuddled even closer, still clutching the damp handkerchief. ‘Mother always said you weren’t frightened of anything. She said I was to stay with you. She said it lots of times.’

The child seemed to need cuddling, so Victor didn’t move, but he began thinking furiously. They’d meant to leave the village two weeks ago, but Betty had had a bad cold. Since his wife had been an invalid for years, he hadn’t wanted to take any risk with his daughter’s health, so hadn’t protested when Mrs Galton called in her own doctor, rather than the man in the village. Victor had followed the man’s instructions to the letter, of course he had.

‘How do you feel now, Betty? Is your cold completely better?’

‘It’s been better for ages. I don’t know why the doctor said I had to stay in bed so long.’

He closed his eyes for a moment, angry with himself for being fooled like that. He’d not expected a doctor to lie to a father about his child’s health. That woman must have been making plans all the time, no doubt with her lawyer. Fitkin spent a lot of time with her since her husband’s death, handling all her business affairs.

Well, his mother-in-law was in for a few shocks when the young men and women who’d served in the forces or other service groups like the Land Army were demobbed. He didn’t think men who’d faced death would kow-tow to Amelia Galton, as their parents had. Nor would young women who’d lived and worked independently want to go into service at the Hall and bob curtsies to that old harridan. Those days were past.

In the end he decided to take the maid’s warning seriously. The situation might not be that desperate, but he’d seen Fitkin driving up to the Hall in his big black Wolseley as he was walking back. He wasn’t risking losing his daughter. ‘I’ll tell you what, my little love. We’ll leave for Rivenshaw earlier than planned.’

‘Why can’t we leave straight away? It won’t be dark for ages.’

‘Your grandmother’s lawyer might try to stop us if they see us leaving.’

‘She always knows what we do, anyway. Mr Fitkin’s been paying the Peeby brothers to keep watch on the house ever since you came home and brought me back here to live.’

‘What? How did you find that out?’

‘I heard Grandmother talking to him about it and every time I look out of my bedroom window, I see Brian or his brother in the street opposite. Brian’s there now. I can show him to you.’

‘Do that.’

She led the way up to the nursery and pointed out a shabby youth standing on the street corner opposite their gates. He didn’t seem to be doing anything except watching the house.

As they stood there, a man went up to Peeby and said something. The youth straightened up and nodded vigorously.

Victor spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘I wonder who that man is?’

‘His name’s Barham and he works for Mr Fitkin. He collects Grandma’s rents in the village and from her houses in Watford too. Everyone in the village is afraid of him.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ Betty stared down at her shoes. ‘Is it wrong to eavesdrop, Daddy? Mother always said it was. Only I can’t help hearing things sometimes, and anyway I get bored just sitting still or reading the books Grandma chooses for me. They’re so silly and old-fashioned, all about children dying or going to church. So I listen to what she’s saying, even when she’s in the next room.’

‘You have excellent hearing.’

‘Grandma always speaks loudly. I heard one of the maids say she must be going deaf.’

He’d noticed that too. ‘I don’t think it’s wrong to eavesdrop when people are trying to trick you.’

How dare his in-laws treat him like this? During his years in the Army, Victor had had a lot of experience in keeping his feelings under control and he managed that now, because he didn’t want to alarm the child. But Mrs Galton had chosen the wrong man to tangle with, by hell she had.

‘How about you and I turn this into a little adventure, Betty? We’ll creep out of the house by the back way once it’s dark and catch the last train to London. No one will be able to see us go. What do you think of that?’

‘Grandmother will be very angry.’

‘Yes. But we won’t be here, so she won’t be able to shout at us.’

She shivered. ‘I think we should go right away, not wait. I heard her say to Jane that her lawyer will get people here to take me away by force if necessary.’

He was horrified. Was Mrs Galton really prepared to go to those lengths? Sadly, yes. She always had to have her own way, whatever it took. She had men like Barham and the young fellow waiting outside already. He couldn’t fight off the two of them.

‘No one will see us leaving if we go through the back garden next door, Daddy. There’s a gap in our hedge. I play with the boy who lives there sometimes, though I’m not supposed to. That’s how we get through to each other.’

‘Can you show me?’

She took him to one of the back bedrooms and pointed it out.

He glanced at his watch. If they got away quickly, they might take Mrs Galton’s people by surprise, and be in time to catch the next local train into Watford Junction. From there they could go on to Lancashire, which was on the same line. He used to know all the train times, but things had changed during the war, so they’d just have to take their chance. ‘You’re a clever girl. That’s exactly what we’ll do.’

He’d been intending to use his own back gate, but who knew whether that too was being watched? He glanced out of the window again. The rear alley curved round, so they might be able to stay out of sight of a watcher if they left through the garden next door.

Was he being paranoid? He didn’t think so. He’d seen Mrs Galton do a few unethical things in the past few years, and he hadn’t even been in the village most of the time. And even her maid had warned him to leave.

