For a Father's Pride

by Diane Allen

  ‘All right, lass? It’s a foggy one out there, enough for old Nick to sneak up on ya wi’out you kenning.’

  Daisy looked at the bubbly young woman who had joined her carriage, not quite understanding what she’d just said.

  ‘Cat got ya tongue then? Or don’t you talk to the likes of me?’

  Daisy apologized quickly as she just made out the last few words.

  ‘Nay, sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.’

  ‘Blimey, you’re a right one to talk to. What’s with the nay – ain’t that what horses eat?’

  Daisy went quiet.

  ‘I’m only joking. You’re from further up north, from them there Dales, eh? Well, keep your wits about you in Leeds, my girl. Don’t let ’em know how green you are behind the ears, else your pocket will be picked, and we don’t want you losing your possessions.’

  Daisy gazed, fascinated by her new companion, and listening to every word she said. She quickly found out that she was called Susie.

  ‘You could do with a bit of this on, girl. You look a bit peaky to say you’ve come from the country.’ Susie hastily put rouge on her cheeks, aided by the dim gas-lights, as the train pulled out of the station.

  ‘Oh, I could never wear anything like that – it’s not for me.’ Daisy watched as Susie next applied an ample lashing of lipstick.

  ‘You got to make the best of what you got, girl, and make the most of it while you can. I do!’ Susie smacked her lips together and leaned over towards Daisy. ‘All the world’s a stage – and it’s yours for the taking. Think on what I’ve said, for no one looks at a shrinking violet.’ It was then, as she rearranged her drawstring bag containing all her potions and lotions, that she noticed by the train’s dim light that Daisy was wearing black.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t notice you were in mourning. Lose anyone close, darling?’ She hesitated for a moment.

  ‘My husband. I lost my husband three weeks ago. I’m just getting over the funeral and realizing I’m a widow.’ Daisy could feel a lump in her throat as the word ‘husband’ caught in her mouth.

  ‘Oh, doll, I’m sorry. There’s me telling you to paint yourself up, and there’s you grieving. I just don’t know when to shut my mouth, that’s my problem.’ Susie leaned over and took hold of Daisy’s hand. ‘Tell me all about it; we’ve a while before we get into Leeds.’

  Daisy looked at her companion. It was the first time anyone had shown her any concern since the funeral. Life had needed to carry on as usual at Gearstones Lodge, and there was no time to feel maudlin. There had been meals to prepare and rooms to clean, and no one had time to listen to a simpering cook. Death was an everyday fact, and you just knew to get on with your lot. Now it was like unleashing a flood barrier, as Daisy told this complete stranger the story of the last few months and why she was on the train.

  ‘Well, girl, I don’t speak ill of the dead, but perhaps it was a blessing. He’d a’ been a sod to live with, and his mother . . . You see, that’s why I play the stage. I don’t want to be pinned down by anyone.’ Susie sat back into the shadows of the carriage.

  ‘Are you on the stage? You keep saying you are.’ It was Daisy’s turn to ask the questions.

  ‘Isn’t everyone, darling? Aren’t we all on the stage of life? Some, perhaps, are in the spotlight more than others. Now tell me, where are you stopping tonight, and do you know where you’re going in the morning?’

  ‘Nay, I’ve no idea where I’ll rest my head tonight. I nearly turned back just before you got on the train, because I suddenly realized how foolish I’d been.’ Daisy was feeling vulnerable and silly, for already she realized that she had underestimated the size of Leeds and the number of people who lived there. What on earth was she thinking of?

  ‘Have you any money? Because, girl, I’ll get you into lodgings tonight, and I know my plot fairly well. I’ll point you in the right direction for your job. And for the Lord’s sake, drop the “nay” if you’re going to make it here. You don’t want folk thinking you are off the first train from up north, in no-man’s-land.’

  ‘It’s not up north, it’s down, if you work on t’ railway.’ Daisy quickly remembered what Bert had said in the signal box that day, which seemed so long ago. ‘And I’m not changing how I talk for anyone.’

  ‘You talk daft. North’s up. You’ll soon change your twang anyway, when you’ve been with us a while. Now, am I to sort you some lodgings?’

  ‘If you can. I’ll stand on my own two feet tomorrow. I’ll find my way to my new employer in the morning.’

