Golden Dreams

by Anna Jacobs

Genres: Sagas; Small Town & Rural

Synopsis

Lancashire, 1895. Lillian Hesketh has taken a new name, and a brave step towards a happier life. Suddenly widowed after an unhappy marriage, and pursued by her unscrupulous in-laws, Lillian finds a fresh start in the beautiful Ollindale valley. Thanks to the kindness of her new neighbours, Walter Crossley and his family, she finally has a home to call her own - but the threat of discovery by her husband's family still casts a shadow over her new life. Meanwhile, Edward Ollerton has returned to the valley to rebuild his ancestral home. Hoping to one day marry and start a family, Edward finds himself drawn to the shy, attractive widow - but not everyone is happy to see him reclaim his estate . . . Will their dreams fade to dust, or can a golden future blossom on the shores of Jubilee Lake?

Release date: May 11, 2023

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

1

Autumn 1895

When Stanley Thursten died suddenly of a seizure, his wife felt nothing but relief. Her parents had forced her to marry him five years ago because they said she’d been left on the shelf at twenty-five. The marriage had brought her no joy. On the contrary. Thank goodness he’d spent as little time at home with her as he could, preferring the company of his friends and his parents to hers.

Their dislike had been mutual. She’d found out that he’d only married her because it was a condition of an inheritance from his grandmother that he should wed by the age of thirty, otherwise the money would be donated to charity.

Now that he was dead, she only hoped there would be some of that money left for her, otherwise she’d have endured his company for nothing. Even the house they lived in belonged to his parents and they’d had to pay rent on it.

The doctor cleared his throat to gain her attention and said quietly, ‘I can write out a death certificate for you, Mrs ­Thursten, because I saw your husband at my surgery only a few days ago. I’d been warning him for months that he needed to moderate his lifestyle if he wanted to make old bones, but he only shrugged. Did he change anything at all? Drink less, perhaps?’

‘No. He drank at least a bottle of wine every night.’ She watched him shake his head in disgust and write the certificate. After he’d handed it to her, she escorted him to the door.

He said gently, ‘You should change your life now. You need to get out more, make friends.’

She dredged up a faint smile and nodded. She intended to change things, she did indeed. And she’d start with her name. Why not? She’d never liked being ‘Mary Janet’.

As she closed the door, she stared down at the death certificate and wondered yet again where Stanley had kept their marriage certificate. They were both such important documents for her now that she wanted to look after them herself, wanted to control her own life in every way from now on.

She knew his parents didn’t have it because they’d suggested more than once to him that they look after all the family papers and mentioned that one specifically. Only he’d refused point blank to hand it over. That had been one of the few things where he hadn’t done as they’d wished.

Where could she hide his death certificate? She wasn’t handing it over to his parents.

In the end she put it between the pages of a magazine and put that in the middle of a pile of similar magazines that she’d been given to read by an elderly neighbour to whom she spoke occasionally when she was working in the garden. She doubted the Thurstens would even glance at them.

She went upstairs, took most of the money out of ­Stanley’s wallet then put the wallet back in his jacket pocket. After some thought, she hid the money under the loose sultanas in their neatly labelled tin in the pantry, together with most of her housekeeping money.

Only then did she inform his parents of his demise by sending a passing lad with a note about what had happened.

As she’d expected they came at once, grim-faced and ­tearless, and immediately started telling her what to do with her life from then on. She didn’t argue but she was determined to get away from them.

Lemuel Thursten took over the arrangements for the funeral, which was to be conducted from their house. She didn’t care enough about that to argue because it meant the bills would also be sent to them. Anyway, they must know that she didn’t have the money to pay for it.

As usual, Eunice Thursten said little beyond, ‘Yes, dear,’ or ‘No, dear,’ to whatever her husband ordered her to do or told her to think.

After the poorly attended funeral was over and the few guests had consumed the meagre refreshments and left, she was called into the Thurstens’ sitting room.

Mr Thursten gestured to a chair and remained standing near the fireplace. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.’

She looked across at him and waited. What now?

‘As you know, Stanley was not good with money.’

She didn’t say anything. He’d been hopeless at managing money, but could spend it faster than anyone she’d ever met.

‘By a few months ago he had spent every penny of the inheritance that marriage to you brought him. Since then I’ve had to give him money to pay your household bills and he hasn’t been paying us the rent he should have done. I don’t intend to continue paying for you to live in that house on your own.’

She was so shocked by this she couldn’t say a word. She’d hoped and indeed expected that there would be something left for her to live on because the money had come from her family.

