Daisy's Betrayal

by Nancy Carson

  Lawson ordered a bottle of champagne and a bottle of red burgundy. She had tasted champagne before at Baxter House and told him so.

  ‘And did you like it?’ he asked, humouring her.

  ‘Once I got used to the bubbles tickling my nose.’

  Talk of Baxter House set them conversing during their meal about the people that Lawson knew who had visited the house.

  ‘What happened to Fanny?’ Daisy asked. ‘Did she and Robert not hit it off?’

  ‘Fanny? Oh, I think he still sees Fanny from time to time,’ he answered dismissively.

  ‘He plays the field, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Robert? No more nor less than any other single man in his position. His father is pressing him to wed, but he doesn’t admire the girl his father would have him marry.’

  ‘Oh? Who is she?’

  ‘Some mine-owner’s daughter.’

  ‘Wealthy, I presume.’

  ‘Why else would he want them to marry?’

  ‘And Jack?’

  ‘Jack will now be running the family firm. I daresay he’ll need a good woman to anchor him down.’

  Time passed quickly. Before they knew it they had finished their meal and the bottle of wine and the bottle of champagne were both empty.

  ‘I know I suggested we go for a walk,’ Daisy said, ‘but I’m so tired. Shall we go up?’

  ‘You go on up, my love,’ he answered. ‘I think I’ll go to the saloon and have a whisky … and maybe a cigar as well. Even a game of billiards, if I can find somebody to play against. Do you mind?’

  ‘No, course not.’ She truly did not mind. It was considerate of him. It meant she would be able to undress without that first embarrassment and awkwardness she was sure to feel if he was there to watch. She could be in bed, covered up in her nightgown by the time he came up. Possibly asleep. There would be no deflowering anyway. Not tonight.

  ‘I’ll see you later. I’ll try not to wake you if you’re asleep.’

  She stood up but hesitated to go. ‘I’m so sorry, Lawson … To be such a disappointment on your wedding night.’

  He smiled tolerantly. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he whispered. ‘I can wait.’

  Reassured, she went up to their room and he headed for the saloon. He ordered himself a whisky, bought a cigar and meandered into the billiards room. There was no other soul in there. He set up the three balls and cued a few casual shots, potting the red, then making a couple of cannons but, uninterested in playing alone, he returned to the saloon. He sat down and contemplated events. The significance of what he had done that day in marrying Daisy was only then beginning to dawn on him. This delightful, innocent young woman depended on him. She trusted him. Like any gem, she was beautiful; the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. Not that her beauty overawed him. It did not. He could handle it. Certainly he would be the envy of all his friends with a wife so lovely and so delightful. But it was not just in outward beauty that she outshone everybody else. She was blessed with a serenity that most other women lacked.

  But did he love her?

  Whether or no, she was a prize worth the having. He admired and desired her. But love? Love, surely, tended to be associated with need. The greater your need for somebody, the more you seemed to love them. Much depended on what your need was. If you needed somebody to cook and sew you could hire a maid, of course. If you needed somebody just to fornicate with, you could hire a prostitute and have a different one every night of the week so long as you could afford it. If, on the other hand, you needed somebody to enhance people’s perception of you, then your need was based on vanity. A beautiful woman, somebody you could wear like a glittering piece of jewellery, was hugely effective in gaining the attention and respect of others. And the more beautiful the woman – the more desirable – the higher your peers would esteem you. Was not that the way of the world? Did it not come down to personal vanity or personal well-being in the long run? Did not vanity and well-being fuel need, and thus our self-regard, which we pretend is our love for somebody else?

  But a woman’s needs … They were subtly different to a man’s. A woman needed security, somewhere comfortable and safe to raise her brood. When she met a man who declared his love – which was the irresistible hook that caught any and every woman – would she not surrender herself to him and trade her sexuality to acquire his security and protection? Then, would she not justify her submission by convincing herself that she loved him?

  Love. Need. Vanity. Sex. Marriage … Children.

