Diamond Promises

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas; Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

Lancashire, 1895. Abigail Dawson has lived in fear of her father for thirty years. But when, after uprooting them to a grand new home in Ollerthwaite, he's found murdered in the street, her life is turned upside down._x000D_ Alone and caught in a web of her father's secrets, Abigail needs someone to rely on - so when hardworking handyman Rufus promises her a new life, she's thrilled at the chance to have a family of her own. But as they grow closer, could it be more than a marriage of convenience?_x000D_ Meanwhile, the rebuilding of the Ollerton estate is bringing new life to the valley - but old grudges, and new threats, are disturbing the peace. With plans for the Diamond Jubilee approaching, can the whole village band together to protect their home?

Release date: November 10, 2023

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

1

Early 1895 – Lancashire

Abigail Dawson hurried round the house, making sure everything was tidy and in the places her father insisted were ‘right’. She did this every day just before he came home from his office because she didn’t want him in a bad mood all evening. He didn’t seem to realise that it was mainly he who left things lying around.

When she heard the key turn in the front door she lit the gas under the kettle at a low flame and turned to greet him as he came into the kitchen.

To her relief, he was smiling and didn’t even wait for her to greet him before speaking.

‘Wonderful news, Abigail. We’re moving house on Monday.’

She stared at him in shock, her hand still outstretched towards the teapot. ‘Moving house? Where to?’ And why had he not told her before now so that she could prepare for it?

‘I’ll tell you all about it after I’ve had a quick wash and changed out of my shop clothes.’ He ran up the stairs to their tiny bathroom.

She had done the same too when she’d worked in the shop for a couple of years after she left school. She’d hated the place and its sleazy customers, not to mention the dusty and sometimes smelly items they had to deal with.

Her mother had trained her as a small child not to defy her father or even protest once he decided on something. The trouble was, he never hesitated to make important decisions like this without consulting either of them, and sometimes there would have been better alternatives.

As she waited for her father, Abigail’s thoughts went back eight years to when he’d also made a similarly important decision without consulting her. She’d been courting, looking forward to getting married and having a home of her own. Oh, the dreams she’d had about her future!

Sadly, after a few weeks her father had decided he didn’t want her to marry Harold after all. He said the fellow was more stupid than he’d seemed at first and though he might have provided good-looking grandchildren, he’d not have given them good brains, which was a far more important attribute.

She’d found out the hard way. She had gone out on to the landing when there was a knock at the front door, but her father always answered it if he was at home. She’d been shocked and horrified when she heard her father tell Harold that he couldn’t marry her or even speak to her again, and had started to cry.

Her mother had dragged her back into her bedroom and told her to stop weeping this minute – unless she wanted her father to go into one of his rages. It had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do.

Three months later, Abigail had wept again in the privacy of her bedroom when she found out that Harold had married someone else.

Shortly after that her father acquired an old piano in payment of a debt and put it in the back room of the shop. She’d fiddled around with it a few times when he was out and quickly learned to pick out tunes.

She’d told her mother how much she loved playing the instrument, and sighed at the thought of him selling it.

An unexpected look of determination had crossed her mother’s face. ‘Leave it to me, love.’

Her mother had chosen her moment carefully and suggested to her husband that he let their daughter have the piano at home, and even pay for her to take music lessons for a while. Abigail clearly took after him and was showing musical promise.

He must have been in a good mood because he had the piano delivered to their home the next day and found a man who played in a pub to teach her what he knew, which didn’t include reading music, just putting the chords and popular music hall tunes together.

Fortunately, Abigail found out that, like her teacher, with a bit of practice she could play any tune she knew, picking out the notes by ear and then figuring out which chords to add.

After that she was allowed time to practise and became proficient enough to entertain her parents occasionally in the ­evenings. Her father even favoured them with a song or two then and to her surprise he had a sonorous baritone voice.

She saw Harold and his wife in the street about eighteen months after his marriage and was shocked at how scruffy and down-at-heel he looked. And he didn’t look at all happy, either. He was scowling as he walked along beside a pregnant, weary-looking woman pushing a pram containing a pinch-faced baby, which was wailing loudly. He’d made no attempt to help the poor woman with the pram at any time.

Abigail realised then that her father had been right about the sort of person Harold was. But oh, how she wished she’d been allowed to find another young man. A piano was no substitute for having a family and home of her own, and escaping her father’s control.

Then, during the following winter, her mother died suddenly of pneumonia, gasping her way out of life in just three days. Abigail didn’t need telling that there was no chance whatsoever of her ever being allowed to marry from then on.