‘We intend to sell that house, which has too many sad ­memories for us now.’ He took a letter from the mantelpiece and handed it to her. ‘This is a formal notice to you to move out by the end of the week. We can offer you a home here with us. In fact, you shouldn’t wait to join us.’

She didn’t protest, just waited for him to finish.

‘You only need stay in that house until you’ve sorted out your own clothes and small possessions ready for your move. We’ll deal with the furniture and Stanley’s possessions after you’ve left. The furniture you inherited from your godmother will pay our son’s other debts.’

The way he was looking at her body made her shiver. She’d rather run away to Timbuctoo than spend one night under their roof and she didn’t intend to hand over her furniture. But she knew better than to say that, and only inclined her head.

‘We shall need to make sure you are not with child as well,’ Mrs Thursten said.

‘I’m not.’

‘You can’t possibly know that yet.’

‘I can. I’m absolutely certain.’

‘Well, we need to be certain too so you will move here with us as soon as you can, and I shall myself check that you are not with child. You can make yourself useful around the house to pay for your keep. We would have arranged for that to happen tomorrow but unfortunately your lawyer insists on seeing you alone before he completes the formalities, so that will take a few days.’

‘I can’t think about seeing Mr Baker yet. I’m too upset. I’ll visit him in a couple of days.’ She dabbed at her eyes, hoping she had hidden her anger and looked as if she were weeping. ‘I’ll walk home now, if you don’t mind. It’ll clear my head.’

‘Oh, very well. A few extra days won’t matter.’

They had never complained about her doing a lot of walking as it saved housekeeping money being spent on bus fares. But they had set someone to follow her from time to time when she was first married, saying when she challenged them that it was to check that she wasn’t associating with undesirable people or taking anyone back with her into their house.

Given Stanley’s threats about what he’d do to her if she invited anyone except her parents and his into their home, she’d never been able to make friends.

Her parents hadn’t known how strange the Thurstens were and didn’t care when she told them. They were only concerned with her being safe in a respectable marriage, as if she were a package to be handed over. They’d threatened to throw her out on the street if she didn’t marry him. And they’d have done it too, which was why she’d given in. She’d thought marriage to him couldn’t be worse than living with them. It wasn’t but it was just as bad.

She breathed deeply as she walked along the street. That house always felt so stuffy. She didn’t go straight home, ­however. Instead she went to see her own family’s long-time lawyer since he had asked to see her. She was hoping Mr Baker would find a way to help her escape. She had only met him a couple of times but he’d seemed pleasant enough.

Before she went into his rooms, she walked past and made a detour into a nearby newsagent’s shop, buying some sweets and checking the people outside through the shop window to make sure she hadn’t been followed.

It had been two years since her last visit to Mr Baker. He’d sent her a message then, asking her to see him without informing her husband so she’d sneaked into his rooms while out shopping.

He’d told her she had a small inheritance from her godmother but it had conditions attached to it. The main one was that he must continue to manage the money and keep it out of her husband’s hands. ‘Your godmother was very concerned about your husband’s drinking so wanted you to have something for yourself. There are also a few pieces of antique furniture for you to receive openly so that they don’t suspect there’s money as well.’

She felt sure he would keep her money safe so she agreed to leave it with him. She didn’t need the quarterly payments until she found some way to escape from her husband and had let the Thurstens think the furniture was all she’d received.

They’d been pleased with it and she’d been afraid they’d take it for themselves, but Stanley had also taken a fancy to it and they’d let him keep it.

Her parents had died a few months later, both contracting pneumonia after a bout of severe influenza. There had been a lot of such deaths at the time. People had called it the Russian ’flu.

The Thurstens had been furious when they’d found that she’d inherited nothing from her parents, who had left everything to charity due to concerns about Stanley’s ­handling, or, as they called it more accurately, wasting of money.

At the moment she had little money of her own except the small amount she’d saved from the housekeeping and what she’d taken from Stanley’s wallet.

After checking one last time that she wasn’t being followed she turned off the street into Mr Baker’s rooms. When she gave her name the clerk showed her into his office immediately.

‘My condolences on your husband’s death, Mrs Thursten.’

She wasn’t going to pretend. ‘It wasn’t a happy marriage. He might have been a stranger for all I cared.’

She ignored his look of surprise and explained her dilemma, showing him the official letter asking her to move out of the house within a week. ‘Can they really throw me out of my home so quickly? It doesn’t give me much time to make other arrangements.’

Mr Baker sighed, fiddled with his pen, then looked across at her. ‘I’m afraid they can because it was a weekly tenancy. The letter you’ve received is an unusually harsh way to treat a daughter-in-law, however. You say they’ve offered you a home with them. Shall you take it?’

