by Diane Allen
‘I don’t think you need to fear that, for she will be brought up with love and care, from what I’ve seen – unlike Joseph. To reassure you that I’m still in pursuit of him, Sergeant Capstick is in Liverpool as we speak, trying to track the cad down. We will get him, of that I can assure you.’
‘I hope he hangs. Not for me, but for Betsy and even more so for May Pilling; she must have been, and still is, in hell. I know what Joseph could do and how manipulative he was – and I’m a strong woman. To be quite honest, Inspector Proctor, it is a relief to know I’m not married to him, as I can restart my life. Especially now that I can own his house and mill; it’s quite ironic really, when you think about it. And Crummock must be mine, so I can reclaim my family home. The relief of getting my life back quite undermines the wickedness that Joseph has dealt me.’ She crossed her hands on her lap, looking out of the window and remembering the rainy night when Joseph walked out of her life forever.
‘I thought you would take it a lot harder than that, Mrs Dawson, after all I’ve told you. It’s everything a woman doesn’t want to hear about her husband.’ Percy rose from his seat.
‘Nothing would surprise me about that man. To think that just over a year ago I was an innocent young lass. Now I am a shrewd, hard-headed woman with a business to run, and no time for fools, of which my husband is one. Do let me know if you find him, because I would like to visit him, once he’s behind bars. Just to look at the dejected soul that he is, without a woman’s skirts to hide behind.’ Charlotte reached for the bell at her side and rang it. ‘I’ll ask Yates to see you out, Inspector.’
‘I will indeed, ma’am, and thank you for your time. I’m sorry I’ve been the bearer of bad news.’ Inspector Proctor lifted his bowler to his head and left her looking out of the window, as Yates escorted him to the door.
Charlotte watched him walking down the pathway, and then went up the stairs to the nursery.
‘Miss Isabelle’s asleep, ma’am. I’ve just put her down for her afternoon nap. She finished her bottle and is such a contented baby.’ Mazy smiled at her ward. ‘I’ll leave you with her while I tidy my room.’
Charlotte didn’t say anything to the attentive Mazy, but reached down and gently put her finger into Isabelle’s limp pink hand. She looked the perfect baby: mop of dark hair, rosy cheeks and a rosebud mouth that was smiling slightly. ‘I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. You will be brought up the perfect lady, regardless of your father,’ she whispered, as she tucked her baby’s hands under the blankets. A tear fell down Charlotte’s cheek. She would be there for Isabelle always, because there were only the two of them in the world, as far as she could see. She kissed her warm brow gently. ‘Now, my darling, is the time to make something of our lives. I’m going to ensure we will be so wealthy and powerful that everyone will know our name, and will forget the cad that was Joseph Dawson. It will be of no consequence who your father is, and everyone will want to marry you, I promise you that.’
26
Charles Walker leaned back in his chair and listened to what Charlotte had to say, each sentence astounding him more, as she told him of her situation. He had hated Joseph Dawson the moment he had set eyes on him, and now he knew his gut instincts had been right.
‘Well, Charlotte, it seems quite clear to me: you are not legally married, so therefore Crummock is yours to do with as you wish. When it comes to Windfell and the mill, that’s a little bit more complicated. However, with the help of Lucy Cranston, you have honoured Joseph’s debts and are in a favourable position regarding ownership of both. Let’s sort out Crummock first. I take it you want a tenant placing in it as soon as possible?’ Charles smiled at the young woman, who had grown stronger with every blow that life had dealt her.
‘I do indeed, and I can tell you just who I have in mind. I’m sure he will bite my hand off at the chance, or at least I hope so.’ Charlotte had been waiting for this moment for so long. She had wanted Archie to farm Crummock ever since her father had died, and now his time had come. ‘Archie Atkinson at Mewith. Joseph would not listen to my suggestion. If he had, everything would be running like clockwork up there. As it is, Arthur the farm boy is struggling to juggle everything and, after that guttersnipe Joseph placed in the house, it is in a right state – nothing that a bit of hard work wouldn’t sort, mind you.’ Charlotte leaned back, satisfied that at long last she was going to get her way.