As soon as her mother died, her father told her to take over running the house. That weekend he said they would stop wasting their time at church on Sundays now that her mother wasn’t there to be upset about it. And that was that.

Not going to church meant she had little chance to meet or chat to people. Her main consolation was that she much preferred looking after the house to working in the shop, even though it was hard work physically and she was lonely.

Music gave her another consolation. Her father bought her a better piano and still asked her to play to him occasionally in the evenings. He even let her hire a part-time scrubbing woman so that her hands wouldn’t be spoiled for playing.

She jerked suddenly out of her memories of the past when her father came back downstairs. She poured his cup of tea, put in the usual three teaspoonfuls of sugar and handed him the cup and saucer. He was still smiling, so clearly he was extremely pleased about this coming move.

He took a big mouthful of tea, then gestured with one hand. ‘Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.’

She did that, trying to look pleased at the idea of a change to their lives.

‘A few weeks ago I had a chance to buy that big house at the corner near the top of Railway Road at a bargain price, the house we’ve stopped to look at and admire sometimes on our Sunday walks. I always did love the look of it.’

Another pause to slurp down some more tea, then he continued. ‘I bargained them down a bit so it took a while to come to an agreement, but we signed the final papers at the lawyer’s office today. I’ve sold this house to pay for the improvements we’ll need to make at the new place. The sale will be finalised the day after we move out.’

Her heart sank. The new house was huge, far grander than this one, but the outside was shabby and she guessed the interior would be sorely in need of updating and renovating.

Her father was the one who’d always stopped to admire it. She’d certainly never done so and didn’t feel happy about the move. A house that size would be much harder for her to clean and look after. Would she even have time to play her piano from now on?

She’d definitely need to do something about getting more help with the housework, which meant persuading him it was necessary. She’d have to work out how best to do that.

Her father sat sipping a second cup of tea, continuing to issue information and instructions between slurps. ‘I’ve arranged for some tea chests to be sent here this evening plus some old newspapers for packing our crockery. More chests will arrive tomorrow morning. You’ll be able to start packing after tea and get on with it again immediately after breakfast. I’ll pack my own things on Sunday when I don’t have to go into the office.’

He always called it ‘the office’ and spoke as if it were an important business, but the place was actually avoided by respectable people. Many of his customers couldn’t borrow money from banks and her father arranged loans for them at a higher rate of interest. He had a pawnshop, too, with a second-hand shop next door where unredeemed pledges were sold. He also bought and sold other items from members of ‘the trade’ as he called it.

The business must be bringing in a lot more money than she’d thought if he could afford to buy the house in Railway Road, because he never got into debt personally; he said borrowing and paying interest was a mug’s game. That didn’t stop him making money by arranging loans for the mugs he spoke about so scornfully.

‘Could we go round to the new house this evening, Father, so that I can see what it’s like inside? That way I’ll have a better idea of how to pack our things efficiently. I’ve only ever seen the outside so have no idea what the interior is like.’

‘I’m afraid not. The tenants are moving out tomorrow, so the place will be in chaos till they’ve gone. I’ve told them to make sure they leave it clean. I’ll take you round there on Sunday, early in the morning, and we’ll have our usual walk up to Jubilee Lake while we’re out. Just a quick one to the lower end because we won’t have time to go right round it.’

He loved that lake and the weather had to be very bad to stop him going up there on a Sunday. He even went round the top end when he wanted a longer walk. Most people avoided that area because the ground there was so rough and overgrown. The path had been planned to circle the lake completely but the top part had never been completed.

When he spoke in that firm tone of voice she didn’t contradict him, let alone try to get his agreement to do what she really wanted. Well, few people ever dared confront Charles Dawson. He was a tall, powerful man with a fierce temper and he rarely changed his mind once he’d decided on doing something.

Abigail wasn’t foolish enough to disobey him – not only was she totally dependent on him financially, but she was as afraid of him as everyone else who had to deal with him. His rages were legendary in the poorer part of town, and bad things happened to those who crossed him.

Like her mother before her, she’d gradually learned how to manage him, most of the time anyway, so life wasn’t as difficult now as it had been when she’d first taken over looking after him and the house.

Abigail sometimes stared at her reflection in her dressing-­table mirror and sighed. She wasn’t bad looking, at least she didn’t think so, but at thirty-two, she was still a spinster living with her widowed father. She might be comfortably housed and fed, but the price for that was waiting on him hand and foot – and as he was only in his late fifties, nothing was likely to change for years. She’d long given up hope of having a ­husband or children of her own.