‘No. Definitely not. I’d as soon live with a pair of hungry tigers. They’d make my life an utter misery.’

‘I must admit that when they spoke to me they showed no sign of affection for you, and indeed, seemed to blame you for their son’s death.’

‘How could I have stopped him drinking? Or getting into those occasional fights? He’d been like that all his adult life. Everyone knew what he was like. He didn’t even listen to the doctor’s warnings about his health. Anyway, never mind him. I’m here because you wanted to see me before completing the final formalities.’

‘That was an excuse to talk to you about your godmother’s will.’

‘Surely I can access that money now?’

‘Not until you’re safely away from them.’

‘Oh dear. But I can get it soon afterwards, can’t I? I shall need it to live on once I’m away from them. The problem is, I’m not sure where to go.’

‘I can help you there. You’d be much safer moving away from Bolton, and doing it secretly.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Secretly?’

‘Yes. I’ve found out they intend to take action to gain control of you and your affairs by claiming that you are slow-­witted and would not be able to look after yourself.’

A shiver ran through her. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘I agree.’

‘Are you sure? How did you find that out?’

‘I happen to know their former lawyer rather well and he said he is no longer acting for them because they had no ­possible foundation for such an accusation and he refused to be involved in something unlawful and grossly unkind. Unfortunately, he suspects they are still intent on taking control of you with the help of a less scrupulous lawyer so he let me know.’

She stared at him in shock. ‘I’ve never got on with them and they only arranged the marriage because of the money I’d bring and their hope that I’d provide them with a grandchild.’

‘Yes. My friend said that he feels they’re still hoping for a grandchild.’

‘But I’ve told them I’m not expecting.’

He cleared his throat, flushed slightly and said, ‘I fear they are plotting something to ensure that you do provide them with a baby.’

Horror filled her as the implications of this sank in, especially after the way Mr Thursten had stared at her today. Were there no limits to their nastiness? ‘I need to get away from them quickly, then.’

‘I think so too.’

‘Can you let me have some of my godmother’s money?’

‘Yes, but only the money you didn’t use from the quarterly payments. I’m not allowed to pass final control of the capital to you until you’re safely established away from them.’

‘Oh. Well, my savings should be more than enough to live off for a year or even longer if I’m careful. Will it be all right if I revert to my maiden name now?’

‘It’s probably an excellent idea to change your name. But don’t use your maiden name, as they know that. You see,’ he hesitated before saying, ‘I’m rather concerned about your ­personal safety if you run away.’

‘You think they’d try to hurt me?’

‘Yes. And my friend does too, which is why he broke his ­clients’ confidentiality to suggest I warn you. You could ­perhaps use your godmother’s maiden name. They won’t know that but you and I will.’

‘And call myself by my middle name.’ She tried them out. ‘Janet Hesketh. Yes, that sounds nicer.’

He shook his head. ‘It’d be better to make a complete change of name. Don’t use either of your Christian names. They’re too obvious. What’s your favourite woman’s name?’

‘Lillian,’ she said immediately. It had been the name of one of her favourite heroines in a library book she’d borrowed three times to read over the years because it had such a lovely ending.

‘That name isn’t connected with anything you said or did during your married life?’

‘No. Stanley was usually drunk by eight o’clock in the evening so we didn’t sit and chat.’ Sometimes those evenings had seemed to go on for ever.

‘Then how about calling yourself Lillian Hesketh?’

She mouthed the name, liking the sound of it. ‘I would be able to live on my godmother’s money if I’m careful, but how can I get away without them finding out what I’m doing? And where can I go? I must confess that I’m afraid of them, Mr Baker, and I’m sure they’d keep watch on me every minute if I ever moved into their house. Even Stanley was afraid of them.’

He stared into the distance for a moment or two then looked across at her. ‘I have a nephew who has just set up a legal ­practice in the north of Lancashire, Greville Turnby he’s called, my sister’s son. He’s moved to a rather small town called Ollerthwaite because his wife’s family have a farm near there and she was desperately homesick, hated life in a town. May I take the liberty of writing to him and explaining your situation?’

She nodded without hesitation.

‘Good. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take over the management of your godmother’s bequest as well as helping you find a small house to rent there. And once you’re settled he can terminate the trust and hand everything over to you.’

‘That’s a good idea. I’ve never even been to that part of Lancashire. Do you think I’ll be able to afford to rent a whole house there, just a small one?’

‘I gather from my nephew that rents are much lower than here in the south of the county, so you should have enough money to rent a modest dwelling. And if you tell people you’re a widow and behave accordingly, it’ll be perfectly respectable.’

‘Where exactly is this town?’

