Abbeyford Inheritance

by Margaret Dickinson

  Bello:

  hidden talent rediscovered

  Bello is a digital-only imprint of Pan Macmillan, established to breathe life into previously published, classic books.

  At Bello we believe in the timeless power of the imagination, of good story, narrative and entertainment and we want to use digital technology to ensure that many more readers can enjoy these books into the future.

  We publish in ebook and print-on-demand formats to bring these wonderful books to new audiences.

  www.panmacmillan.co.uk/bello

  Contents

  Margaret Dickinson

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Margaret Dickinson

  Abbeyford Inheritance

  Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape.

  Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twenty-seven further titles including Plough the Furrow, Sow the Seed and Reap the Harvest, which make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy.

  Many of her novels are set in the heart of her home county, but in Tangled Threads and Twisted Strands the stories include not only Lincolnshire but also the framework knitting and lace industries of Nottingham.

  Her 2012 and 2013 novels, Jenny’s War and The Clippie Girls, were both top twenty bestsellers and her 2014 novel, Fairfield Hall, went to number nine on the Sunday Times bestseller list.

  My writing career falls into two ‘eras’. I had my first novel published at the age of twenty-five, and between 1968 and 1984 I had a total of nine novels published by Robert Hale Ltd. These were a mixture of light, historical romance, an action-suspense and one thriller, originally published under a pseudonym. Because of family commitments I then had a seven-year gap, but began writing again in the early nineties. Then occurred that little piece of luck that we all need at some time in our lives: I found a wonderful agent, Darley Anderson, and on his advice began to write saga fiction; stories with a strong woman as the main character and with a vivid and realistic background as the setting. Darley found me a happy home with Pan Macmillan, for whom I have now written twenty-one novels since 1994. Older, and with a maturity those seven ‘ fallow’ years brought me, I recognize that I am now writing with greater depth and daring.

  But I am by no means ashamed of those early works: they have been my early learning curve – and I am still learning! Originally, the first nine novels were published in hardback and subsequently in Large Print, but have never previously been issued in paperback or, of course, in ebook. So, I am thrilled that Macmillan, under their Bello imprint, has decided to reissue all nine titles.

  Abbeyford, Abbeyford Inheritance and Abbeyford Remembered form a trilogy with a chequered history, which took four years to complete. It began life as a long, rambling 150,000 word novel, Adelina. On advice, this was cut drastically to about 60,000 words but it still failed to find a publisher. I started a sequel, Carrie, and this seemed to work much better. It was then suggested that this book should be submitted instead of Adelina, but to me that would have been wasting the first part of the story. I decided to put the two novels together and to write an earlier piece to start it all off, thereby forming one long novel again, but in three separate parts. This was then sent out to publishers and found acceptance. But – wait for it – the publishers wanted it split into three separate books. So, all three were published in 1981 by Robert Hale Ltd. as Sarah, Adelina and Carrie. At a later date, these were reissued by Severn House Publishers, again in hardback, under new titles and became The Abbeyford Trilogy.

  Chapter One

  New York Harbour, 1815 Adelina Cole rubbed away the grime on the window with her fingers and peered into the tavern. She could see her father sitting in the far corner with three of his so-called friends, drinking and gambling as usual.

  She sighed and shivered as a gust of wind blew along the wooden verandah. Pulling the torn shawl closer around her shoulders, Adelina glanced fearfully towards the harbour. She could see the forest of ships’ masts lining the piers, swaying more than normal. The black sky overhead warned of a gathering storm. Adelina bit her lip. She did not know which frightened her the most – the threatening thunderstorm or the inmates of the waterfront tavern!

  But, to get to the room where she and her father lived above the bar, she would have to go in. If only Sam, the owner, did not see her and insist that she serve his customers as payment of rent arrears.

  She leaned her head against the rough wood and closed her eyes, momentarily overcome by the weariness of the daily struggle – hour by hour – to survive.

  She opened her eyes again and they focused upon her father. Even from this distance she could see the hand in which he held his cards shaking. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, blinking rapidly, and he stretched his face from time to time as if he could not see clearly. Nor could he, she thought, not without a little impatience, for one eye was half-closed and surrounded by purple bruising from last night’s fight.

  Every night it was the same. The drink, the gambling – and then the quarrels. Drunken, ugly brawls and always Thomas Cole, weak and sick and vulnerable, came out of them bruised and beaten. Adelina was frightened. Not for herself, but for him. Frightened that one night, one drink too many or one punch too hard, would really harm him.

  Life was hard on the New York waterfront and lives were cheap. There’d be no one to care – except his daughter.

  Adelina fingered the silver locket about her neck. It was the only thing left in their harsh life that reminded her of earlier, happier days. She had worn the locket for the past four months, ever since she had found it.

  One night while helping her father on to the shake-down on the floor of their room, as she had removed his jacket – struggling with his helpless, sprawling limbs – she had felt something hard sewn into the lining of his coat. When she had examined it closely, she found the stitching, though ill-formed and untidy, was tight and strong as if concealing more worth than the whole threadbare coat itself. As she had fingered the small, hard object, her eyes had lingered upon the prostrate form of her father, his head lolling to one side, his mouth wide open, snoring in uneven, rasping bursts. Adelina had sighed and shaken her head sadly. What an ugly sight he had become, and yet he was so pathetic.

