by Nancy Carson
Lawson entered the house through the front door. That way he would avoid meeting the new cook until Daisy could introduce her properly later. Daisy was in the sitting room, embroidering a pillowcase.
‘What’s this new cook of yours going to delight us with tonight?’ he asked as he sat down. ‘It smells good.’
‘Roast pork with apple sauce,’ Daisy replied, looking up from her work.
He nodded his approval. ‘Do you fancy beer with that, or wine?’
‘Oh, wine would be lovely.’
He stood up again. ‘I’ll see what’s in the cellar.’
Two minutes later he returned. ‘Chablis,’ he announced. ‘I fancy some Chablis. I’ve taken it to the dining room. Your new maid can uncork it when she deigns to grace us with her presence.’
Daisy smiled. ‘She’s very willing. Quick to learn. I think you’ll approve of her.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘So how long before we eat?’
‘I told Cook seven o’clock. Are you going out again later?’
‘Not tonight. I thought I’d have an early night … By the way, I’m off to the Continent again. Thursday of next week.’
‘Again?’ Daisy regarded him with disappointment. ‘So soon after the last time?’
‘Lucrative business, Daisy. Lucrative business. Oh, and I’ve found a groom. I’ll seek out Jimmy Costello tomorrow and ask him to get the room over the stables up to scratch. Can I leave it to you to get a bed and a bit of furniture organised?’
‘You know you can.’
‘Good. With any luck we can have him installed on the weekend I return.’
‘Oh, that will be good, Lawson. Then we’ll have a full complement.’
Lawson went upstairs to change. Meanwhile, Daisy went to the kitchen to check on Mrs O’Flanagan and Caitlin. By the time he came down, dinner was ready. Lawson sat himself at the table. While he waited he contemplated the novelty of being served dinner in his own house by his own servant at last. He was beginning to enjoy these trappings of respectability. And in his line of business, he needed that impression of respectability which marriage endowed. Oh, there was no doubt Daisy had made a difference to the way he was being perceived. Because she was his wife, and as able a woman as he could have met, he was on the edge of becoming a fully-fledged member of society, no longer merely a well-off bachelor who hung about on the peripheries with the randy and effervescent sons of the wealthy. Marriage, in that respect, had been the right move. He had chosen his wife well. The visit of Alexander and Ruth Gibson would confirm it.
Daisy returned and sat opposite him. ‘Dinner will be served in a couple of minutes,’ she said, and sounded excited at the novelty of it.
‘I think you’re enjoying being the lady of the house,’ he remarked, amused. ‘See how excited you are.’
‘I am,’ she replied. ‘It’s a complete change of position for me.’
‘A role reversal, Daisy. I knew this one would suit you better.’
‘Things have happened so quickly,’ she sighed. ‘And there’s still the groom-cum-gardener to arrive. Once the garden’s all spick and span we’ll be able to hold garden parties. Oh, I can’t wait.’
‘Well, maybe not in time for this summer,’ he said realistically. ‘But next year.’
The door opened and Caitlin appeared carrying a tray stacked with serving dishes. Lawson was sitting with his back towards her and Daisy smiled reassuringly at the new maid. The girl placed the tray on the sideboard and began unloading the serving dishes. Daisy glanced at Lawson, seeking his approval and saw, to her surprise, that his face was set hard like granite.
‘Lawson, this is Caitlin,’ she said. ‘Caitlin, let me introduce you to—’
Caitlin turned around. ‘Percival!’
There was a silence that seemed to last forever but was, in essence, little more than a second. Daisy sensed some acute discomfort, either with Lawson or with Caitlin, and tried to understand what was happening.
‘Are you mixing me up with somebody called Percival, Miss?’ Lawson asked pointedly.
‘Percival?’ Daisy repeated with bewilderment. ‘Who on earth is Percival?’
‘I’m so sorry, ma’am,’ the girl said coolly, catching a glimpse of Lawson’s hard look. ‘Your husband is the image of another man I know. For a second I was taken off guard. I’m such a fool. I’m very sorry … I’ll serve dinner now, ma’am.’