‘In a small valley called Ollindale on the edge of the moors. Not many people know it exists even and I doubt the Thurstens will so they won’t think to look for you there.’

‘Perhaps I could find a house with a nice, large garden. I do enjoy gardening. Even the Thurstens approved of it as a hobby because they liked the fresh produce I gave them.’

‘We can ask my nephew to look for a suitable house, then.’ He gave her another doubtful look.

‘What else is there? I can see by your expression that there’s some other problem.’

‘It might be wisest for you to slip away without telling them that you’re leaving. That will have to be managed carefully.’

She was startled. ‘Surely they’d not try to stop me by force?’

He was clearly embarrassed. ‘Given our suspicions that they might have a – a disgusting reason for wanting control of you, I fear they might try that. The mother is grieving deeply for her only son, but Mr Thursten is apparently furiously angry that you haven’t provided them with an heir to their family money and has started telling people he suspects that you are expecting.’

Mary – no, she had to think of herself as Lillian now – wasn’t naïve enough to mistake what this might involve, not after her years of reading books of all sorts, covered by brown-paper wrappers, which she claimed were to prevent damage and fines by the library, but were actually to prevent them seeing what exactly she was reading and learning about. They had so little interest in books they’d not even bothered to ask, assuming the library would not buy anything except what they called decent books.

After one startled glance at Mr Baker for confirming her own suspicions at his earlier statements, and receiving only an embarrassed shrug in return, she turned and gazed blindly out of the window. ‘How can I escape without them knowing? I’ll need to take my personal possessions with me.’

‘I can help you with that. I know a firm of very discreet removalists who have been used by other clients of mine.’

She turned back to him. ‘Then would it be possible to take the furniture I inherited from my godmother with me as well? As you know, they’re rather valuable antiques and besides, I’m fond of them. I remember them from my childhood visits to her.’ She’d been happier there than anywhere else in her whole life.

When he frowned, drumming his fingers on his desk for a moment or two, she couldn’t help asking, ‘Must I lose everything from my own family?’

He looked at her sympathetically. ‘You can’t carry furniture with you, obviously. But if we can move your pieces out before you leave, I can have them stored safely till you find somewhere to live. It’ll take me a day or two to make arrangements to get you away without leaving a trace. I’ll find someone to accompany you and keep you safe till you’re out of the district, but you should travel light, taking only one suitcase that you can carry easily.’

She couldn’t speak for a moment. If a sensible man like Mr Baker thought this sort of precaution was necessary, she must be in even more danger than she’d thought possible. Would the Thurstens really go to those lengths?

She had another unpleasant thought. ‘What if they claim I’ve stolen the furniture? Perhaps I’d better not try to take it.’

‘When she made her will, your godmother suggested that I take careful note of what pieces of furniture she was leaving you, and get the list witnessed and signed by someone reputable. We are not living in the Dark Ages, you know. Married women are allowed to have their own possessions these days.’

She sighed in relief.

‘Now, practicalities. I shall send some men to take the furniture out of the house secretly at night and deposit it in a warehouse I know of. In fact, why don’t we do that tonight? Can you get everything ready by midnight?’

‘Yes.’ She wished she were leaving tonight as well.

‘I’ll tell the men to come to your back gate. Don’t leave any lights on for them, however, or the neighbours might wonder what’s going on. Could you pack most of your clothes and any other possessions for them to take as well as the furniture? Remember, only try to carry one suitcase when you leave then you won’t need help to move around.’

‘I can get my other things ready but I don’t have anything to put them in.’

‘I’ll tell the movers to bring some empty tea chests. How many do you think you’ll need?’

‘Three at most.’ She wasn’t rich in physical possessions.

‘I’ll find a reliable man to escort you to Ollerthwaite in a day or two. When you’ve found a house to live in, let me know and I’ll send everything to you there.’

She left his office feeling both afraid and angry, but her only chance of a better life seemed to be to escape from the Thurstens completely. And if a lawyer who was as well thought of as Mr Baker suggested that such a desperate course of action might be best, then they must be even more of a danger to her than she’d realised, so she’d do whatever he said.

That night, two quiet, middle-aged men arrived at Lillian’s house. They brought their horse and a covered cart to the back gate at midnight and carried three empty tea chests into the house.

One whispered, ‘Please pack them quickly! We’ll tidy the contents and seal them up for you later.’ So she piled in her possessions any old how while the men carried the furniture out. They used only the light of the moon to load things on their cart and left as quietly as they’d arrived. Even the horse hadn’t made any unnecessary sounds.

