Pride of the Courtneys

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

• 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
  

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.

Pride of the Courtneys
, which came out in 1968, was my first novel to be published and is a light, historical romance. It seems a long time ago now, but I can still recall the thrill of opening the letter and reading the magical words ‘We would like to publish your novel …'

The news was broken to me in a gentle manner, I had to admit, but it was an unexpected shock.

‘Louella, my dear. Lady Maria and I are going to be married,' Uncle James cleared his throat self-consciously and strode stiffly up and down the room, whilst I stood waiting, my eyes following his every movement.

‘And I'm emigrating—to Canada.'

As he said the final disastrous words, he stood with his back to me, gazing out of the long window on to the smooth lawn, not daring to meet my eyes.

Motionless for several moments, I was about to ask if I was to go with them, but something held back the words. As he spoke again I was glad I had remained silent.

‘I have arranged for you to go and live with my brother, Sir Hugh Courtney and his family, at Courtney Hall.'

Uncle James turned from the window and as he came towards me I saw the anxiety in his eyes. He is trying not to hurt me, I thought.

‘You'll be happy, Louella,' he was saying, taking my cold hands in his, ‘they have a daughter about your age, Georgiana, you'll like her. And, of course Hugh—well, he's like me.'

It was a cruel and swift blow. I had no idea that anything like this was imminent. For four years, since Aunt Virginia had died. Uncle James and I had lived happily enough together. Why did he have to change all that? Why did he have to move so very far away, to another world almost? Lady Maria had been a constant visitor to the house for several months, but I had looked upon her visits as those of a friend only. I had been mistaken. Uncle James was to marry this handsome widow and return with her to her native country.

‘You see, child,' Uncle James turned away and continued his restless pacing. He twisted his moustache, a trait so dear and familiar to me when he had something troubling him.

‘You see, now you're getting older, people may start talking about you living here with me. Oh, I know we have the servants,' he waved his hand in the air, ‘but it's not the same as when—as when Virginia was alive.'

His gaze rested upon her portrait above the fireplace.

‘You wouldn't understand, child,' he murmured, seeming to speak more to the life-like painting than to me. ‘A Courtney and a Lloyd under one roof …'

Uncle James did not finish his sentence, but shook himself from the line of thought which I did not understand.

‘Believe me, Louella my dear, it is for the best. Indeed it is.'

I had not spoken—I could not, the tears were too near. I ran from the room and up the stairs to my bedroom where I stayed until my emotions calmed. I was not one to cry. I despised weeping, fainting women. So, although my heart was breaking, the tears remained unshed.

Later, the maid helped me to pack. It seemed Uncle James had avoided telling me until the last possible moment because he felt so badly about it. I was to leave the next morning.

The day was warm and bright on the morrow, seeming to taunt me in my unhappiness. As I bade Uncle James goodbye I was calm, but the leaden weight of misery pressed down upon me, a weight which was not to be lifted completely for a long, long time.

‘Louella, try not to think too badly of me. I would have it different if it were possible.'

‘I will do as you say, Uncle James. But I shall miss you so. You're the only father I have ever known.'

For a moment, his face crumpled and I thought I should see something I had never seen before, a man weep. But tears are for women, or so I had always been told, and with a masterly control. Uncle James regained his composure.

‘And you are the only daughter I have ever known.'

His hands gripped my shoulders and he clasped me to him for a moment. ‘God be with you, my child.'

He released me suddenly and hurried away.

It was not my nature to run after him, to beg to be taken to Canada for I realised that even in a marriage between two mature persons, a third dependant was an unwanted burden.

What Uncle James had commanded, I must obey.

I climbed into the carriage and as we rattled down the drive, I looked back at the old house which I called home. It was not impressive as a building, but it was spacious and comfortable with beautiful grounds. Above all, it was a happy house, something which, in the following months, though I did not know it then, I was to appreciate as something rare and valuable.

Courtney Hall, as I remembered from occasional visits, was an awe-inspiring, palatial building set on a hillside in its own parkland, with a river and lake at its feet. The interior of the Hall was a maze of immense rooms, long passages and innumerable stairways.

Sir Hugh Courtney, Uncle James' elder brother, had inherited the major part of the land belonging to Sir James Courtney, their father. Sir Hugh, however, from the little I knew of him, was a mild, gentle man with no head for business or the running of the vast estate. The role of squire, which had been handed to him from his father, was more befitting his son, Bassett.

Bassett Courtney was the one member of the family I had never met. Always, on previous visits I had paid to Courtney Hall, he had been away on business.

Lady Emily Courtney I remembered as a thin, tight-lipped woman, who obviously disapproved of Aunt Virginia, my mother's sister, and me, for some reason I knew not why.

It was four years since I had seen any of them when Sir Hugh and Lady Emily had attended Aunt Virginia's funeral. Georgiana would be twenty now as we were much the same age.

The journey was a long one to Courtney Hall, set on the Yorkshire moors and all the longer because I was so miserable and desolate.

The brilliantly sunlit countryside through which we travelled held none of the usual pleasure for me. The green fields and trees just bursting into leaf enveloped in peace and beauty, a sight which so often made me thankful to be alive, now only seemed to mock and emphasise my unhappiness.

At last, the carriage swept down the hill into Courtney Valley and up the opposite hillside to Courtney Hall standing guard over its dominions. The building formed a square with a courtyard in the centre, as I remembered. It was a grand and gracious building, proud of its lofty position on the hillside, stretching three storeys high, with long windows. The huge front door was oak and the brass knocker and handle shone and twinkled in the sun. Either side of the door two gleaming white pillars supported a spacious porch, and six wide steps led from the drive up to the house.

I felt very small and insignificant as the carriage halted before the door. I climbed down and stood gazing at the towering house. Its windows seemed like eyes watching me, and ridiculously, I felt they were hostile eyes.

Phillips, Uncle James' driver, a friend of mine since my childhood, was unloading my few belongings from the carriage. He shook my hand and wished me well. I knew without the words being spoken that he felt the parting as keenly as I did. He had been a good servant to Uncle James and a friend to me. But painful good-byes are best kept short, and minutes later the carriage was disappearing down the driveway.

I turned back to Courtney Hall. No one had appeared to welcome me, or to carry my trunk. I sighed and climbed the steps to the huge door. I pulled the bell-cord and waited for what seemed a very long time. Then a sour-faced butler opened the door and looked down upon me. ‘Yes?'

‘My name is Louella Lloyd. I believe you are expecting me.'

What else could I say, though it seemed inadequate.