Daisy's Betrayal

by Nancy Carson

  As she opened it, her heart leapt into her mouth and her hands began to tremble. Could it be that her prayers, her pleas to her family for understanding and forgiveness were answered at last?

  It read:

  Dear Daisy,

  Mother is very sick and has been for some weeks now. She has gone to nothing and Dr McCaskie says he don’t give much for her chances. He says she has a growth in her bowel which he reckons is a cancer. She keeps asking for you, Daisy. She says she wants to make her peace with you before she dies. All the while she is on about you. She blames herself that you left with your artist chap after angry words. I know from your letters that you’ve been asking for her forgiveness. Well, now it’s yours for the taking. If you could see your way clear to coming home to see her I think you should. But you had better be quick. Father misses you as well. He is not well neither but at least he isn’t laid up in bed yet. He never moves from his chair. He’s mythered to death about poor Mother though. He says he rues the day he allowed you to leave after that argument what you had. He forgives you everything and he wants you to come back as well and never shuts up about how Lawson must have treated you for you to have left him. They both send their love. Please come back, Daisy. We love you dearly but with Mother being so ill, please come soon. We need you.

  Your loving sister,

  Sarah.

  P.S. I am not well myself either.

  Daisy sat down, astonished. Why couldn’t this letter have arrived yesterday before John left, when she would have had the chance to discuss it with him? Why did they have to wait so long to let her know this terrible news? Why now? Why not a week earlier if her mother was so ill? Why not sooner than that? Her mother’s illness was evidently not a sudden thing if she had a cancer of the bowel.

  What should she do? It put her into such a quandary. Of course she should return to England to see her dying mother. But she had responsibilities with the livestock, with the horticulture. She had to be here to receive John’s first letter, else how would she know where to write to him, to let him know what had occurred?

  Her first thought was to seek advice. So, she donned her hat and coat and, clutching the letter, braved the stiff breeze that was blowing over the headland as she hurried to the house of Pasquale and Concetta.

  ‘In one way it’s come at a convenient time with John away in Bologna,’ Concetta remarked.

  ‘Yes, but with so much work to do and the cow and the chickens to look after I don’t see how I can go. If Gianni was still here of course …’

  ‘You must go, Daisy,’ Concetta advised. ‘If your mother is dying and asking for you, you would regret forever not being there at her side. Go quickly. Francesca and I can share the work of looking after things for you. You must not even think about staying here. And who knows, you will almost certainly return before Gianni.’

  Daisy nodded at her sage advice. ‘You’re right, Concetta. I knew you would put it into proper perspective for me. Just so long as you don’t mind. So long as you understand my position.’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘But Gianni’s letters … Until I receive his first I shan’t know where to write to him. I will write down my mother’s address in England for you. When his letters arrive, if you could forward them to me … I’ll leave some money for the post.’

  ‘Don’t worry about a thing. I will send them to you. When shall you leave?’

  ‘Monday. I daren’t leave it later. It’ll take nearly a week to get back to England.’

  ‘Pasquale will take you and your luggage to Sorrento town, where you will be able to take a carriage to Castellamare. Let us have your address in England when you leave.’

  ‘You are both so kind, Concetta. I shall never forget your kindness.’

  Daisy arrived back in Dudley on Sunday 8th February 1891, more than a year after she’d left. In Station Drive she pulled up the collar of her coat and shivered as she told the driver of a hansom cab where she wanted to go. Once inside, she sat back, her mind awhirl now with apprehension over how her mother, her father and Sarah would greet her after such a long absence. No doubt things would be strained at first, but she would welcome their arms about her again, their reassuring hugs. She longed for their forgiveness, for the inner peace that reconciliation would bring. She longed for the chance for them to meet John at some later time, for she knew how they would come to love and admire his quiet, reserved ways.

  The wind was blowing the rain in squalls. Through the windows of the hansom everything looked depressingly drab; even more so than when she had left. The trees that lined Castle Hill were bare as they yielded to the wind, branches swaying wildly. The keep of the old castle, high on her right-hand side, looked even more dilapidated, deathly grey against a miserable sky. The cab driver turned left into Birmingham Street and the huddles of houses and filthy courtyards became more squalid the higher they ascended the hill. Where it met Hall Street, two groups of drunken louts were shouting angrily and squabbling as they turned out of the public houses. Nothing had changed.

