by Nancy Carson
But think about it she did. She could not help it. It gnawed at her insistently. Yet, typically, she wondered how Caitlin felt. If the girl had come to work here in good faith and discovered to her surprise that Lawson, whom she had believed was called Percival, was her employer, how would she feel? How would Daisy feel in the same circumstances? Naturally, she would feel hurt, she would feel betrayed. She would also bitterly resent Lawson’s wife, who might have been just as big a surprise if he’d formerly denied her existence.
Daisy gripped the cross and chain tightly in her hand, pondering what to do for the best. Well, she would take it to Caitlin, face her with it, ask her what it was doing in the new groom’s bed. She would ask who, in the absence of a groom, had been in bed with her. It was at that point Daisy felt compelled to look for harder evidence that adultery had been going on in that bed. She needed proof, some dried-out stain; as a former maid she knew the signs … She found her proof and her heart sank many more fathoms into the sea of misery in which her happiness was already drowning.
But wait. Why declare this discovery to Caitlin? This cross and chain lying here might have been placed. Its presence was just a little bit too contrived. What if Caitlin had planted it? What if she actually wanted her to find it? It could be her way of letting her know that Lawson enjoyed her too? No, she would not return the cross and chain. Let it remain here in this bed. Let Caitlin retrace her steps and retrieve it herself, and be unaware that her mistress knew. Daisy would see just how soon Caitlin was wearing it again. In the meantime she would say nothing. Then nothing could get back to Lawson. He mustn’t know that she knew. It would be the most difficult thing in the world to appear ignorant of such heart-breaking shenanigans, but she was still not entirely certain. She needed more proof yet. There was a great deal at stake. She needed unassailable evidence that the things these events and coincidences suggested were actually going on.
Chapter 14
For the rest of that day Daisy suffered the unbearable agony that half-knowledge can bring. Before dinner she made her excuses. While this vile uncertainty hung over her she did not want to dine at the same table as Lawson and be waited on by his whore. Her self-esteem would not allow her to. So she pleaded sickness, and he agreed that she looked pale. She retired to bed.
Lawson went out that night. At about nine o’clock Caitlin tapped on the bedroom door and asked if there was anything that ma’am needed before she went to bed herself. No, there was nothing, thank you. Daisy was hardly able to look at the girl, yet saw she was now wearing her cross and chain again.
She drifted off into a fitful sleep and was awakened by Lawson returning. He lumbered into the bedroom the worse for drink, clumsily undressed himself and left his clothes in a heap on the floor. She pretended to be asleep and all she could hear was his laboured breathing as he struggled to remove his socks. He slumped into bed beside her and she froze lest he touch her, lest he wanted to force himself on her. But in no time, he was asleep.
Daisy stayed awake till the first rays of light began filtering into the room through the heavy brocade curtains. She was preoccupied, tortured by the exaggerated notions that the demons of night bring to those already anguished. If he went down to the stables again that night she wanted to be aware of it. She needed absolute proof of his infidelity. He did not stir, however. He snored and snuffled and occasionally twitched in his stupor. But he did not wake up.
Well, if it was as she thought, where did it leave her? She was a married woman, totally at the mercy of her husband. What was hers was his. She was his, to do with as he pleased. Trapped, she was. But how could this marriage, which she had fallen into so willingly and so easily, which had held such electrifying promise, suddenly seem so fragile? Did such happiness have to end so quickly? Was she destined to spend the rest of her married life wondering, worrying who he might be bedding next? Oh, she knew he was not lacking in sexual experience; indeed, a woman could forgive that, could expect a man to have philandered before he wedded, but not after. Surely not after he had made his vows.
Already, the trust was all but gone. She just needed that final proof; proof, she was convinced, that would not be difficult to obtain. She realised she had not lived with Lawson long enough to know all his faults, even though he had forewarned her of many. Keep him on the straight and narrow, he had urged. Well, she had expected his fidelity as a right of marriage. Had she been naïve? Had she been utterly deluded to expect him to respect such a basic right?
