The Long Way Home

by Jessica Blair

Genres: Sagas; Family Life; Romance

Synopsis

Lydia Middleton faces a bright future, secure in the knowledge that her childhood sweetheart, David Drayton, will one day be her husband. Their parents heartily approve of a match between Whitby's foremost ship-owning families. But then Mr Middleton loses his fortune and later his life, and the Draytons reconsider. Lydia's uncle repossesses the family home and she is forced to leave Whitby. Her brother Luke finds a job in the new town of Middlesbrough and Lydia decides to accompany him and make her own way in life. But she vows that when her fortunes have changed she will return to her beloved home and exact a fitting revenge on her uncle. Driven by this desire, Lydia prospers but risks losing the most precious thing of all: the love of David, who has stayed faithful to her throughout their enforced separation. Vengeance or the path of true love - which will Lydia choose?

Release date: November 10, 2011

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

Lydia put down the fourth monthly part of David Copperfield with regret that she had finished it. The publishers had planned that this novel by the popular author, Charles Dickens,
would continue through the remaining four months of 1849 and into 1850, so she looked forward eagerly to the next instalment,
trying to anticipate its developments.


As she rose from her chair and walked to the window her mind was full of sympathy for Copperfield and the tragedies life had
dealt him. But when she reached the window the story was cast to the back of her mind for from her room among the new houses
high on Whitby’s West Cliff she had a view which always moved her, or had these last three years at least since she was seventeen,
the age when an appreciation of her surroundings had begun to play a part in her young life.


The sun this late-August afternoon flamed the red-tiled roofs of Whitby’s east side where the houses, crowded one on top of
the other, climbed the cliff. She could see the gaunt outline of the ruined Norman abbey on the cliff top where tomorrow afternoon
she would ride with David Drayton. It had become a regular Friday activity for them since Easter, as it had done last year.


Their respective families approved of the friendship, seeing a future marriage between them as forging a closer alliance between two mercantile businesses in Whitby’s thriving port. Lydia knew this but kept her own counsel. She liked
David a great deal and enjoyed his company, but did she love him? He had become a handsome twenty-one year old, standing just
over six foot tall. His angular jaw gave him the appearance of a man who loved a challenge, and in Lydia he’d found a tempting
one, for she always rebuffed his more amorous advances, desiring for now at least to keep their relationship to one of close
friendship only.


David respected her wishes but went on telling himself that one day he would marry this pretty girl with hazel eyes and silky
hair which shimmered like the peat-brown waters of a bubbling moorland stream. He knew that behind the pleasant, vivacious
exterior there was a stubborn streak to Lydia, and this conflict in her nature he found unusual and appealing.


So he went on being attentive, escorting her to parties with friends, to the plays occasionally held in the Freemasons’ Tavern,
to lectures held by the Literary and Philosophical Society, and to other functions in the town, making no secret of his admiration
and affection for her.


As she stared thoughtfully from the window Lydia acknowledged to herself that life with David Drayton would be comfortable,
she’d want for nothing, since one day he would inherit his father’s company. And the time would come when she, in her own
right, would inherit a share in her own father’s business together with her brother, Luke.


She pursed her lips. Should she agree to what both families saw as an ideal match, hold back no longer? Maybe tomorrow when
they rode along the cliff top she would speak to David and embark upon a new stage in her life …


Lydia’s reverie was interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door which resounded through the house. The sound alarmed her
with its urgency and persistence. She ran out on to the landing and heard a maid’s footsteps scurry across the hall below.
Stepping close to the banister rail she looked down and saw the alarmed girl open the front door wide.


‘Mr Middleton, is he at home?’ The words were spoken with such compelling force that the maid could only splutter something
unintelligible. ‘Quick, girl, is he?’ The man stepped past her as if he would find out for himself, but she outmanoeuvred
him and scampered towards the drawing-room door. He followed, paused while she knocked and opened it, then was into the room
before the maid could make any announcement.