  Children … Ugh!

  The prospect of children horrified him. The thought of witnessing the physical beauty of his wife marred by the disfiguring ugliness of pregnancy was abhorrent. But he would see how it went, this marriage lark – without children. In the long term he had no doubt it would not change him. He was a realist if nothing else. In bed, in the dark, one woman was much like another. Poking the same fire, night in night out, tended to become a chore, whoever’s grate it was and however beautifully constructed. And if it was his own grate … Well, he was going to be master in his own house; he could pick and choose if and when he would poke his own fire and liven the flames that burned in it. But tonight, he would honour his bride with his presence, if only a passive, admiring presence.

  He stubbed out his cigar and drained his glass. He stood up and walked out of the saloon and headed towards the stairs. At the front door, two young women, flightily dressed and flaunting smooth, rounded bosoms, bantered with each other in their strange cockney accents and giggled. One of them saw him through the glass and she nudged her friend. With big eyes, she beckoned Lawson to come to them. Prostitutes. He never went with prostitutes. Why take the risk of catching something incurable? Nonetheless, it was tempting. They were young. They might be clean.

  He smiled at their vivacity and, with a great effort of will, turned his back and walked upstairs.

  Chapter 7

  Lawson had not seen Daisy with her hair down before and he looked at her for some seconds as she brushed it, savouring the sight. He unfastened his cuffs, took off his necktie and removed his collar.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll hire a hansom and have a look at the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll have a bite to eat and go to the Tower of London and see how they’re getting on with that Tower Bridge they’re building.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind spending a whole day in the National Gallery,’ she answered as she got up from her stool. ‘You know how I enjoy nice paintings.’

  ‘We’ll go there on Monday. On Sunday afternoon we’ll go to tea at Buckingham Palace, eh? I bet her blessed Majesty Queen Victoria would be keen enough to hang the kettle over the fire, lay her best chenille cloth over the table and bring out her home-made fruit cake.’

  Daisy laughed happily as she pulled back the bedclothes and slid between the sheets. She looked at him and sighed. ‘Oh, I love you so much, Lawson …’

  He sat beside her on the bed and put his arm around her. He kissed her on the cheek affectionately. ‘I love you as well, Daisy. With all my heart. Now get some sleep.’

  ‘But I want to feel the warmth of your body next to mine,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks.’

  He shook his head and chuckled. ‘I want to feel your body next to mine, my love. I want nothing more. But I’m not about to get myself worked up into a lather if I can’t have you because of your … your circumstance. If I take my beauty sleep instead and appear to ignore you, you won’t be offended, will you?’

  ‘Oh, Lawson, I’m so sorry about tonight …’

  Paddington Station was overtly grand and pungently aromatic, as well as being excessively noisy with the hideous roar of steam locomotives and their ear-splitting whistles. Porters and guards hurried to and fro, opening carriage doors, stowing luggage and giving other unmistakable signs that the departure of the 9.45 to Bristol was approaching. A footplateman was leaning out of his cab, routinely watching, waiting for the signal to depar
t. Lawson hurriedly gave a silver threepenny bit to the porter who was leaving them, having stashed their luggage inside their first-class carriage just in time. A whistle blew and the great blast of steam from the locomotive’s funnel was like Krakatoa erupting.

  ‘We only just made it,’ Daisy said, feeling the first forward movement of the train as she got her breath back.

  ‘Well, you were in no rush to get up and have breakfast.’

  She chuckled. ‘I’m on honeymoon.’

  ‘The honeymoon begins at Bath,’ he proclaimed. ‘In earnest.’

  She smiled and nodded acquiescently, then looked out of the window at the dismal hulk of a gasometer and the lines of drab houses along the Paddington Canal.

  ‘How long is this journey likely to take, Lawson?’

  ‘About two and a half hours. Sit back and enjoy the scenery.’