‘Please do, Caitlin.’
Caitlin left the room with the same self-assured poise she had when she entered. But once on the other side of the dining room door she felt her legs go weak and tears stung her eyes. She lifted her skirts and ran up two flights of stairs, rushed to her room and slumped on her new bed in a fit of desolation. She took a rag from the pocket of her pinafore, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Why had he not told her he was married? But to find out like this … To actually be employed in his very household, unwitting … And his wife such an obliging young woman. Had she known this was where he lived she would never even have consented to come for an interview. She prayed fervently that she had successfully covered up her utter shock at seeing Percival Harrison, as she knew him, at the table she was about to wait on. Percival Harrison indeed! Well, she knew now his name was Lawson Maddox. And he knew hers was Caitlin and not Kate.
But what should she do now? Should she try and forget that she was in love with this man? Should she simply forget, cast from her mind the number of times they had lain together in that little terraced house in Netherton he took her to on those nights they met? The house she had believed was his bachelor home? Impossible. She could not forget. How could she? Her feelings were too real, too intense to ignore. What if she was pregnant as a result of all those heady nights of lovemaking? All these thoughts ran through her mind. And she was working here now for him and his wife. Well, she could either tell Mrs Maddox that she could no longer work here and leave, or brazenly stick it out and pretend she had not previously known Lawson as Percival. But how could she leave without a lot of unwelcome questions being raised? How could she leave and not upset that decent, obliging Mrs Maddox? How could she leave and implicate her mother who was so relieved and delighted to find this position – for both of them? They desperately needed the money to live.
There seemed only one solution – to brazen it out, just so long as Lawson was able to. Well, she would soon discover how great a thespian he was, how well he could carry off the deceit. She swilled cold water over her eyes, dried them, tidied her hair and set her cap straight. She smoothed the creases out of her uniform and straightened her shoulders. Then, with all the confidence and poise she could muster, she went back downstairs. There was work to be done.
Caitlin did not look directly at Lawson again and he did not look at her. He engaged Daisy in bright, amusing conversation to divert her, although she did think that Caitlin’s eyes were just slightly puffy when she returned to collect the dinner plates, as if she had been crying. But she made no comment.
Later, when the meal was finished and everything cleared away, Mrs O’Flanagan bid them goodnight and Daisy told Caitlin the rest of the evening was her own.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Caitlin said. ‘I can use the time to do some mending.’
Daisy handed the maid an oil lamp to light her way upstairs. ‘And I’m going to get on with my embroidery in the sitting room.’
‘I’m going to the stables to check the horses, Daisy,’ Lawson said.
He went outside. It was dusk and the first bright stars had just made themselves visible in the northern sky. When he reached the stables he opened the door of the first loose-box and checked the horse. Of course, the animal was fine; it had been less than three hours since he last attended it. He came out, closed the door, turned to enter the next loose-box. He looked up at the window of the servant’s room that Caitlin was occupying. He could just make her out standing there, watching him. He beckoned her to come down, indicating she leave the house via the back staircase and door, hoping sh
e could read his gestures in the twilight. He opened the door to Blossom’s stable, checked her water and her feed. He closed the door behind him as he went out and turned the corner of the building. Caitlin was stealthily making her way across the yard.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ He grabbed her wrist and yanked her behind the stable, out of sight of the house.
‘I work here. Your pretty young wife engaged me.’ There was acid in Caitlin’s tone at the word. ‘If you’d told me your real name in the first place I’d never have even shown up for the interview.’
‘Well, you’re here now, by God, and we need to get this straightened out. Whatever happens, I don’t want her finding out about us. Do you understand?’
‘I don’t particularly want her finding out either. To be sure, she’s been very kind. She’s paying me a very fair wage. My mother too. Especially my mother. I don’t want my mother to find out. Why should she lose her situation?’
‘There’s no reason why either of them should know,’ he whispered. ‘Neither your mother, nor my wife.’
‘It’s just a bit of a shock to discover some other woman has got a prior claim on you,’ Caitlin said, regaining her composure. ‘If only you’d told me you were married. It wouldn’t have made any difference.’