  ‘Going into service ain’t my idea of a job, but as long as you’re happy.’

  Susie stood up as the train jolted over the many track points and swayed back and forward, making her adjust her balance. Steam entered the coach as she pulled on the leather strap to open the window. She then leaned out to open the door as it slowed down alongside the platform.

  ‘Come on, girl, look sharp. It’s a walk down the platform.’

  First, Daisy put her head out of the doorway and looked around her. It was early evening, but the station was beginning to be lit by an amber glow from the gas-lights that illuminated the great glass-roofed station. She stepped out of the train and stopped at the edge of the steps, her mouth open. All those platforms, all those people, and they were walking so fast, with tiny steps, not the big long strides of home, but small, quick movements. She looked at the flower-sellers and paper-boys yelling their trade, and yet it was nearly the end of the day. Horses and carts were being filled from goods trains as they stood, still steaming, with water dripping onto their huge axels and pistons, while letters were being unloaded in mail bags. She’d never seen such a busy place.

  ‘Come on. I ain’t got all night. I’ve got to earn a living, as well you know.’ Susie pulled Daisy by the shoulder and linked arms with her, bustling her and her carpet bag down the platform and out of the busy station onto the streets of Leeds.

  Outside, horses and cabs were waiting for any passengers who needed their assistance, the horses chomping at the bit, their harnesses jangling. A man shouted down from his seat. ‘Evening, Susie, can I take you anywhere tonight?’

  ‘Nah, not tonight, Harry. Keeping it local!’

  Daisy was quickly escorted along the side of the huge, noisy station and down a wide cobbled street with warehouses and offices all crammed next to each other. She looked up at the street name: Water Street. It was apt, as it ran parallel to the canal. Daisy wondered which had come first, the buildings or the canal? She remembered all the navvies on the railway talking about their time building the canals before joining the railways. The canal was bustling with barges, and with men loading and offloading goods. Wives were cursing their men, as every so often a salute to Susie was shouted from a grinning husband. Susie herself seemed oblivious to their shouts, and carried on nearly dragging Daisy to her destination.

  They finally stopped halfway down Water Street, outside a squat building with small stained-glass windows and a low doorway. The door creaked when Susie opened it.

  ‘Evening, Susie. Usual, is it?’ A small, chubby man with whiskers as white as snow, and hair to match, smiled at them both. ‘I don’t know your friend. Are you not going to introduce us?’

  ‘You’ve twisted my arm. I’ll have a gin. This is Daisy. What do you want, lass?’

  ‘Er . . . I don’t – I don’t drink.’ Daisy was busy looking round the smoke-filled room. It was full of people playing cards, smoking pipes or reading newspapers. In the darkness of two corners of the room there were what Daisy took to be courting couples, apart from the fact that she thought they were being a bit too free and easy with their actions towards one another. However, Daisy noted that they were all well dressed and didn’t show the slightest bit of interest in the two new customers who had just entered.

  ‘Daisy, is it? And you don’t drink? Well, there’s a first for my little club. I take it you are from up north, by that accent – just come off the train?’

 
He poured Susie a large gin into a highly decorated glass and winked at her.

  ‘Nah, don’t you be thinking anything like that, Mr Trotter. I know what you are thinking, by that wink. But Daisy is looking for gainful employment in service. She’s an excellent cook and is going to a job at Newtown Terrace tomorrow. She just needs a roof over her head for tonight, and I’m sure you can oblige.’ Susie swigged the gin back in one. ‘She’s got money, and I’ll vouch for her.’

  Daisy smiled. She didn’t know what the wink meant, but obviously Susie had put him right.

  ‘I see. Well, I have a spare room. It’s sixpence for the night. I will tell you my rules: no pissing the bed and definitely no fleas, and payment up front. Oh, and if you entertain, keep the noise down – it puts other customers off.’ He put his gin pitcher down sharply on the table and waited for a response.

  Daisy was taken aback by the sharpness of his attitude. She wasn’t likely to entertain anyone, or wet the bed and have fleas; and the less said about them, the better. She pulled her purse out of her bag and quickly gave him sixpence.

  He grasped it tightly and then leaned towards a shelf to place a candle in a candlestick, which he lit by holding it to an already burning candle on one of the tables.