  They turned into Oakeywell Street and the horse broke into a trot as the driver urged it on. Daisy was poignantly reminded how Sarah had finally turned her back on her at that very spot. Sarah … sixteen now, going on seventeen … She would be quite the young lady, blossoming into beautiful womanhood. Maybe she was courting already. She hoped he would be worthy of Sarah, whoever he was.

  Daisy’s heart started pounding the closer she got to home. It would be only a couple of minutes. Without stopping, the hansom whisked her over the junction with Constitution Hill and into Prospect Row, its wheels rattling over the potholes. The familiar reek of the gasworks … The rows of houses came to an end on both sides, a little workshop on the left, then fields. Prospect Row dwindled to a muddy track. Her excitement increased, as did her uneasiness.

  They turned left.

  Paradise. Could any place be more inappropriately named after where she had been? Allotments on the left-hand side – no vines, no pergolas, no oranges, lemons or olives. Nobody was working there this desolate, windy day. Then there was the row of houses on the right. The hansom drew to a halt. In mere seconds she would be with her mother and father again … and Sarah. She felt in her bag and asked the driver how much she owed. Fivepence. She gave him sixpence. He took her case and put it on the pavement, mounted the cab, turned round and, with a touch of his hat, drove off.

  She lugged her case up the entry, wondering whether to go in without knocking. But she desisted. She could not take things entirely for granted. So she knocked … and waited. She knocked again … nothing. No point in standing on ceremony … She put her thumb on the latch … pressed it down, apprehension mounting. It disengaged and she pushed the door open gingerly. The raw-boned figure of her father was sitting in his armchair asleep in front of a dying fire, his gouty foot still on a cushion in a washing basket, a dirty shawl around his shoulders. Nothing had changed … Nothing … But his face was pale, drawn and unshaven, he was thinner even than before she left. As the door shut, he opened his rheumy eyes and looked at his daughter vacantly as she put down her case.

  ‘Father … It’s me … Daisy …’ She stooped down, put her arms around his shoulder and hugged him. She saw a tear roll out of one eye. Give him a chance to wake up and come to his senses. ‘Father … It’s me … Daisy …’

  He clutched at her hand in recognition and held it tight. ‘Me babby,’ he muttered weakly. ‘Oh, me babby … Thank the Lord yo’n come back …’

  She caught the smell of his stale breath as she affectionately rubbed the thin, scrawny hand that reminded her of a bird’s claw. ‘How have you been, Father? Oh, I’ve missed you … There hasn’t been a day—’

  ‘Have yer come back for good?’

  ‘No, not for good, Father … Just for a while. To look after you for a while … and Mother …’ She stood up and poked the fire. It flickered into a flurry of half-hearted flames. ‘How is Mother?’

  The old man closed his e
yes and turned his face upwards. He had not shaved in days, his grey hair was matted and greasy. There was an unsavoury smell about him. Tears squeezed out of both eyes now.

  ‘How is our Mother?’ she repeated.

  Titus shook his head slowly. ‘Your mother’s jed and buried, my wench …’

  ‘Oh, no … NO!’’ Her hands went to her face in a gesture of horror.

  She was too late.

  Damn it all, she was too late. Dear God in heaven, why?…

  She cried, her face an icon of misery and regret that the last she had seen of her mother was during a needless argument. They had never become reconciled, never had the chance to say how sorry they were.

  Oh, how she cried.

  She’d missed her mother’s blessing over John, her forgiveness for leaving Lawson. She wanted to tell her mother how much she loved her, how much she’d missed her, how upset she’d been at their stupid, needless rift. Now it was too late. Why could she not have waited for Daisy to arrive back before dying? Why could she not have died in Daisy’s arms?

  ‘When did she pass away, Father?’

  ‘A wik a-Monday.’

  ‘So when was the funeral?’

  ‘Last Monday … Up at Top Church.’