‘I intended to. But we just can’t acknowledge each other in Daisy’s presence, except in the normal way of servant and master. Do you understand?’
‘Of course I do … Well now, Percival, that was a close call in there. When I first set eyes on you, I had the shock of me life. Do you think I carried off the deception?’
‘By the skin of your teeth. And you can stop calling me Percival now.’
She leaned against the wall coquettishly now and looked at him under her long lashes, with the intention of testing his resolve. ‘I can’t get used to calling you anything else … I’m sorry. But I’ll try to remember to call you Sir …’
‘Sarcasm doesn’t become you … Kate.’
Caitlin sighed, a heartfelt sigh. ‘I love you, Lawson. And because I love you so much I don’t have a choice. Of course, I’ll be respectful in the course of my duties. But that won’t stop me secretly wanting you.’ She felt for his hand and squeezed it with all her devotion and edged closer to him. ‘It won’t stop me thinking about how we make love,’ she whispered. ‘God, Lawson, you’re so close. So close that I can almost feel the warmth of your body through my frock …’
He felt a stirring below at her potent words, images of their previous encounters filled his mind, of her submissive nakedness as she lay on the feather mattress of that little house for him the very first time – a virgin, there for the taking …
‘How can I turn and go when I want you so much, when you’re so close? Is it the same for you, Lawson, when you feel the warmth of my body against yours? The smoothness of my skin …’
He took her by the waist and thrust himself against her. He bent his head to kiss her, and she pressed herself against him.
‘Oh, I can feel you all hard against me,’ she breathed into his ear in her soft Irish lilt when they broke off. ‘Sure, I can tell you want me now. And I want you inside me, Lawson. I’m all ready for you …’
‘Up here …’ He took her hand and dragged her up the outside staircase that led to the room above the stable. He opened the door and pulled her inside. It was too dark in there to see the cobwebs of years hanging in grey strands from the rafters. It was too dim to see the untrodden dust of more than two decades lying on the floor. He pulled her to the hard wooden floor, lifted the hem of her skirt while she fumbled to unfasten the buttons of his fly. When they were each divested of sufficient garments he rolled on top of her and, when he entered her, they rolled from side to side in a frenzy of desire.
When they emerged into the moonlight they dusted each other off and Caitlin crept back safely to her room via the back staircase. Lawson went to the bedroom he shared with Daisy by way of the hallway, changed into his night attire and climbed into bed. By the time Daisy went upstairs, wondering why he had not returned to the sitting room after having been to the stables, he was fast asleep in bed.
The incident at dinner bothered Daisy. It made no sense. Both Lawson and Caitlin had looked concerned just for an instant, but long enough to render the instant bizarre. She wished she could read people better. Maybe they had met before somewhere. Maybe it was just a combination of unrelated circumstances which coincided at that moment. Caitlin had explained it easily enough when she said Lawson was the image of a man she knew. Well, everyone seemed to have a double, so her explanation was plausible. It was also instantaneous; not a struggle to search for an excuse. Being reminded of a loved one called Percival might have induced her tears, for Daisy was sure Caitlin had been crying when she came to collect the crockery. Maybe she would refer to it again when a suitable opportunity arose, just to get Caitlin’s further reaction; Perhaps when Lawson had gone to Belgium and France.
The next day Daisy was sorting through their clothes to decide what should go to the laundry, when she noticed how dusty Lawson’s suit was. She took a clothes brush and, hanging the jacket and trousers in turn out of the window she brushed them so that the breeze took the debris. When she saw Caitlin later, she saw she had smudges of dust on the back of her frock also.
‘You have dust all over you, Caitlin,’ she remarked, trying to sound casual.
‘Oh?’ the girl queried and Daisy saw how she blushed unaccountably. ‘Oh, it must be from the coalhouse, ma’am. I must have brushed up against it when I filled the buckets first thing.’
‘Be more careful, Caitlin. We don’t want dust coming into the house on your clothes.’
‘Sorry, ma’am.’
