A Daughter's Price
Page 1
Emma Hornby
* * *
A DAUGHTER’S PRICE
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the Author
Emma Hornby is the author of A Shilling for a Wife, Manchester Moll, The Orphans of Ardwick and A Mother’s Dilemma. Before pursuing a writing career, she had a variety of jobs, from care assistant for the elderly, to working in a Blackpool rock factory.
She was inspired to write because of her lifelong love of sagas and after researching her family history – like the characters in her books, many generations of her family eked out a life amidst the squalor and poverty of Lancashire’s slums.
Emma lives on a tight-knit working-class estate in Bolton with her family.
You can follow her on
Twitter @ EmmaHornbyBooks and on
Facebook at www.facebook.com/emmahornbyauthor
Also by Emma Hornby
A SHILLING FOR A WIFE
MANCHESTER MOLL
THE ORPHANS OF ARDWICK
A MOTHER’S DILEMMA
For more information on Emma Hornby and her books, see her website at www.emmahornby.com
For my mum, with love and thanks. Keep on dreaming! And my ABC, always x
God bless these poor folk that are strivin’
By means that are honest an’ true,
For some’at to keep ’em alive in
This world that we’re scramblin’ through …
Edwin Waugh, Lancashire poet
CHAPTER 1
LAURA CANNOCK WRAPPED a scrap of cloth around the handle of the black-bottomed kettle and lifted it from the belly of the fire. The soft hiss as she poured hot water into the teapot, scalding the dark leaves within, whispered through the dimly lit kitchen, mingling with her sigh as she glanced once more at the clock.
How will I tell him? she asked of herself again, her sorrow mounting. Yet more worry, more disappointment to be heaped upon that good man’s shoulders. I should have listened, should have heeded his warning … ‘But I didn’t,’ she added out loud. ‘I thought I knew best. And now we’re paying the price.’ Why, why did I come back here?
Eyes burning with unshed tears, she brought down two plates from a wooden rack and dished out their evening meal of potatoes and back bacon – his favourite. She’d prepared it specially; some small token to make up for the nightmare telling to come. Of course, it was ridiculous. As though a bit of grub could compensate for what she’d brought about! But what else was there? How in God’s name else could she portray how heartsore she was about this? Shaking her head, she set to cutting the small loaf.
A flurry of noise from below told her that their landlady, Mrs Hanover, was preparing to close shop – hasty farewells to the last stragglers, the jingle of the bell atop the door as she shut out the final customer of the day – and Laura’s stomach dropped further. For all too soon the familiar clop of hooves would sound below the window, heralding her father’s impending return, and the words she’d have done anything to bite back for ever more would have to be given life. God help her …
All was as it should be, as it was each night, when Amos Todd finally entered their small rooms. Dragging her eyes up to greet him, Laura could manage but a half-smile.
‘Hello, Father.’
‘Lass.’ He dipped his chin in weary acknowledgement.
‘You look fit to drop. Come, sit by the fire, rest awhile, whilst I finish dishing up. A sup of tea first, though, I think.’ She inclined her head to his well-worn chair then returned her attention to the teapot, grateful for the distraction.
After adjusting the sacking that protected the seat’s cushion from the dirt of his trade, Amos eased his large frame into it with a gruff groan. He accepted the steaming mug, wrapping it in his shovel-like hands and closing his eyes, as though to soak up the heat and thus new life into himself.
As far back as Laura could remember, he’d always be stripped of his work clothes, and his coal-dust-ingrained body scrubbed in the tin bath, before taking the weight off at the day’s end. Lately, however, he couldn’t seem to garner the energy to complete his ablutions without a brief rest upon his return. When this change had taken place, she couldn’t rightly say. Certainly, in the few weeks she’d been back beneath his roof, she’d noticed the shift in routine.
Was the hard graft that came with life as a coalman becoming too much for him of late? she wondered again now. It was true to say he wasn’t getting any younger, after all. Not that he’d ever admit to it. Not her father, never. His pride, she knew, wouldn’t allow it. I should be looking after you, now, Father, at your time of life, as you’ve allus done for me. And yet … yet … Just what make of daughter was she? She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t.
For several minutes, the flames’ soft crackles and Amos’s steady breathing were the only sounds. Any other evening, she’d have welcomed this with blessed thankfulness. Since her return, she’d relished this time of day. Her father home from a day’s toil, their meal together and light chatter. Afterwards, the companionable silence as they sat facing one another by the good fire, she busy with her darning, he smoking his pipe, the pewter world beyond their window shut out, leaving it just the two of them, just as she wanted, for no one else was needed. Content. Safe. Now, the quiet felt ominous. The clock’s ticking appeared louder, her heartbeat the same. Now it was ruined, changed for ever.
For her father’s sake, she must leave here once more. Only this time, she must never, ever come back.
