by Diane Allen
‘I don’t want to say anything, but I feel I have to, although Isabelle is not going to love me for it.’ Lily smiled weakly at Mazy and went to do the dirty deed.
‘Thomson, could you get Miss Isabelle, please. I presume she is back from Settle?’ Charlotte felt sick with worry and anger at the news Lily had given her. Still, she had to keep calm. Lily might have read the situation wrongly. She looked out of the window and tried to calm her fears as she heard her daughter enter the room.
‘You wanted to see me, Mama?’ Isabelle stood in front of her mother, hoping Lily had not said anything about her secret rendezvous, but knowing that she would not have been summoned to see her mother, if that was the case.
‘Is it true that you had luncheon with John Sidgwick this afternoon, at that dreadful tea-shop down Cheapside?’ Charlotte stared at her daughter, knowing instantly that Lily had been telling her the truth.
‘I suppose Lily has told you. I knew she would, as soon as she came into the shop. You know she was buying coffee for her own use, in your time?’ Isabelle wanted to deflect the attention onto Lily instead of her, and wished to cause the maid as much upset as she could, seeing that she had told tales to her mother.
‘That’s irrelevant. What is my concern is that she said you looked more than comfortable with that wretch John Sidgwick. What do you think you are doing, seeing him? He is a nasty piece of work, and old enough to be your father.’ Charlotte waited; she remembered Sidgwick when he used to drink with Joseph and recalled how even then, with a young wife and two children, he always had an eye for young girls and women.
‘He loves me, Mother, and has asked me to marry him, just this afternoon. Lily came in and spoiled his proposal. He is the man I love, and I object to you calling him a “nasty piece of work”, for he’s a gentleman. I was happy to accept his proposal of marriage.’ Isabelle looked like a dark cloud; her face was sullen and set, and she would defend the man she loved. Who was her mother, to tell her what to do?
‘Isabelle, you didn’t – you stupid child! He’s only after you for the mill, your money and the fact that he wants to bed you. He’s a man of few morals, my dear, and I will not have you marrying him.’ Charlotte stood next to Isabelle and looked into her eyes. Joseph Dawson had a lot to answer for; his daughter was as secretive and as dark as him, no matter how hard she had tried to bring her up correctly.
‘He’s no need for my money, and the mill is not mine to have. As for bedding me, well, at least he’s marrying me, so it’s his right. You know nothing about him anyway. He said you’d not want me to marry him, and that you’d say all these things about him. But I’m twenty-one, Mother. I can marry who I want, and you can’t prevent me.’ Isabelle stopped in her tracks, as someone knocked on the morning-room door.
‘Enter,’ Charlotte shouted, knowing who was about to interrupt a most private discussion. ‘Ah, Hector, you got my message – thank you for coming. I’m so grateful. I hope I haven’t dragged you from something more important.’
Hector Christie walked slowly into the room. The highly respected mill owner, who was Isabelle’s godfather, came and stood next to a raging Isabelle.
‘Nothing’s more important than my favourite godchild, Isabelle. Now, come and sit down beside me, Isabelle. Your mother asked me to come because Archie is at Crummock, and she knew that when it comes to John Sidgwick, I know all about him. Now, tell me: is it true, have you been seeing him?’ Hector ushered Isabelle to sit down by his side and held her hand, as she trembled with temper and fear at telling her much-loved godfather.
‘He’s asked me to marry him, sir. And I’ve accepted. My mother is trying to convince me that John is no good for me, and that he is only using me, but I know he loves me and it isn’t simply that I am heir to Windfell and Ferndale.’ Isabelle was nearly in tears.
‘Tell me, Isabelle, does he show you off on his arm around Skipton? Does he ask to come and see your parents, and does he take you to see his mill?’ Hector held Isabelle’s hand tightly and patted it gently, as she wiped tears away with her other hand.
‘No, sir, but we have been keeping our love a secret because we knew nobody would understand.’