  It had taken her three days to prise the truth from her father, to persuade him to cut open the stitching and show her the object. His shaking fingers dropped the heart-shaped silver locket into her hands. “ It was your mother’s, she always wore it.” He sniffed. “ It’s the only thing I have left of hers.” He paused, then said reluctantly, “I suppose you’d better have it.”

  Adelina thought cynically that it would be safer in her possession, so she did not persuade him to keep it. Silently she fastened the tarnished chain about her neck. Then she opened the locket and twisted it to look at the tiny pictures within.

  “Who are they? Not – not you and Mama?”

  “No – her people. Her parents.” He jabbed a grubby finger at the locket. “ My Lord and Lady Royston, they are.”

  “Who?” Adelina’s green eyes widened.

  “Robert Elcombe, the Earl of Royston, of Abbeyford – a little village near Manchester in the Old Country.” Thomas Cole’s bleary eyes watered at the memory of far-off days. “He’s her father. Her mothe
r’s dead – died before I even knew her.”

  “And – and her father?”

  He shrugged and then flopped back on the shake-down and closed his eyes. “How the hell should I know!” he muttered.

  Within seconds he was snoring loudly, whilst Adelina still gazed at the faces in the locket.

  Now as she stood peering in through the dirty window, fingering the locket, her thoughts were interrupted as the swing doors flew open and a man came hurtling through the air to land in a sprawling heap almost at her feet. Another figure sprang through the doors and leapt on top of the man on the ground and began smashing his fists into his face. Such drunken fights were commonplace and Adelina was untroubled by it. She saw the disturbance only as a means by which she might succeed in slipping through the saloon and up the stairs unobserved.

  She was about halfway to the stairs when she felt someone grip her arm and, turning, found young Sammy’s blue eyes gazing up at her.

  If there was anyone in this awful place who was a friend to her then it was the tavern owner’s young, ill-treated son, Sammy. The fourteen-year-old boy looked only eleven, his tattered clothes hanging loosely on his thin body. He worked hard but received nothing for his efforts but abuse and his father’s fist. Right now his eye was beginning to colour from yet another vicious cuff.

  “What is it, Sammy?” Adelina asked him gently.

  “Your Pa’s sure gettin’ himself in deep trouble, Miss Adelina. He ain’t no match for those card-sharps.”

  Adelina sighed and glanced through the haze of smoke towards her father. She hesitated between reaching the safety of their one room and rescuing her befuddled father from the men who would cheat him out of the ragged shirt on his back.

  She hesitated a moment too long.

  “Aha, Miss Adelina.” Big Sam was approaching. A fat, cruel-looking man, his only aim in life was to make money with no scruples as to how he made it. His right arm swept in an arc and knocked young Sammy off his feet, but he did not even glance down at his son.

  “Leave the boy alone,” Adelina faced the big man angrily, but he only laughed.

  “Ah, you’re sure lovely when you’re angry.” His grip fastened upon her arm and he pushed his ugly face close to hers. “You’ll serve my customers their drinks, miss, and make like you kinda want to, or,” he jerked his thumb towards her father in the corner, “I’ll see him in the jail.”

  Big Sam’s threat was no idle one, for he’d put her father in jail twice before for debt and kept her working for him to pay off twice the amount which was owed.

  As always, his threat brought her rebellion under control, but strengthened her iron resolve to escape from this man’s clutches, even if she had to drag her father bodily with her. She would not – could not – desert Thomas Cole, for in her heart there were still the memories of better times.

  The memory of her mother’s lovely face and her father’s smile; of a warm bed; of food and new clothes; of soft hands and a gentle voice; of happiness. For the most part the memories were faint, elusive, obliterated by the harsh reality of the present, yet at times they came flooding back into her mind strong and clear to revive her spirit and help her to fight all the harder for their existence. She had to struggle for the both of them, for Thomas Cole had lost the will to live with the death of his beloved Caroline some nine years earlier. Only Adelina’s will-power kept him alive. From a genteel, sheltered little girl, she had, of necessity, had to become a fighter, a survivor and protector of her father. From her parents, Adelina had inherited their best qualities – strength without selfishness, gentleness and compassion without weakness.

  There was a commotion in her father’s corner. The table overturned and drinks were spilled.

  “You’re a liar and a cheat, Thomas Cole!”

  Her father sat in his chair, slumped forward. Four days’ growth of beard upon his chin, his hair long and dirty, his eyes bloodshot. Adelina’s heart turned over at the sight of him. Objectively, she couldn’t understand why she stood by him, supported him, worked for him. Yet he was her father. He was all she had right now. She moved towards him, but the man who had yelled abuse at him now caught hold of the neck of his shirt and hoisted Thomas to his feet. For a few seconds he held him aloft. Thomas, stupified, hung there limply, his head lolling to one side, his eyes rolling. The man brought his right arm back and clenched his fist.