  So she had been buried the day Daisy left Sorrento.

  ‘Did she die peacefully?’ Daisy blubbed through her handkerchief.

  ‘Oh, at the end … But the pain … Her suffered unmerciful. In the finish it was a blessing.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t get here in time, Father. Oh, I’m so sorry … I’d have given the world …’

  ‘Her knew as yo’d come. Her wanted to mek it up wi’ yer. Her tried to hold on till yo’ come but … but in the finish the Lord decided to tek her …’

  ‘And you miss her …’

  ‘Oh, Christ, ar. I miss her, our Daisy. And I’ve missed yo’ an’ all.’

  ‘But I’m back now … For a time anyway … So where’s Sarah? How is she?’

  He pointed upwards and she looked at him with a puzzled frown.

  ‘A-bed,’ he said and shook his head ominously.

  ‘In bed?’

  Titus nodded and more tears trickled down the lines of his face like rivulets in a series of gullies.

  ‘I’d best go up and see her. She said in her letter she wasn’t well either. Then I’ll come down and make up the fire.’

  Daisy opened the door and ran up the narrow staircase, her footfalls loud on the hollow wooden stairway. She shoved open the door to Sarah’s room and saw her younger sister, a mere shadow of the belle she used to be, dozing on her side, her face turned towards Daisy. Her long hair was tangled and unkempt, her face was drawn and as pale as death. Her bright, adolescent beauty was gone. And it was cold in there. So cold.

  ‘Sarah!’

  Sarah opened her eyes and stared wildly.

  ‘Sarah, it’s me, Daisy …’

  What had she come back to? What unspeakable evil had befallen this household that was once vibrant?

  The younger woman twisted round to lie on her back and, with difficulty, raised herself on her elbows. At once, Daisy saw her distended belly, an ominous mound under the bedclothes.

  ‘Sarah! …’ she said in alarm. ‘My God … You’re pregnant!’

  Sarah squealed with agony as another searing contraction convulsed her.

  Chapter 26

  ‘How long have you been like this?’

  Sarah sighed feebly and shrugged. ‘About nine months, I suppose.’

  ‘No, you fool. How long have you been having the contractions?’

  ‘I dunno … Three hours. Maybe four … I dunno …’

  Daisy put the backs of her fingers to Sarah’s brow to see if there was any fever. The girl was sweating but her face felt cold.

  ‘Why didn’t you call on somebody for help as soon as you knew?’

  Sarah closed her eyes again and turned her face away.

  ‘Why, Sarah? Why?’

  ‘Because I want to die, Daisy. And I want this baby to die with me.’

  ‘Well you’re not going to die. Neither you nor your baby. Why didn’t you alert one of the neighbours? Somebody would’ve gone to fetch the midwife.’

  ‘Don’t bother with me, Daisy,’ she said pathetically. ‘I’m not worth it. Leave me be. Just let me die.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing.’ She ignored the self-pity. ‘Pull yourself together. What you’re about to go through will be no picnic, but you’re going to be all right. Now hold on … I’m going to get help.’

  Daisy rushed downstairs and looked at her father, slumped again like a rotting corpse in the chair. She knew then that if she had not arrived when she did, he and Sarah, as well as the unborn child, would surely have died through lack of attention. Titus huddled under his blanket, seeking relief from the cold and she looked again at the fire. First she must rekindle it. They would need a fire to boil lots of water. She lit a candle and took the scuttle to the cellar, which was almost devoid of coal barring some debris and a few shovelfuls of slack. She managed to scrape together a few small pieces, enough to make one fire.

  When she’d washed her hands, Daisy put on her coat and ran out of the house toward the home of Old Mother Bowen in Constitution Hill. Daisy was not sure that the old lady was still alive, much less which house she lived in but, after a couple of enquiries, somebody pointed it out. She hurried up the entry and knocked on the back door.

  ‘I need Mrs Bowen to attend a birth,’ she said breathlessly to a whiskery old man in a collarless shirt and twisted braces.

