Daisy's Betrayal

by Nancy Carson

  ‘So let’s dance,’ she said, tilting her head girlishly, and allowed herself to be led onto the floor again.

  She was in his arms once more. They were laughing and he made her feel as if she were the most important, most desirable girl in the world. She forgot about Fanny, she forgot about Mr Robert; whether he and Fanny were dancing together she did not know and cared even less. She was entirely focused on Lawson. He was so amusing and direct. She hung on his every word, laughed at his every quip, and began to feel possessive, even so soon after they had met.

  ‘I’d love to see you alone sometime,’ he said and, all of a sudden, her legs felt wobbly and she feared she would lose control of them. ‘Is there any chance of that?’

  Was there any chance! ‘That would be lovely.’ She rapidly considered the options. ‘I would be free next Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘But Daisy! Must I wait so long?’ He looked sullen with disappointment. ‘I don’t know if I can stand it.’

  ‘I’m not free before then.’

  ‘How elusive you are! Are you in such demand? Ah, well. They say good things are worth waiting for. I’ll collect you Sunday then, in my cabriolet. You must give me your address.’

  She smiled agreeably. ‘So how long have you known Fanny?’ Daisy was perceiving her more as a great rival with every minute that passed.

  ‘A year, maybe longer.’

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘We were introduced.’

  ‘But she can’t be any more than nineteen,’ Daisy suggested.

  ‘Eighteen, if you want to be precise.’

  ‘So she was seventeen when you met her?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose she might have been. Possibly even sixteen. I forget.’

  ‘Where did you meet her?’

  ‘At a Band of Hope temperance meeting.’

  She looked at him with disbelief. ‘Honestly?’ She saw humour dancing in his eyes. ‘You’re mocking me. I’ve seen you drinking … and her.’

  ‘Well, I’ve already told you we’re not romantically linked, but you persist in asking questions as if we are.’

  ‘You might not be romantically linked,’ Daisy replied, aware that her jealousy was surfacing, ‘but she is.’

  ‘So you said before. Well, if she’s got such preoccupations, that’s her concern.’

  She was happy to hear it. It confirmed that Fanny had no prior claim on him.

  All too soon their dancing was interrupted. The New Year was about to be greeted and everybody was expected to link hands and sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’. They lost each other in the mêlée while everybody was hugging the person closest to them, shaking hands and giving their sincere best wishes for a happy and prosperous 1889. Daisy decided she must go and check on the soup that would already be heating up in the kitchen to be served later … until she realised in a blind panic that she had not finalised the arrangement to meet Lawson. She spotted him, shoved through the noisy crowd of revellers and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’

  ‘You’re leaving already?’

  ‘I have to. Do you still want to meet me on Sunday?’ Maybe she was being forward, but she was desperate not to let him go now she had found him.

  ‘I’ll call for you. Just tell me your address.’

  ‘It would be better if I met you somewhere … You know …’ She wanted him to think it might be embarrassing with her family, or even frowned on to be seen going out without a chaperone. ‘Can we meet outside the police station?’

  ‘All right. Shall we say three o’clock?’

  ‘Three o’clock, Sunday.’ She turned and made her way to the kitchen, extraordinarily pleased with herself.

  By the time they had cleared up after the party it was nearly four o’clock in the morning, but it had been a huge success for the Cooksons and a personal triumph for Daisy. She had met the man of her dreams and was euphoric. She couldn’t sleep, of course she couldn’t. She lay awake for what remained of that cold night thinking about him, going over and over in her mind every word they had spoken to each other. After she’d bid him goodnight she made it her business not to be seen again, staying in the kitchen till everybody had gone. It peeved her beyond endurance to know that Lawson must, out of etiquette, deliver Fanny back home and she imagined with resentment those big, soft pleading eyes, begging for a goodnight kiss. She tossed and turned imagining them kissing, imagining her trying to lead him on. How was a girl of eighteen allowed out, alone with him, without a chaperone?