She spent the whole of Saturday packing their possessions. There weren’t a lot considering the size of the house they were moving into. Why had he bought such a large place? That baffled her. Just to show off his wealth, or did he have a more specific purpose? Who knew? She couldn’t even guess what it might be, and perhaps she would never find out.

On the Sunday morning Abigail and her father walked along the few streets to the house on Railway Road, so named because it ran down a gentle slope to Ollerthwaite Station. It was a better part of town than where they had been living until now. Most of the houses even had gardens.

It might be large but their new home looked even more run-down in the bright spring sunlight, unlike its immediate neighbours. But of course she didn’t comment on that.

‘I’ll gradually bring the outside up to scratch,’ he said as he took two keys out of his pocket and opened the front door. He handed her one of them. ‘Do not have a copy made or lend this to anyone else.’

‘No, Father.’

Inside, her worst fears were realised. The house wasn’t at all suitable for just the two of them. There were eight bedrooms but no bathroom and only one inside lavatory, as well as the outside one at the far side of the surprisingly large backyard.

At the end of the upper floor were stairs which presumably led up to the attics. Abigail went to climb them but her father said sharply, ‘Nothing to see up there. And we don’t need the space, so I’m going to lock it up. Apart from checking for weather damage every now and then, we’ll leave it be.’

That surprised her, but when she thought about it later, she wondered whether he had something he wanted to hide up there. He could be very secretive at times, he wouldn’t even let her clean the room he called his ‘home office’, but always did that himself. Not a word about it being ‘women’s work’ then, like the rest of the house.

He went up to the attic door, locked it, took the key out and put it in his pocket. ‘Let’s go back downstairs and check what needs doing in the kitchen and the rooms we’ll be using for everyday living.’

The kitchen and scullery were generously sized, but they were dreadfully old-fashioned. She pointed that out as tactfully as she could. The gas stove had probably been one of the earlier types installed just after she’d been born and was very out of date.

Their previous home had at least had a meagre indoor bathroom with a gas geyser that gave them just about enough hot water for a shallow bath, but this place had no bathroom at all. How did he think they were going to manage without one? He loved his weekly baths.

She tried to find a tactful way to begin making him aware of the practical problems. ‘Do you wish me to make a list of what will be needed to give you the comfort you’re accustomed to at our present house, Father? That way you’ll be able to work out the order in which to have the necessary improvements made.’

He always seemed to forget about the practical ways in which she took care of their daily needs, though he never seemed to forget the tiniest detail of what was happening in his business. He had very firm wishes about what he ate, though, and was a hearty eater. He expected a hot meal to be waiting for him in the evenings and snacks to be available at all times. No wonder he was growing fatter each year.

He looked at her now in mild surprise. ‘I suppose there will be quite a lot of things that need attention.’

‘Oh yes. And some of them will need doing quickly, too. The neighbours will be surprised if we don’t make our house comfortable. They’ll probably think we can’t afford to do it.’

‘Hmm. You may be right. People do tend to think the worst. But I don’t like you to gossip with neighbours. Remember that.’

She said, ‘Yes, Father,’ automatically but was still thinking about what she’d need to get done. There were several other rooms on the ground floor and she couldn’t even begin to think what they would do with them all. They were sparsely furnished and dusty. But they could wait.

When they got back to the rooms near the front door, her father walked into the largest. ‘This can be our living room.’

‘It’s so big it’ll be hard to heat in winter.’

‘We’ll have a gas fire fitted. But we can do that later when the weather gets colder. You’d better tell me what you would consider the most pressing needs.’

‘I’d say that a bathroom with a modern gas water heater is a matter of extreme urgency. You know how you love your baths. Our bathroom at the old house is tiny but you can have a big modern one installed here with a water heater which supplies enough for a deeper bath.’

‘I suppose so. But that can wait a little, surely? We can buy a tin bath to use in the kitchen for the time being. Your mother used to fill one for me every Friday and wash my back for me, too. I always enjoyed that.’

She looked at him in astonishment. ‘It wouldn’t be modest for me to see you without your clothes on, Father. In fact, it’d be quite shocking.’

‘Oh. No, I suppose not. I forget sometimes that your mother is no longer with us. Go on.’

‘It’ll be difficult to cook your evening meal on time if you have your bath in the kitchen. I wouldn’t be able to cook a meal at the same time as filling buckets from the gas geyser, or waiting outside the kitchen for you to finish bathing.’

She let that sink in then added, ‘What’s more, some of your favourite dishes, like roast lamb, need stirring or basting at regular intervals. It’d be hard not to burn your food if I can’t check it. I suppose I could give you ham sandwiches on bath nights and make them in advance.’