Lydia started for the stairs. She had recognised the man as Julian Briggs whom her father employed as clerk in the small office
near the harbour from which he conducted his business. Briggs was usually calm and steady in even the most exacting circumstances.
This unusual agitation must presage a major catastrophe.


She started down the stairs then stopped. In her haste to retreat, the maid had failed to close the door properly and Lydia
overheard Briggs’s shattering announcement.


‘Sir, the Mary Anne has been lost!’


‘What?’ Tristram Middleton gasped in disbelief.

‘Merchantman, the Aurora, bound for Newcastle, put in with the news. Mary Anne went down in a storm off the French coast. The Aurora tried to help but couldn’t get near.’ Briggs’s voice broke as he added, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’


There was total silence, the house filled with the stillness of tragedy. Earlier today her father had spoken of his high hopes
for a successful trading voyage. Now disaster had blighted those hopes.


‘Total number of lives lost?’ Tristram asked weakly as he anticipated the worst.

‘All hands, sir.’

There was a heavy silence again then Lydia heard her father’s muttered words of dejection. Though the loss of the Mary Anne and its cargo of Spanish wine and lace would hit him hard financially, she knew that the fact there were no survivors counted
far more with him. Each member of the crew was personally known to him, he’d seen to that, believing that friendly and sympathetic relations with his crew members
made for loyalty and good work. She realised that he would suffer anew with each meeting with the men’s families, the wives,
mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and sweethearts of each sailor who had perished and now lay in a watery grave.


The men’s voices became more distinct and Lydia could follow their conversation.

‘Is there anything I can do, sir?’

‘Thank you.’ Her father’s voice was firmer now. She pictured him squaring his shoulders, subduing his own sense of shock so
as not to appear weak in the eyes of his employee. ‘I’d like a list of the crew and the addresses of their nearest relatives.
I’ll have to visit them.’


‘Yes, sir. I’ll get that ready for you.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be at the office shortly.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Lydia watched her father accompany Briggs to the front door.

‘I’m sorry you had to be the bearer of such bad news.’

‘So am I, sir.’ The clerk tightened his mouth to a grim line. He gave his employer a deferential nod and left the house.

Tristram closed the door. When he turned, Lydia saw his shoulders slump. His face was grave and his footsteps dragged as he
started across the hall.


It hurt her to see her father like this. She wished she was able to reassure him that things were not as bad as they seemed,
but she couldn’t. All she could do was offer comfort and sympathy and give him her unstinting support in the difficult days
ahead.


Her footsteps, tripping quickly down the stairs, drew Tristram’s attention. Seeing his daughter, he tried to disguise the
despair which had settled on him, but realised it was too late. He could not fool Lydia, he knew from her expression that
she had heard everything.


His heart filled with sorrow to think that even she, the daughter he loved so much, would feel the harsh effects of what happened
so far from Whitby. He held out his arms as if to shield her from the harsh realities of the world, rather than to seek comfort
from her.


‘I’m so sorry, Father,’ she said, her voice full of sympathy.

She was in his arms. They hugged each other, finding reassurance in their closeness. He held her for a few moments, controlling
his feelings while he struggled to find a way of breaking even more catastrophic news to her.


Slowly he released her, placed his arm round her shoulders and led her gently to the drawing room.

‘Father, I know it will be hard for you to visit the families of the missing men, but if it will help I’ll come with you,’
Lydia offered.


He smiled wanly. ‘That is kind of you. You will be a great support and comfort to me, I’m sure.’

‘I know Luke would do the same if he were here.’

‘I’m sure he would.’

‘He will be devastated when he hears the news.’

Tristram nodded. ‘No doubt word will reach the iron workings before he leaves.’ He changed his mind about revealing the extent
of the tragedy now. It would be better to break the news when both his children were home. ‘I think we should go and get this
unpleasant task over.’


As they made their way to the older parts of the town, they sensed that Whitby had already taken on the mantle of mourning.
The usual bustle of a busy working port was absent. Orders were toned down; people going about their daily lives spoke in
hushed tones when they could not stay silent. Even the children, usually raucous in their play, were muted, their enthusiasm
curbed by watchful mothers or stifled by an inbred understanding of the tragedy that can strike any port that sends its men
to face danger on the sea.