  Then she remembered her assessment of Fanny. Fanny was evidently not from polite society. Fanny was a working-class girl. It was even possible that her mother and father neither knew nor cared where she was, or with whom. But if so, what was somebody so obviously well bred and well educated as Lawson Maddox doing with her? She had to be a cousin or a niece whom he considered worthy enough to reward with such an evening out. Perhaps he had even invited her just to introduce her to Mr Robert. After all, they danced together quite a lot, and certainly seemed to laugh a lot. Daisy felt happier with this perfectly rational explanation.

  Chapter 3

  New Year’s Day fell on a Tuesday in 1889. Following the party as it did, it promised to be busy. A few guests had stayed the night so there were more people than usual for breakfast. The beds they slept in had to be stripped and remade, chamber pots emptied and scalded, the rooms they occupied cleaned and dusted. But, after lunch, when the visitors left, things were expected to settle down. Lots of sandwiches and pies remained uneaten from the previous evening and Mrs Cookson asked Daisy to organise one of the girls to take the leftovers to the Dudley Union Workhouse in Burton Road. There would be many a poor soul there glad of the extra food. Daisy offered to go and requested an extra hour besides, so as to visit her mother and father.

  ‘As long as you’re back here by five I have no objection, Daisy,’ Mrs Cookson said kindly. ‘Do you think your sister might like to accompany you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she would, ma’am, if you could spare her.’ Daisy was forever surprised at how generous and thoughtful her employer could be.

  ‘I hope your father’s feeling better. No doubt it’ll perk him up to see his two daughters on New Year’s Day. Give them both my very best wishes and compliments of the season.’

  ‘Oh, I will, ma’am, and thank you.’

  So, at about half past two, she and Sarah set off. They huddled into their coats and pulled up their collars to protect themselves from the cold. Shaver’s End, on the way to the workhouse, was one of the highest ridges in Dudley and a cold east wind, howling in with unhindered keenness directly from the Urals of Russia, penetrated through their layers of clothing and chilled their skin.

  As they walked they talked about the party and discussed some of the guests.

  ‘Did you notice that friend of Mr Robert’s I told you about?’ Sarah asked, clutching her collar to her throat to keep out the cold, with a basket of food hanging in the crook of her arm.

  ‘Oh … er … Which one was that?’ Daisy hedged.

  ‘The tall, handsome one. You must’ve seen him. I told you about him. Remember?’

  It suddenly dawned on Daisy that she meant Lawson Maddox. It had never occurred to her that Lawson might be the same friend of Mr Robert that Sarah had mentioned before. So she feigned ignorance.

  ‘I don’t recall.’ Daisy felt she could acknowledge nothing about Lawson, simply because Sarah seemed so taken with him.

  ‘Oh, you’d remember him all right. I served him his food. He’s a dream … He had a girl with him, though.’

  ‘Well,’ Daisy said, trying to affect disinterest. ‘That’s hardly surprising if he’s so handsome.’

  ‘A pretty girl, I thought, with lovely fair hair. But he wants to watch out because Mr Robert was all over her.’ Sarah shrugged and a smug grin spread across her face. ‘Still, I don’t mind if he pinches her off him. Then he’d be free to marry me.’

  ‘You know gentlemen don’t marry se
rvants,’ Daisy said impatiently and, as soon as she had said it, she realised that this sage remark applied equally to herself. Her unwitting wisdom depressed her. Of course gentlemen didn’t marry servants. Oh, they would bed maids at every opportunity, but marry them?… ‘Which basket have you got there, Sarah?’

  ‘The one with the pies and sausage rolls in.’

  ‘Right. We’ll swap some over. Mother and Father can have some of this stuff. They’re just as deserving as workhouse folk.’

  When they were only a couple of hundred yards from the workhouse they stopped and, resting their baskets on a wall, sorted out the food so that they had a decent selection for their folks.

  ‘I’ll take this stuff in, our Sarah. You wait at the gate.’

  Daisy asked to see somebody in authority. Unless she handed over the food to somebody trustworthy the poor folk in care might never see it. Eventually she let it go to a shy young man in a frock coat who was unsure of her at first, but who thanked her liberally when he realised she was not a gypsy trying to peddle something.