‘It was indeed a misfortunate episode, with the death of Mr Dawson’s friend. “Birds of a feather” comes to mind. I must say I never did take to your husband. Now, would you like me to visit Mr Atkinson and draw up an agreement on your behalf? I think you’ve made a very wise choice; he’s a good man and deserves bit of luck after the death of his wife.’
‘Yes please, Mr Walker. The sooner my old home gets into safe hands, the better; and it’s one less worry for me.’ She rose and offered her hand to be shaken.
‘Good luck, Charlotte, and keep strong. Things are bound to get better.’ Charles shook her hand and showed her to the door. Charlotte Booth certainly knew her mind and had ten times more sense than her husband.
Charles knocked on the open door of the smallholding on the edge of Mewith Moor and smiled as a toddling Daniel gurgled and looked up at him, as he made good his escape into the farmyard. ‘Is Mr Archie Atkinson available?’ he asked as a red-faced, stressed-looking grandmother picked up the inquisitive toddler and placed him, complaining, under her arm.
‘He’s over there in the hay field. Who’s asking?’ Ruth Knowles looked suspiciously at the man in the suit asking for her son-in-law.
‘I’ve come on behalf of Mrs Dawson with some news that I need to convey to him. I need an answer, so may I go and speak to him?’ Charles looked at the young boy wriggling for freedom and thought how his life was just about to change.
‘Aye, if you must. He’s not done anything wrong with this Mrs Dawson?’ Ruth looked worried.
‘No, quite the contrary,’ Charles replied and made his way to the young man scything the long grass meadow on the distant hillside. Every step he took brought Archie closer to a better life, with a farm of his own and better surroundings for his child.
Ruth Knowles watched as Archie leaned on his scythe, listening to what the man in the suit told him, and then she witnessed him throwing the scythe to the ground and shaking the visitor’s hand fervently, before letting out a whoop of delight. ‘Your father must have had some good news, little man. Mrs Dawson, it would seem, has made your father happy for the first time in ages in these long, dark days. Perhaps things are looking up for you and him.’ Daniel looked innocently at his grandmother. ‘Never forget your mother, little one, because she loved you more than life itself.’
*
‘For heaven’s sake, Lottie, I couldn’t get here any earlier. Have you forgotten how busy the farm gets at this time of year? I had to take advantage of the good weather. It took me and Arthur the best part of a fortnight to mow and gather in the four hay meadows. We were both knackered.’ Archie slung his cap down on the richly carpeted floor of the drawing room of Windfell Manor and looked at the most demanding woman he had ever known. After taking over Crummock a few weeks ago, her demands had never ceased.
‘I’m sorry. I’d forgotten that my father always used to hire an Irishman at the fair in Settle. I can’t believe you’ve managed all those meadows between you and Arthur.’ She looked at the red-faced Archie. His skin shone from the sunburn he had endured while out in the fields. Another day or two and he would be bronzed, showing off his mop of bleached hair to best effect.
‘I’m not your bloody father, and I got put into Crummock too late to do that. It’s been me, Arthur and Mary. Yes, even Mary has raked and turned the hay for me so that it dried. Thank God Aunty Lucy moved back in with us; at least she’s been keeping house and looking after Daniel, while bringing food out into the meadow for us all. It’s been bloody hard work, but at least we have enough fodder for the stock to get us through the winter. That i
s, if you want me to stay there?’ Archie flopped into the chair, not bothering that he was in one of the most stately homes in the district.
‘Don’t you swear about my father. I only said he would have done it that way. And of course I want you to stay – even more so now that I’m on my own and have Isabelle to raise. How is Daniel? I’ll ask Mazy to bring Isabelle down from the nursery and show you her in a moment.’ Charlotte looked at the exhausted Archie and knew that Crummock was back in good hands.
‘Daniel’s fine, growing fast. Running rings around Aunty Lucy. I just feel so sad that he will never know or remember his mother. She was a fine woman.’ Archie sighed and gazed down at his hands.
