‘That’s settled then,’ Wilhelmina cut in, her tone brooking no argument as she added, ‘go and put on your bonnet, child, and tell Gladys to put the hamper in the parson’s trap. And do give your grandmother my best wishes, won’t you?’
Daisy stared at her mistress, blinking in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. The poor parson must have felt obliged to offer her a lift in his trap after what the mistress had said, she saw that now. She just hoped what he’d intimated about his lunch-time was true.
By the time Daisy came downstairs again, her shawl about her shoulders and her straw bonnet with blue ribbons tied under her chin, Hector was waiting at the front door for her. ‘All ready?’ he asked lightly, and as Daisy smiled and nodded he allowed himself to touch her as he took her arm and helped her into the waiting pony and trap.
He had to see her, he couldn’t carry on like this and her birthday was the perfect excuse. William ran his hand over his face as he continued to pace up and down his bedroom, and then delved into his pocket and brought out the little silver trinket box he had purchased in Newcastle the week before. He opened it, staring at the small diamond and pearl pin it contained. It was dainty and exquisite, like her . . . He groaned, shutting the lid to the box with a snap. A brooch wasn’t the sort of gift one gave to a young woman unless she was a family member, and he knew it. A present like this was a statement of intent, he had known that when he had purchased it, so why had he done so?
He flung himself down on his bed, his hands behind his head as he gazed up at the intricately moulded ceiling where cherubim and seraphim flew in an orgy of holy, plump-cheeked joy, their angelic smiles mocking the life led below their plaster heaven.
He’d promised himself in the hours following the row with his uncle at breakfast that he would severely limit his visits to Evenley House. The dispute between his father, uncle and himself which had rocked all corners of the house, and which had caused his mother to become so ill a footman had had to be despatched at eleven o’clock at night for Doctor Woodrow, had had the result of forcing him to face some unpleasant truths.
He twisted restlessly on the satin eiderdown before springing up and marching across to the window, sitting down on the window-seat and gazing out across the rolling grounds in front of him without seeing them. A peacock strolled across the green lawns, emitting its mournful cry and drawing his attention to it before strutting off again. He watched until it had disappeared, his brows drawn together.
The scandal which would follow should he make Daisy his wife would render her life impossible. He would take her into no man’s land - removed from her own people but not accepted by the circle he moved in, and he had seen at first hand how cruel they could be to those they considered beneath them. Respectability . . . how he hated that word. It exacted a heavy price in humiliation and censure when some poor soul didn’t live up to the criteria it demanded.
William turned away from the window, his face grim. He had not admitted the extent of his regard for Daisy during the argument with his father and uncle, knowing instinctively it would result in his father dismissing Daisy, however much his aunt might object. At the moment Daisy was under Wilhelmina’s protection with all the material benefits that involved, but just the idea that he might be in love with her would cause his father to have a seizure. His father hadn’t even liked the explanation that he felt a responsibility towards Daisy, the girl having saved his life.
‘I don’t want you causing me problems with Wilhelmina, do you hear me?’ Sir Augustus had growled. ‘Gratitude is all very well but a girl like that might encourage you to sample the goods, if you know what I mean. They don’t understand the finer emotions, the common people, and they’re like leeches if they smell an easy ride. Before you knew it she’d be presenting us with a bastard and demanding we pay her off again, damn it. Are you listening to me, boy?’
William had been listening, and his answer had been such that battle had raged on even after Doctor Woodrow had been summoned. But at least his uncle’s none-too-subtle enquiries about Daisy had meant his father had packed Francis off within hours. His uncle was a loose cannon in matters of a carnal nature and his father knew it.
William dropped into a deep leather chair placed at a convenient angle to the bookcase close to his dressing-room door. Resting his elbows on the padded arms he supported his head with his hands, gazing down at the worn Persian carpet which covered most of the floor. His father would certainly disinherit him if he made his intentions regarding the future and Daisy plain, there was no doubt about that. However, he still had the few hundred pounds bequeathed to him by his maternal grandparents. His father couldn’t touch that.
He raised his head, gazing unseeingly across the room. Of course, the rent on even a smallish house with a staff of three or four to run it in a respectable part of town would soon begin to eat into that, and there would be plenty of other expenses too. He would need to have an income of some kind, but what? His brow wrinkled. He would have to leave this district and everyone he knew for Daisy ever to have a chance of being accepted into good society, so a number of friends who might have been of help with some kind of career opening would be lost to him. Nevertheless, an education which had embraced the best schools followed by Eton had to be worth something, surely? He had enjoyed his time in the south east and had left university with a deep appreciation of all things literary. Perhaps he could try his hand at writing a book. Or something along those lines.
He had no idea of the income needed to support a wife and family, he realised suddenly. He had no idea about a lot of practical matters. But he could learn. A quiver of excitement caused his stomach to tighten. Yes, he could learn. With Daisy at his side he could do anything. They would come through together whatever happened.
