by Diane Allen
She placed her belongings on the luggage rack above her head and sat down into the depths of the carriage seat. She’d not been on a train since her first arrival in Leeds and she was amazed by the changes. The station had grown, and buildings had sprung up alongside the canal and wharfsides. She sighed as the train built up steam, leaving the expanding city. So much had changed in such little time: houses had been built, the smoking chimneys of factories littered the skyline, and people were constantly in a hurry. Perhaps it was right that she was leaving this life behind – it had caused her a lot of worry and stress, and now she was going back to the area she had loved while growing up, and to a slower pace of life.
The train pulled up at Bingley and she smiled at the newly built rows of workers’ homes that ran down to the line. Albert Street, Emily Street, Charlotte Street: all good, solid Victorian names. Bless the Queen, she was a good woman. The beautiful newly built town of Saltaire came next; Titus Salt was a man to be reckoned with, a man from ordinary roots, but now with a town named after him. He was a good man, though, looking after all his workers, with houses built for them according to their status in his weaving business. The great cotton mill’s looms and shuttles could be heard sweeping back and forth as the train drew in at the station, even though the windows and doors of the train were closed. Daisy remembered Jim’s words on her first trip into the centre of Leeds with him: ‘You want nowt with working in a mill, Daisy.’ And now she knew he had been right; she’d seen too many lasses with fingers – or worse – missing, from the flying shuttles, and women coughing their lungs up from the cotton fibres embedded in them. It was nowt of a life, and she knew that now.
At Skipton station she was joined by a small, bony woman who looked at her with curiosity when she entered her carriage. Daisy smiled and wished her a good afternoon.
‘Aye, I don’t know about that, lass. It looks like rain to me, and I’ve to walk home yet, when I get off this train. It’s a good four miles from the station to Dent – why they built it there I’ll never know.’ The straight-talking woman looked at her and smiled.
‘Have you been shopping in Skipton?’ Daisy decided to make conversation. Even though she had noticed a lack of bags, she thought it was polite to show interest and she didn’t think her knowledge of why Dent station had been built, following the land’s natural contours, would be of interest to her new companion.
‘I’m off back to Dent. I’ve just been to Skipton to see my brother. He’s been poorly this last week or two, had a terrible cough. We thought we were going to lose him at one time – like it would have given us a bit of trade if he had snuffed it.’ The woman’s face remained straight as she spoke.
‘Trade?’ Daisy asked, puzzled by the hard-natured woman who sat across from her.
‘Aye, we are undertakers in Dent, but we never make much money in summer. It’s winter that kills the old ones off. Last winter we had a funeral nearly every week – my Ernie was fair rubbing his hands. There’s nowt like a good covering of snow to make the spirits low, and then they just start dropping.’
‘I’m off to Garsdale, to my sister’s.’ Daisy decided to change the subject as the train clattered through the next station. She was watching exactly where she was on the line, for she wanted to watch out of the window once she reached Ribblehead, just to remind her of her past life there.
‘Are you? Whereabouts does she live? I know some folk in Garsdale.’ The woman peered at her with inquisitive eyes, making Daisy feel as if she had suddenly become prey for an undertaker’s coffin.
‘I’m off to Grouse Hall. My sister and her husband, Clifford Middleton, live there. It’s just above the turning for Grisedale.’ Daisy watched the woman’s face as she was weighing up whether she knew the family.
‘Clifford Middleton, now let me think.’ The woman sat back and pondered, and then, as if a light had gone on in her brain, she shouted. ‘Oh! I know him. His wife’s mother died last year. They used to be bakers who came into Sedbergh on market day, until the old fella went mad. He’s a bit of a bugger, is that Clifford – got a bit of a reputation.’ And then she realized what she had said and noted Daisy’s flushes. ‘I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t mean to upset you, and my mouth runs away with me sometimes. I was sorry to hear about your mother. I didn’t realize they had another lass.’