‘I know. I wish I could have done more that day. Rosie was lovely – you were made for one another, unlike me and my husband. Well, I say “husband”, but as you know he was never that.’ Charlotte hesitated. ‘You’ve kept it to yourself, haven’t you? For the sake of Isabelle, I’m still “Mrs Dawson”, to those who are not privy to my news,’ she whispered.
‘Aye, what a field day everybody would have, with that bit of gossip. Tha couldn’t run the mill and hold your head up in polite society, if everybody found that out. What would your father have said? That puts him being a bit too friendly with my poor old aunt Lucy into the shade. And that bag of rubbish Joseph looked down his nose at both of them. The bloody hypocrite. Well-to-do gentleman, my arse!’ Archie scoffed.
‘Do you know who you sounded like then, Archie?’ Charlotte grinned. ‘My father – that was one of his favourite sayings, “my arse”.’ She giggled.
‘Now then, Mrs Dawson, we’ll have none of that vulgar talk. Remember your station in life.’ Archie laughed and watched the first bit of colour in weeks return to Charlotte’s cheeks. ‘Let’s see this baby then. If she’s as bonny as her mother, she’ll do.’ He had never had time to see baby Isabelle before, and had been looking forward to seeing Charlotte’s thriving baby.
‘She’s darker than me. She’s got her father’s black hair, but she’s got my complexion.’ Charlotte blushed as she rang the bell-pull at the side of the fireplace for Mazy to bring down baby Isabelle. It was good to hear kind words from a true friend.
Mazy entered the room and smiled at her mistress as she handed over her gurgling, contented ward. It was good to see the mistress smiling for once, she thought, as she left the threesome.
‘Aye, Lottie, she’s a bonny bit of a thing. Wouldn’t your father have been proud? His first granddaughter. It makes no difference who her father is – she’ll be a grand ’un. She’ll bring you so much happiness in your life, just like my Daniel does. Once they get a bit bigger they can play together, just like we used to. Remember when we used to go tadpole-catching down at the Wash Dubbs and your father used to curse me, because you’d always fall in and get all your skirts and petticoats wet through?’ Archie stroked Isabelle’s cheek and then looked up at a contented Charlotte, hesitating for a moment as he remembered how much he had loved her. He wondered if he dared do the same again, before sitting back down in his chair.
‘I remember. I also remember you getting me into bother, scrumping apples down in Bernard Knowles’s orchard in Feizor, when you left me halfway up the tree. My father was not impressed. No wonder he sent me off to school in Harrogate.’ She smiled down at her daughter, wondering what sort of childhood Isabelle would have.
‘I remember that. I could see your bloomers and everything. I was fascinated.’ Archie laughed out loud.
‘Archie Atkinson, you were no gentleman then and you certainly aren’t one now.’ Charlotte blushed even more deeply.
‘I’m more of a gentleman than the one you married. But that doesn’t take much doing, does it, Lottie? I’m really sorry you’ve got all these troubles. I’ll try and make the running of Crummock no worry for you.’
‘You are never any worry, Archie. I’m sorry I was so shallow with you when I was younger. My head was turned by things that I know now are not important.’ She looked at her first love. She still felt something for the lad she had grown up with.
‘Aye, but look where it’s got you: mistress of the manor, mill owner and farm owner – you’re a real woman of substance and power.’
‘And I’d give it all away, apart from Isabelle here. I wish I was still stuck up that apple tree, with my bloomers showing and you laughing at me.’ She wiped away a tear quickly.
‘You can’t turn back time, lass. It’s time to look forward; things can’t get much worse. We’ve a grand selection of lambs for sale this autumn – Arthur did you proud this spring, and we’ll make some brass with them. You keep your head down and don’t worry too much about this war over in the Americas. It’ll all be over something and nowt in another week or two, and they’ll all be fought out.’ Archie knew nothing about world politics, but he knew it was causing hardship in the local cotton-mill villages and he needed to keep Charlotte positive.
‘I don’t think it will, Archie, but I’ve a good home and I’ve always got Crummock, even if I can’t keep Ferndale going.’