Well known in the town as the owner of the Mary Anne, Tristram Middleton received sympathetic glances from those who knew him by sight, brief words from those who were more familiar
with him.


The Middletons had become a respected family in Whitby after moving there from Pickering, a market town sixteen miles inland
across the wild North Yorkshire Moors. Tristram’s father, John, had built up a successful merchant’s business in the market
town but had seen better opportunities in the growing port and moved his wife and two sons there when Tristram was five and
his brother Nathan seven. Through perspicacity, good judgement and a little luck linked with a likeable personality, John
had prospered. When his wife died the firm and his two sons became the be all and end all of his life. He found it trying
at times to be both father and mother to two growing boys and many times wished he had his wife’s help still to tame the harsh,
sometimes vicious streak in Nathan which frequently brought him into conflict with his gentle younger brother. Nathan had
an adventurous streak, was daring to the point of irresponsibility, and would cruelly mock the more cautious Tristram.


John found in his eldest son a sharp brain and an eager desire to shoulder responsibility within the family firm when he came
of age. He had a flair for trading and, because of the adventurous side of his nature, sometimes secured business which even
his father would have thought twice about soliciting.


Tristram, on the other hand, liked to play safe, which cast him always in the shadow of his brother.

It therefore came as a shock to both of them, though for different reasons, when their father’s will was read to them by Whitby’s
leading attorney, Abraham Marsh, after John’s funeral had taken place at the old parish church high on the East Cliff close
to the ruined abbey.


Mourners eager to resume their normal routine and escape the chill wind which brought with it the threat of rain briefly commiserated
with Nathan and Tristram and their families, and hastened from the cliff top. Closer friends came to the house on the west side where John had lived his
brief married life and afterwards in his widower’s state. His many virtues were mentioned in hushed tones by those who had
known him well. Nathan and Tristram graciously accepted their comments, comforted by the knowledge that their father had clearly
possessed considerable standing in the eyes of many in Whitby.


Once the mourners had left, the two brothers and their wives settled themselves with the attorney in what had been John’s
study. He had conducted most of his business from this room, leaving his clerk to handle the finer details from the harbourside
office.


Nathan smiled in satisfaction as he settled himself in a comfortable armchair. He could see himself continuing to run the
firm from this very room. Though he had little time for his brother, whom he personally considered weak, he would no doubt
have to continue to employ Tristram. Well, he would tolerate his continued presence so long as his brother did not interfere
in the new schemes Nathan was already hatching.


As Abraham Marsh intoned praises for the way John had clearly formulated his assets, making it easy to draw up a will respecting
all his wishes, Nathan had a hard job curbing a desire to tell the attorney to get on with it. Tristram comforted himself
with the knowledge that their father had obviously been well liked; he barely speculated about what might be coming his way.
He was sure his father would have left him provided for while leaving the future control of the business in Nathan’s hands.
The prospect did not dismay Tristram.


‘And so I come to the will itself,’ the attorney continued. ‘It is fairly simple and straightforward.’ He cleared his throat,
casting a quick glance over the four people before him, dressed in deepest black, who waited to hear the bequests which would
shape their futures. ‘“I leave to my grandchildren, Nathan’s daughter Isobel and his son Christopher, the sum of two hundred pounds apiece. I leave the same amount to Tristram’s children, Lydia and Luke. I thank
them dearly for the joy they have brought me.”’ There were murmurs of satisfaction that John had seen fit to acknowledge his
love for his grandchildren. ‘“I also thank my two daughters-in-law for being kind to me, especially in my loneliness after
Martha died. To each of them I leave the sum of three hundred pounds.


‘“I deliberated for some time as to how I should disperse the rest of my assets and after considerable thought have decided
what would be most beneficial to Nathan and Tristram, both of whom, in their different ways, have been good and dutiful sons
to me.


‘“I leave all my properties, a list of which is appended, to my son Nathan, provided he and his family shall agree to reside
in number sixteen Bagdale.”’