‘And does he spend money on you as if you were a princess, just like your mother and Archie do?’ Hector quizzed again.
‘No, sir, but he has no need to. And I know he has as much money as I’m accustomed to, and that I’d want for nothing.’ Isabelle looked into her godfather’s eyes and felt the love that Hector had always shown her.
‘Well, let me tell you something, child. John Sidgwick came to my home the other week to ask me for a loan. His mill is failing and he is desperate, Isabelle. I turned him down, because his mill is no good to anyone – it is crumbling into the river upon which it stands. It serves John right, because he is one of the cruellest mill owners in the district. He is a wicked man, Isabelle, with a fetish for young women, and he will bring you nothing but pain.’ Hector looked up at Charlotte.
‘But I love him,’ Isabelle wept.
Charlotte rushed to her daughter’s side.
‘No, you don’t, my love. You just think you do, because he’s the first man to come along in your life and you thought he met all your needs. John Sidgwick has cunning ways, and I don’t want you hurt and unhappy, the way I was when I wed your father. They are very much alike.’ Charlotte knelt down and hugged her sobbing daughter.
‘Everyone is always compared to my father. He is like a ghost that continuously haunts every day of my life. John cannot be that bad. He’s coming tonight to ask you for my hand in marriage, and he means to get your permission or we are going to elope,’ Isabelle sobbed.
‘Isabelle, child, unfortunately your father’s ghost is something we all have to live with, but we needn’t court the ghouls he was friends with. Now, let your mother turn him away from the manor this evening, and promise me never to give him any of your time ever again. John is a desperate man and a selfish man, and he would have made your life hell.’ Hector stood up from his seat and patted Charlotte on her shoulder. ‘You know, I remember when your mother first entered my father’s office, she was nearly the same age as you. She’d just learned that your father had gone, leaving her in debt, and she was desperate to get herself out of the life he had left her in. She clawed and fought her way every day, until that mill at Ferndale was paid for, and she made herself the true mistress of Windfell. You’ve got a good mother, Isabelle, who deserves a lot of respect. Now don’t you let her down by allowing this man – if you can call him a man – to turn your head. Your mother loves you, and it would break her heart.’ Hector looked at mother and daughter as they embraced. ‘Promise me, Isabelle, that you won’t have anything more to do with him?’
‘But I love him. I can’t give him up!’ She held her head up and wiped the tears from her face.
‘You must, my child, or live a life of destitution and poverty, when your friends and family turn their backs on you. Because when it comes to John Sidgwick, he knows exactly how to hurt and divide people. And mark my words, that is what he will do, once he has bled you dry and got his hands on Ferndale. He’s rubbish, girl. Both your mother and I are begging you not to have anything more to do with him, from this day forward.’ Hector looked sternly at the defiant young woman, and sent Charlotte a comforting glance as she reached for her handkerchief.
‘How can he show me so much care and attention and not mean it? He must be truly cunning and ruthless, to make me feel so betrayed. And all for money!’ Isabelle spat.
‘Everyone makes mistakes – it’s how we learn. Now, you just find yourself a nice steady man. Our William doesn’t know what he’s missing out on, but Oxford and his studies are all he thinks about at the moment.’ Hector smiled.
Charlotte stood up and touched Hector on the shoulder, as Isabelle broke into sobs, urging him to walk to the hallway while her daughter came to grips with the knowledge that her true love was nothing but a cad.
‘Thank you, Hector. I knew she
wouldn’t believe me, if I was to tell her the truth about John Sidgwick. What I didn’t realize, when I sent for you, was that he’d asked her to marry him. I feel quite sick at the thought of him nearly becoming my son-in-law, because I could never turn my back on Isabelle. Although she has, unfortunately, inherited her father’s trait of secrecy, which gives me a few headaches.’ Charlotte opened the front door and smiled at one of her closest friends.
‘Aye, well, she had to have a bit of Joseph in her, and it could be worse. Will you be alright, seeing Sidgwick off your place tonight, or do you want to borrow my groom? He’s a big man who’ll take no nonsense.’