  ‘ ’Er ai’ ’ere, my wench. ’Er’s gone to lay out that Sol Poole what popped ’is clogs last night. Dost know ’im?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Gentleman, ’e was. Pillar o’ society. Scarlet fever’s what got ’im.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about him. So how long do you think she’ll be?’

  ‘ ’S ’ard ter say. Another ’alf-hour, mebbe. Mebbe an hour.’

  ‘Have you got a piece of paper and a blacklead and I’ll write down the address. Ask her to come as soon as she can, will you? Please? It’s my sister and she’s already started in labour. Three or four hours ago.’

  The old man went inside and it seemed like ages before he returned clutching a scrap torn off a sugar bag and a stumpy blacklead. Daisy scribbled down the address.

  ‘That’s no good any road,’ the man said. ‘I wun’t bother.’

  Daisy looked at him questioningly.

  ‘Ne’er un on we can read. Why as yer doh just tell me where it is and I can tell ’er when ’er comes back?’

  She told him.

  ‘Yo’ mean Paradise just off Prospect Row?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘ ’S nice down theer, ai’ it?’

  ‘Yes, lovely. But please tell her to come right away.’

  ‘I’ll tell ’er. ’Er’ll charge thee seven an’ six. Yo’ know that, doh yer?’

  ‘That’s all right … Tell her, if she hurries I’ll double it to fifteen shillings.’

  Daisy headed back, not certain that she had sufficiently stressed the urgency of the matter. It would not be so bad if she had previously attended a birth herself and knew what to do. But she hadn’t … She only knew what people had told her and it sounded terrifying. If she was faced with it alone, she had no idea how she would cope. But she told herself that if she had to cope, she would. Sarah needed her more than at any time in her life. She must not let her down.

  As she hurried back to Paradise Daisy pondered whose child Sarah was carrying. Whoever the brigand was, he evidently had not stood by her. Maybe he had made the excuse, like so many young men those days who wished to escape the responsibility of fatherhood, of deciding at the last minute to emigrate, promising falsely that he would send for her when he was settled and had found work in the New World. And Sarah could be so easily led …

  She arrived home and heard Sarah emitting another chilling scream. The fire was burning bright by th
is time. To damp it down a little, to make it last, she threw on half a shovelful of slack then went to the brewhouse and filled a pan and the kettle with water. She put them to boil and went upstairs.

  In her agony Sarah was gripping the brass bedstead behind her as if her life depended on it. Her knuckles were white, her face contorted.

  ‘Breathe deeply and relax,’ Daisy suggested.

  ‘Relax? How the bloody hell am I supposed to relax?’ Sarah shrieked. ‘It’s as if a big dog’s got his head inside me and he’s trying to rip out my insides.’

  The spasm passed and Sarah quietened down again.

  ‘I’ve sent for Old Mother Bowen,’ Daisy said calmly, mopping Sarah’s brow. ‘She should be here soon. Take it easy while you’ve got the chance … But tell me, Sarah … Who is the father? Where is he?’

  Sarah shook her head and her face contorted in pain once again. ‘It’s coming, Daisy,’ she wailed. ‘I swear it’s coming … Oh God … Oh, I’m soaking wet now …’ She kicked the bedclothes away and looked at Daisy.

  ‘Your waters have just broke …’ Daisy announced and immediately went to a drawer to find towels. There were no clean ones.

  ‘Where are the towels, Sarah?’

  ‘There’s only some dirty ones. In the washing basket in Mother’s room.’

  They would have to do. She fetched them and Sarah lifted herself while Daisy placed them beneath her.

  ‘Whoever the father is, Sarah, I wish he could see you now. Are you going to tell me who it is?’

  ‘No … I ain’t. I’ll never tell you. Nor nobody else, for that matter.’

  ‘Is it somebody I know?’

  Sarah shrugged as if she didn’t care. ‘Don’t expect me to talk about it now … Don’t you think I’ve got enough to contend with?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just the shock of arriving back here and finding you in the throes of giving birth, Father at death’s door and Mother already gone.’

  ‘You should’ve come sooner.’

  ‘You didn’t let me know sooner.’

  Sarah yelled out again in her agony. ‘Help me, Daisy … Help me … Please …’