This announcement brought a sharp gasp from Nathan for he had expected to take over this house, his father’s residence. He
exchanged a sharp glance with his wife who raised her eyebrows in surprise.


‘“My son Tristram shall be allowed to live rent-free in my own residence, number twenty-one St Hilda’s Terrace, for the duration
of his life. Upon his death the property shall revert to his brother Nathan or his heirs. I also bequeath to Nathan the sum
of three thousand pounds.


‘“To Tristram I leave two thousand pounds plus all the assets of the business known as John Middleton, Merchant.”’

This information brought an even louder gasp from Nathan. All his expectations of assuming his father’s mantle in the business
were destroyed with those few words. ‘It can’t be true,’ he protested. A quick glance at his brother showed that Tristram
too was surprised and he knew without a doubt there had been no conniving with his father which he could use to invalidate
the will.


The attorney gave Nathan a disapproving look. ‘I assure you it is quite true, Mr Middleton. I did not come here to read false statements.’ Nathan smarted under the rebuke, mouth set grimly. ‘May I go on?’ Abraham Marsh turned to the will
again.


‘“I do this against the probable expectations of both my sons and feel it is only right I should furnish an explanation as
to why I divide my assets in this way. Tristram does not possess the business acumen of his brother, but I believe, given
the chance, and based upon the solid foundation I have laid, he can continue the success of John Middleton, Merchant.”’ The
attorney ignored a contemptuous grunt from Nathan. ‘“I am sure that with the money I have left him my eldest son will be able
to establish his own concern. I hope the two businesses will be run in a spirit of friendly competition rather than rivalry.
Signed, John Middleton, and witnessed by Abe Dickinson and Tom Heathcote this day 12th August 1843.”’


In an atmosphere that was heavy with surprise and disbelief the attorney saw Nathan’s face darken with anger. He knew the
eldest son had expected to take control after his father’s death, and not without reason given his own hard work and the custom
of favouring the eldest son. But such practices were not always followed in wills. Abraham had seen many similar situations
and often they had led to family rifts. He could see John’s thinking. Tristram was the more likeable person, but easygoing,
someone who needed responsibility thrust upon him to develop a latent talent. That would never have happened with Nathan in
control; he would not have allowed it but kept his brother strictly in his own shadow.


‘Well, gentlemen, that is all.’ Abraham broke the stunned silence, and provoked an angry outburst.

‘The bloody sod!’

Abraham started, frowned and glared at Nathan. ‘Do not speak ill of your father.’ The words were heavy with reproof but Nathan
was impervious to that.


‘He must have been out of his mind to expect this nitwit to keep the business thriving!’ His mouth tightened in disgust. ‘After all I’ve put into it, this is how I’m repaid.’ He turned a contemptuous gaze on his brother. ‘You played your cards right!’


‘This is as much of a surprise to me as it obviously is to you,’ returned Tristram quietly.

‘So you say,’ sneered Nathan. He rose from his chair and looked hard at Abraham. ‘Get the funds sorted out quickly and lodge
my share with my bank.’ He looked back at Tristram, his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t expect any future favours from me, and don’t
come crawling to me for help when you start to make a mess of things, as you certainly will.’ Then, without so much as a ‘good
day’, he headed for the door, flinging over his shoulder as he did so, ‘And remember, this house reverts to me and mine so
your family needn’t get too comfortable in it.’ He slammed the door behind him.


Tristram watched him go with no sense of triumph. In fact, he felt pity. He knew how badly disappointed his brother was, and
inwardly wondered at the wisdom of his father’s decision.


Little passed between the brothers during the next six years. Tristram had seen Nathan prosper quickly, using his inheritance
to good effect to create a business which would have elicited their father’s admiration.


Now, as Tristram walked through Whitby with a heavy heart, he wondered what his father would have thought of his handling
of the family firm.