‘I’ve been away for a while.’ Daisy decided not to say any more to the gossiping woman. Not only had she tittle-tattled about Daisy’s immediate family, but she had rekindled her fears about Clifford. Why had she written to Kitty begging to come and live with her? She should have waited until she felt stronger and then found her own way in the world. She had the skills to look after herself, and there were plenty of grand houses needing cooks in Leeds.
Daisy looked out of the window as the train drew out of Settle station. Now that she knew the lie of the land, she recognized the sweeping hills and the drystone walls and her heart beat faster as she realized she was nearly home. At the same time, a dread from her past filled her.
Hilda Batty watched as Daisy stood and opened the train’s window. Daisy turned her back on her new companion and breathed in the sharp Dales air as it filled the carriage. Even though the air was infused with smoke from the train engine, she knew she was back home. The station at Horton in Ribblesdale was immaculate as they pulled into it. The flowerbeds were filled with the delicate, nodding heads of hundreds of snowdrops, and the name of the station had been spelled out in whitewashed stones. She smiled as she looked up at the peak of Pen-y-ghent. How she’d missed her fells and dales. She stood watching the limestone walls go rushing past, nearly catching her breath as the train rounded the corner onto the straight length into Ribblehead station. She felt a tear nearly coming to her eye as she saw the road that she had walked down, half-dead and broken-hearted, a few years ago. It was the station to which she’d run away from Gearstones Lodge, and where she had courted Bob.
The stationmaster blew his whistle and the train rattled over the road bridge, with the Welcome Inn looking like a doll’s house below. Then the train travelled over the mighty viaduct, the small moorland road running like a length of string under the huge arches. Daisy looked out over the wild moorland, remembering all the navvies she had served, with their toothless grins as they tucked into her meals, and the thanks she had received when their stomachs had been filled. Passing the signal box and Blea Moor cottages, her heart ached. So many hopes for a better life had been planned there, all broken on that fateful night when Bob had died. She said a silent prayer for him, before sitting down across from her fellow traveller.
‘Aye, lass, tha looks proper white, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, just looking out at the view before we go into the tunnel.’ Daisy wasn’t going to tell her anything about her past.
‘It’s a fair height up, that viaduct. I wouldn’t like to stand on the top of it – I’d be fair dizzy.’ The old woman looked out into the blackness of Blea Moor tunnel. ‘Just shut the window. The smoke’s coming in, and it’s bad for me lungs.’
Daisy rose and closed the window, breathing in the familiar fumes of coal dust and the smell of the many trains that had passed through the tunnel since it was built. She smiled. Memories were short, and people forgot; already the navvies buried in Chapel-le-Dale and Cowgill churchyard had been forgotten. She’d not forget them. They had made her what she was – a strong person. And now she was back.
‘I always think this dale is my favourite. Though I would, as I was born here. But you’ve got to go a long way before you see anything as bonny as this view.’ Her companion looked out of the carriage window at the green valley of Cowgill, which led to Dent. ‘You either live on the sunny side or the money side, say the locals. Well, we’re here; this is Dent. Looks like I’ll have to walk home. Ernie isn’t here for me.’ She sighed. ‘And it’s beginning to snow! Well, it’s been nice meeting you. I hope all goes well for you, and forgive me for being an old gossip.’
‘Thank you.
’ Daisy gritted her teeth. She was glad to see the back of the nattering old woman, as she slammed the carriage door behind her. She was thankful that the carriage was empty again as the train made its way from Dent station through the darkness of Rise Hill tunnel. Her stomach churned with fear and apprehension as it pushed its way through a blizzard-clouded cutting and out into Garsdale.
She looked down the dale, through the falling snow, remembering which family lived in which house, and then looked up to the winding road that led to Grisedale. The lamps were being lit, and Daisy remembered the homeliness of the families behind the burning lamps; the nights when she and her sister and parents had dined and shared their lives with the neighbours and friends.
Daisy couldn’t help but think that it was a pity Kitty and Clifford had never been blessed with children. Kitty would have been the perfect mother. She had always had more patience than Daisy, and had always entertained the babies and toddlers who had visited their home. Now that she was returning, what would she find? Could things ever be the same, and would Clifford still be the bastard she knew him to be?