  She returned to Sarah. It was a long walk to their home and unbearable in the biting cold. They took it in turns to carry the basket of food that also contained some oranges Daisy had been able to sneak out. Sarah didn’t mention Lawson again but it was evident she had a young girl’s crush on him. How could Daisy have confessed to Sarah that he already had an interest in her and she in him, despite her private realisation that any liaison was doomed from the start? She hoped that Sarah’s infatuation would wane just as soon as the next handsome young man appeared. In truth, she hoped her own interest was an infatuation just as silly, and that she would get over it as quickly.

  At last they arrived and walked up the entry to the back door, their cheeks red, their noses cold and shiny, and their breath coming in steamy wisps. As they opened the door and walked in, their father was nodding in his armchair, his gouty foot in his washing basket. He roused when he heard them greet their mother.

  Daisy bent down and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Happy New Year, Father,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Bloody lousy,’ he replied grumpily.

  ‘It’s your age,’ Mary remarked without sympathy.

  ‘Is it snowing yet? There’s snow in the air, I can bloody well feel it.’

  Daisy placed the basket of food on the scrubbed table. ‘Not yet, Father. We’ve brought you some food left over from the party last night at Baxter House.’ She turned to her mother, tilting her head in his direction. ‘How is he really?’

  ‘Miserable as sin.’ Mary was darning several pairs of socks and had a darning mushroom thrust inside one of them as if she was about to draw the innards from a rabbit. ‘I daren’t get near him for fear of kicking his washing basket. I’ve a good mind to kick him up in the air.’

  ‘Pity yower damn nose ai’ throbbing like my blasted foot,’ Titus protested, feeling very sorry for himself. ‘Then yo’ wouldn’t keep pokin’ it where it ai’ wanted.’

  Both girls chuckled at this bickering, which they knew was mostly pretence and nowhere near as venomous as it sounded.

  ‘Well tomorrer morning I don’t know what you’ll do wi’ yer precious foot, but I shall want me basket back for the washing.’

  ‘But it’s Wednesday tomorrow,’ Daisy said. ‘I thought washing day was Monday.’

  Mary chuckled. ‘Oh, ain’t I a blasted fool? It’s ’cause you’ve come. I was thinking it’s Sunday today.’

  Titus, typically casual, lifted one cheek of his backside, grimaced and broke wind raucously. ‘There, catch that and darn it,’ he said scornfully.

  ‘Father!’ Sarah and Daisy complained in unison.

  Their mother picked up a cushion and fanned the tainted air back in his direction. ‘Dirty varmint.’

  Sarah rolled her eyes and giggled. ‘Shall I put some coal on the fire for you, Mother?’

  ‘If you’ve a mind, my wench. Mind how much you put on, though. There’s on’y another bucket or two left in the cellar.’

  ‘But it’s bitter cold out,’ Daisy said. ‘You need to keep warm.’

  ‘We’ll have to wrap up then. We’ll have to put an extra ganzy on apiece.’

  As Sarah made up the fire Daisy felt in her pocket for her purse, opened it and sorted through the coins. ‘Here’s a shilling.’ She offered a sixpence and two silver threepenny bits to her mother. ‘It’s all I’ve got for now. Take the handcart to the coal yard in the morning and get half a hundredweight at least. Promise me you will.’

  ‘I don’t need a shilling for half a hundredweight of coal.’

  ‘Then buy some bread or cheese or something with the change.’

  ‘The rent’s due Monday … But I’n got a bit put by in me jar to pay for that.’

  ‘Are you short?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘Look, I shan’t be able to come on Sunday but I’ll give Sarah some money to bring you.’

  ‘Oh? What you doing on Sunday then?’ Sarah asked.

  Daisy cast a guilty glance as Sarah passed by on her way outside to the brewhouse to wash her hands. ‘I’ve been asked to tea somewhere.’

  ‘Oh, very nice,’ her mother said with pride in her tone. ‘So when shall we see yer?’

  Titus started coughing before Daisy could answer. He hawked blood into a piece of newspaper, screwed it up and tossed it into the fire. She noticed it with horror.

  ‘Has the doctor been lately?’

  ‘We got no money to pay for doctors, our Daisy,’ Mary replied flatly. ‘Not since you paid last time.’

  ‘I’ll pay again,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Coughing up blood means his consumption’s no better and might even be worse. He needs medicine.’