The next two hours were agony for him. He was lost for words to comfort the families who had lost someone on the Mary Anne and faced a future without a husband, son or father, the breadwinner snatched from them by the angry sea. He was thankful
for Lydia’s support. She was able to express their heartfelt sorrow even without speaking, for her eyes could speak volumes.
The mourners appreciated a look or a gesture of sympathy from the owner’s daughter whom they all knew, some having seen her
grow from a gangling schoolgirl into the pretty, vivacious young woman she was today. The younger ones, while ‘knowing their place’, saw her as a friendly lass with a ready sense of fun when she
accompanied her father on sailing days or watched his ship return to the safety of her home port.


As they trudged homeward with steps as heavy as their hearts, duty done, Tristram realised that a little money would ease
the immediate burden of those who had lost someone. How he wished he could help but the future looked equally grim for him.


When they reached home an anxious Luke was waiting for them. ‘Father, I’m so sorry.’ His eyes and voice betrayed how shocked
he felt. ‘I came straight home when I heard.’


‘Thanks, son. We’ve been to see the families who …’ Tristram’s voice faltered.

‘I wish I had been here to go with you.’

‘I know, but you had your work.’

‘I’ll get Maggie to make us some tea,’ said Lydia. She headed for the kitchen while Tristram and Luke went into the drawing
room. A few minutes later she helped Maggie bring in the heavy silver service and fine bone china.


As Lydia poured she was aware that something was seriously amiss with her father. He wasn’t just sad over the loss of the
men, he was in despair. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. She made no comment for she sensed that he would tell
them what it was in his own good time.


Tristram stirred his tea and then, still staring into his cup, replaced the spoon carefully in the saucer. He looked up slowly.
‘I have something to tell you both, and then we must decide what best to do for the future.’ His voice was quiet, each word
spoken as if it had been the subject of careful deliberation beforehand. ‘Four investments I made shortly after the Mary Anne sailed turned out to be bad ones. I lost heavily – in fact every penny I had invested. I did not tell you because a successful
voyage by the Mary Anne would have meant I would just about break even.’ He paused to let the full significance of their situation sink in.


‘The insurance will help,’ suggested Luke.


Tristram shook his head and looked frankly at his son. ‘The Mary Anne wasn’t insured.’


‘What?’ Luke was astounded. That his father, usually the most careful of men, should have overlooked this was unbelievable.
A sharp glance at his sister showed him that she too had grasped the enormity of the statement. ‘You forgot?’


‘No. I did it so that I could put the insurance money into those investments. I was assured they were sound and would bring
a good quick return.’


‘Oh, Father!’ cried Lydia.

‘Please don’t condemn me,’ he pleaded with tears in his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to lose the trust of his children.
He needed their unwavering support and loyalty in this terrible crisis. ‘I did what I thought was best.’


‘We don’t blame you, Father.’ Lydia was quick to reassure him and offer comfort.

‘How can we?’ said Luke. ‘How many times has the Mary Anne sailed without anything bad happening to her? You couldn’t foresee this tragedy.’


‘You weren’t to know what was to happen.’ Lydia was quick to lend weight to her brother’s view. ‘We’ll work something out.’

‘We won’t be able to.’ Both Lydia and Luke sensed doom in his tone, and tensed to receive more bad news as they waited for
him to continue. ‘You see, I borrowed heavily to add more money to those investments. I’m afraid I will be bankrupt.’


They stared at him in horror. This could not be true, yet there was no other reason for him to make this shattering statement.

Tristram read their shocked expressions. ‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ he sighed. ‘My creditors will take all the assets I have:
the office, the warehouse, all the furnishings and contents of this house.’


‘They can’t!’ cried Lydia. ‘Not my beloved piano! It’s a family heirloom.’

Tristram looked sadly at his daughter. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid they will. They’ll take everything to regain as much
money as possible, and even that will be nowhere near what I owe.’


‘But they can’t take the house, it belongs to Uncle Nathan so we’ll still have somewhere to live,’ said Lydia, seeking some
small crumb of comfort.


That was crushed by her father’s next statement. ‘I could go to prison.’

‘Oh, no!’ she gasped. ‘Surely no one would seek retribution that way?’