The following morning she moved the remaining furniture around as best she could without help in an attempt to hide the gaps where two chests of drawers, a desk, a bookcase and a few smaller items had once stood.

That left her with only the bare essentials of clothing.

The Thurstens had searched Stanley’s things even before the funeral but hadn’t found their son’s marriage certificate. She’d told them the truth: she didn’t know where he’d put it either and they must have believed her. His death certificate was still where she’d hidden it inside the magazine. Fortunately for her, the doctor who’d certified his death had gone away on holiday so she said she hadn’t received it yet and was told sharply that she was to give it to them immediately it arrived.

She and her husband had never needed a suitcase because they’d never gone away on holiday but she knew there was one shabby suitcase stored in the roof space. This could be reached via a stepladder, but not wanting her in-laws to catch her getting it down, she waited till after dark to fetch the rickety old stepladder up from the cellar. She was panting by the time she’d carried it up two flights of stairs. It was a good thing there was a nearly full moon to see by.

Putting it in place under the hatch that led into the roof she climbed carefully up and opened the wooden panel. Only then did she light the candle she’d brought in her apron pocket. And yes, the suitcase was there to one side: a dusty, worn old thing.

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ she muttered. Once she’d wiped it down, no one would look twice at it as she carried it through the streets.

She glanced round the roof space, holding up the candle, but there didn’t seem to be anything else up there so she blew her light out before climbing down the ladder. She was surprised Stanley had even kept the suitcase. It wasn’t heavy but it would be awkward to carry it at the same time as climbing down the ladder in the semi-darkness, so she dropped it down on the landing to one side.

When she picked it up to put it on her bed, she shuddered at the spiders’ webs that festooned the top but told herself not to be so weak-minded. She took the stepladder back to the cellar quickly, planning to get up as soon as it was light and check that it hadn’t left any marks on the hatch.

She checked inside but the suitcase was empty. She’d put it on top of the wardrobe till she needed it. As she was doing that, standing on the bedroom chair, she noticed a flat cardboard folder, dark brown in colour, pushed to the very back. If you only gave the wardrobe top a quick glance, it didn’t show.

To her surprise there were several papers inside it. They must belong to Stanley. And the marriage certificate was on top! Well, that was a big relief. Underneath it were letters from someone whose signature was hard to decipher and out of curiosity she read the first one.

‘Oh, good heavens!’ She stared at the letters in shock. She’d read about this sort of thing. And it explained so much about Stanley. No one must ever see these. She took them downstairs, not lighting any more lamps. There were enough embers still glowing in the old-fashioned kitchen range to burn the letters and she fed them in carefully one by one, making quite sure each was turned into meaningless ashes with no fragments left unburned.

By now, she’d recognised the sender and was shocked rigid at who he was, as well as at the few bits she’d read.

She retrieved the death certificate from among the magazines and put it in the folder with her marriage certificate. She was about to put them in the suitcase when she realised the bottom lining was torn and she could slide them inside it. They would be even safer there.

She suddenly changed her mind and decided to pack most of her clothes in the suitcase now and leave it on top of the bedside chair. She’d put her last few garments into it just before she left.

It was a long time before she could get to sleep. Her ­husband had been a strange man, his actions sometimes totally incomprehensible. And such letters from one man to another had been—shocking.

She couldn’t wait to leave this house full of unhappy ­memories, a house where she’d wasted more than five long, weary years of her life.

As soon as Mr Baker sent word she’d slip out at night the back way, just as her furniture had done, and travel to the north with whoever was sent to escort her.

In the meantime she would stay at home most of the time. Because of the way his parents had insisted on keeping the family to themselves, she didn’t have any friends or acquaintances left to say goodbye to, anyway.

She was hoping desperately that she would meet a few ­people in this new town, perhaps at church. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life as alone as she had been since her marriage.

2

A couple of weeks after the purchase of the Ollerton estate was finalised, Ezra Filmore was looking out of the upstairs window of his office in the legal rooms when he saw one of his clients walking towards him along the street, looking much happier than he ever had before.

Ezra felt rather pleased with himself, too. He’d done well by his new client. He hadn’t been sure at first that he’d be able to push the sale of a large property through as quickly as had been insisted, but he’d succeeded.

Edward Seymour Ollerton was shown into the ­lawyer’s office by the chief clerk and came forward with hand ­outstretched. ‘My dear sir, I couldn’t leave town without coming to tell you how deeply grateful I am to you for your efficiency.’

Ezra shook the hand. ‘I’m glad we managed to do as you wished. Please take a seat.’

Mr Ollerton stood for a moment, staring once again at the modern Charing Cross gas fire, which surprised a lot of their customers. ‘I can’t believe how effic. . .