She fell asleep again in this torment of misery and awoke after a couple of hours. She slipped quietly out of bed, without even casting a glance at Lawson, and parted the curtains. The sun had risen two hours earlier and the aesthetics of dawn, such as they might have been, had long since fizzled out, rather like her contentment. The morning was clouded over but very still. The distant hills of Shropshire were a flat grey, dissolving into the piebald clouds that abutted them. In the middle distance, a locomotive, the only entity yet stirring, huffed on the mineral railway, volleying plumes of grey smoke and steam into the monochromatic atmosphere.
She heard the early morning clatterings of Mrs O’Flanagan in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast, and her muted conversation with her loose-legged daughter. Daisy had to eat but would not take breakfast with Lawson. When Lawson awoke she would declare that she felt no better and have her breakfast brought to her in bed. One thing she must ensure, however, was to be agreeable towards Caitlin; she still did not want the maid to believe she had discovered her indiscretion and was grieving over it.
Lawson got up, asked how she was. He washed, dressed, went down and had his breakfast. Caitlin appeared, looking irritatingly pert in her clean uniform. Her lovely face, the youthful set of her head, must be most alluring for a man and Daisy could quite understand the attraction. The girl was at the height of her young femininity; flesh firm, waist small and limbs lissom. But Daisy herself was no old crone. At twenty-three she too was in her prime, and at the very pinnacle of her beauty. So why had Lawson strayed? Did he find her repulsive already? Or was she merely no challenge any more?
‘Good morning, ma’am. Are you feeling better today?’
‘Good morning, Caitlin,’ Daisy replied with a forced smile that looked friendly enough. ‘I feel much the same, thank you. I daresay I’ve picked up a chill. I imagine I’ll feel much better tomorrow.’
‘Best stay in bed, I think, ma’am. Rest is what you need. Would you like me to send for the doctor?’
‘Goodness, no.’
‘Then would you like me to bring you some breakfast, ma’am?’
Daisy was ravenously hungry. ‘I’ll have two soft-boiled eggs each on a slice of toast. And a cup of tea.’
‘Very well, ma’am. I’ll see to it right away.’
Ten minutes later she was eating her breakfast alone and enjoying it. Lawson came and said goodbye then went out for the day; she did not know where, she never asked. No doubt he would end up at some rowdy public house in the town with his drunken, immature friends and their flighty trollops.
Then a thought occurred to her. Tomorrow, she might just about be able to contrive a conjunction of events with the principal players in this charade. She slid out of bed, put on her dressing gown and tiptoed across the landing to Lawson’s study.
There was some serious snooping to be done.
On Wednesday morning, while Lawson breakfasted alone once more, Daisy took a bath and dressed. Her anger was still simmering but she managed not to show it to either Lawson or to Caitlin. Just before eleven she went into his study again and took the spare key she had located the day before. Then, she went out in the gig and visited her mother and father. She had no obvious purpose in visiting, except to behold how a normal marriage functioned. Mary and Titus bickered always, but Daisy knew that their minor squabbles were their way of expressing their affection. It was why people found them so amusing and never took it seriously. If they did not care about each other they would hardly bother to communicate at a
ll. In fact, when they were alone, just the two of them, they spoke to each other very normally and discussed all sorts of things. Their verbal attacks were for the entertainment of others. No offence was ever taken.
On the other hand, her relationship with Lawson was somewhat different. They discussed only day-to-day things now, things that were of immediate concern. No longer did he discuss with her grand things, such as his atheistic view of religion, what he thought of the Queen, the Prince of Wales, politics and the prime minister. No longer did he try to astound her with his wit. In any case, she had heard all his witticisms before. Her ringing laughter was no longer commonplace. He had become dull and uninteresting, sometimes nowadays he was even morose, especially after drink. Their relationship had changed. Even after so short a time married he seemed to take her for granted, knowing she would always be there for his bidding like a faithful dog. Oh, he was generous in the extreme, but she wondered to what extent that generosity was elicited by a guilty conscience and a desire to keep her sweet, unquestioning, tractable. Well, now she was questioning at least. She was questioning what this marriage was all about, what it really meant to him, for it was turning out to be of no cerebral or emotional benefit to her; it brought her no peace of mind. Oh, certainly she had a gig to drive herself about in, her mother and father had a decent house because of his kindness, but they were material things. What had she done before she had a gig? She had walked, and she could walk again if need be.
