by Diane Allen
‘Now, Dawson, what did you say you’ve come about?’ Thomas Maudsley poured an ample glassful of port, then passed it over to Joseph, before sitting across from the man he knew as a neighbour and nearby mill owner.
‘Young Johnny Foster. You caught him poaching rabbits on your land. His sister is concerned that you are about to carry him off to the magistrate’s and has asked me to come and settle his debt. She felt awkward coming to the hall herself.’ Joseph took a sip of the port and admired the full-bodied quality of the fortified wine.
‘You mean the lad I clipped around the ear and threatened with God knows what? If I’d have caught them Wainwright lads from Settle, they’d have had their backsides tanned, but they left the poor little bugger on his own. So I just made idle threats; didn’t think for a minute he’d take me seriously.’
‘You mean he doesn’t owe you anything?’ Joseph smiled.
‘Nay, if I’d been fined for every rabbit I caught when I was a lad, I wouldn’t have a bloody penny. Besides, he did no harm. But those Wainwrights catching my pheasants, that’s a different thing – they cost me.’ Thomas swigged his port back and looked at Joseph. ‘You are to be commended for your concern for your staff, Dawson. Not many bosses would know when their workers have a worry, let alone speak up on their behalf.’
‘I try my best to look after them all. Happy staff are more productive.’ Joseph swigged his port back and looked around him at the warm but sparse parlour. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a pressing engagement. The Devil makes work for idle hands.’
‘He does indeed, Dawson. Tell that young mill lass of yours not to worry. I know who the real culprits were, and anyway I’d rather the lad had a full belly. Better that than dead in the churchyard, like my sons and daughter.’ He slapped Joseph on the back and showed him out into the dark November night. The man was a good fella. Not at all like the things he’d heard about him. It just showed that you should never listen to gossip.
Charlotte lay naked in Joseph’s bed and waited. Even the all-knowing Mrs Dodgson had been surprised when he’d not been present for dinner, but Charlotte had taken it in her stride. The mill must have been more important, but it had been then that she decided to put her plan into action. If he would not come to her, then she would go to him. And when Lily had seen her settled in her nightclothes and the servants had gone to their quarters, she had tiptoed across the landing to Joseph’s room. She had thrown back the curtains, slipped out of her nightgown and into the fresh snug sheets and blankets of Joseph’s bed. There she lay, listening to every sound the night made, and watched the clouds scuttle across the face of the full moon, whose light filled the room with a milk-coloured glow.
Joseph had to come home sometime and, when he did, she would be there. Tonight was the night, and she would not say no to whatever he demanded. After all, she had waited long enough. The night wore on and the moon rose higher, leaving only clouds and the odd twinkling star looking down on a drowsy Charlotte in the bed. But as she fought to stay awake for her missing husband, sleep won the fight.
‘What the hell!’ Joseph pulled back the covers of his bed and looked at his naked, half-asleep wife. It was still dark, but the morning was not far away. Charlotte squinted her eyes in the candlelight and looked up at a surprised and tired Joseph.
‘What’s the meaning of this? Why aren’t you in your own bed?’ He sat on the bed edge and pulled his boots off unsteadily, then unbuttoned his trousers, before turning round to look at a shivering Charlotte. ‘Pull the bloody covers over you, else you’ll freeze.’
She said nothing. She could smell drink on his breath – and quite a bit of drink, by the way he was swaying as he pulled his nightshirt on.
‘Well, I might as well have a bit of fun, if you are here waiting of me.’ Joseph slid into bed beside Charlotte and ran his hands down her body, while kissing her neck and forcing himself on top of her. ‘Is this what you’ve been wanting, Charlotte?’ He held both her hands down tightly and entered her hard, without any enticement other than her lying there. His kisses covered her body, as he thrust deeply and skilfully within her.
Charlotte winced as his thrusts became harder and faster and his kisses more passionate. With her hands released from his grip she ran her fingers down his back, feeling his muscles and nearly crying with pleasure and pain. He was hers – she was in his bed and they were together. A tear ran down from her eye as he climaxed and rolled, exhausted, down by her side.