Amos placed his empty mug on the hearth and crossed to his bedroom. Laura heard him fill the wash bowl with fresh warm water from the pitcher, followed by soft splashes as he rinsed his hands and face. He returned to the kitchen and took a seat at the table, and she rose to serve him his meal. All the while, it took every inch of her will to stop her eyes straying to his kind, weathered face. Let him eat first. Leave him in his ignorance just a little while longer. Just a little longer, before I must shatter his heart for a second time …
‘Eeh.’ Behind his drooping white moustache, his lips shifted in a smile as she placed his dish in front of him.
‘Your favourite, Father.’
‘Aye.’
‘Eat up afore it grows cold,’ she instructed softly, lifting her own fork from the table, despite doubting she’d ever get a morsel past the lump in her throat.
Throughout the meal, Amos paused to study her once or twice; she’d felt his stare boring into her bowed head. It was only when he’d retired back to the fireside, his clothes now changed and the body beneath them clean, and sat filling his pipe that he spoke.
‘Is tha for telling me what’s afoot, then?’
His quiet voice brought instant tears to her eyes. Quickly, she blinked them away. Keeping her back to him, she continued returning the washed dishes to the cupboard. Please, don’t make me say it …
‘Laura?’
Letting her hands fall to her sides, she dropped her head to her chest. ‘Father …’
‘Look at me.’
Amos’s voice was barely above a whisper: ‘Tell me.’
‘They … They’ve been here.’ She watched him close his eyes for the briefest moment then blow a steady plume of blue smoke towards the ceiling. ‘Father. I … must …’
‘They saw thee? They were here at the house?’
‘Nay, nay.’ God above, that that even needed asking. She’d not be here this minute – not breathing at any rate – were that the case. ‘Mrs Hanover downstairs came up to see me earlier. She described them down to a T. Dark-haired, the pair were. Had an uncanny way about them, she said, amongst the rest. It were them, Father, it was, it had to be—’
‘Come. Sit thee down. Now, from the beginning,’ her father instructed when she’d dropped, gulping back sobs, into her chair. ‘What exactly did Mrs Hanover say?’
‘There were two men. Seems they were calling at every premises they passed … They were in the shop below asking questions.’
‘What questions?’
‘They asked whether she knew of anyone by the name of Laura Cannock.’
Releasing air slowly, Amos rubbed at the whiskers on his chin.
‘Glory be to God, Mrs Hanover didn’t much trust the look of them so said that she never.’
Again, Amos breathed deeply. ‘When was this?’
‘Shortly before noon.’ She reached for his hand and stroked it softly. ‘Father. It’s time. I must—’
‘You’ll do nowt of the sort.’
‘But Father—’
‘Nowt of the sort,’ he repeated in a fierce whisper, fingers tightening around hers.
After a long silence, she lifted her chin. Dry-eyed, voice firm, she shook her head. ‘I’ll not see thee hurt.’
‘Nor I thee. So. We must plan what we’re to do.’
‘We …? Nay.’ Her head swung again in horror-filled refusal. ‘This is my mess and mine alone. I must leave, must. I’ll not see you dragged into—’
‘I’m your father.’
‘Oh, Father.’ The last of Laura’s resolve broke. ‘Why didn’t I listen to thee? You had Adam Cannock marked right from the start, yet I was blinded by infatuation, couldn’t see it … How has it come to this?’
‘Past is the past. It’s ahead to which we must look, now. You’re my lass. I’m with thee on this, on owt, now and forever. You hear?’
This from him, a man of so few words, uttered in his own calm tone, fed her veins with strength – and pulverised her spirit with the pain of it all in equal measures. She knew he spoke the truth; never in her life had Amos Todd let her down. But the risk, the danger …
‘I loathe what I’m doing to thee. Please let me go.’ Though she knew a last-ditch attempt to spare him would fall on deaf ears, she had to try. ‘Adam’s brothers … they’ll not rest till they find me, Father. Should you stand beside me in this, it’s your blood they’ll be baying for, an’ all. Please … Please.’
‘You’re my lass,’ he repeated huskily, enveloping her in his bear-like embrace, and she allowed further protest to die on her lips. For as much as she hated herself that he’d become embroiled in the nightmare that was now her life, the relief of his alliance, his attempt at protection, was impossible to shake.
‘Together,’ she heard herself murmur. And her father’s steady response, without hesitation:
‘They don’t stand a bloody chance.’
‘My mind’s made up, Laura. We leave for Manchester first thing.’
Manchester. A city that lay some ten miles away but might as well have been the other side of the world, for all she knew of it. Leave here? This smoggy, cotton-mill-choked town that was Bolton – all she knew and loved – for ever? More importantly, all her father knew and loved? A lifetime of memories, his dear wife, her mother, sleeping the eternal sleep beneath the earth at nearby St Peter’s this past year? He’d never bear it. I’ll never bear it!
‘Our Ambrose shall see us right, fret not.’
Uncle Ambrose, her father’s brother. A man whom she’d met no more than a handful of times in her twenty-three years. Oh, this was madness.
‘Been mithering me since your mam passed, he has, to up sticks and join him in his business. And ay, I’d sooner be lining his pockets than someone else’s. Aye. Happen now’s as good a time as any, is the kick I needed.’
