by Diane Allen
‘Well, you know damn well know who she is – she’s Tom Fraser’s lass. And yes, I know Tom is in the lunatic asylum; and yes, I know Clifford Middleton is the bastard from hell and owes us money. But Daisy is different.’ Sam had known this was coming. Folk had been whispering behind his back for weeks. He was surprised that his father hadn’t tackled him earlier.
‘Aye, I ken her. She buggered off when she was only just old enough – broke her mother’s heart and sent her father crackers. Not a good report, lad. And now, like you say, she’s living with that bugger and her sister. You could do better than that.’ Luke stamped down in front of him the paperweight that until then had been holding the weekly invoices in place on the counter, and looked at his son.
‘She was thrown out by her father,’ snapped Sam. He never argued with his father as a rule, but for Daisy he would.
‘Aye, and why? That’s what I want to know. She was the apple of his eye on market days. He’d come in here with her and she could do no wrong. And then all of a sudden, as soon as she got to a decent age, she was gone.’
‘Well, I tell you what, Father – this will please you . . . You know those new brands of lemon cheese and onion relish that you are stocking? The ones from Mattinson Brothers of Leeds? Well, those are her recipes – she taught the brothers all they know. That’s where she’s been: cooking for Mattinson’s in Leeds. She told me that the other night. Now think on that; she’d be an asset to the firm if I wed her.’ The words were out before Sam could stop them. He’d no intention as yet of marrying anyone, but he was angry at being dictated to.
‘Wed her? You’ll do no such thing – over my dead body will you wed that lass. She’s spinning you a yarn, my lad. She knows you are worth a bob or two, and she’s plotting. Her father married her sister off to Middleton, thinking he’d money, but he soon found out different.’ Luke slammed the glass paperweight down hard again, with the palm of his hand, nearly making it shatter.
‘I’ll do what I want, Father. I’m a grown man now, and I’ll prove to you that she’s not who you think she is.’ Sam untied his apron and threw it down on the counter. ‘You can stack your own bloody shelves. I’ve better things to do with my time.’
With that he made for the shop door, slamming it behind him. Luke stood for a moment, trying to calm his temper down, before going over to the shelf where the Mattinson’s preserves had just been freshly stacked. He picked up a jar of lemon cheese. He’d got it in only last week. The firm was a fairly new one – Daisy couldn’t have known that. He glanced at the label, looking carefully at the address, before unscrewing the lid and dipping his finger in the rich, yellow preserve. He licked it quickly as it spilt down his chin. By, it was good. If she could make him that, he could cut out the middle man: more profit for him. Perhaps he’d been hasty. He’d see what the lad did, and perhaps Daisy could make him a pot of lemon cheese, to prove she gave these Mattinson Brothers the recipe. Aye, that’s what he’d do. Perhaps the lad was not that daft after all; he’d get Sam to ask for a pot.
‘Kitty, Kitty, whatever’s the matter?’ Daisy rushed to her sister’s side. She’d heard the knock on the door, but hadn’t bothered to come downstairs.
Clifford snatched the letter from his sobbing wife’s hand and read it quickly:
Lancaster Moor Asylum
Lancaster
April 21st, 1876
Dear Mrs Middleton,
It is my sad duty to inform you that your father died late yesterday evening. He had been very disturbed of late and we had been struggling to control his moods. The nurse went into his room and found him hanging by the window from his sheets. I know this is distressing news for you and your family, but the sanatorium did all it could for this poor lost soul. It would seem that his demons got the better of him.
He is to be buried in the hospital grounds, unless you would like to dispose of the body elsewhere. Please let me know of your wishes.
Please accept our deepest sympathies.
I am your obedient servant,
Dr P. Snowdon
‘So, the old bugger’s dead.’ Clifford crinkled up the letter in his good hand. ‘Best thing really – no life in that bloody spot; couldn’t make head nor tail of nowt there.’ He sat in the chair and poked the fire as he watched Daisy comfort Kitty between sobs. Tobias sat at the back of the room, not understanding what the wailing was all about and keeping out of the way of the now-recovered Clifford.
‘He was my father.’ Kitty lifted her head and looked at Clifford with swollen eyes.
Daisy didn’t know what to feel. This was the man who had belted her to within an inch of her life, killing her baby and nearly making her take her own life. Yet she felt such a pain, as if part of her life had gone forever. He was her father. She remembered his sparkling blue eyes looking at her with love, and the times he had carried her on his shoulders when she was a child. She remembered how she had loved him; back then he had been everything to her. She hugged Kitty, but she couldn’t cry; instead mixed-up memories of good and bad times ran through her head, playing with her feelings for the man she had once respected and loved. But she also remembered how she had felt when she had stood on the chair and contemplated ending her life. She never wanted to feel like that again.