‘Well, you’ve had me now. You might as well stay here, but for God’s sake get some clothes on, else what will Yates or the maid think, when you are naked in my bed?’ Joseph slapped her backside as she stepped out of the bed and pulled on her nightdress.
‘I don’t care. We are married, it’s what happens.’ She pulled her nightdress over her, climbed back into bed and ran a finger down her husband’s chest.
‘Aye, we are, my blonde beauty, but you’ve got to learn your place in my world or else we’ll always be fighting with one another.’ Joseph pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. ‘I’ll regret this night’s work in the morning, but right now I’ve got to sleep,’ he mumbled, closing his eyes and holding Charlotte tight to him.
She snuggled up next to him, caressing his back. Feeling content with her small victory, she traced the scratch marks that she could feel raised on his skin. Had she really dug her fingers in that deep? She must have, in the excitement, without realizing it. She sighed and closed her eyes. At last she could say she felt content at being married to the man of her dreams, and they were in bed together.
10
Dora Dodgson scowled at Joseph as she poured his tea out for him at the breakfast table. She’d dismissed Yates from his usual duties in order to find out why Joseph had broken from his usual routine, and why she hadn’t been the first to know of the previous evening’s events. It was not like him not to tell her everything, and she was now fretting for her hot-headed brother.
‘Will sir be going to the mill today?’ Dora nearly spat out the words and glared at the rosy-cheeked and blissfully happy Charlotte at the other end of the table from Joseph.
‘Sir definitely will, but not until he has finished his breakfast and retired to the morning room to do a little business in there.’ Joseph smiled down the table at Charlotte.
‘And will sir be home for dinner this evening or will we not be honoured with his presence, yet again?’ Dora enquired, with all the tact of a sledgehammer.
‘Mrs Dodgson, it is not for you to query my presence. If I am here this evening, all well and good, but I don’t have to be answerable to you for my every move.’ He didn’t want to explain his previous evening’s absence, and sometimes his sister was a little too dictatorial in her position as housekeeper.
Charlotte smirked and quickly had a sip of her tea, in an attempt to hide the wide smile as Mrs Dodgson was put in her place.
‘I only enquired, sir, so that Mrs Batty knows. She gets in a right way if she doesn’t know who she’s cooking for.’ Dora passed the blame on to the mild-mannered cook and stood back. She knew her brother well enough not to push him into a corner.
‘In that case, I will be home for dinner. Also, Mrs Dodgson, can you tell Yates to move my things into the main bedroom, along with Charlotte’s. I don’t aim to continue with my long hours at the mill, now that I’m married and it is starting to run more smoothly.’
Joseph watched the face of his sister as it clouded over. He knew he’d promised her not to get too involved with anyone. They were going to make their money, sell up and move on to another new life. But a night with Charlotte lying next to him, and the added attraction of Betsy Foster, had turned his head. Why should he move on from such a good lifestyle? Money was a little tight at the moment, but profit would soon come, now that Ferndale Mill was operating well. Also, now that he had paid Simmons the solicitor to keep his mouth shut, there was no need to be thinking of moving on. He couldn’t see Simmons returning in a hurry; twenty guineas was
a small fortune to a man like him.
‘Very well, sir, if you think it’s wise.’ Dora served the kippers to her brother and scowled at him as he completely ignored her.
‘I’d like some too, Mrs Dodgson.’ Charlotte spoke up to the housekeeper, before she placed the dish of kippers back over the warming pan.
‘In future, Mrs Dodgson, please serve my wife first. It is the polite thing to do when we are on our own.’ Joseph looked at his sulking sister; she would have to learn her place in his household, if she was to stay. He had to appear to everyone to be the perfect gentleman, and his sister had to live up to her position within his household.
‘Very well, sir.’ Dora went and served Charlotte, without saying a word or giving her a second glance.
‘Oh, and Mrs Dodgson, I’m thinking of holding a Christmas Ball at Windfell. Perhaps Cook, Charlotte and you could sit down and put a menu together. We had a relatively quiet wedding, so it would be nice to open the doors this Christmas to our neighbours.’
