Candles in the Storm

by Rita Bradshaw

  Daisy had changed considerably in the last three years. Not so much in her physical appearance, although her height had shot up some inches and she was now tall for a woman at five foot nine inches, the main transformation was in her manner and her speech. Thanks to the tutor Wilhelmina had employed for the first year of Daisy’s stay at Evenley House her vocabulary and diction had improved enormously.

  As well as encouraging her to delve into different areas of literature, Wilhelmina had made sure her young companion became acquainted with certain aspects of political and social reform, not least the case for women’s suffrage. There was much which Daisy found disturbing as well as fascinating in her studies, but the more she learnt, the more determined she became that she would make a good life for herself and her lad - that was how she thought of Tom’s little boy, as her son, her own - once her time at Evenley House came to a finish. Her goal was to have little Tommy with her all the time and she had thought long and hard about this, with the result that some time before she had purchased a book and was now teaching herself the rudiments of shorthand. However, Wilhelmina having become increasingly frail, Daisy was now in a position where she did almost everything for her mistress which left little free time, but the idea of a secretarial career in the future had been planted in her and Daisy was determined to hold on to it.

  Her Sunday afternoons with Tommy were the most precious things in Daisy’s life, and in spite of only seeing her once a week the child’s feeling for her was something quite separate from the way he felt about anyone else, even Tilly. He loved Daisy every bit as much as she loved him.

  The nature of Tommy’s arrival and the bond which had been forged between them had played a large part in helping Daisy to come to terms with Parson Lyndon’s defection. After he hadn’t called for a week or more she had expressed concern that he was unwell to Wilhelmina, and it had been then her mistress had confessed about an altercation she’d had with him after he had called on her to ask a few pertinent questions. The good parson had clearly misjudged the intelligence of Sir Augustus’s sister, and after she had forced him to explain himself further and the matter of the letter had been raised, he had received short shrift from the old lady who had terminated their friendship.

  Daisy had been first angry and then terribly hurt, a feeling of humiliation taking hold of her which had been difficult to shake off for some time. She had thought Hector Lyndon was her friend, and after William’s departure for foreign shores the parson’s interest in her - which she had recognised as more than mere benevolence - had been a balm to her sore heart. Moreover, she had liked him very much. Whether anything more would have come from their friendship was another matter, but it had pained her that the parson could dismiss her from his life so cursorily and without even the courtesy of allowing her to defend herself against vile accusations. In such an atmosphere little Tommy’s unconditional love had been all the sweeter, causing her often to count her blessings and eventually put the matter of the parson behind her.

  This was not so easy where William was concerned. The way he had forsaken her, without so much as a goodbye, had cut deep, and as the months and years passed she’d made herself hate him. And she would go on hating him; it was vital protection for the day she would hear of his engagement to some fine lady or other from across the sea . . .

  Once Daisy had seated herself in the carriage, Harold clicked his tongue and the pony ambled off. This had been accomplished without Daisy or he exchanging a word.

  Daisy eyed the back of Harold’s head upon which his flat cap sat like an aggrieved pancake. There was always the same cold silence from the cook’s husband when they made a detour to this part of town after Daisy had taken care of any purchases Miss Wilhelmina wanted. Of course the network of streets stretching west from Monkwearmouth docks was grim, and the terraced dwelling Daisy had just visited was in a street close to Potato Garth, a well-known haunt of dockside dollies, but that was where Molly’s sister lived so it couldn’t be helped.

  She had first heard of the desperate plight of this family, struggling to keep their heads above water and avoid the workhouse after the breadwinner had suffered an accident in the North Sands shipyard, a few months ago on her weekly visit home. Molly’s brother-in-law had suffered serious injuries in the fall which had put him in the Sunderland Infirmary, and his wife and seven bairns - all under ten years old - had been in dire straits. It wasn’t an uncommon story, but with the brother-in-law coming from the south and Molly and her bairns already having moved back in with her mam and da after Molly’s husband was lost along with Daisy’s father and brothers, there had been no help forthcoming from normal channels.

  Daisy had gone to see Molly after Tilly had put her in the picture. She had always liked the big jolly fishergirl and felt an extra kinship with her somehow as a result of Molly’s husband perishing in the same storm which had taken Daisy’s father and brothers. The outcome of this visit had been a trip into Monkwearmouth on her next half-day off after she had spent some hours with Tommy, although she had persuaded Kitty to go straight home from the fishing village, knowing her friend would incur Gladys’s wrath if she was late back.

  Molly’s sister’s house had been steaming with the washing the woman was taking in in a desperate effort to make ends meet, and poverty was evident in her gaunt frame and the bairns’ hungry faces. The gratitude the poor woman had displayed when Daisy had given her enough money to clear the backlog of rent and buy food and fuel for the week had been thanks enough for the depletion in Daisy’s savings. Over the next few weeks she had made two more visits to Molly’s sister’s, and it had been the Monday after the last call when Wilhelmina had taken her to task.