  ‘Well, if you don’t drink, I’ll show you to your room.’ He grinned and turned round quickly. ‘Will you be wanting some supper? I’ve some nice cold mutton and pickles. They’re only tuppence. You can eat them in your room.’

  ‘That would be grand – and a glass of milk, if you’d be so kind.’ Daisy dug in her purse again and paid him for her supper.

  ‘My privilege! Any friend of Susie’s is welcome under my roof. She surprises me every day, does our Susie.’ Ebenezer Trotter grinned at Susie as he guarded the candle from the draught. The door opened yet again, to a courting couple who were laughing loudly in each other’s company. ‘This way, Daisy. Will I be seeing you later, Susie, or will you be elsewhere tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know about tonight. I might call by – it depends on how busy I am.’ Susie stared hard at Ebenezer; she didn’t want her game to be given away. ‘You look after Daisy here. Make sure she’s not disturbed, and point her in the right direction in the morning.’ She turned to Daisy. ‘You take care, girl. Keep your door closed tonight, and try and sleep. Ebenezer here will look after you. If you need me or get into bother, come down here. I’m always calling in and out of here of an evening. Just tell Ebenezer you need me, and he’ll tell me.’ With that, Susie gave Daisy a big hug and walked out into the night, leaving Daisy standing with Ebenezer in the middle of his so-called ‘club’.

  ‘This way then, Daisy.’ Ebenezer led her through some unlit dark rooms and up three sets of creaking stairs, nearly to the attic rooms. There he took a set of keys that had jangled around his waist on the ascent up the stairs and unlocked a dark oak door, pushing it open for Daisy.

  ‘You’ll be all right in here, lass. It’s one of my more quiet rooms – nobody comes up here much.’ He held the candle and it flickered, showing the room to be decorated, but rather sparse. ‘It’s got all you want, and I’ll send your supper up shortly. You can light the fire if you want, but that’ll be another penny, and it’s not that cold at this time of year.’

  Daisy looked around the room. It would do for a night. Hopefully she’d be in work by tomorrow. ‘Thank you, Mr Trotter, I’m most grateful for your hospitality.’

  ‘You’ve paid me, girl, and Susie’s vouched for you – that’s all that matters.’ The old man shuffled out and closed the door behind him, without saying anything more.

  Daisy lit a further two candles and sat on the bed. It wasn’t like home. There was no mountain air and no stars to see, just the heady bustle of people and horses in the streets. People didn’t look at you; they were too busy going about their business. And she dreaded to think what it would be like in the morning, when Leeds was truly awake. What had she done? If it hadn’t been for kind-hearted Susie, she would have been on the streets tonight. She couldn’t help but think that Susie was an odd one. Daisy still didn’t know what she did for a living, and yet everyone knew her.

  A knock on her door brought her back from her thoughts as a small maid entered her room with a laid tray. She bobbed as she placed it next to Daisy.

  ‘You saw me come in tonight with Susie?’ Curiosity was getting the better of Daisy, and she wanted to find out why Susie was well known by everyone, so she asked the maid.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I saw you.’ The maid blushed.

  ‘Then tell me, what does Susie do that makes her so well known?’ Daisy watched the maid’s face.

  ‘I don’t know if I should say, ma’am. It’s not my place, and besides she’s a good customer here. Mr Trotter wouldn’t be happy with me if he found out I’d told you.’

  ‘You can tell me. I’ll not say anything to Mr Trotter. Besides, Susie’s been good to me and I’d like to thank her, when I can.’ Daisy looked at the young maid, who appeared distinctly uncomfortable.

  ‘Well, ma’am, I know her as Shipley Susie. Her patch is just behind Granary Wharf. She’s a favourite with the gents, and she comes here most nights with her clients. Mr Trotter say’s he’s built his empire with her lying on her back – she’s his favourite.’

  Daisy looked at her in disbelief. Her new friend was a prostitute, a lady of the night, and she herself was sleeping in a brothel. Tomorrow she would have to leave. In fact, no matter how exhausted she was, she would leave by first light. She couldn’t be seen leaving the doors of this establishment by anyone.