‘They wouldn’t.’ Though Luke made the remark as a statement it carried a note of query which he tried to dismiss as he went
on, ‘Your creditors will know you as an honourable man who will repay them in the future. If they put you in jail you would
not be able to set about recouping their money.’


Tristram gave a little grunt of doubt. ‘You never know which way people will turn.’

‘There must be something we can do to help ourselves,’ said Lydia, deeply disturbed by the thought of her father in prison
for debt.


‘What? Who will help?’ he said with a sad shake of his head. ‘If I tried to borrow more, and I doubt if there is anyone who
would lend me money to pay off my debts, it will only worsen the situation. I’d face an exorbitant interest rate with no assets
or possible source of income.’


Lydia saw there were other thoughts disturbing him. His lips tightened as he went on. ‘What I regret most is what I have done
to you, my children. I’d hoped, nay, dreamed of leaving you a thriving business which you both could run. Luke was already
gaining a wide experience. And you, Lydia,’ he glanced at his daughter, ‘I know how interested you were in it, and you showed
a willingness to learn. Together you’d have made a successful team of whom I and your grandfather would have been proud. But,
now …’ His voice faltered. ‘I’ve brought you nothing but poverty.’ He sank on to a chair, covering his face with his hands. His whole body seemed to fold in on itself, oppressed by the collapse
of his world.


Lydia was quickly on her knees beside him, taking his hands in hers and drawing them down so she could look into his eyes
with an expression of love to combat the guilt he was feeling.


‘Father, you’ve given us your love and that is more important than anything.’ She glanced at Luke who had also come to kneel
beside him. ‘We love you and nothing that has happened can destroy that.’


‘We’ll be here for you,’ added her brother. ‘Whatever we can do to help, we will. I earn only a little but it can go towards
necessities.’


Tristram nodded. ‘Thank you, Luke, but I must find a way to pay …’ His voice faltered as the enormity of his situation bore
down upon him with unrelenting force.


It troubled Lydia to see her father like this. She knew that behind the easygoing exterior there was a proud man who would
take this reversal hard. But worse even than the loss he had suffered, he would have an overwhelming feeling of having let
people down: the victims of the tragedy, their families, his employees, herself and Luke. He believed he had failed his own
father and betrayed John’s trust. She had to show him he was wrong.


Her eyes brightened as an idea occurred to her. ‘Uncle Nathan!’ she cried. ‘He’ll help!’ Why she had thought of their rarely
seen uncle, why he had sprung to mind when they had never directly communicated since her grandfather died, she did not know,
but his name was on her lips almost before she had thought it.


Tristram gaped at his daughter in astonishment. ‘What on earth gave you that idea? You know we haven’t spoken in six years,
ever since Father left the business to me.’


‘That may be,’ said Lydia, ‘but he’s still family. He wouldn’t see his own brother go to prison for debt.’ She stopped then
added a little cautiously, ‘Surely?’


Tristram gave a wry smile. ‘You don’t know your Uncle Nathan. He never had any love for me even when were boys. He’ll probably
delight in my predicament.’


‘But you’ve never been in a situation like this before,’ said Luke, seeing a possible way out of their dilemma in Lydia’s
suggestion. ‘Why not go to see him? He may say no, but he may agree.’


Tristram raised his eyebrows as if to say it was a preposterous idea.

Irritated by this attitude, Lydia spoke sharply. ‘If you won’t go, then I will.’

He recognised the stubborn streak in her, rising to the surface. He must stop her before she took matters completely out of
his hands. He would not have her or Luke suffer the humiliation of asking Nathan for help.


‘No,’ he protested. ‘You will do no such thing!’ He glanced at his son. ‘Nor you, Luke. I forbid it!’

‘But why, Father?’ asked Lydia.

‘Because I know my brother.’

‘He may have changed in six years,’ Luke suggested.

‘Not he.’ Tristram straightened. ‘Now, no more of this. Forget your Uncle Nathan and let us concentrate on more practical
measures which will help us to a solution. First, we will list our assets.’


They got down to practicalities but their