To Catch a Dream Read online

  ‘Pappy, ’tis sorry I am. I did not know I did anything wrong. I—’

  ‘You must think of the consequences of your actions. You cannot behave with Seamus how you were used to doing. He’s a young man and his needs are different from what you understand. His kind have no respect.’ His voice thickened. ‘Bridie, Bridie, you’re still Pappy’s little girl . . .’

  His stroking of her hair sent an unwelcome chill through her body. ‘Pappy?’ His hand stayed. His eyes bored into hers, then he turned and left her room.

  2

  Andrew

  Breckton, Yorkshire, 1875

  Changes afoot

  The autumn colours enhanced the view Andrew Harvey had from the window of the sitting room of Tarrington House. Acres of fields spread out like a patchwork quilt before him to his right. In some he could see men with shire horses ploughing straight lines; in others, sheep or cattle grazed on the green pasture.

  A thin spiral of smoke rose from between the trees of the bottom meadow, telling him that Seamus Finney still camped there. Funny to find an Irish traveller on his own. Seamus had appeared for the first time a couple of years ago and had been very useful, giving a hand with mending fences, digging out ditches and any other odd job that his own men hadn’t had time to do. No doubt he’d be off soon. Seamus had once told him he went back to Ireland for the winter months, joining up with his own clan when they made camp in the southern counties.

  The loud crack of a hunting rifle made him jump – the gamekeeper, no doubt, busy culling the grouse. The estate had been overrun by them this year, and the August shooting parties hadn’t lowered the numbers by anywhere near enough. The flutter set up in his heart by the sudden disturbance made it harder for him to calm the fear he held that one day all this might not be his. He turned away and faced his mother. She sat on the purple-and-gold striped chaise longue, placed next to the fire. For countless hours in his childhood, his grandfather – her father – had sat there with himself kneeling on the rug at his feet, enthralled by the tales his grandfather told and the pictures he drew. It hadn’t mattered to him how many times they had gone over the same ground; he’d loved watching the piece of charcoal bringing to life the workings of the pit, and listening to his grandfather explaining how the mineral came to be in the earth, how his family mined it and what happened to it afterwards. ‘One day, my boy, it will be your responsibility – just as it is your father’s today – to see that everything runs smoothly and our fortune is protected,’ he’d say, and then he’d go into detail of what the future held. What it didn’t hold, Andrew knew now, was the great fortune he’d always been promised. His father’s many mistakes had reduced their wealth.

  His mother looked back at him with a steady gaze, holding her slight figure taut, as if ready to fight her corner. The extra hair she’d had woven in with her own beautiful golden locks gave her height. He had to look away. Always she presented herself as vulnerable and, even though he knew she wasn’t, it undid him when he needed to take her to task.

  Take her to task! God, how futile that was when she had her mind made up. And now he had to haggle with her over what should rightfully be his!

  ‘Mother, this is awkward. Oh, I don’t mean you shouldn’t look for happiness, but – well, I mean . . .’

  ‘Andrew, I know perfectly well what you mean. That is why Edgar is coming to dinner tonight. This isn’t just one of his usual visits. I have only told you about his proposal to me so that you are prepared. I had hoped it wouldn’t come as such a shock to you. After all, we have shown how close we are, and your father – God rest his soul – has been gone over ten years now.’

  ‘Is Jeremy coming too?’ It wasn’t that he didn’t like Edgar’s son; he did. Even though Jeremy was older than himself by a year, they had played in the same sporting teams at Oxford and had become good friends. Their parents’ liaison, or whatever one would call it, had seen them acting like co-conspirators as they had poked fun. But this marriage Mother talked of . . . well, it changed things.

  ‘Yes, he is. He has to hear what we have to say just as much as you do.’

  ‘Mother, have you considered how everything you own will belong to your husband when you marry?’