He stood up. ‘I’ll pack my bag. Wasn’t it kind of your grandmother to have your things packed for us? Come on, princess. We’re going to have an adventure.’ He held out his hand, and with another of her delicious little-girl giggles, she took it.

Betty sat on the bed watching him hurl his clothes into a suitcase. Victor didn’t intend to let her out of his sight for a minute.

Mrs Galton and that Fitkin fellow would find that he too could plot and plan. He wasn’t going to try to hide where he was once he got to Rivenshaw, would hate to live like that. He had allies there who would help him keep his daughter safe, men he’d fought with in the war, men he trusted to watch his back. And he too could find a lawyer.

No one was going to take Betty from him. She had quickly become the joy of his life. Her mother had been ill for so long that Susan had seemed to fade into the background, like a beautiful picture he didn’t dare touch. But Betty was a vivid, loving little creature.

As he finished packing, Victor glanced out of his front bedroom window.

Mrs Galton’s motor car had just drawn up further down the street. The man who’d spoken to the youth keeping watch got out of it and went into the village policeman’s house. She wasn’t in the car, but Fitkin was and he stayed there, not caring whether Victor could see him, staring disdainfully round.

Dear heaven, they were starting to take action already! Well, they’d have to catch him first.

He heard Betty gasp as she too saw them, so he pulled her to him for a quick hug.

‘They’re coming to get me, Daddy.’

‘Well, they’re not going to succeed. Come on, my darling! We’ll leave the back way.’

He knew Mrs Galton had a key to the front door of the house, so took the time to shoot the bolts on the inside of it. Then he took the key out of the back door and locked it behind him from the outside, dropping the key in his pocket.

That might slow them down a little.

He followed his daughter through the gap in the hedge and found the neighbour’s gardener standing a few yards away, a spade in his hand, looking at them in astonishment.

‘You haven’t seen us.’ Victor held out a pound note.

For a moment all hung in the balance, then the man snatched the generous bribe and ran off into the walled vegetable garden, shutting its gate quietly behind him.

Carrying two suitcases, with Betty staying by his side, Victor went to the back gate and checked that the lane was clear. When he heard footsteps, he closed the high wooden gate again, crouched behind it and put his finger to his lips.

He watched through a gap in the hedge as the village policeman ran past. But the man didn’t even look their way. His footsteps stopped at their house, though.

Victor opened the gate and checked. The policeman was round the curve and couldn’t see them. He bent down to whisper, ‘We have to hurry. We’ll go along the lane and take the back way to the station. Keep quiet.’ He started off again, walking on the grassy verge, his daughter trotting along behind him.

They were in luck and caught the two o’clock train to Watford just as it was about to leave the village. He shoved the suitcases up in the rack and sat on the seat, panting and grinning at Betty. ‘Our adventure has started, princess.’

‘They’ll come after us. I know they will, Daddy.’

He hated to see such anxiety on a child’s face. ‘By that time, we’ll be with my friends from the Army. And we’ll have our own lawyer, too.’

But Betty’s expression remained anxious. A child of seven shouldn’t look like that. Damn the Galton woman!

At Watford Junction he checked train times and, to his dismay, found that no train to Lancashire was stopping there until the evening, and that would be a very slow one. He didn’t dare wait around, felt he was in danger every minute until he was out of reach of Mrs Galton and her lawyer. The best solution was to go to London and then take an express train to the north, even though that meant they’d be backtracking.

There was a train leaving for London in a quarter of an hour. And half an hour after their arrival in the capital, an express train would be leaving for Manchester. From there, they would just be in time to catch the last local train to Rivenshaw. He sighed and bought the tickets.

This would mean a long day’s travelling for a small child, and several changes of train, but it was necessary. He explained what they were doing and why.

Betty nodded her head. ‘I’ll be all right, Daddy. Mother always said I was strong and healthy, like you, not like her.’

Her voice wobbled as she said that, because she’d been very close to her mother, so he gave her another hug. He loved cuddling her, had been deprived of too much of her short life by the war.

His poor wife had had rheumatic fever when she was a child, and it had affected her heart. He hadn’t realised how badly when they married, but after Betty’s birth the doctor had told him Susan must never have another child and must lead as peaceful a life as possible.

When the train left, he felt relief flood through him.

‘We’re safe now, aren’t we Daddy?’

‘Yes, princess.’ For the time being, anyway.

In London he tried to phone his friend Mayne to ask him to meet them at the station in Rivenshaw, but only got through to Mayne’s father, who was notorious for his absent-mindedness about practical matters. Well, if things went awry, he’d just have to turn up at Mayne’s house and knock him up.

He was quite sure his friend would welcome them. The two of them had been part of a small team working on a very hush-hush project for the last year of the war. Differences in rank had ceased to matter, and a strong bond had been formed between team members.