  Was it true she was in the habit of visiting a less than salubrious part of Monkwearmouth on her half-day off, her mistress had inquired, and in the late evening at that? Daisy had stared into Wilhelmina’s cold face and for a moment it was as though the letter Parson Lyndon had received was right there between them. It took all her self-control to bite back the sharp retort which sprang to mind and to say, quietly and with dignity, ‘Respectability is not confined to grand houses or clean streets, ma’am. The family I visit are good people who have fallen on hard times.’

  ‘Explain.’

  She had explained, and although it was clear Wilhelmina had believed her the old lady had still asked her not to visit them again but to send any gifts or moneys through Molly. It was only when Daisy said she couldn’t hurt Molly’s sister’s feelings by cutting her in such a way that her mistress had said, and tersely, that if Daisy meant to persist in such a venture herself then she must do so in daylight hours during the week, and Harold would take her. Relations between Daisy and her mistress had been strained for a few days over what Wilhelmina saw as her companion’s obstinacy, but when Daisy walked out to the carriage on the day the old lady had designated she’d discovered a hamper full of food along with a sack of potatoes and another of coal.

  Wilhelmina had brushed her thanks aside with an abrupt, ‘I’m sure you need the pennies you put by more than me, child,’ but things were back on their old footing again and Daisy was glad. When Kitty had discovered it had been her parents who had caused the storm in a teacup after Gladys had sent Harold to spy on Daisy’s visits, it had seemed poetic justice that Gladys had to prepare the food and Harold drive her to Monkwearmouth on future calls.

  As the carriage left the oppressiveness of the town Daisy’s thoughts moved to the coming afternoon. Miss Wilhelmina had said she could change her half-day off this week in order to see her family on her birthday, but she hadn’t told her grandmother, aiming to surprise the old woman. Now she hugged the thought to her. Her granny would get a gliff and no mistake.

  As it happened, it was Daisy herself who was surprised and not a little frightened as she approached the cottages by means of the road over the sand dunes from Fulwell. She suddenly felt herself lifted right off her feet by a brawny arm round her waist, and twisted frantically to see who had
grabbed her from behind.

  ‘Alf!’ Her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked.

  ‘Who else?’ He had been laughing but then, as he lowered Daisy to her feet and she turned to face him, his smile vanished as he took in her angry expression. ‘Aw, don’t go on, lass.’ His voice was placating. ‘It was just a bit of fun.’

  ‘I don’t like being manhandled.’

  ‘Manhandled?’ His voice expressed hurt now.

  ‘Yes, manhandled.’ His arm had pressed against her breasts, whether by accident or design Daisy wasn’t sure, but she had not liked it. Every Sunday afternoon he met her and Kitty, come rain, hail or snow, and even today he had been waiting for her! Her voice reflected her irritation as she said, ‘What on earth are you doing here at this time of the day? Why aren’t you out on the water?’

  Alf stared at her. If he told her the truth - that he’d suspected there was a chance her mistress would let her visit the village on her birthday - she would know he had planned his whole day around the possibility. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand. ‘There’s other jobs to see to on land. Anyway, maybe it’s just as well I’ve seen you like this without the others around. I want to get a couple of things sorted once and for all. I might as well tell you straight, I can’t carry on like this much longer.’

  ‘Like what?’

  He continued to stare at her, moving his head with a small jerk before he said, ‘I’m tired of waitin’, that’s it in a nutshell. I want a wife an’ family, lass. That’s not too much for a bloke to ask, is it? Companionship, someone waitin’ when I get off the boat of a night, an’ don’t say I’ve got me mam for that.’

  She hadn’t been about to say that. Daisy swallowed. ‘I can understand that, Alf.’

  ‘An’ that’s all you’ve got to say? Look, lass, to put it bluntly I want a wife afore I’m too old to enjoy being wed and I’d like it to be you, but you know that. Are you still sayin’ no? An’ before you say anythin’ you ought to know this is the last time of askin’. The very last.’

  Daisy’s eyes widened slightly. He’d said that as though he meant it. Turning, she began to walk on, and as he fell into step beside her, said, ‘Alf, you’re my friend and dear brother and I can’t think of you in any other way. I’ll never be able to thank you for your kindness to Gran--’

  A sharp movement of his hand stilled her voice. They had reached the first of the cottages, and his voice was rough when he said, ‘It’s no use hopin’ he’ll come back an’ marry you, you know that, don’t you? He’s got bigger fish to fry.’

  Her heart jerked in her chest and then began to thud hard against her ribcage. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re throwin’ your life away, pinin’ for him, and he’s nowt. They’re all nowt, in spite of their fancy clothes an’ la-di-da way of talkin’.’

  ‘I’m not pining for anyone, Alf Hardy.’ She was angry now. ‘Just because I don’t want to marry you doesn’t mean I want to marry someone else.’

  ‘So that’s me final answer then? You’re determined to go on lookin’ after that old crone an’ actin’ Lady Bountiful to every Tom, Dick an’ Harry?’

  Daisy took a step away from him, terribly hurt.