Lawson’s excuse when she tackled him was that he had stumbled against the wall in the stable when his horse had nuzzled him too enthusiastically.
Friday arrived and Daisy spent most of the afternoon preparing for the visit of Mr and Mrs Alexander Gibson. When they arrived Mr Gibson handed Caitlin his hat and his gold-handled cane. He was in his late fifties – although his age was difficult to judge – well groomed, with a full head of grey hair, and he wore spectacles. Evidently he had an eye for the women since he kept looking Caitlin up and down when Ruth, his wife, was not watching. Ruth seemed oblivious to him, or was used to his covert fancies. She was of average build and Daisy could see the elderly vestiges of what must have been a very attractive woman. She had a good bone structure with high and well-rounded cheekbones that afforded her a beauty that defied ageing. Her eyes had been large and were still bright. But, like her husband, she had adopted the outwardly pious air that wealth and position brings, and Daisy felt it was a great pity they should seem so pretentious.
All went well and the food Mrs O’Flanagan cooked was fit for a king. The impression of Alexander Gibson that Daisy had formed at Baxter House was certainly not confirmed at close quarters; he turned out to be not pompous at all. And she noticed he was looking her over as well; his eyes lingered on her as he sat opposite. No doubt he was aware she had worked at Baxter House but if he did, to his credit, he did not mention it.
‘It didn’t take Lawson long to propose to you, Daisy,’ Alexander said, when they were taking cheese and biscuits.
‘Because it was love at first sight,’ Lawson answered for her. ‘I knew from the moment I saw her that she was the only woman for me. Have some more port, Alex.’ Daisy smiled self-consciously. It was a comment she wanted to hear after the doubts and strange coincidences of the last few days. ‘And I believe she loves me equally, despite all my faults.’ He took her hand and squeezed it, which drew a look of devotion from Daisy.
Alexander helped himself to the port and passed the bottle. ‘You’re a very lucky fellow, Lawson.’ He turned to Daisy. ‘Did you follow the events surrounding that Jack the Ripper fellow, my dear?’
Daisy looked bewildered at the sudden turn in the conversation.
‘Oh, Alex, do spare us talk of Jack the Ripper at the
dinner table,’ Ruth said, looking at Daisy apologetically. ‘Especially when we are guests in somebody else’s house.’
‘Nonsense, my dear. The Ripper is a most interesting phenomenon. Pity they never caught the blighter, tearing up innocent women like that. But there you are.’
‘Innocent women indeed,’ Ruth exclaimed contemptuously.
‘Innocent is perhaps an ill-chosen word,’ Alex conceded. ‘But they did provide a valuable service within the community.’
‘Who do you think did it, Mr Gibson?’ Daisy asked, at once absorbed. ‘Do you have an opinion?’
‘Well, some say Sickert was behind it.’
‘Isn’t he an artist?’
‘Yes, Walter Richard Sickert. Studied at the Slade – worked with Whistler – chum of Degas and Lautrec. That Sickert.’
‘So how might he have been involved?’
‘Well, another of his chums was Prince Eddy, the Duke of Clarence. Eddy, for his sins, is said to have fallen in love, poor chap, with one Annie Crook who modelled for Sickert. She had Prince Eddy’s child in Marylebone Workhouse afterwards, although it is speculated that they later married secretly.’
‘You never mentioned this before, Alex,’ Ruth said and sipped her port.
‘You’ve never allowed me to explain, Ruth,’ Gibson replied. ‘Not a fit subject for discussion, you’ve always maintained.’
‘And I’m right. All the same, it is jolly interesting. Do go on.’
‘Well, Mary Kelly, the Ripper’s final victim, worked with this Annie Crook behind the counter of a tobacconist in Bloomsbury, it appears. She also worked the streets, of course. Rumour hath it that she tried blackmailing Prince Eddy through Sickert, whereupon Sickert reported the business to the Prime Minister, who ordered her elimination. And, merely as red herrings, three other women had to become victims.’
‘Ridiculous!’ Ruth proclaimed. ‘As if the Prime Minister would embark on such wickedness.’
‘To protect the Crown, my dear.’