Betty fell asleep for a couple of hours on the way to Manchester. She didn’t complain when she woke, stiff and thirsty, half an hour before they were due to arrive. Luckily he’d been able to buy something to eat in London, and a bottle of lemonade, because there was no restaurant car. Wartime conditions still prevailed on most trains.

It was late in the evening by the time they arrived and Betty was white with exhaustion. But the last train to Rivenshaw hadn’t yet left.

‘We’re doing really well,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Can you manage to travel a bit further, my love?’

‘Yes, Daddy. I don’t want them to catch us.’

There it was again, that anxiety in her voice and face. It hurt him to see that.

Victor accepted a porter’s help with the two suitcases, and carried Betty and the rag doll she took everywhere, except to her grandmother’s house. She said the doll didn’t like it there.

The porter was a chatty fellow and Victor encouraged it. You never knew when a piece of information would come in useful.

‘Didn’t think we’d have any more first class passengers tonight, sir. Don’t usually get many on the last train. They only ever put on two carriages for it. We’ve got five of you travelling in first class but the third class carriage is full, as usual. Standing room only now.’

Victor stopped as he noticed something about the train. ‘What’s wrong with the link between the two carriages?’

‘This one’s faulty so they don’t never connect it. You’ll have to stay in your carriage till you get there. It’s because of the war, sir. It’s an old train, brought out of retirement, I’spect, like me. Oh, thank you, sir. Very generous of you.’

He insisted on lifting their two suitcases up on the rack, not without difficulty, saying, ‘Everyone will have voted by now, won’t they? I did myself before I started work. I daresay Mr Churchill will get back in again. What’d we have done without him during the war doesn’t bear thinking of, eh? No, not many people will vote for them socialists.’ He closed the door to the compartment as he left, still talking to himself.

Victor was pretty sure that most people who’d been in the forces wouldn’t have voted for Churchill and the Conservatives. A lot of the ordinary soldiers felt the country needed something different now – a new start, fairer treatment for everyone. He’d voted Labour himself.

‘Ugh!’ Betty wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells horrid in here, Daddy.’

‘Someone’s been smoking cigars, even though it’s a non-smoking compartment. I’ll let in some fresh air.’ Victor used the leather strap to let down the window in the door and leaned out of it to watch the guard yell, ‘Mind the doors!’ and blow his whistle.

As the train jolted slightly, getting ready to move off, Victor saw a young woman run towards it from behind some trolleys full of milk churns. She was in some sort of uniform, carrying a kitbag and yelling, ‘Someone open a door! Please!’

A porter began chasing after her, yelling to her to stop, but Victor saw the desperation in her face and on impulse, opened the door of his compartment. She put on a spurt and leaped into it just as the train started to gather speed.

The impact of her body knocked him to the floor and she fell on top of him.

The porter who’d been chasing her banged the door shut, yelling, ‘Don’t do that again, miss, or—!’

His last words were indistinguishable as the train rattled out of the station.

Ros closed her eyes in sheer relief that she’d caught the train. It had been touch and go, and she’d had to vault over the barrier of the adjoining platform because the ticket inspector had refused to let her on to this platform. But if she hadn’t caught the last train, she’d have had to sleep on a park bench again.

She suddenly realised she was lying on top of the man who’d opened the door for her and he was trying to get up. Flushing in embarrassment, she scrambled to her feet. ‘Sorry. Thanks for helping me.’

He stood up, brushing down his clothes. ‘You looked desperate to catch this train.’

‘I was.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman run as fast as that. You must be very strong.’ He looked at her admiringly.

She gave a wry smile. ‘Life in the Wrens keeps you active. And I never was a frail creature. I’m five foot ten tall, after all.’ Nearly as tall as him, she thought, taller than most men, which could put them off asking her out.

As she brushed down her clothes, she stared round and realised something. ‘Oh, no! This is first class. Sorry. I’ll leave at once. I’m only travelling third class.’

‘You can’t get into the other carriage while the train is moving. The link is broken, apparently, and they never connect it. You’ll have to wait till the first stop to change and, actually, I don’t mind you staying. You could pay the difference in fares. It won’t cost much for such a short journey. The porter said the third-class carriage was standing room only.’

He had such a kind face, she blurted out the truth. ‘I can’t afford it.’

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Then how about I pay the extra and you do me a favour in return? I could do with a woman to help me with Betty while we’re on the train.’

Ros hesitated. ‘If you mean going to the lavatory, you can stand outside the door while she goes in. I can’t take your money for that.’

‘I too need to use the facilities. I don’t want to leave her on her own while I do that, not for a second. But I also need someone to help her tidy herself up. I’m not very good with girls’ hair.’

The child had been watching them solemnly, her eyes going from one to the other, her hair in a mess and only half of it still in the two plaits she must have started the day with. She was a pretty little thing with her dark hair and brown eyes. Ros smiled at her automatically.

‘Daddy and I are running away,’. . .