A Daughter’s Price is a new historical fiction from author Emma Hornby. This novel follows the trials of Laura Cannock after she escapes an abusive relationship and must find a way to survive on her own.
Title: A Daughter’s Price
Author: Emma Hornby
First Published: March 19, 2020
Publisher: Bantam Press
Categories: Historical Fiction
She thought she was finally safe. But a roof over her head comes with a price to pay…
Laura Cannock is on the run. Suspected of killing her bullying husband, his family are on a merciless prowl for revenge. Fleeing from her beloved home of Bolton to Manchester, Laura seeks refuge with her coal merchant uncle. But her relief is short-lived as it soon becomes clear that a roof over her head comes with a price – of the type so unbearable she must escape once more.
Destitute and penniless, a stench-ridden housing court in the back streets of the factories is Laura’s only hope of a dwelling – a place where both the filth and the kindness of neighbours overwhelm. Here people stick together through the odds, leading Laura to true friendship, and possibly love. But with the threat of her past still hanging over her, there’s still one battle she must fight – and win – alone…
About Emma Hornby
Mother-of-three Emma Hornby was born in Bolton, England, on a tight-knit, working-class estate.
History has always been her passion and she grew up with her nose buried in sagas. Before pursuing a career as a novelist, she had a variety of jobs, from care assistant for the elderly to working in a Blackpool rock factory. She later wrote short stories and non-fiction pieces for the internet, print and stage and also worked as a freelance poet.
Emma began writing after researching her family history. The colourful folk she unearthed gave her plenty of inspiration; like the characters in her novels, many generations of her family eked out life amidst the squalor and poverty of Lancashire’s slums.
Her first book, A Shilling for a Wife, was the bestselling debut saga novel of 2017. Her subsequent titles regularly appear in the official bestsellers’ charts.
You can connect with Emma online at:
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A sneak peek of Chapter 1 from A Daughter’s Price
*** Thank you to the author, Emma Hornby, for giving me permission to share this excerpt from her book ***
Lancashire, England. 1872.
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 forever 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’ 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 forever.
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.”
She turned. Her fingers plucked at her apron as her gaze travelled up to meet his.
Amos’ 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 ‘til 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.”