‘Joseph, that would be so lovely. My father could come, and Mrs Cranston, and Archie and his wife Rosie.’ Charlotte’s mind raced with the names of guests that she would like to see there.
‘We’ll see, Charlotte; we’ll go through our guest list together.’ Joseph cut into his kippers and watched the happiness on his wife’s face, and the darkness covering his sister’s. He’d have to make his peace with her later.
‘You’d a letter come for you late last evening. Yates put it in the study, when you weren’t here. Looks important, sir, it being from America.’ Dora stared at her love-struck brother. She’d bring him down to earth if it’s the last thing she did – the fool. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ she asked her brother, who nodded at her while wondering what the letter from America that now lay in his hand contained. Dora turned and closed the dining-room door behind her. Joseph had better not cross her, or he’d be the worse for it. She’d stuck by him through thick and thin, and now his head was being turned by a giggling farm girl.
Charlotte sat at her desk in the morning room, writing to her father of the news of the Christmas Ball, and watched as Joseph read the letter that had come thousands of miles from Richard Todd, the plantation owner in New Orleans.
‘I hope I’m not being too inquisitive, but you look worried, my dear. What’s wrong?’ She stopped writing and watched as Joseph stood looking out of the window and sighing.
‘You shouldn’t concern yourself with this. How many times have I told you not to bother about business.’ He looked at the letter again and tried to hide his worry. ‘Have you told your father of our Christmas Ball? I suppose Mrs Cranston really should be asked this time. I’m sure he will be diplomatic enough to instruct her to keep a low profile.’ He sighed. Mrs Cranston was the least of his worries, if the letter’s contents were to be believed.
Charlotte ran and hugged his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘That would be wonderful. And Archie and his wife Rosie?’
‘Oh, I suppose so, Charlotte. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go to the mill. I’m late as it is.’ Joseph’s mind was racing. He had to check the number of cotton bales he had in the warehouse and see if he could afford another delivery from Todd. Cotton was plentiful at the moment, and reasonable in price at ten cents a pound. But Richard had warned him that trouble was brewing across the Atlantic, and he had to buy now if he was to survive the coming problems. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
Joseph slammed the morning-room door and Charlotte watched him as he walked out to the stables, yelling at the stable lad to saddle his horse. There must have been bad news in the letter; his mood had changed in the blink of an eye. Why was she married to such a moody beast? She smiled as she remembered the previous night’s antics, and the fact that he’d put the probing Mrs Dodgson in her place. Lucy Cranston had been right: act like a little lost soul and the world was yours. She couldn’t help but wonder: was that how Lucy had got her father into bed? No, it would be her cooking, for her father loved having a full belly more than anything.
‘Oh, Betsy, what have you done! How the hell have you got a shiner like that?’ Sally Oversby yelled over to Betsy, who had kept her head down and seemed to have ignored her all morning. Now she could see why.
‘It’s nothing. I hit my head against the bed end by accident, bending down to empty the chamber pot this morning.’ Betsy gave a wan smile and wished Sally would mind her own business.
‘I hope you rubbed it with a knob of butter. My mother always recommends that for a bruise.’ Sally grinned.
Betsy nodded. She didn’t want to talk to anybody today. She felt dirty and used, her body ached and her mind did too, with the guilt and pain of having had sex with Joseph Dawson. To add to the worry, she knew it wasn’t over – he’d be back. He’d said as much when he’d left her curled up in a ball in the early hours of the morning. He hadn’t been a kind lover; he’d been brutal, taking out his frustrations on Betsy, his hatred and lack of respect for women made obvious as he thrust and slapped her. She’d wanted to cry out, but she knew Johnny was in the next room and she didn’t want him waking to find his sister acting like a whore.
‘Catch up at bait time?’ Sally shouted above the noise.
‘No, I’m just going to run home. Thought I’d put a tattie-hash in the fireside oven for tonight’s supper.’ Betsy put her back into her work, as she saw Bert Bannister walking up and down the rows of carding machines, watching for anyone slacking.
‘Alright.’ Sally shrugged her shoulders and smiled at Bert as he passed by. You never let that bastard know what you were thinking or doing. He was the boss’s monkey and everyone knew it.