  As Adelina cried out, “No, oh no!” his fist smashed into her father’s face, snapping his head back with a sickening crack. The man loosened his hold on him and Thomas Cole fell backwards hitting his head on the table with a dull thud.

  Several other men now rose to their feet, their shouts only adding to the confusion. Adelina tried to push her way through them to reach her father, but they pressed round the scene, blocking her path.

  Suddenly, their raucous shouts died away and there was an uncanny silence.

  “Jesus!” someone said, “ you’ve killed him.”

  Frantic now, Adelina fought her way through. The man was standing over her father, who was lying in a twisted heap at his feet. Blood trickled from Thomas Cole’s mouth and from a gash on his temple. Adelina threw herself upon her knees beside him. She took hold of his hand and chafed it. Her eyes flashed angrily towards her father’s assailant.

  “You’re a brute, Jed Hawkins. You’ll swing for that fist of yours yet.”

  “Seems like he will now,” muttered someone. “Yer sure seen him off.”

  Jed stood there looking stupid. “ I didn’t mean to kill him, Miss Adelina. It’s just that the silly old fool was playing his cards all wrong. I guess he was too drunk to see them …”

  “Oh, shut up and help me carry him upstairs. I must bathe his head and …”

  “ ’Tain’t no use, Miss Adelina.” Another of the men put his hand upon her shoulder with a rough tenderness. “ Don’t you understand what we’re sayin’? He’s a gone. He’s dead!”

  For a moment Adelina stared at the man.

  “No – oh, no,” she whispered and then slowly turned to look down at the still form. She was rigidly motionless for some moments, while the men watched with uneasy silence.

  Trembling a little, she reached out her hand and slid it beneath his shirt. There was no heartbeat.

  As they had said, her father was dead.

  Adelina bowed her head on to his lifeless chest and wept. Tears of bitterness, tears of remorse, tears of grief.

  She became aware of feet shuffling near her and of the mutterings.

  “That sure weren’t no fair fight, no sir!”

  “You oughta be hanged, Jed.”

  “Hittin’ the poor ole begger and him drunk and senseless.”

  “What about the girl?” “Guess Sam’ll take care o’ her.” There were a few half-hearted guffaws.

  Death came quickly and often in this neighbourhood and was swiftly forgotten by those not directly involved.

  Sam! The name penetrated her distraught mind and Adelina scrambled to her feet. There was nothing more she could do for her father.

  Now she must save herself …

  Too late, for Sam himself was shouldering his way through the throng. Wildly, she looked about her for a way of escape but there was none. He stood, legs apart, over the corpse and laughed, his great, fat belly shaking with mirth.

  The tears dried in Adelina’s eyes as grief gave way to rage. With a shriek she hurled herself at Sam and pummelled her fists against his chest, but he gripped her wrists and held her easily. So she kicked his legs and bit his hand. She screamed and kicked and scratched, venting her anger and grief upon this hateful man who had been the supplier of the drink which had ruined her father and had held her captive by the subsequent debt.

  How she hated and feared this brute who could not even treat his own son properly.

  “You’ve a handful there, Sam,” someone shouted.

  Sam laughed. “ I’ll tame the she-cat. She’ll come a-crawlin’ soon enough.” He dealt her a vicious blow with the
back of his hand. “I’ll lock you in your room, miss, until you’ve come to your senses.”

  Huddled on the shake-down, the bruise on her temple swelling rapidly, Adelina fingered the locket about her neck.

  England, she thought, if I can get away from Sam, I’ll go to England and seek out Mama’s home.

  There was a scrabbling at the door and the rusty key turned in the lock and young Sammy’s spikey hair appeared round the door. “Quick, Miss Adelina, he’s out the back. You can get out while he’s gone.”

  Adelina scrambled to her feet, snatched her shawl and the bundle of her few items of clothing from the corner and followed Sammy down the stairs, through the now empty saloon bar and out into the wild night.

  He took her hand and dragged her along the street. The wind whistled, plucking at her skirt, threatening to tear away her shawl, but bending her head against the storm she followed Sammy.

  Breathlessly, they fell into a sheltered corner near the harbour. The storm was overhead and Adelina’s teeth began to chatter with fear. She hated storms.

  Sammy cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke close to her ear. “ If you can get on a ship, you could get right away from here. It’d be the best way. By road, he’d catch up with you.”

  Adelina nodded. “I could go to England, but I’ve no money.”

  Sammy shrugged. “No problem. Stow away.” He suggested in a matter-of-fact manner.

  “But – but how do I know which ship is going to England?” Adelina’s eyes flickered down the long line of swaying masts.

  Sammy said, “ Look, you stay here, I’ll go along the harbour an’ see if I can find out if there’s one bound for England.”

  He was gone a long time, so long that Adelina began to think he had deserted her and returned home. She crouched behind a stack of barrels, trying to find a little shelter. Then the rain came, soaking in minutes her thin shawl. She shivered from cold and fear, and delayed shock. She groaned aloud, the picture of her father’s still form horribly fresh in her mind.