He scowled at that and she waited for what seemed ages for a reply. Surely he wasn’t going to insist on the impossible?

When the silence continued, she added, ‘And we’ll need to hire a full-time cleaning woman. I won’t be able to manage such a large home on my own. But I suppose you’ve taken that into account.’

She almost held her breath after daring to say that.

‘Oh. Yes. I suppose you’re right. You’re of above average intelligence for a woman, that’s for sure, so I do listen to what you say about our domestic arrangements. You’re right about needing to make certain changes so I shall have to find suit­able men to do the work quickly. Leave that to me. But it’d be better if you found a cleaning woman.’

‘She’d need to live in.’

He looked at her in horror. ‘Surely not?’

‘I can’t work miracles. And it’d be very little trouble. She could use that small room behind the scullery.’

‘You’re sure it’ll be necessary?’

‘Very sure, Father. It’s a lovely big house, but what’s the use of that if you’re not comfortable in it? As for a maid, how about Mrs Blaney? You knew her as a child, didn’t you? I’m sure we could trust her.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Very well then. You tell her.’ He sighed and began walking towards the front door. ‘That’s enough domestic stuff. We’ll just take a short stroll up the road to the lake before we go back to our old house and get on with the packing.’

As they set off walking at the slow, measured pace he favoured since he’d started putting on weight, he asked suddenly, ‘Is that everything urgent dealt with?’

‘Not quite. If you want me to unpack quickly after the move and make you comfortable, we’ll need to employ Mrs Blaney from the beginning. We can get her to find a friend who can clean the house we’re leaving from top to bottom after it’s been cleared. We wouldn’t want to leave a mess behind for the people who’ve bought it, would we? That wouldn’t reflect well on a man of your status.’

They’d reached the lake so she kept quiet and let him enjoy the vista before saying, ‘I shall need Mrs Blaney to start work full-time on moving day if you don’t want to come home from work to a mess.’

‘The tenants who moved out have left our new house quite clean. Why will it need the expense of cleaning again?’

‘It’s unavoidable that dirt and dust will be tramped in from outside when the removal men carry in our possessions. No one can prevent that and it looks like the weather will be showery, so there will be muddy footprints to add to the problems.’

‘I suppose you’re right. I must say, I didn’t expect so many extra expenses.’

‘It’ll be worth it. We’re moving into a nice big house, Father. You’ve done so well to buy a place like that. People will be jealous of you.’

There was a moment’s silence as he mulled this over, but his frown vanished and he began smiling again. ‘They will, won’t they? I’ll leave you to arrange all the practical details and tell Mrs Blaney about her new job.’

It didn’t occur to him they might need to ask her if she wanted the job, Abigail thought. But she knew Mrs Blaney would be very happy to come and live in, as she was a widow who often struggled to make ends meet and had to share a cheap room with another woman.

Abigail didn’t know why her father had to do all this in such a hurry. She’d be hard put to make the move in time.

What would her life have been like if she’d lived with a kind and thoughtful person and had a few friends to spend time with? She couldn’t even begin to picture it; she had given up hope of a more normal life years ago. Thank heavens for her music and books from the library to read.

Mrs Blaney arrived half an hour later, out of breath and looking apprehensive. ‘I got a message to come and see you at once. Is something wrong? The lad who brought it didn’t know why.’

‘Nothing wrong at all. It’s good news, I hope. I’ll make us a cup of tea while we talk, shall I? The kettle has just boiled.’

‘I’d love one.’

When Abigail explained about the job Mrs Blaney beamed at her. ‘Oh, that’ll be wonderful, just wonderful. It’ll be a step up in the world for me to get a job as live-in maid.’

‘And you’ll be more comfortable, not to mention eating better.’

She was given another beaming smile. ‘I certainly will, miss.’

‘You’re already quite good at not upsetting father. That’s so important.’

‘I’ve noticed that. Don’t worry. I can be quiet as a mouse when needed. Eh, I’m that pleased about it.’

‘I’m pleased too. You’re a good worker.’ She saw her companion pull out a crumpled handkerchief and mop her eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. It’s just, it’ll be so comfortable not having to share a room with Alice. And I won’t have to worry about getting enough work to pay my rent and buy enough food to eat as well as the breakfast provided for lodgers. I’ll have to tell the other ladies I do odd jobs for that I can’t come any more, but I’m sure Alice will take my place, so they won’t be left in the lurch.’