  ‘How could I not? It happened once before. I have never told you, Andrew, but your father married me because of my money and the mine, which I stood to inherit.’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘I am not speaking out of turn, dear. It is the truth. Your father was a second son. His father before him had devoted his life to the Army, as his own father had done, and had little of the family wealth left. They had property, and some land, but no business to back it up or replenish it. So your father’s prospects were to marry into money, become a vicar or take up the military life. He had no inclination or intention of going into the Church, and he kicked against taking a commission in the Army, but as it happened he had no need to do either. My father and his were lifelong friends and a deal was struck between them. My father wanted me to marry into a good family line, and the Harveys certainly had that.’

  Andrew couldn’t believe what she was saying. He knew his Uncle Bernard – his father’s older brother – had died, leaving very little to his children, and those who hadn’t gone into the Army had worked for a living in the law or accountancy. But that his mother had been effectively sold, just to keep a good line in the family!

  ‘Don’t look so horrified, dear. Your father and I came to love each other dearly and rubbed along very well together. You children were born out of that love, and I miss your father still, but it happened. It is a fact of life for us women. Anyway, you can consider yourself lucky, as I do, that no other heirs of the male line were born before you in my family. If they had been, everything we have would have gone to them when your father died.’

  ‘That is all very well, Mother, but you are putting one in the way of me now!’

  ‘I am not. No one can take away what is yours. You inherited the mine, and that is that.’

  ‘But this place – this house and the land, the estate . . .’

  ‘I hope you are not suggesting that Edgar is marrying me for what I own?’

  ‘No, of course not. He could buy and sell us, I know.’ How could he not know? After all, Edgar owned everything one could see beyond their own estate, apart from the cottages and the farmlands to the west. ‘But, Mother, your marriage to him will mean that what is ours will become Edgar’s too. And he has an heir who, I might remind you, is older than me and will take precedence . . . Oh, Mother, I can’t bear to think of losing all of this! Grandfather would—’

  ‘My father would not bat an eyelid, I can assure you!’

  ‘He would. He . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry, dear. Of course he would. You are a male and were the apple of his eye. I was thinking about me and what I owned, and how he married me off to someone with a good name to give me and nothing else! Well, not at first . . . Look, this is all pointless. What you fear won’t happen. Edgar is seeing to everything. He thinks like you: he is fair-minded and he wants to make sure you are secure in the future. Please wait until you hear what he has to say.’

  Rising, she walked towards the door. When she reached it she turned to him and said, ‘Please don’t spoil tonight, Andrew. Your sister is coming and, if she gets started, it will all be horrible.’

  It shocked him to see tears glistening in her eyes. ‘Of course not, Mother. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. I will listen to what Edgar has to say. Oh, and by the way, congratulations, old thing. I shouldn’t have put my own worries before your happiness. I am pleased for you, really. I just . . .’

  ‘Yes, dear, I understand, and thank you. I will be happy. I know I will. I know it is hard for you to think of it, but I love Edgar very much and he loves me. But I am not just thinking of my own happiness; I want you and Agatha to be happy, too.’

  The door closed behind her, leaving a million questions hanging in the air. Was Edgar going to live here, or
was she moving into his much grander place, Hensal Grange? Funny, that: the mine he owned, and which had been in his mother’s family for years, had the title of Hensal Grange Mine. He’d once asked his mother about it, and she had said that some ancestor or other had lost the twenty-bedroomed mansion and moved his family to this smaller house. He’d kept some of the land, which they still owned, and hadn’t changed the name of the mine. Neither had anyone else, down the family line. Once the mine had prospered again under her father, he hadn’t seen the need for more land or a bigger house.

  Not that this house was small, by any means. It had ten bedrooms, a large withdrawing room, a dining room and a study, besides servants’ quarters and a more-than-adequate downstairs kitchen. It stood in its own grounds, with majestic beauty, but Hensal Grange boasted a ballroom and three grand drawing rooms, besides several dining rooms. Palatial in setting and with sweeping, mile-long drives, it came with acres and acres of land encompassing the small town of Breckton, a thriving place central for York and Leeds. The only part of the town remaining in Andrew’s own family estate consisted of the cottages known as ‘the Miners’ Row’, where his workforce lived.