‘Aye, that’s it, look on the bright side. Now I’ll have to be going. I’m on my way to the Jacksons at Long Preston with my wool. I forgot to add that along with my hay-making, so you’ll have your first bit of income from that at the end of the month.’ He bent down and picked up his cap, hesitating at the doorway before leaving. ‘You know where I am, lass, if you ever need me. Let me know if they find the bastard.’
Charlotte nodded. She couldn’t reply. The words stuck in her throat as she gulped the tears back. She listened as Yates opened the door for Archie and then she let the tears out, once she knew no one could hear her sobs.
‘He should have been your father, Isabelle. I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.’
27
Sergeant Capstick was out of his depth in the busy port of Liverpool. He was used to the quiet backwaters of his home patch of Settle. He’d stood watching the world go by for the first day or two, amazed at the sights and sounds along Albert Dock and the quaysides of Liverpool.
He marvelled at the unloading of cargo, sugar, flour, wheat and molasses. Anything and everything was loaded and unloaded in the blink of an eye. The smell of the sea, mixed with spices and sweat, filled the air, and shouts and voices rang out around him. The rigging and sails filled the skyline of the busy docks, as the majestic sailing ships bobbed serenely in the quiet waters there. Not only were the cargo and ships fascinating to the eye, but there were people of all description, many of whom Sergeant Capstick had never seen the like in his life before. He had stared in disbelief at the first black man he had seen, not trusting his own eyes. How could a man’s skin be that colour? He’d wanted to go and touch him, to see if he could rub the colour off, but at the same time he was frightened by the difference in the man’s appearance. Children ran around his legs, and beggars and prostitutes gave him wide berth when they saw his uniform, while the wives and lovers of sailors waved their loved ones off as they went to sea.
How was he supposed to catch Joseph Dawson in this huge crowd of people? All he had was a rough sketch of the man and a description from Charlotte Dawson of what he looked like. It was obvious to the sergeant that it was going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack – any one of a hundred men could be Joseph Dawson, for so many met his description.
‘Have you seen this man?’ he asked a sailor as he swung his bag over his shoulder.
‘Not seen anyone for six weeks, just come back from Jamaica. Why, what’s he done?’ the toothless tar asked as he offloaded his bag of belongings onto the dockside.
‘Possibly murder,’ said Sergeant Capstick, looking at the bronzed, wrinkled, wiry man, who was the only person who seemed to want to talk to him.
‘He’s either killed somebody or not. There’s no “possibly” about it, if you bluebottles are looking for him. But no, can’t say I know him. Have you got a fag?’ The old man grinned.
‘No, I don’t.’ Sergeant Capstick answered.
> ‘Well, I don’t ken him, so I’m on my way.’
Sergeant Capstick watched as the sailor picked his bag up and made his way through the throng of crowds. Bugger it, he thought. I’m wasting my time here, I’m away home in the morning. If the bastard is here, he’s welcome to the place. The green fields and fells of home were heaven, compared to the crowded streets and quaysides of Liverpool. This was no place for an ordinary Peeler.
Joseph Dawson sat back and finished his gill, before patting the backside of the saucy wench who had given him the eye as she cleared his plate away.
‘Don’t you touch what you can’t afford!’ The auburn-haired Scouser grinned at him.
‘How do you know I can’t afford you? I might be a wealthy man, for all you know.’ Joseph grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his knee.
‘Here, get your hands off! You’re not wealthy, else you wouldn’t be drinking in this one-hole place. Not unless you didn’t want to be found, and someone was looking for you.’ She made free from his arms, as Joseph was taken by surprise at her statement.
‘What do you mean, somebody’s looking for me? I’m just waiting for my ship to dock with a cargo of cotton.’ Joseph said the first thing that came into his head and watched the girl as she stood, taking in his features.
‘Well, that Peeler with the funny accent that’s been sniffing around the docks this last day or two sure had a good likeness of you – wanted for murder, he said. Have you been a naughty boy? And if you are waiting for cotton, you’ll have a bloody long wait. Don’t you know there’s a war on, across there in America?’ The young woman sniggered as a look of panic crossed Joseph’s face.