The snow whipped around her as she climbed down from the train and made her way down the steep hill, towards a standing horse and cart on which an elderly man sat. He had a sack-cloth covering his shoulders.
‘I’m Daisy Lambert. Thank you for meeting me. I hope it’s not too much trouble.’ Daisy waited for an answer from the scruffy-looking man, but instead she saw a gobful of saliva and tobacco being spat out at the side of the cart, and heard a slap of the reins on the horse’s flanks as she climbed into the back of the rough cart without a helping hand.
The horse trotted along the road and out of the station yard, past the row of railway workers’ houses and down the steep hill to the valley below. The pastures on either side of the winding hill road were being covered quickly with the fast-falling snow, and Daisy shivered and wrapped a filthy horse-blanket around her, from the back of the cart, to keep warm. She was already feeling weak, the journey having exhausted her, after nearly being at death’s door just a few days ago. The snow and cold crept into her bones as the snowflakes settled on her hair and eyelashes, cold and wet, clinging until they melted with a frozen drip. She slid up to the back of the cart and wrapped whatever else she could find around herself. She’d forgotten how cold it was out in the bleak countryside of Garsdale, compared to the sheltered streets of Leeds and Kirkstall.
She felt every bump of the road and sighed with relief and anguish that they had started to climb the rough path to Grouse Hall. She’d not been back there since Kitty’s wedding day and knew she had a lot to explain, but she would have to play the whole situation by ear. How much, or how little, did Kitty know? What had her parents said about her disappearance from home?
The horse and cart pulled up outside the long, dark shape of Grouse Hall. A dim lamp shone in the window of what she knew to be the parlour. It flickered for a moment and then disappeared as Daisy climbed out of the cart, her whole body shaking with the cold.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the old man who had driven her down the dale. ‘Are you not coming in to warm yourself?’
Another spit of tobacco and saliva was the answer, and then a few words. ‘Nay, you’ll not get me in there, no matter how cold the weather is. It’ll be worse in there.’
He turned the horses round with another flick of his reins and made his way back down the track, leaving Daisy standing in the snow with her meagre possessions.
She looked around her, hardly able to make out the shape of the opposite valley sides, and then at the long, dark, gloomy house of Grouse Hall. Oh well, she’d have to make the best of it and face what was to be. She picked up her belongings and made her way down the flagged path to the porchway. The previously broken gate and crumbling walls of the garden had now all but disappeared, telling Daisy that there hadn’t been much money or love spent on the Middleton family home. She stepped up into the dry limestone porch and felt sick as she reached for the brass door knocker, which was in the shape of a fox’s head. The last thing she wanted was for Clifford to greet her. She couldn’t face him – not yet; not until she knew how much Kitty knew of her family’s actions.
The door opened and a flickering oil lamp lit up the face of its holder.
‘So, you’ve had to come home then. After all your selfish trailings, you’ve had to bury your pride and be looked after by your kin.’
Daisy recognized the voice immediately – it was her sister Kitty’s. But where was the rosy-cheeked, beautiful blonde woman she had left behind on that wedding day? Even by the light of the dim lantern, she could see how gaunt Kitty was. And why did she have an almost venomous tone to her voice? Daisy had always loved Kitty deeply, and in years past her sister would never have accused her of being selfish or proud.
‘Kitty, it is so good to see you again. I’m in your debt for letting me come and stay with you.’ Daisy wanted to hug her sister, but she sensed things had changed between them, even though her letter had been warm and had welcomed Daisy with open arms into her household.
‘Aye, well, put the wood in t’ hole. I’m not keeping this door open for ever and letting this winter weather in.’ She closed the door against the winter chill.
Daisy picked up her bags quickly and followed Kitty into the darkness of Grouse Hall. She was shown the way by the rustling skirts of her sister and the dim golden light of her oil lamp.