‘When you come here you’ll have your own bedroom and I’ll make sure it’s comfortably furnished with an armchair and coal for your fire, because you’ll have to sit in there during the evenings.’

‘I shall enjoy the peace and quiet, miss. I’ll be able to buy a newspaper now and then to keep me occupied.’

‘You won’t need to do that. You can have my father’s old newspapers when I’ve finished with them, if you don’t mind waiting a day or two for the latest news.’

‘Even better. Thank you so much for this chance. I won’t let you down.’

‘Oh, and one other thing. Make sure you never, ever tattle about what my father does at home,’ she warned.

‘I know that, miss. I knew him when we were both children and he was just as secretive then. Who’d have thought someone from Sampson Street would do so well in business as he has?’

‘Who indeed?’ Abigail sometimes wondered exactly how he’d made his money. He never talked about his family or early life, and Mrs Blaney rarely did that either.

‘Are you looking forward to the move, miss?’

‘Not really. It’ll be hard work running such a big house.’

‘You’re a good daughter to him if you don’t mind me saying so. He’s not easy to deal with, is he?’

‘We manage. Now, perhaps on your way home you can ask your friend to help out tomorrow and I’ll finish my packing.’

She felt quite sure Mrs Blaney would be a good help. In fact, her presence was one of the best things about the new life. It’d be good to have someone to chat to occasionally.

2

The move was accomplished without any problems on the Monday, thanks to Abigail’s hard work and quiet efficiency, for which she knew she would receive no special praise or thanks from her father.

He left for work even earlier than usual and she was glad to see the back of him because he kept poking into her neat piles of items that had already been sorted out to see exactly what was in them, leaving them in disarray.

Shortly after his departure, Mrs Blaney’s friend Alice arrived, followed by the movers with their pantechnicon. The men started work, carrying furniture, bundles and boxes out to the big enclosed dray.

Abigail explained what was needed to Alice and set off just before the movers finished. She enjoyed the brisk walk to the new house, where Mrs Blaney was waiting for her, having arranged for her own possessions to be taken there before the move.

She took Mrs Blaney round the house and showed her the room which would be hers, leaving her things there. She set her to wiping down the kitchen shelves, which they both felt were not clean enough.

Then the movers arrived and all was chaos, with Abigail needed to direct them where to put things. She decided to take the bedroom over the kitchen and not until the man in charge of them asked her which bedroom the master’s things were to go in did she realise that her father hadn’t selected a bedroom.

She crossed her fingers for luck as she said, ‘The big bedroom over the entrance for my father’s things. Please don’t forget to set up the bed for me.’ Then she left them to it and went down to the kitchen to start putting crockery and foodstuffs away.

She made sure to offer the men a cup of tea and some biscuits later. Such details usually made for more willing service, she’d found. After that, the men set off back to the old house to pick up the rest of the things and she started sorting out her father’s clothes.

It seemed a very long morning and it wasn’t till the movers finally left in the early afternoon that she was able to give herself and Mrs Blaney a quick meal of bread and cheese. It was a relief to sit down for half an hour.

Then she sent Mrs Blaney back to check that their former house was clean and to pay her friend for the work. It was good to be able to delegate some of the work and absolutely wonderful to have the new house to herself for a while to get a feel for it.

Abigail’s father came home at exactly his usual time of half-past six and walked round the downstairs with her, looking suspiciously into each room as if expecting to find something wrong, when in fact most of them were empty as they didn’t have any extra furniture.

He then led the way upstairs. ‘I don’t know how we’ll go on with a maid living in the house with us,’ he grumbled.

‘She’s a good worker and is looking forward to the peace and quiet of having her own room. You don’t do much in the kitchen, so you’ll hardly know she’s there. You were at school with her, weren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘She was one of ten children, always hungry. No wonder she’s looking forward to us providing her with food and a room of her own.’

‘I said she could read your old newspapers in the evenings so don’t throw them away.’

‘No. And that won’t cost me anything.’

She nearly said something sharp because she was so tired of him talking as if he were struggling to make ends meet, but she managed to keep her thoughts to herself. ‘You didn’t say which bedroom you wanted so I gave you the big front one,’ she said quietly and led the way to it.

He went inside and turned round on the spot, studying it, then nodded. ‘Yes, this will do me nicely.’

‘I made up your bed but I left your boxes for you to sort out because I know you don’t like anyone else messing around with your possessions. And my bedroom is along here.’

‘Good. And you said Margie Blaney will have the room behind the scullery, so she’ll be out of my way.’

‘Yes. I’ll show it to you when we go do. . .