  Weighing it all up, he’d thought himself very fortunate and secure, but now his future lay in Edgar’s hands. What could Edgar’s plans be? Oh, God! Why had Father invoked an ancient law that allowed him to leave the property and estate to his wife while leaving just the business to his son?

  Mother would always have had a home with him. Nothing would have changed for her, but now there was a threat that he should not have had to face. And what about Agatha? She had always hoped their mother would leave the house to her, saying that Andrew could sell some of the land and build a house on what was left. Even though she must know such a thing wouldn’t happen, this new turn of events would really put her out. Married, with no issue and none looking likely, he doubted that with her mean-minded way she ever obliged her poor, long-suffering husband. But apart from that, her ambitions of living back in Tarrington House were ludicrous. Her lawyer husband, Teddy Wilmsmith, was a nice enough chap and had reasonable means. Agatha never wanted for anything, and mixed in the best of circles. She just hated living with Teddy’s mother and didn’t care enough for his ancestral home to want to live there for the rest of her days, or to fill it with heirs.

  His irritation with his mother’s plans and his sister’s notions caused him to run his fingers through his dark-brown hair. ‘Oh, bother it all.’ He looked with disgust at his hand: the oil he’d sleeked his hair with now clung to it. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped it off as he crossed the room to the hall, where a long mirror hung by the door. He stood in front of it trying to repair the damage, his frowning face staring back at him.

  Thirty-two years old, with a degree in engineering and the arts, and owner-manager of one of the largest collieries in Yorkshire, he knew it was time he looked to finding a wife. Even that quest would be jeopardized by this new development. He was handsome enough, he thought, as he twiddled the ends of his fine moustache and turned his body to admire his trim, tall frame. His morning clothes of grey trousers and dark jacket, worn over a wing-collared shirt with a four-in-hand knotted tie, suited him well. All in all, he presented himself as a dashing, fashionable young man of the day, but what had he to offer?

  Yes, he owned a mine, but it had problems and he needed to modernize. He’d recently complied with the law and provided wooden hats for all the workers, but he needed to install a steam winding engine and open up another seam – a project that would require money and take years of toil to complete. He had some investments, but the economy at the moment rendered them worth a lot less than when he inherited them from his grandfather.

  Going back into the living room, he went over to the window once more. Feeling unsettled, he glanced out to where the roof of the stable block just showed above the high hedge surrounding it. With a sudden intensity, the urge took him to go for a ride. He had to clear his head, and he needed to do so before Agatha arrived. He called out to the butler: ‘Granger, get a message sent to the stables to Henry. Tell him to have a ride ready for me in fifteen minutes, then come and help me change.’ Poor Granger; in this house he had to do twice as many things as a normal butler, and acting as Andrew’s manservant was just one of them.

  The gentle trot of his grey mare soothed him; she always knew Andrew’s mood and how he wanted to travel, without him having to prompt her. Riding at this pace across the fields, his body releasing tension with every step, he took in the scenery around him. Gentle hills gave way to more rugged ones, aspiring to mountainous heights in the distance. The stream snaking its way through the fields reflected the autumn golds and mustard-yellows, turning the area into a picture worthy of a Constable painting.

  The crisp air refreshed his lungs and a sense of well-being came over him. He enjoyed the loneliness of it all. As he reached the flatter surface next to the road leading to the mine, he gave his horse free rein and let the rush of wind on his face blow away his cares.

  Coming over the brow near to Carson’s farm – one of his family’s two remaining tenanted farms – he met a gang of miners making their way home after their shift. They took off their caps to him, their blackened, weary faces tugging at him. He pulled up and called, ‘Good afternoon, lads. Everything going well?’

  Mick Harman, the shift supervisor and usual spokesman, answered him, ‘Aye, sir, we had a good shift, but I’ve been intending to speak to you. We could do with some more hurriers. Alfred Goodright and Toby Grossing have outgrown it, and I’ve moved them on to the lower seam. There’s a couple of lads I know of reaching the age of twelve, both small for their age, so ideal. I’ve spoken to their dads, and they seem keen to get them started.’