‘I’ll be fine, thank you, Hector. Thomson will see him off the place, along with Jethro. I aim not even to let him into the manor. He must have a good idea that he will not meet with a joyous reception, but what he won’t have counted upon is your intervention, revealing the truth about him. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Well, you know where I’m at. Send Jethro for me if you need me again, Charlotte. Now, good evening, and God bless you both.’
Charlotte watched as Hector climbed into his carriage. Thank God he’d been at home and responded to her letter, asking for his help. Isabelle was fortunate to have such a good, caring godfather, and thank heavens she’d come to her senses. Charlotte leaned against the closed front door of the manor and breathed in deeply. Now to tackle a broken-hearted daughter, whose illusion of a perfect married life had just been broken. Thomson would give Sidgwick short shrift, with Jethro standing behind him for good measure. The man would not even be welcomed over the threshold, so hopefully she would never set eyes on him again.
‘I’m sorry, sir. Mrs Atkinson says you are not welcome in the manor, and that neither she nor Isabelle is available to see you now, nor ever again. Now, please go, before I have to forcibly escort you from off the manor’s property.’ Thomson stood his ground, as Sidgwick swore at him and demanded that he talk to his mistress.
‘You let me see Isabelle and her mother. I have important business.’
‘Are you having problems, Mr Thomson? Is this man harassing you?’ Jethro came out of the darkness with a pitchfork in his hand.
‘I am indeed, Jethro. This man seems unable to understand that he is not welcome on our premises and that he is not wanted here.’ Stephen Thomson puffed out his chest and stepped out of the manor, closing the door behind him. ‘Would you mind helping me to escort him off the premises?’
‘Not at all, Mr Thomson. I’ve just been killing some rats, so throwing one more off the premises is nothing to me; no matter how well-bred they are, a rat is still a rat.’ Jethro pointed his pitchfork at Sidgwick.
‘Alright, I’m going, but you’ll all regret the day you did this to me. John Sidgwick will not forget being treated like this, believe me. She gave me a promise of marriage, so she is beholden to me.’ He turned and shouted loudly up at the bedroom windows.
‘Off – get off the property, else I’ll use this.’ Jethro pointed the pitchfork gently into Sidgwick’s posterior, as he climbed into his gig.
‘This is not the last that you’ll hear of me,’ he yelled as he whipped his horse into action, noticing the middle bedroom’s curtains move.
‘I think it will be, Mister, as there’s nothing here for you any more,’ Jethro shouted as the gig raced out of the gateway.
Charlotte lay in her bed and listened to Isabelle sobbing in the next room. She remembered the nights she had sobbed over Joseph, and the hurt and pain he had caused her. Isabelle might not thank her now for saving her from a marriage of hell with John Sidgwick, but in time she would realize how close she had come to ruining her life. She was, however, right: Joseph would always be a ghost that haunted them all. They would never be free of him and his associates.
11
‘Heavens, Harriet, just look at the difference to this place!’ Charlotte cautiously opened the door to Atkinson’s, aware of the wet paint and of the painter who was balanced precariously on a ladder, painting the top of the shop’s window. She gasped as she was met with clean, swept floors, a polished counter and washed-down walls.
‘Mmm . . . looks a bit different, doesn’t it? I decided just to get on with it. I was here until dusk last night, and then my father brought me down first thing this morning. I wanted to get it done before any of the materials and haberdashery come this morning.’ Harriet beamed. ‘I feel quite proud of myself; the place looks so different. And I’ve tried the gas lights and they do work, so we can open late in this coming winter’s evenings.’
‘I don’t suppose Isabelle helped with any of this yesterday? I’m afraid she is unable to join us this morning, either, for she feels a little under the weather. I fear she is going down with something.’ Charlotte made an excuse for her heartbroken daughter, who had struggled to face the world and to come out of her bedroom that morning. She’d sat across from Charlotte and had sobbed between mouthfuls of her breakfast, so much so that Charlotte had instructed Thomson to take Isabelle, and her breakfast, up to her room for her to eat there in private, away from the prying eyes of the servants.