He began to pace the room again, his excitement mounting. Snatching the box out of his pocket again, he opened it, staring down at the brooch inside. It should have been a ring. He should have bought a ring and then he could have done this properly, but he would hint at what he intended when he gave her the brooch, though without a formal declaration. And then this week sometime he could visit Newcastle and find just the right thing. Oh, Daisy. He put the box back in his pocket, glancing impatiently at his watch as he did so. She would stay at her grandmother’s house until tea-time so he had another three or four hours to waste before she would be home, then he would be there at his aunt’s waiting for her.
He had to do this. The last couple of months had been miserable, he couldn’t exist without her, he couldn’t. And if it meant giving up Greyfriar, turning his back on his family and friends and everything he had ever known, so be it.
Chapter Thirteen
‘An’ he’s comin’ back for you at half-past five you say? Eeh, lass, whatever next?’
The cackle of laughter which followed Nellie’s words grated on Alf unbearably. He glanced across at the old woman who was sitting propped up in bed, her mouth open wide in merriment showing her remaining teeth and gums, and had an urge to yell at her to shut up. There was nothing funny about this parson feller bringing Daisy home. He might be a man of the cloth but he was still a man, wasn’t he? And giving her a book! By, the way she’d talked about that you’d have thought it had gold lettering at the very least. And she had barely looked at the little sewing basket he had bought for her birthday. (Alf refused to acknowledge the prick of conscience that said this last accusation wasn’t quite true.)
He brought his eyes back to Daisy standing at the table cutting thick shives of birthday cake, the contents of the hamper spread out around it. It was a fine cake, different from any he’d seen before what with the fancy little curls of icing and this and that, and there was a ham, a cooked chicken, eggs, white soft-looking loaves of bread, butter, tea, sugar, tins of condensed milk, and plenty more besides.
‘So you’re gettin’ on all right then?’
His voice was gruff, and Daisy looked up for a moment before she lowered her eye
s to the cake again and said, ‘Aye, I am.’
‘The old lady thinks a bit of you, giving you all that an’ a coat an’ all. Still, she can afford it.’
Daisy raised her head again, staring at him for some moments before she said, her voice cool and face straight, ‘Just because she can afford it doesn’t mean she had to be so generous.’
‘Aye, I’m with you there, lass.’ Nellie wagged her head. ‘In fact it’s usually the case that them with plenty hang on to it like grim death. Tighter than a duck’s arse, most of ’em are, unless it’s somethin’ for themselves, mind.’
Enid was sitting on the end of Nellie’s bed, and now Alf’s mother nudged her old friend as she said, ‘You’d better watch your Ps an’ Qs when the parson knocks on the door, lass. Likely he’s never had an arse, only a backside.’
Both old women convulsed with laughter. It was Margery who asked quietly, ‘How bad is Kitty, Daisy?’
Margery was sitting in one of two wicker chairs with flock cushions which had been purchased a few weeks before, and as Daisy handed her a piece of cake she thought how poorly Tom’s lass looked. Apart from the mound of her stomach she seemed to have lost weight rather than put it on as her pregnancy had progressed.
‘She’ll be all right.’ Daisy gave her grandmother and Enid a piece of cake each and then Alf, leaving her own on the table as she continued, ‘Bugs just seem to bounce off Kitty, she’s always better twice as quick as anyone else. Miss Wilhelmina says she’s got the constitution of a horse.’
‘Aye, well, mebbe that’s the case but this influenza is a different thing, isn’t it?’
Alf’s tone was distinctly belligerent but before Daisy could voice the sharp reply she’d had in mind, Tilly and the children trooped in, fresh from visiting Tilly’s sister in Seaburn, and the little ones’ excited cries as they saw the birthday cake allowed the moment to pass.
The rest of the afternoon passed fairly harmoniously, but Daisy was forced to recognise she missed Kitty’s presence in the house. She hadn’t realised how much her friend talked to Alf and kept him amused, the two of them laughing and larking on like a pair of bairns most of the time. Today he sat quiet and morose, responding only in monosyllables to anything which was said to him. His demeanour cast a shadow over the precious hours she had at home, and by the time they heard the parson’s trap outside the cottage Daisy was almost glad to leave.
She pulled her shawl round her shoulders as Margery climbed the ladder to the upper room as quickly as her increased girth would allow. The other girl had been horrified to learn the parson would call, her shame at being an unmarried mother seemed to swell with her stomach, and although Daisy had tried to persuade her to stay and meet Parson Lyndon Margery had become upset at the mere thought.
Once the introductions to the others had been made Daisy had expected they would leave immediately, but the parson seemed in no hurry, engaging first Tilly and then the oldest of her children in conversation and handing the bairns a slab of stickjaw for them to share.
Nellie watched the tall young man from her vantage point in the bed, and something in his gaze as he looked at Daisy made her heart beat faster. So that was the way of it. Did the lass know? She doubted it. Whenever she’d mentioned the parson Daisy had referred to him in almost reverential tones, and Nellie was sure her granddaughter saw him as a being apart from the normal throng, because of the man’s vocation and also because he was a highly intelligent and learned individual according to the lass. But however Daisy saw him, he obviously liked her.