  ‘Well, have them brought to me on Monday. Are the fathers working down the mine?’

  ‘One does, but the other is on the land. He works on your farm, sir.’

  ‘And you say he is keen for his lad to go down? It isn’t often that happens. Once a man has the taste of the open air, it’s usually what he wants for his son.’

  ‘He says he asked of the farm manager and nothing was doing. He needs the lad in work.’

  ‘Yes, since they raised the age for lads allowed down the mine, there has been many more younger ones applying to work on the land who wouldn’t normally. Well, see to it for me, Harman. I’ll trust your judgement, but you know I like to see everyone before they are set on. By the way, how are things with you? I heard from Mrs Harman some time back that you had managed to get your daughter into service. Is it going well for her?’

  ‘Oh, aye, she loves it. She works over at Hartington House as a cook. She’s a good girl, is Issy . . . Isabella, I mean. She and young Denny Leighton have a fancy for each other, and I don’t think it will be long afore he comes knocking and asking for her hand. In fact, we passed her a while back. She has a day off and was on her way to meet him off shift.’

  ‘Well, she couldn’t do better. He’s a good lad. And if Isabella takes after her mother, who is the best cook we have ever had at our house, she’ll do well. You’re a lucky man, Mick. What about the rest of you?’ Andrew looked at each of the men. He had no intention of keeping them long; he knew all they wanted was a good wash, a hot meal and a jug or two of ale. They didn’t want to stand talking to a man they thought had no idea of how they felt.

  Mick Harman spoke for them once again. ‘Alf here has a chest. He could do with seeing the doctor, and Jimmy and Fred.’ Mick pointed out each man to him, as if Andrew didn’t know them, but he did. He prided himself on knowing all of his workers and most of their families. Mick finished by saying, ‘They’re doing all right.’

  ‘Good, I’ll get the doctor to see you all before your shift on Wednesday.’ He nodded towards the men. Alf Cummings nodded back, but then went into a fit of coughing. The sound hacked at the peace of the lane and sent birds fleeing up into the trees. ‘Cummings, you shouldn’t be at work. You need to rest.’

  ‘
I have to, sir. I couldn’t see me family starve . . . Sorry, sir, I spoke out of turn.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, man. How many times do I have to tell you – you can all come to me with your problems? Take a few days off. I’ll get the doctor to come over to your cottage to see you. Your wife works in the kitchen at the house with Mrs Harman, doesn’t she? Well, I’ll get some supplies sent home with her. I don’t want to see you in work until I hear from the doctor that you are fit. Now, good day to you all. It has been nice to have these few moments with you, but I won’t detain you any longer.’

  Not feeling at all uplifted, Andrew turned the horse and rode away. He hadn’t gone far when he saw Harman’s daughter, Isabella, with Denny. They looked well together and were engrossed in each other’s company as they strolled across the field. Thinking to have a bit of fun, he called out, ‘And what do you think you two are doing?’

  They jumped around. Isabella was a young woman in her late teens. He wouldn’t call her beautiful, but she was very pretty, with her curly golden hair and huge blue eyes. She put her hands on her hips. ‘It’s more like what you think you’re doing! You near frightened me out of me knickers.’

  ‘Issy!’ Denny sounded mortified. Andrew wasn’t sure if it had been Isabella’s crude language or the fact that she’d spoken to him in such a manner.

  Poor Isabella’s cheeks blushed as she dropped her indignant stance. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘She didn’t mean it, sir. You just startled us.’

  Andrew’s laughter rang in his own ears. It seemed Isabella had a turn of phrase to match her mother’s, which was a source of great amusement to him whenever he visited the kitchens. ‘Don’t worry – I deserved it. Get yourselves home.’

  Still smiling to himself, he cantered towards the bottom meadow. Seamus Finney sat by his fire, an unlit clay pipe hanging from his lips. He looked up on hearing Andrew approach and got to his feet, removing his cloth cap. ‘Mr Harvey. Is there something I can be doing for you, sir?’