  In no time they had travelled through the pleasant suburbs of New Kensington and Notting Hill, through fields verdant in their new spring greenery, and had reached Ealing Station. Daisy sat with her head against the soft squab of the headrest as they crossed over the Thames at Maidenhead. They traversed some spectacular countryside adorned with villages, farmsteads and quaint church towers that peeped over the tops of trees like lookouts. The river appeared again as soon as they pulled out of Reading Station. Daisy was fascinated by the ever-changing vista of a countryside she had never expected to see.

  At Pangbourne an elderly gentlemen entered their compartment. A profusion of untrimmed hairs sprouted from his nose and ears. He raised his hat to Daisy and offered a polite good morning to Lawson, then settled down to read his newspaper. His presence inhibited their intimate discussion of the treats she could expect in Bath but not her affectionate smiles that flashed across the compartment from time to time. Lawson tried to strike up a conversation with the man, but he was more interested in his newspaper. However, they did glean from him that the train would stop at Swindon long enough to visit the refreshment rooms.

  The first-class side of the refreshment room was exquisite, elaborately decorated in arabesques and supported by columns painted to imitate inlaid woods. The mirrors, the hangings and the furniture would have done justice to the dining rooms of nobility. Daisy sat at a table while Lawson went to the counter and was rapidly served by an obliging young woman. He bought a selection of sandwiches, two Banbury cakes, a pot of tea and a pint of pale ale. Soon they were back in their compartment and on their way.

  Daisy knew they had arrived at Bath when the train slowed down as it emerged from a deep, beautifully landscaped cutting. The line of carriages, like a regal procession, sedately crossed a castellated viaduct built in yellow stone high above the River Avon. Daisy beheld a striking panorama of the city, a profusion of golden buildings bathed in spring sunshine, like some new Jerusalem, she thought, spreading up the surrounding hills. She enthusiastically nudged Lawson.

  ‘Oh, look at the view.’

  Lawson smiled indulgently and patted her hand.

  ‘Oh, please can we take a walk, Lawson? I’m dying to see the shops.’

  ‘As soon as we can. But first things first. We’ll have to find a hansom to take us to our hotel.’

  They alighted from the carriage, a porter took their baggage, and they headed for the row of hansom cabs already lined up outside in Dorchester Street.

  Daisy gasped when she saw the imposing façade of the Grand Pump Room Hotel. Inside, she was amazed to be taken to their third-storey room in a lift, of all things. At once, Lawson decided to take a swim in the Royal Baths attached to the hotel, foregoing their walk.

  ‘Why don’t you come and watch when you’ve unpacked?’ he suggested. ‘I understand there’s a balcony for spectators.’

  The bedroom was large and ornate with a red patterned carpet. The wallpaper was maroon with an overpowering floral theme and a huge stone fireplace burned logs that gave off a pleasant outdoor aroma of leaves burning in autumn. The four-poster seemed high and when Daisy sat on it to take off her hat, it was comfortable enough.

  When she had unpacked and spruced herself up, she decided it was time to watch Lawson swim. Apprehensively, she entered the lift once more and was taken to the ground floor where she was directed along a spacious corridor that took her past private bathrooms and dressing rooms. She noticed a sign that announced a Cooling Room for Ladies and deduced that ladies were indeed allowed to use the baths. As she turned around, she could see the magnificent swimming bath below with its classical marble statue at the far end. Lawson saw her and waved, then continued swimming.

  When they returned to their room, Lawson, tired from his exertions, slept. Daisy went to one of the private bathrooms and drew a hot bath. As she undressed she pondered the absolute luxury of hot running water. The bathroom filled up with steam and she slid her plain lisle stockings down her legs and slipped off her new drawers. She ran hot water into the wash basin and thoroughly laundered the rolled-up napkin she had been wearing – for use another day – and saw that it was unstained. Her heart leapt with joy at the realisation that she and Lawson could at last consummate their marriage. Relieved, she stepped into the bath with a smile on her face and slid into its comforting warmth, contemplating her forthcoming initiation.