Nellie felt warm pride stir within her. There had been a change in her granddaughter over the months since she’d started having lessons with this tutor feller. A little learning had served to stimulate her lass’s naturally inquisitive and searching mind. Daisy was brighter than most, Nellie would swear to it. She had always asked the most baffling questions right from a bairn, and had only been knee-high to a grasshopper when she’d wanted to know why the sky was blue, what made the tides come in and go out, and why coal burnt and stones didn’t. Nellie had always passed her granddaughter’s queries over to George, but - bless him - her son-in-law hadn’t been up to all the answers as the lass had grown. But the parson now, he was different altogether.
Her Daisy had always been a peculiar lass - not in a strange way but in an extraordinary way - and some men couldn’t cope with that. Nellie’s gaze fell on Alf. The last months had shown her that the girl had been right to refuse him, much as she and Enid would have liked the pair of them to get wed, Nellie thought. Alf was a good lad, but he was a fisherman born and at heart wanted a lass who knew her place as his wife and the mother of his bairns, and that was all. Daisy was different from most of the fishergirls and this had become more and more apparent of late. Not that her wonderful Mr William would ever have been any good to the lass - just heartache and maybe ruin there - but the parson . . . It meant something if you were a parson’s wife, by, it did, and she would be safe with him. And with all his book learning and such, she’d look up to him which was important in a marriage.
‘It’s right good of you to give Daisy a ride back to the house, Parson.’ Nellie ignored Alf’s stiff expression and spoke warmly. ‘I hope it’s not put you about too much?’
‘Not at all, Mrs Shaw.’
‘An’ the lovely hamper Daisy’s mistress sent! She’s so kind to the lass is Miss Fraser.’
Hector smiled. ‘A meek and willing spirit will always reap its own reward, Mrs Shaw.’
Nellie nodded but didn’t reply to this. The Daisy she knew was willing enough, but much as Nellie loved her granddaughter she could never have described her as meek.
Daisy had been standing in the middle of the room, her shawl still round her shoulders. Now, as she reached for the empty basket, Hector said quickly, ‘Allow me.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Daisy was flustered and it showed. She kissed her grandmother and said goodbye to the others, and she and the parson were actually at the door when Alf said, with no lead up whatsoever, ‘So you’re not married then? You live in the Vicarage on your own?’
Hector turned to face the bronzed young fisherman. ‘I have a very able housekeeper who comes each morning,’ he said quietly.
‘Still a big place to live in on your own, isn’t it?’
Daisy stared at Alf’s red face and now she was squirming inside. What was he doing, speaking to the parson in that tone of voice?
‘Possibly.’ Hector smiled, a soft deprecating smile. ‘But hopefully it won’t be for ever.’
Alf wanted to say, ‘You’ve got your eye on a lass then?’ but knew that would be going too far. Instead he said, his tone still distinctly confrontational, ‘Nice, is it, the Vicarage?’
Hector seemed to consider his answer for a moment. ‘Yes, it is very pleasant, but more importantly it is where God has called me to minister,’ he said gently.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Alfred Hardy. Daisy glared at him and Alf glared back, but Hector merely nodded to the women once again and opened the cottage door. ‘Shall we?’ He gestured for Daisy to precede him out of the house and this she did, after one last furious glance at Alf.
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry about Alf.’ They had climbed up into the parson’s trap which was a relatively new one with fine brass side lamps, although the pony was getting on a bit. Nevertheless, Primrose was as calm and placid as they come with great heavily lashed eyes and a gentle disposition, which was important in a parson’s pony. It wouldn’t do for her to be bad-tempered or untrustworthy, not with the amount of time she had to wait outside various dwelling places while the parson ministered to those within. But Primrose loved human beings and animals alike and always lowered her velvet muzzle to nuzzle at anyone who stopped to pet her. Daisy stared across the pony’s broad furry back and didn’t look at the parson as she added, ‘I can’t think what has got into him.’
‘I think the young man is fond of you, and that being the case is a little over-protective,’ Hector said quiet
ly, adding, ‘although that is no bad thing,’ in case she thought he was criticising her friend.
Daisy’s cheeks turned pinker. ‘I have brothers who are more than able to provide any protection necessary. Alf . . . well, he knows where he stands on that score.’
So the fisherman had made his feelings plain to her at some point. Hector took a deep breath and said steadily, ‘He may have taken exception to my bringing you to the village and then calling again.’
She didn’t doubt it. Twilight was beginning to dampen down the vivid blue of the sky above and there was the scent of hay in the warm air. It had been a long hot summer and the farmers had made the most of it, harvesting the corn and getting it safely in the stack or in barns in plenty of time this year. No doubt lots of farm workers would have spent this Sunday afternoon walking round the parish admiring or criticising each other’s efforts because a good corn rick was a work of art.
‘See, over there? There are several goldfinches feeding on thistle seed.’
Candles in the Storm Page 21