  ‘An’ don’t look at me like that neither,’ Alf said thickly. ‘I’m not one of your fancy pals who mince about an’ never say what they really think.’ He swore, the first time he had ever used a profanity in front of her, and then he grabbed at her, pulling her against the bulk of him. One big hand was in the small of her back and the other under her armpit, and he arched her rigid body into his as he took her mouth in a kiss which had no gentleness in it.

  Daisy didn’t fight him. They were in full view of the village and so she was quite safe, besides which she instinctively knew the only way to bring him quickly to his senses was to remain perfectly still. She stood stiff and unyielding in his desperate embrace for as long as the kiss lasted which wasn’t more than a few seconds. And then he thrust her aside so violently she almost fell but for his hand reaching out again to steady her. ‘If you don’t want me there’s one as does.’

  His face was flushed, veins bulging in his forehead, but his voice was low and deep and held a note Daisy didn’t recognise. She was trembling with the shock of it all but she managed to speak steadily when she said, ‘That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a good catch for anyone.’

  She saw the rage drain from his face along with the high colour and for a terrible moment she thought he was going to cry. Then he said, the words strangled in his throat, ‘I’m goin’ to ask Kitty to start courtin’, Daisy.’

  ‘Kitty?’

  ‘Aye, Kitty. We . . . we get on an’ she thinks a bit of me.’

  Daisy stared at him. Kitty? Kitty and Alf? But then a separate part of her mind said, Why not? Why not indeed? If she’d had half the sense she was born with she would have seen long ago that what Alf said was true. Kitty did like him, she always had, but knowing how Alf felt about her, the other girl had never talked of her own feelings. And Kitty was bonny and jolly and as strong as a horse. She would make a perfect fisherman’s wife, and the hard life wouldn’t worry her at all. In fact, she’d take to it like a duck to water. So why, Daisy asked herself now, in view of all that did she feel as if the bottom of her world had just fallen away?

  ‘You know she won’t say yes to me if she thinks you are against it. She thinks the world of you.’ Alf’s voice was low and he didn’t look at her as he spoke.

  ‘I’m not against it.’

  She stared at him until he looked up again, saying, ‘I’ve had a bellyful of bein’ on me own, lass, an’ I’m not gettin’ no younger. Kitty’s a good lass an’ I know we’d suit each other. It won’t be the same as if we’d . . .’ His voice trailed away and he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Kitty would make anyone a wonderful wife.’ Daisy’s voice was stronger now. ‘And you would be kind to her?’

  ‘You know I would.’

  Aye, he would. Alf couldn’t be anything other than kind, and she knew he must have worked himself up into a right state to speak as he had about her and William. This last thought gentled Daisy’s voice as she said, ‘I wish you both every happiness, Alf.’

  ‘I haven’t even asked the lass to walk out yet.’

  But he was going to do so, and Kitty would say yes. A strong feeling of gladness rose up in Daisy now. Alf would be so good for Kitty, providing that solid foundation her friend had never experienced before, not with her mam and da being as they were. The marriage would work, she could see it working very well, and the pair of them were her dearest friends after all. It was just the surprise of it which had made her feel odd for a moment or two.

  ‘I’ll make sure she comes with me on Sunday, Alf.’

  He looked down at the ground for a moment. ‘Aye, all right.’ And then he jerked his head in the direction of the road leading out of the village and his voice was flat when he said, ‘I’ve a few bits to see to in town. ’Bye, lass.’

  She nodded. ‘’Bye, Alf.’

  He moved away first and strode off rapidly. It was the first time he had ever chosen not to spend time with her when she visited her granny, and as she watched him go Daisy knew a moment of deep regret. Not regarding her decision; she could never have married Alf, and would have made both of them utterly miserable if she’d weakened in that respect. No, her regret was for how things would change from this point of time. In a way she would lose both Alf and Kitty, and it wasn’t until this moment that she fully realised how much coming first with both of them had meant to her after William had discarded her as easily as he would a pair of old boots. But that was horribly selfish of her, she knew.

  She stood without moving until Alf had disappeared from view and then began walking slowly, her head drooping. Somehow this didn’t feel like a birthday at all. And then she pictured Tommy’s little face with its wide infectious grin and her spirits
lightened. She had her boy, her precious little boy. All right, so her financial responsibilities might be too great for her to leave Miss Wilhelmina’s employ, besides which she felt a loyalty to the old lady which kept her at Evenley House, but one day circumstances would change and a door of opportunity would open and she’d jump through it, taking Tommy with her. It was all down to the time machine again and the buttons she chose to press.

  She was going to make something of herself, and when she did Tommy would have all the advantages of a solid home and a good education or her name wasn’t Daisy Appleby.

  Daisy opened the door to the cottage, her face breaking into a wide smile at the childish shriek of joy which greeted her entrance. She bent and opened her arms to receive the scampering body, and as she did so, thought, This is what it’s all about. As the child wrapped his plump little arms and legs about her, for all the world like a baby monkey clinging to its mother, Daisy cuddled him close, glancing across at the smiling face of her granny and then Tilly who came bustling out of the scullery, her hands covered in flour. As their combined welcome flowed over her in a warm tide, she relaxed. She was home.