‘No, she left me to it. I think she had a luncheon date that she didn’t want to miss. It didn’t matter, as I just got on with it. I enjoyed cleaning it, if that doesn’t sound stupid. I aim to put my all into running this business, and prove to you that I fully appreciate the faith you have in me. I am grateful for all that you are doing for Danny and myself.’ Harriet wanted her future mother-in-law to know just how much she appreciated her help, and wished to make up for the way she had acted, in expecting her name to be over the door.
‘My children mean everything to me, Harriet, and all I want for them is to be happy. I’m sure your father and mother think the same.’ Charlotte smiled at the young woman, whom she had judged completely wrongly on their first meeting.
‘Yes, my mother especially. She was overjoyed when my sister married Roger Warburton. I’m sure everyone got absolutely sick of hearing her broadcast the wedding, and I’m afraid she is doing the same again over Danny and me. She’s placed an order for a new dress with us already. I’m told it has to be green taffeta with a bustle, not a crinoline, and that it has to make her look younger than the forty-five years she is. At least it is an order for us to get started with.’
‘Your poor mother; I asked her for lunch and then left her standing in the hallway. I do hope she forgives me. It was just that, with Archie’s father dying, I couldn’t spare her the time. Do you think both your father and mother could perhaps make Sunday lunch sometime shortly? We need to discuss your and Danny’s wedding plans. The reading of the banns will have to be organized, and a guest list put together. I know it’s only early October, but time goes so quickly and, before we know it, Christmas will be upon us.’
‘I’m sure they would, and they’d appreciate being able to discuss the arrangements. I know my mother is worrying about what will be expected of them. She’s all too aware that she cannot match you in money, if I am not speaking out of turn, ma’am.’ Harriet was glad to have this conversation in private with Charlotte, for her mother had done nothing but nag and worry over who was to pay for what, saying that it was really the bride’s family that paid for most things.
‘Well, tell her to stop worrying. Danny is our only son, and no expense will be spared on your wedding, as it will be our delight to foot the expense. As long as our son is happy, that is all that matters. I only wish I could make Isabelle as happy; she does not seem to be able to find a suitable partner.’ Charlotte stopped short when she looked out of the window as the painter hoisted up the new sign over the doorway. ‘Look, Harriet, let’s go and watch as the sign goes up.’ She was as excited as Harriet, in truth; this was her business, not one inherited by default, like the mill. It was her family firm, to provide for her most precious daughter, and she just knew it was going to be a success.
‘It looks perfect, ma’am.’ Harriet looked up at the sign, and at the clean-looking shop front and the youn
g man who was aligning the sign skilfully. ‘We just need everything for the interior now.’
‘Please, Harriet, call me “Charlotte” and then, when you are married, “Mama”. I can’t stand formality. The carter was pulling up at The Naked Man with his wagon full and I noticed under the tarpaulin what looked like our dressmaker’s dummies, so he should be with us shortly. And the printer promised to place an ad for me in the Settle directory. I have a copy that I brought for you to look at in my purse, inside. Let me show you.’ Charlotte hurried back into the shop and pulled out a piece of paper with the advertisement that she had placed. She handed it to Harriet.
‘This makes it real, but I still can’t believe it.’ Harriet breathed in deeply. ‘I hope Isabelle comes up with the patterns and designs. I don’t mind sewing and dealing with the customers, but she must make the patterns.’
‘Don’t worry, she will not let you down. She will be back with you shortly – she’s just feeling unwell today, as I said. Now, we just need our stock and some customers. Where can that carter have got to? I bet he’s been led astray by the landlord at The Naked Man. Wherever he is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you, Harriet. I need to go to the mill at Ferndale. Bert Bannister will wonder where I am at. He’s already voiced his concerns that I will be torn between the two businesses.’
ATKINSON’S
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