  At dinner, they sat opposite each other in the elegant dining room. They started with salmon in a shrimp sauce and then roast lamb with mint jelly and fresh vegetables. Lawson requested a bottle of Beaune and drank most of it himself. But he messed his food about, something he always seemed to do, and refused any pudding.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve had enough. I’m not a big eater.’

  ‘It surprises me, Lawson. I mean, you’re tall and … I would have thought you needed your food.’

  He made no comment.

  ‘I enjoy my food,’ Daisy commented, ‘but I can be excused for not clearing my plate. I don’t want to get fat. What do you think of the food here?’

  ‘It’s a bit plainer than it was in London. But it’s tasty enough.’ He quaffed his wine. ‘Anyway, what would you like to do tomorrow?’

  She half smiled. ‘After we’ve seen all the shops, you mean?’

  ‘We’re not spending all day walking from shop to shop.’

  ‘Well, we could wander around the abbey, I suppose – if you like. And I’d love to see that place that’s built in a half-moon.’

  His eyes creased into an attractive smile. ‘You mean the Royal Crescent.’

  His look warmed her a little. ‘If that’s what they call it. It’s near a park as well, according to the guide book. If the weather holds fine, we could take a walk there in the afternoon.’ She sipped what remained of her wine and glanced across the room. The fender’s brasswork reflected the flickering firelight and a waiter collected plates from another table.

  She looked into Lawson’s eyes. ‘My darling, I’ve had a lovely time so far …’ Her hand found his across the table and squeezed it.

  ‘Good. I’m glad.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Well … I’ve been trying to come to terms with my new situation. Becoming a married man all of a sudden …’

  She felt her pulse quicken and her face flush with apprehension. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you’re regretting marrying me already?’

  ‘Not regretting it. But it’s suddenly come as quite a shock to the system. My life will be different … I’ll have to get used to it, won’t I? I’ll have to come to terms with it.’

  She frowned into her empty glass. ‘We could get unmarried, Lawson, if that’s what you want,’ she said quietly. ‘I believe you can have a marriage annulled if you haven’t consumed it.’

  ‘The word is consummated …’ He chuckled momentarily at her mistake, but instantly became serious again, irked by her compliant self-sacrifice. And yet, at the same time he was touched by it, for he imagined it would break her heart if she had to face such a trauma.

  ‘Please tell me that’s not what you wan
t, Lawson.’

  ‘That’s not what I want, Daisy, be assured … Let me order you another drink. I could certainly do with one.’ He hailed a waiter. ‘Two glasses of your best brandy, my man.’

  ‘Brandy?’ she said. ‘You’ll have me drunk. Still, I don’t care as long as you still want me.’

  ‘Of course I want you.’

  The soft crescent of her mouth transformed into a relieved smile. ‘I’m glad. You had me worried.’

  ‘Look, I haven’t married you because of some lark or some madcap bet with my friends. I’ve thought this thing through … What I wanted to say is this … As well as my love for you, I want you to understand that my being married will give me more social respectability—’

  ‘So you’re only interested in social esteem. You don’t really love me.’

  ‘Of course I love you. How many times must I tell you? But love isn’t everything. There are other considerations, less romantic, and I want you to understand them. Greater acceptance in society, by virtue of being married, is one of them.’

  ‘Then you should have married an heiress, not an unemployed domestic servant.’

  ‘Don’t demean yourself, Daisy. Yes, I know you’re neither an heiress nor the daughter of some nabob, but you have the look and the bearing. And I need you. I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow.’

  ‘You need me,’ she repeated with some disenchantment. She wanted him to love her, not just need her. Love must be the overriding feature of their marriage.

  ‘Yes. I need you. I have many faults and I’m aware of them. If you don’t know them yet, I daresay they’ll manifest themselves soon enough.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m erratic and moody – I know this. I can be as high-spirited as a pig with a potato one day, and down in the dumps the next—’