‘We’ll let the hospital bury him there, to save money. Besides, I don’t want to drive all the way from Lancaster with a dead man in the back of my cart – not with my bad hand. I wonder if he’d any brass, and if he’d made a will. That mill house up Grisedale is definitely his: that’ll be worth a bob or two, lass. Your old fella might have got us out of the mire, by dying.’ Clifford felt more like himself for the first time in weeks. ‘Bloody hell, I never thought of that. I’ll go and see his solicitor in the morning. Good job the old bugger’s dead – he’s timed that just right.’ Clifford poked the fire with vigour, thinking about the inheritance, as Kitty and Daisy looked on in disbelief at the cold-hearted bastard.
‘What can I do for you, Mr Middleton?’ Henry Winterskill looked Clifford Middleton up and down. He looked a mess. He’d heard that Clifford had been badly burned in an accident at the farm, but the man who used to think he was cock o’ the midden looked a bit rough at the edges.
‘My wife’s father has died, and I wondered if he’d left a will?’ Clifford hated Henry Winterskill. As well as being the local solicitor, he was on the local bench, and Clifford had been in front of him a time or two.
‘Have you a death certificate?’ Henry looked at him in the same way a fox looks at its kill.
‘Nay, they haven’t sent it yet. My missus wrote to say to bury him at Lancaster, and they’ll send it then.’ Clifford looked around the office: the walnut wall clock ticked steady time, the pendulum swinging the seconds away, as he hung on the next sentence to come out of Henry’s mouth.
‘Well, I can’t do anything without it. I need proof of his death before I can do anything.’
Clifford couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘But you’ve got a will. He has made one? He has left some brass?’ He could feel the money in his pocket already.
‘Yes, I have his will. However, when you do bring the death certificate, bring your wife and her sister, as it is of their concern, not yours. I believe Daisy is back in the district and living with you?’
‘Aye, she is, but he’ll not have left her owt.’ Clifford was annoyed. Why did he want to do business with women, especially with Daisy? Her father had hated her by the time she’d left Grisedale in shame. But at the same time he was secretly worried that bloody old Fraser had named him as Bastard’s father in his will and had told the world that Daisy was the mother. ‘There’s nowt to upset my wife in his will, is there?’ Clifford looked at the slimy Henry Winterskill. How he hated asking him that question.
‘Are there any other factors or points you want me to be aware of?’ Henry loved having Clifford over a barrel and watching him squirm, for he knew what a horrible person he was. It would give him great satisfaction to read Tom Fraser
’s will out, just to watch Clifford’s face.
‘No, no. I just thought, with having two daughters, he might have done something daft.’
‘Not at all, but they are both beneficiaries and, as such, should be here to hear the will together.’ Henry rose and offered Clifford his hand. ‘See you next Tuesday. You should be in receipt of the death certificate by then.’
‘Right, Tuesday it is.’ Clifford let out a sigh of relief.
Outside, in the sharp April sunshine, Clifford looked at the market square of Hawes. He’d not been in town for such a long time. The Crown was thronged with customers. He put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a handful of silver and copper, perhaps just enough for an odd drink. He looked at his scarred red and twisted hand; he’d not attract many women with that by his side. Damn that lad – it was his entire fault; everything was the little bastard’s fault. And now the women of the house were protecting him.
‘Middleton – bloody hell, man, you’re back in the land of the living.’ Joshua Oversby slapped him across the back and shouted as Clifford entered the inn. ‘Bad do about the hand, old chap. Still, you look as if you’re still up for it.’ Oversby screwed up his nose as he looked at Clifford’s hand, making everyone else around him look at his disfigurement. ‘You’re just the man I want, when I think about it.’
‘Why? Are you after some money? ’Cause if you are, you’re out of luck. I’ve just enough on me to buy an odd drink, and that’s my lot.’ Clifford was mad with the loud-mouthed soak, for everyone had shied away from him, now they realized how bad his arm looked.
‘Nay, nay, man. Let me buy you a drink, I’ve a proposal for you that’ll get you in the good books of the hunt – you know how much they like their sport.’ Oversby ordered the serving girl to bring them a gill each, and then he whispered his request in Clifford’s ear.
‘So, we’ve both to go down to the solicitor’s on Tuesday?’ Kitty and Daisy stood around Clifford Middleton as he ate his breakfast.
‘Aye, that’s what he said – he wants you both there, with the death certificate.’ Clifford slurped down his porridge and wiped his chin with his sleeve. ