Farewell to Lancashire Read online

  Farewell to Lancashire

  Anna Jacobs

  Hachette Littlehampton (2010)

  Tags: Family, Historical Saga

  * * *

  Synopsis

  Book 1

  Cassandra Blake has raised her three motherless sisters. The girls are the pride of their book-loving, impractical father, and not in a hurry to marry. Then the American Civil War cuts off supplies of cotton to Lancashire, the mills fall silent and there is no work. There is a stark choice: stay and risk starvation or pack up and begin again elsewhere.

  Cassandra has fallen in love with Reece Gregory, but he can't support a wife. When he's given the chance to start a new life in Western Australia, he seizes the opportunity, promising to send for her.

  Then an old feud tears the family apart. Cassandra is kidnapped and her sisters are forced to sail with a group of desperate cotton lasses to Fremantle. Penniless and alone, Cassandra is determined to find them again - but when she is offered a way, there is a painful price to pay.

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  ANNA JACOBS

  Farewell to Lancashire

  www.hodder.co.uk

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  First published in paperback in 2010

  Copyright © Anna Jacobs 2009

  The right of Anna Jacobs to be identified as the Author

  of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form

  or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher,

  nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other

  than that in which it is published and without a similar condition

  being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance

  to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title

  is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN 978-1-444-71158-5

  Book ISBN 978-0-340-95406-8

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  Contents

  Readers love Anna Jacobs

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  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

  EPILOGUE

  Also by Anna Jacobs

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A Preview of BEYOND THE SUNSET

  In loving memory of my mother, Lucy Sheridan,

  who passed away in 2008. I hope she and Dad are

  dancing together ‘up there’ now that they’re

  together again.

  And with thanks to my wonderful sister, Carol,

  who cared for my mum devotedly when I couldn’t.

  With love to you both

  Anna

  PROLOGUE

  1861 – Outham, Lancashire

  On a cool Saturday afternoon in May, Edwin Blake lowered his newspaper and let it rest on his lap. He stared into space for a minute or two then looked across the room, his expression softening involuntarily at the sight of his four daughters. Eh, he was a lucky man to have been gifted with children such as these. No, not children now. His girls were all women grown and he didn’t know whether to be sad or glad that none of them had married, that they still lived with him.

  ‘Are you all right, Dad?’ Cassandra asked.

  He might have known she’d notice he was worried. As the eldest, she tried to look after them all, had done since she was fourteen and her mother died.

  ‘I’ve been reading about this war in America.’

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it, that they’re trying to free the slaves?’

  He nodded. ‘Of course it is, only ... if the North and South are busy fighting one another, what’s going to happen about the cotton? Without slaves, who’ll plant and harvest it?’

  ‘They’ll have to pay people to do it.’

  ‘Where will they find the money for that? Wars cost a lot of money, my lass. Look at what happened in the Crimea only a few years ago.’

  There was silence, then he shared his worst fears. ‘And even if they do still produce cotton, how will they get it across the sea to us here in Lancashire? When there’s a war, they set up blockades, then ships can’t get through.’

  ‘We’ve been on short time before,’ Xanthe said. ‘We always manage.’

  ‘Short time is one thing. I’ve been trying to puzzle it out and to my mind, no cotton reaching Lancashire would mean no work at all.’

  There was silence and he could see them thinking about what he’d said. Well, he’d always encouraged his lasses to think for themselves. Just because they were ordinary working folk didn’t mean they had to act like sheep and let other people shape their opinions.

  ‘Surely the war won’t last more than a few months?’ soft-hearted Maia asked. ‘It’s brother fighting brother. I can’t bear to think of that. Imagine if one of my sisters suddenly became an enemy.’ Her eyes filled with tears at the mere thought.

  ‘Brother’s been fighting brother since the world began,’ Edwin said. ‘Look at Cain and Abel in the Bible. And your uncle Joseph hasn’t spoken to me for over twenty years, didn’t even come to your mother’s funeral. He walks past me in the street now as if we’re strangers, as if we didn’t share a bed and play together when we were children. He said it was because I’d become a Methodist, but that seems a poor reason to me.’

  ‘I think it’s because of his wife,’ Cassandra said with a sigh. ‘She looks at us as if she hates us. I used to be frightened to walk past her in the street when I was little.’

  ‘I don’t like the woman either, but she’d never harm you.’

  ‘She looks as if she wants to.’

  ‘She and Josep
h never had children, that’s why she resents you so much, I’m sure.’

  ‘Well, that’s not our fault, is it?’

  He didn’t say anything. It was an old pain, his brother shunning him. Every now and then he had to speak about it, purge the bitterness a little. His sister-in-law was a mean-spirited woman, who had never lifted a finger to help them while his wife was ill. He’d tried to forgive her, because that was what they were taught at chapel, but he wanted nothing to do with her. He wasn’t usually fanciful, but something about her was – evil. It was the only word he could think of to describe her.

  ‘You don’t need anyone else when you’ve got us.’ Pandora leaned forward to lay one hand on his gnarled fingers.

  He looked down at her smooth young skin. His hand was worn by life and hard work, his knuckles painful and stiff in the mornings, thickened with age. At twenty-two she had hands that were soft and pretty, even though they were reddened from work. ‘I shouldn’t still have you, though, not living with me, any road. You ought to be wed by now, all of you, with homes and families of your own.’

  She got up abruptly and went to stir the stew, not turning round till she had herself under control. Edwin was annoyed with himself for causing Pandora pain with his thoughtless words. She was the only one of his four who’d found herself a fellow, a decent, lively lad. She’d have been wed now if poor Bill hadn’t died suddenly of pneumonia last year.

  But whether the subject was painful or not, he couldn’t help finishing what he had to say as his eyes settled on his eldest daughter. ‘You’re twenty-eight now, Cassandra. Don’t leave it too late to find a fellow, my dear girl. To grow old without children would be very sad. You four are the joy of my life.’

  ‘How can I marry? I could never find a man half as clever as you,’ she said lightly.

  He frowned as he looked at her. ‘Is that what you think of first in a husband? Being clever?’

  She nodded. ‘That and being kind, like you. I couldn’t live with a stupid or boring man. I tried once when Tom Dorring wanted to court me, because he was so kind. But it was no good. He talked of nothing but work and the neighbours.’

  Edwin managed a smile, but it was yet another thing to worry him. His girls were all clever, but Cassandra had the quickest mind of them all. It was the one thing that had made him wish he was rich, to give them better chances to use their brains. He’d made sure they got as much schooling as he could afford, so that after they started work they could read well enough to continue their education on their own, as he had.

  The whole family now borrowed books regularly from the public library to feed their minds. Eh, that library was a wonderful thing! He wished it’d been there when he was younger. It had opened in 1852, but the law said the ratepayers had to be polled and two-thirds had to be in favour before the money could be spent. It had been a near thing whether Outham would have one, but they’d got enough votes, thank goodness.

  But perhaps, being girls, his lasses should have hidden their cleverness, just a little. Most men didn’t want their womenfolk to be quicker thinkers than they were.

  No, Cassandra was right to hold out for a man whose mind could match hers. He didn’t want his girls chained to dull men, who hadn’t a thought in their heads beyond where the next meal was coming from and whether their jobs were safe.

  ‘The food’s ready. Shall we eat now?’ Pandora asked.

  Edwin led the way to the table but after a few mouthfuls put down his knife and fork, bringing up the other subject which was weighing on his mind. ‘I must stop taking Greek lessons.’

  ‘But you love learning Greek!’ Cassandra protested.

  ‘I can puzzle on by myself for a while.’

  ‘Why stop?’

  ‘Because of this war. I think we should all start watching our pennies carefully, making every farthing do the work of two and saving as much as we can. Hard times are coming, harder than we’ve ever known.’

  There. He’d said all that was on his mind now. He broke off a piece of bread, picked up his spoon and began to eat his stew slowly.

  The girls were quiet after that, thinking over what he’d said, and he didn’t try to force conversation. If bad times were coming, best they all faced that fact, thought about it, planned for it.

  1

  In early November Cassandra lost her job when the small mill where she worked closed down. She’d missed a few years’ work while the other girls were young, running the house and caring for them all after her mother died, so was one of the first at her mill to be turned off. Her sisters had been working half-time for a while and their father was the only one in full-time work now.

  To be without work at all made her feel deeply ashamed. ‘I’ll take over the housework and shopping, and you can be sure I’ll make every penny count,’ she told her sisters. ‘It’s no use me looking for other work. There’s none to be had in the whole town.’

  The following morning she kept a smile on her face as she saw everyone off, but when she was alone she couldn’t hold back the tears, allowing herself a few moments’ weakness. Then she wiped her eyes and decided to clean the house from top to bottom. She had some warm water left from breakfast but wouldn’t waste coal on heating more. Water was free, so you could stay clean even if you couldn’t afford to heat it.

  Just as she’d filled the bucket, there was a tap on the back door and she opened it to see the little boy from two doors away.

  ‘I’m hungry, missus,’ Timmy said.

  She fought a battle with herself and lost, giving him the crust of bread intended for her own dinner. He was a child born of disgrace and although the mother’s husband had taken on her bastard child as well, everyone knew the poor lad was unloved and wasn’t as well cared for as the other children.

  Cassandra sighed as she closed the door on him. You could see Timmy’s unhappiness graven deeply in his face. His three younger half-brothers were bigger and plumper than he was. How could anyone treat one child in the family so badly?

  She went back to work, scrubbing the flagstones on the kitchen floor but stopping often to think. Her father had been right all those months ago. The war had indeed stopped most cotton shipments getting through and times were hard now in their small town. People said things would get worse before they got better, which was a terrifying thought.

  Some families were already on relief from the Poorhouse Board, others were selling their furniture and spare clothing piece by piece, doing anything rather than accept charity. You lost your independence once you were on relief, because the Board’s officers poked their noses into every corner of your house, making you sell nearly everything you owned before they’d give you any money.

  She and her family were managing – thanks to their father’s foresight. There was still money in the tin box in his wardrobe. But it was dwindling more quickly than it should, because Edwin couldn’t help giving to neighbours with tiny children crying for lack of food. It was one thing to see adults clemming, but he couldn’t bear to see children going hungry. And even though he only gave a few pence each time, that was emptying the pot more quickly.

  And she’d just given what she’d meant to have for dinner to the neighbour’s child. She’d go hungry today. But Timmy wouldn’t, poor little thing.

  When Edwin came home from work a few nights later, he felt sad and weary.

  ‘The millowner told me this morning he has only enough cotton for three more months,’ he said over tea, which was a meagre meal these days, mainly bread or potatoes with a little butter. ‘And to last even that long, he must turn off more operatives.’ He looked at the twins. ‘You’ll be losing your jobs from next week, Xanthe and Maia. Mr Darston’s trying to keep one person from each family in work, as far as he can, and for us, that’ll be me. He’s a good man, doing his best to spread what work there is fairly.’

  ‘What will people do if this war goes on and on, and there’s no work at all?’ Maia asked. ‘Already some folk look half-starved. I feel guilty that we
still have something to eat every day.’

  ‘The Queen won’t let Lancashire folk starve to death,’ Edwin said stoutly. ‘When she realises how bad it is, she’ll tell the government to help us, I’m sure.’ He had great faith in Her Majesty, who lived a good life with her husband and children and cared about her subjects.

  Xanthe clutched her twin’s hand. ‘I don’t ever want to ask for relief. What if they force us to go into the poorhouse? I’d starve first. It makes me shiver even to walk past that place.’

  Edwin could understand her feelings. The Vicar of the parish church, who was responsible for the management of the union poorhouse which served their own and the five neighbouring parishes, was a hard man, who treated the poor as if they’d committed a crime. Any charity offered under his auspices was grudging in the extreme.

  The law said conditions inside had to be worse than anything outside, and while most poorhouses in the north refused to implement this rule strictly, the one in Outham kept to the letter of the law. The inmates were kept on a starvation diet while the Vicar went home to stuff his own belly till it looked as if it was going to burst out of his trousers. He also made sure they separated man from wife ‘to prevent fornication’, even the elderly who were beyond that sort of thing.

  Edwin didn’t regard this Vicar as a true man of God, which was why he’d become a Methodist in the first place.

  ‘Going into that place will be the last resort for any of us, the very last,’ he said gently. ‘We can hold out for a good while yet. But if it’s go into the workhouse or die, I hope you’ll choose life, Xanthe love. I certainly would.’