He was being overly optimistic to salve her guilt, she knew. Truth was, the upheaval would shatter his heart. And yet … What choice was there? He’d never see her face this alone, and remaining here was an impossibility now they were on the prowl. The Cannock brothers. The devil’s own sons, rotten to the marrow, merciless in their dealings … Mrs Hanover downstairs might not have given them what they wanted to know – what if others in the vicinity did? Father, as usual, was right. They had to leave this place completely, get right away from here, away from the accusations. And the sooner the better, for both their sakes.
‘Kenneth will be up to the journey?’ Laura asked now. Her father’s bay-coloured shire was much more than just a working horse; he was a firm member of the family. She’d hate for him to overexert himself on the long trek.
‘Aye. He’s a tough ’un.’
She nodded. The sacks of coal, several tons in weight, that he hauled around the town each day on the cart was testament to that. However, like her father, the gentle giant wasn’t growing any younger. In their time of life, the pair should have been taking things easier. Would Uncle Ambrose prove a fair master? She certainly prayed so. Hopefully, the new direction they were set to embark upon would prove more satisfactory to their health than their present situation. As they said, after all: a change was as good as a rest.
‘Not much to pack up, anyroad,’ Amos stated.
Looking around at their meagre possessions, Laura nodded. They shouldn’t have any trouble getting the few sticks of furniture they owned on to the cart.
She made for a battered chest in the bedroom and returned with a large sheet. ‘I’ll bundle up our bits and pieces in this.’ She nodded to the material, which she’d spread out on the table. ‘Meantime, Father, go on through and get some shut-eye. Rest,’ she pressed him when he made to protest. ‘Else you’ll be fit for nowt come the morrow.’
When he’d gone she paused and looked around. A lifetime of remembrance swirled around her like a whispery hug, making her want to weep again.
‘How did it come to this?’ she asked of the emptiness.
The answer flitted forth in the shape of another memory, only this was one she battled her every waking hour to keep at bay. She swallowed hard.
Her husband of four years, dead. An upturned clog on the middle stair, lost during the fall. Clear green eyes she’d first fallen in love with, which she’d never have believed in the beginning but was later to discover could hold such fearsome rage, staring unseeing at the ceiling. Long limbs twisted beneath him at unnatural angles. The spread of dark red beneath his head on the hall flagstones …
‘Not my fault,’ she mouthed, squeezing her eyes tight. ‘Whatever his brothers believe, Adam Cannock didn’t lose his life at my hands.’
With effort, she banished the image from her thoughts and returned to the task at hand.
Hints of gold and cream were smudging the navy sky, heralding dawn’s approach, when Laura went to rouse her father. She hadn’t slept a wink herself, the impending journey heavy on her mind, and was saddened to see that Amos didn’t appear to have snatched much either. The shadows beneath his grey eyes and the strain within them tore at her. Had he been fretting away the twilight hours, too? Was all this proving too much for him, his state of health? Lord how she detested herself for putting him through this! Murmuring that she’d brewed a fresh pot of tea and that she’d pour him a sup whilst he dressed, she escaped back to the kitchen.
Joining her minutes later, Amos stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, his gaze took in the bare room. The few pictures and cheap ornaments that had
been her mother’s pride and joy, the rag rug from in front of the fire, along with the curtains and few pots and pans, were safely packed in the bedsheet, now standing in readiness by the door atop their stacked bits of furniture. For a long moment he stood, taking in every inch, as though to engrave the place in his mind for ever. Then he nodded once and crossed to the table for his mug of tea.
‘I could collect Kenneth and the cart from Mr Johnson’s, Father, let you rest a while longer afore we leave?’ Laura offered, sounding brighter – for his sake – than she felt. But Amos shook his head.
‘Nay, it has to be me. I must explain to him our leaving, thank him face to face for his kindness these past years in letting me keep the horse at his. Anyroad, I’m rested well and good, no need to fuss.’
This last statement from him she didn’t believe, but she nodded nonetheless. However, he was right about one thing: Mr Johnson did deserve a proper goodbye from his long-time friend. As her father said, without him allowing them to house Kenneth in his yard on nearby Bradshawgate for a few pence a week – their landlady hadn’t the room on her premises – they would have been at a loss. The men would miss each other, she knew, the knowledge of which served only to stab her conscience further.
‘I’ll call by the coal yard on t’ way, leave a message with one of the lads for the boss that I’ve terminated my employment.’
A good thing he was going to Uncle Ambrose and need not worry about a character reference, and no mistake. His master would have likely spat in his eye had he asked for one, she reckoned, what with Father leaving like this without giving notice. Oh, please let everything work out well in Manchester …
‘Be ready to leave on my return,’ Amos continued quietly as he donned his rough jacket and cap. ‘Meantime, bolt yon door and don’t open it to no one. I’ll not be long.’
Laura did as he bid her and passed the time alone by wandering from room to room, rechecking all was prepared and that they were not leaving anything behind. Finally, her father’s voice sounded from the landing; she unlocked the door and let him in. Searching his face, she raised her eyebrows. ‘All set?’