‘Look at her, Mary,’ Titus said when she sauntered in. ‘Her’s gorra face longer than Jacob’s ladder. What’s up, my wench?’
‘Nothing, Father. How’s your foot and your string of ailments?’ she parried.
‘Better than yours by the looks o’ yer. I feel like a king today, our Daisy.’
‘Except no king would ever put his foot in the piss pot when he got out o’ bed,’ Mary said scornfully.
Daisy laughed, for the first time in ages it seemed. ‘He never did.’
‘Slopped it everywhere, damn fool. You never seen such a mess. It seeped through the floorboards just as Doctor McCaskie was standing underneath it. He never knew what he’d bin anointed with, thank the Lord. As he wiped his head dry I had to tell the poor bugger as how yer father must’ve knocked over the water jug.’
‘I’m glad as it was me own piddle, seeing as how yo’ med me clean it up after,’ Titus said. ‘Still, me foot feels better for the soaking. How’s that Lawson, our Daisy? We ai’ sid him for a while.’
‘Well, he’s so busy,’ Daisy replied evasively. ‘He’s not long got back from the Continent. I’ll try and get him to call soon. He sends his best wishes.’
‘God bless him,’ Mary said. ‘You’m lucky to be married to such a lovely, hard-working chap.’
‘Oh, I know, Mother. Every day that passes I realise it the more.’
Daisy ate with her mother and father and left just before three. She had set herself a particular task. It was not a task she relished doing, but it was necessary.
In the community of Netherton, Meeting Street ran north to south and was in two sections, divided about halfway along by Church Road. The whole area was a warren of narrow red-brick terraces, gullies and high walls crowned with cemented-in broken glass to deter trespassers. Daisy decided to start at one end of Meeting Street and work her way along. She knew the number of the house she was seeking but had no idea where it was situated. She did not have to look for long; Lawson’s gig was standing at the left-hand kerb, further on past Church Road. His horse was busily nuzzling into a nosebag. Daisy’s heart began pounding with apprehension. Cautiously, she halted Blossom well before the gig and tethered her to a post, then, clutching the key she had in her pocket, approached the house.
Lawson was certainly here. But it did not mean Caitlin was, even though it was her afternoon off.
She looked around, furtively checking that nobody was watching, though how many snooping neighbours were peeping from behind net curtains was anybody’s guess. The house was not the sort that opened up at the back onto a party yard. It had its own private backyard and shared only an entry with the house next door. Warily, with a stealth that surprised her, Daisy stepped towards the front room window and peered in. She thought her heart was going to rip through her chemise it was thumping so hard. She could see nobody. She took a second to notice what was in the room; a couple of armchairs, a sofa, an Indian rug. The floor was covered in decent linoleum and velvet curtains hung at the window.
Daisy left the window and tiptoed up the entry. There was a gate at the top. Silently, she lifted the latch and slowly pushed the gate open, bracing herself lest it creaked on its hinges. She peered around it. At some time there had been a garden, which was now a wilderness of long grass, thistles and nettles. A brick-paved area formed a broad path between the house and the garden and Daisy noticed the back door with its dark green paint. She crept towards it, watching the back window for signs of activity, but saw none. She gripped the iron door knob and tried it. It yielded to her turn with a thin metallic chink as the catch disengaged. She held her breath, opened the door an inch. She waited a few seconds, still holding her breath …
Nothing.
Slowly, she pushed it open. No challenge from within. She stepped over the threshold silently and put her head round the door. Lawson’s hat adorned an occasional table.