  7

  William Mattinson stood in the hallway of his home. His hands were shaking as he took in the news his brother had just told him. William’s son James was fighting for his life, back at Skipton, at the home of his sister-in-law in Caroline Square. William’s wife had been in such good spirits, wanting to show her widowed sister the new baby and for her to spend time with her mischievous nephew. When William had kissed his two-year-old sweetly on the cheek, along with the newly born Charles and his dear wife Angelina, James had seemed in such good health. A slight cough perhaps, but nothing that had concerned him. Now it seemed that James was on his deathbed, and it was only a matter of time until the inevitable happened.

  William paced the hallway, looking at the newly papered walls and the carpet that had just been laid. He was starting to make money, but he’d give it all away for the life of his first son. He looked at his pocket-watch. Where was that bloody woman? He wished he had never listened to his old friend Bert Pritchard, but Bert had assured him that a better cook he’d never set eyes on. She’d have to walk the streets if she didn’t come within the next few minutes. William’s main priority was to get to his son’s bedside.

  As if by surprise, the doorbell rang, nearly making William jump out of his skin. He’d wished for it so hard that it was a shock when it happened for real. He rushed to the door, opening it wide to find a dripping, bedraggled, thin woman, looking quite young in black attire, standing on his step. She held out her hand and muttered a few words of apology for her lateness.

  ‘Come in, come in. I haven’t time for your apologies or niceties. I’ve wasted enough of my time waiting of you. My son’s ill – I’m away to Skipton to be with my family. The kitchen’s downstairs – everything’s there that you need. You’ll find a room made up for you next to the kitchen. There isn’t much natural light there, but it’s warm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off. Don’t know when we will be returning. My brother Jim will keep you informed, and if there is anything you need, he’s at the grocer’s just around the corner.’

  Daisy watched as a very abrupt William Mattinson snatched an umbrella, to shield him from the inclement Yorkshire weather, and then slammed the door after himself, leaving her bemused. She hadn’t had time to say how grateful she was to her new employer, or to tell him what she could do and, more importantly, to seek her instructions. Did he say that his son was ill in Skipton? He must be gravely ill for the poor
man to behave in such a fashion, leaving a woman he didn’t even know in charge of his house.

  She took off her sodden topcoat and shook her head free of the dripping raindrops. She held her coat over her arm, not knowing where to place it. She lifted her drenched skirts and ventured up the dark hallway. There was a door to her left, and she opened it gingerly and looked into what seemed to be the family drawing room. A good leather settee and chairs took pride of place, with a piano next to the wall. Daisy noted that someone in her new family must be musical. The fireplace was in white marble, and upon it were figurines of young women leading mottled brown cows, surrounded by brightly coloured daisies; to either side of the fireplace were glistening candelabra. The clear-crystal glass caught the rain-filled light, making it shine like diamonds.

  She closed the door behind her, careful not to catch the trailing leaves of an aspidistra plant that stood guard at the door, on a carved cane stand. A further door led to what seemed to be the family’s main living area. There was a desk and chair, and an everyday table strewn with papers and invoices; a grandfather clock that ticked the time away happily; and two Windsor chairs by the side of an uncleared fire grate. So her new family had no servants other than herself, else all would have been tidy and the fire laid. Daisy put her coat over the back of one of the chairs and checked her hair in the mirror that hung next to the window. Then she looked out of the window. The rain was pouring, and it looked colder than the month would suggest. All she could see was an austere, walled back yard with an outside lavvy and coal shed. There were no flowers, just paving; and not a hint of the early September day that it was.

  The stairs led both up and down, and Daisy decided to explore upstairs first, holding onto the curving mahogany handrail that led her to a master bedroom and two smaller bedrooms that were filled with children’s toys. One had a bed in it and toy soldiers lined up, as if to attention at the presence of Daisy; the other bedroom contained just a small cot and not much else, apart from a cloth rabbit that looked at her helplessly from behind the cot’s railings. Daisy picked up the floppy rabbit in her hands and shook it to make its head wobble and the small silver bell on the end of its ear rattle. Would her son have had one of these, if he had lived? She hugged it close to her body and then placed it back into the safety of the cot. The Mattinsons obviously had two very young children. Bert hadn’t mentioned that – she might have thought twice about taking the position, if she’d known there were young children. Lately she had found herself feeling more and more uncomfortable in the presence of children. It hurt to think of the loss of her baby, and life had begun to teach her how unreasonably her parents had treated her and her child.