‘You needn’t think I’ve made you any supper – we’re not made of money, like the posh family you’ve come from, so I hope you’ve eaten.’ Kitty turned and looked at her younger sister. She hated Daisy for leaving her in the dale with a husband who treated her as little more than a slut, and with parents who had wanted constant attention, while Daisy herself had the life of a free spirit, going where she wanted and with whom she wanted, only returning home when she thought she was ill and near death. ‘When you wrote, I thought you were nearly on your deathbed, but you look well enough to me.’
‘I’ve eaten earlier in the day, so it’s no problem, Kitty dear. I’m feeling a lot better now. William sat beside me day and night for a week, nursing me back to health. I still feel weak, but I don’t think I’m on my deathbed any more.’ Daisy felt she wasn’t wanted, and yet Kitty’s letter had not come across like that.
‘William? Who’s William, and why couldn’t you stay with him?’ Kitty hovered with the lamp. The way it shone made her face look like a phantom.
‘He was my boss, and was married with a wife and family. A better man you could not find this side of Leeds.’
‘So you were his strumpet who got in the way – that’s why you are back to us with your tail between your legs.’ Kitty turned and looked at her younger sister.
‘No, Kitty, it’s not like that. I was genuinely ill. I nearly died, and probably would have done, if he had let his wife continue looking after me. I swear I think she poisoned me!’ Daisy had not said it out loud before, but now that she was away from the Middleton household she dared to.
‘Well, you keep your eyes to yourself while you are under this roof. I remember that you used to flutter your eyelashes at Clifford before we were married. No self-respecting sister would keep away from her newly wed sister for months, then run away from home because she was jealous.’ Kitty spat out the words as she mounted the creaking stairs up to the bedrooms. ‘You’re in Clifford’s father’s bedroom. He died while you were sulking over my marriage.’ She turned the key in the lock and bade Daisy enter the cold, unwelcoming room.
‘Kitty, I’m sorry. It’s true that I made eyes at Clifford, but I was young and foolish then. I’d never come between you and your husband. But you’ve been told wrongly about me sulking, and why I left Grisedale – please believe me. One day I’ll be able to tell you, but not now.’ Daisy didn’t know if she was thankful her sister didn’t know the truth, but at the same time her parents had made up a complete pack of lies to cover her true plight.
‘I’ll think what I want. Why sho
uld our parents lie to me?’ Kitty bent and lit a small piece of candle that stood in a square brass candlestick by the side of the bed. ‘Don’t burn it long. This’ll have to last you all week, for we aren’t made of money. And lock your door. Clifford will be back later tonight, providing the snow stops falling, and he’ll have his hunting mates with him, who can get a bit rowdy.’
Daisy stood by the side of the bed watching her sister disappear with the lamp.
‘Oh and, Daisy, Clifford likes his breakfast as soon as it’s light. You might as well earn your keep while you are under our roof.’ And with that she left, leaving her sister alone in the dim room.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Daisy looked around her. The small stub of candle flickered and danced as a draught from the rotten window blew across the room. It was freezing, and the room smelled damp and fusty. The covers on the bed felt damp, and the fire in the fireplace was not lit; nothing made Daisy feel welcome. The one good thing was that Kitty was definitely oblivious as to why she had left home. Perhaps it was best that she left Kitty thinking it had been jealousy that had caused her to leave. Her sister would soon see how Daisy felt about the dastardly Clifford – there would be no love lost there.
She picked up the candle and stared out of the window. She could see nothing but the occasional solitary snowflake that flickered down too near to the window to survive, and her own ghostly reflection in the glass. She was tired and hungry. She’d lied to her sister; she’d not eaten since early morning, and now the hunger, cold and tiredness were getting the better of her. She moved across to the door and locked it; the last thing she wanted was Clifford entering her room in the middle of the night.
She shivered; it was too cold to undress, and so she wrapped her cloak around her and climbed into bed. Lying there, she wondered if the bed had been changed since old Middleton had died – from the smell of it, she doubted it. She shivered again and pulled the covers tightly around her. Why had she come home? Things were worse here than anything she’d put up with in Leeds. If she’d kept her distance from Angelina, she would have survived. The little bit of warmth from the covers gradually made her dozy and soon she felt her eyes closing. Perhaps in the light of day things would look better.