She was in the living room. At the far end of it, at the left hand side, was an open door which led via another short passage into the front room. She guessed that in this passage she would find the stairs. Trying to stifle the sound of her breathing she crept to where the stairs ascended to her right. She heard a man’s voice upstairs and was in two minds as to whether she should retreat. If Lawson actually saw her and thought she was spying on him he would be hopping mad, especially if he was involved in something totally innocent. But then she heard a woman’s voice, a kind of bleat, and her resolve returned.
With cat-like stealth, she climbed the stairs, praying that the wooden boards beneath her feet would oblige by not creaking. At the top was a small landing. She made a calculated guess that anybody using this house for the purposes she imagined, would use the back bedroom, which would be less visible to the prying eyes of nosy neighbours. It was ajar. And this was indeed where the voices were coming from. She pushed it open gingerly and peered around it.
Two naked bodies were writhing together. The youthful limbs of a girl were wrapped around her lover as he thrust determinedly into her. Daisy watched in disbelief, holding her breath, illogically wondering if she herself looked as ridiculous when similarly engaged. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying out in protest. With an enormous effort of will, she controlled herself and was truly surprised at her ability to accept the inevitable when she was irrevocably faced with it. Although she recognised Lawson, even from such an unlikely position, she could not see who the woman was; her face was hidden behind his broad shoulders. Judging by the slenderness and unblemished appearance of her smooth thighs and upper arms, it was obvious she was young. Then they shifted their position as if to turn over and Daisy darted back behind the door again. The cavorting couple spoke to each other, but Daisy could not hear what was said. Then she heard the girl’s muted giggle in response to some comment. Warily, she peeped round the edge of the door again and saw that the girl was sitting astride Lawson now, as if he were a horse in some lewd derby, her dark red hair flowing down her back.
Oh, it was Caitlin all right. There could be no mistake.
Daisy withdrew and, as quickly as she could, she ran down the stairs, out of that living room and out of the house.
‘What was that?’ Caitlin said in alarm. ‘Did you hear something?’
‘I did,’ Lawson answered agitatedly, and shoved her off.
He ran naked to the front bedroom and peered through the net curtains. He had to open the sash and put his head out of the window before he could see Daisy scurrying off to his right. He called after her but she ignored his yell. He
watched, helpless, as she untethered Blossom, leapt athletically into her gig and turned round to drive off in the opposite direction.
In seconds Caitlin was behind him. ‘What was it?’
‘Oh, only your bloody mistress. You heard her running down the stairs. She must have seen us. What the hell shall we do?’
Caitlin shrugged her naked shoulders and Lawson noticed how her well-weighted breasts moved up and down in fascinating concert.
‘She might not have seen anything,’ he said resignedly. ‘And even if she did, we might as well finish what we came here to do. We haven’t come all this way to do only half a job. We might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb.’
The emotion Daisy was first aware of was hate. Hate did not come naturally to her, but she hated Caitlin. Her second feeling, more typically, was that such hate might well be misdirected. Maybe, like her, Caitlin was the victim of Lawson’s easy charm, his effortless way with buttery words and tantalising promises. Maybe her hate should be directed at him.
But this was a joint betrayal. Each was equally to blame. Illogically, she wondered if there were some potent refinements of lovemaking that Irish girls were privy to that she herself knew nothing of?
Now the trust was gone. Finally. Irrevocably. And so much else besides. The pride she had in Lawson was gone; he had not only let himself down, he had let her down as well. Gone too was the pride she had in herself, pride that a man like him had picked her for his wife in preference to a woman more socially elevated.
She flicked the reins and the mare speeded up into a fast trot. The gig bounced and rumbled over the uneven cobbled surface of Cinder Bank, the main road from Netherton to Dudley. Well, if the gig overturned at the next bend and she were thrown out and fatally injured, that would make him see. That would show him. That would shock him into realising what he had done.
But why give him that satisfaction? Why make it easy for him to have Caitlin as a permanent bed partner? She reined Blossom in and slowed her down.