Betsy wrapped her shawl around her head and ran along the side of the millpond towards the double row of cottages, one of which was home to her and Johnny. The path was white with frost and treacherous, as she slipped dangerously on the large piece of slate that acted as a bridge by the side of the sluice gate that released excess water into the fast-flowing River Ribble. She caught her breath as she gained her footing and pressed on through the snicket gate at the side of the row of cottages.
Reaching her front door, she felt relief as she passed over her doorstep into the safety of her home. She bent over the glazed earthenware sink in the kitchen and retched while her body shook, thanking God that Johnny was at school and unable to see her in such a state. Wiping her mouth with her back of her hand, she looked at herself in the mirror hanging next to the kitchen door. An egg-like lump hung over her eye, a hue of blues and purples where Joseph had hit her, when she’d scratched him for being over-zealous with his advances.
‘Are you alright, Betsy?’ There was a sharp knock on her door and the enquiring voice of Gertie Potts, her next-door neighbour, shouted through the letter box.
Betsy couldn’t escape; Gertie had obviously seen her come home. She swept back a loose lank of her hair and checked herself in the mirror, before opening the door.
‘I saw you running in home. I thought there must be something wrong at the mill. Oh my Lord, look at you!’ gasped Gertie.
‘Oh, I hit my head on the brass bedstead this morning. It looks worse than it is. I’ve just come back to put something in the side-oven for supper. Thought that now the frosty weather’s come, Johnny would like a warm supper to come home to.’ She smiled at Gertie.
‘Well, mind what you are doing, lass. That brother of yours doesn’t realize what a good sister he has. You take care of him too much.’ Gertie pulled her shawl around her and turned to go back home. ‘You’d better get your skates on: that’s the dinner-hour whistle going, and you don’t want your pay docking. That Bert Bannister won’t think twice about doing that, the miserable bugger.’
Betsy pulled her door to, picked her skirts up and ran back to the mill. She’d had no dinner, and cooking tattie-hash for supper was just a dream. It would be bread and cheese for supper, and they would have to be thankful for that.
‘I’m just glad that he has moved in with her – that wa
s no way for a young married couple to act. If my old man had stopped in his bedroom when we were first married, I’d have been thinking things weren’t quite right.’ Mrs Batty stood with her hands on her hips and wiped away an escaping tear as she finished chopping the onions for the evening meal.
‘You mean you wanted a bit of nightly entertainment?’ Lily joked as she sat next to the fire, mending a shirt of Joseph’s that had lost some of its buttons, which she’d previously picked up from the bedroom floor in the morning.
‘Close your ears, young Mazy; and Lily, you stop your mucky talk. You know what I meant. It just wasn’t right!’ Mrs Batty put her chopped onions into a large dish, adding the diced lamb and carrots before placing it in the oven to cook.
‘Well, they made up for lost time last night, by the looks of this shirt. That’s three buttons I’ve had to sew on, from his shirt being ripped off.’ Lily bit off the end of her thread and then admired her handiwork.
‘I’d watch what you are saying. What goes on in that bedroom is none of our business.’ Yates decided to break up the women of the kitchen from their gossiping session. ‘Besides, walls have ears, and you know who I’m on about.’
‘If you mean Dodgy Dodgson, she’s gone out. Said she had a bad head and needed some air,’ Mazy added quickly.
‘She’s “Mrs Dodgson” to you, young Mazy. Show some respect for your elders.’ Yates stifled a smirk.
‘I’m only calling her what you all call her. She looked as black as thunder when I saw her go out of the back door.’ Mazy carried on cleaning the silver and waited for the hated housekeeper to be torn apart by everyone, now that they knew she wasn’t in the building.
‘She’ll be sulking over Mr Dawson throwing a Christmas Ball; she isn’t exactly the partying kind.’ Mrs Batty sat down and reached for her almost cold cup of tea from the kitchen table. ‘I’m right looking forward to us holding a do here. The manor will look so bonny, with a bit of Christmas cheer. It will be something for the mistress to look forward to.’