  ‘You’ve paid enough. Rest, fresh air, fresh fruit and vegetables is what he needs. That’s what the doctor said last time he come. It’s senseless paying to be told the same thing over again. It’s senseless to waste money.’

  ‘But he needs to go into a sanatorium out in the country … to clean air.’

  ‘I’m a-gooin’ into ne’er a sanatorium,’ Titus mumbled, opening his eyes then shutting them again.

  ‘I thought you was asleep,’ Mary said.

  It was time to turn the conversation, so Daisy passed on Mrs Cookson’s good wishes and told them about the party at Baxter House. Mary was enthralled, but Titus drifted back to sleep again. Sarah made a pot of tea and they drank it while Mary related her gossip. Darkness was falling and Daisy lifted the lamp off its hook. She gave it a shake to discern whether there was any oil in it, then lit it with a spill that she kindled in the fire.

  ‘Have you got any more lamp oil?’

  ‘I think there’s a drop in the brewhouse, in a can.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can bring you some more. Have you got any candles in case you run out?’

  ‘Oh, hark at her,’ Mary complained. ‘Have you got this, have you got that. Course I got candles. I ain’t altogether helpless, you know.’

  Daisy sighed. The last thing she wanted was to appear fussing like some nuisance busybody. ‘It’s just that I don’t want you to be without. I worry about you two. It’s cold out there and it won’t pick up for months yet.’ By the light of the lamp she could just see the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece; it was nearly half past four. ‘Lord, look at the time. It’s time we went, Mother. Sarah and I have to be back by five.’

  Sunday seemed forever in coming. Every time Daisy thought about Lawson and their tryst her stomach churned. She worried about what she should wear, when her only choice to keep out the cold would be her best Sunday dress, her warm winter coat, her scarf and her hat. Whether she should confess from the outset that she was a servant at the home of his friend Robert Cookson also bothered her, but she decided she would confess no such thing – not yet, at any rate. She was intent on first being driven like a lady in his beautiful two-wheeled cabriolet he’d mentioned. She really wanted to play the part of a lady, wanted to be wooed an
d held in great esteem, if only for the short time she might be able to deceive him.

  On Sunday mornings Daisy always went to church, walking to St Thomas’s with those maids whose turn it was to go also, while the family travelled in their smart brougham. That Sunday it was damp, misty and cold but the snow her father predicted had not materialised. As they walked and talked their breath hung like steam in the still winter air. Daisy sat in the pew at the back of the church along with the other girls and Gerald the groom. She heard barely any of the service. Her eyes were fixed on the huge and colourful rendering on glass of the Ascension that was the east window, but her thoughts were focused solely on Lawson Maddox. Like an automaton she stood up for hymns, knelt for prayers and sat down for the lessons. She was still reliving the dances they’d enjoyed, the words they’d exchanged, cherishing every blessed moment, nurturing the beautiful memory, hopeful and yet apprehensive about their rendezvous, which was still nearly four hours away.

  They returned to Baxter House, served lunch and the family retired to the drawing room. Daisy’s eyes were riveted to the clock. She was feeling all jittery inside. At half past two she went to her room unnoticed, adjusted a curl, reset a couple of grips in her hair and reddened her lips with a few hard bites. Then she put on her hat, her coat, her scarf and her best gloves and, at ten minutes to three, left the house by the back door.

  The police station where Daisy was to meet Lawson faced an open square where a market was held regularly. On the adjacent corner, where it met Stone Street, stood a public house called the Saracen’s Head. As she waited, it occurred to her that Lawson might not turn up after all, especially if that bounder Mr Robert had enlightened him as to her true status. But, when she looked across the road and saw a beautiful black horse between the shafts of an immaculate black cabriolet standing outside the Saracen’s Head, she prayed that it was his and that he was intending to show up after all.

  He did. Daisy saw him leave the public house and scan the street. When he saw her he smiled and beckoned her over. She hitched up her skirts a little and hurried to him, picking her way over the cobblestones to avoid the slurry that ran murkily between them. Her heart was in her mouth, but there was a smile on her face as she presented herself before him and stood transfixed.