A Valley Wedding: Book 3 in the uplifting new Backshaw Moss series

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After a moment’s thought, he snapped his fingers. ‘Ah. Dad’s second cousin on his father’s side. He allus spoke well of her. I didn’t think she knew I existed, though.’

Biff realised that the men sitting nearby had fallen silent and were trying to listen to their conversation. ‘How about we go somewhere more private to discuss it, Mr Chapman? I could buy you a meal at the Star hotel. They’re open for luncheon and I’m hungry, even if you aren’t.’ Mr Lloyd nodded. ‘Yes, and you know what he’s like. You’ll definitely need to be on your guard, Mr Chapman.’ Arthur flushed, looking embarrassed. ‘I don’t have proper lodgings. You could leave a message for me at the church hostel in East Rivenshaw. I earn my night’s shelter there by doing some cleaning, and they let me leave my spare clothes in the cellar, but no one can stay there during the day so I never know where I’ll be then.’ Lancashire, 1936. With her son Gabriel finally married, and her youngest following his dreams of becoming a doctor, Gwynneth Harte finds herself with an empty nest – until a fire forces her to move in with Gabriel and his wife Maisie at their home on Daisy Street. That was greeted by a frown. ‘That’s my name, but who’d leave me anything? I’ve got no close relatives left.’

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Lancashire, 1936. With her son Gabriel finally married, and her youngest following his dreams of becoming a doctor, Gwynneth Harte finds herself with an empty nest - until a fire forces her to move in with Gabriel and his wife Maisie at their home on Daisy Street. After a slight hesitation the man took it, read it and dropped it on the table. ‘Has she set a detective on me now?’

Henry Lloyd studied the man Biff Higgins had brought to see him. ‘You don’t need to prove who you are, Mr Chapman. I used to see you around town when you worked for Sam Redfern. After you lost your wife, you seemed to vanish, and when I wanted to find you, I couldn’t.’ Biff Higgins walked into the seedy pub in the poorer part of Rivenshaw, keeping a careful eye on the men sitting there, some of whom looked ready to cut your throat for twopence. He doubted anyone drinking in the middle of the day had any sort of job. I’ve never met or communicated with anyone of that name. I’ve been sent by Mr Albert Neven, a London lawyer, to find Arthur Chapman who has been left a bequest by a distant relative.’

Then, as life improved slightly and they were getting on their feet again, she’d fallen ill and nearly died, costing them a lot of money for an operation. Now, however, her two eldest sons were in employment and married, so surely there was hope that they’d start families? He stared into space for a few seconds, then said in a husky voice, ‘She’s not let me speak to my little Beatie since, not once, and has threatened to bring down the law on me if I go near them, even though I’ve give up the booze.’ He saw Biff’s pitying expression at this admission and added, ‘I made a vow after I stopped boozing to tell the truth Aye, easy. I’ve lived in the valley all my life. There’s a dozen folk in Rivenshaw who’ve known me since we were childer together.’ I’d like to, of course I would, but it depends where it is. I can’t afford bus fares, and my shoes have holes in the soles, so I can’t walk very far. I put fresh cardboard in them every morning, but it soon wears through, especially on rainy days.’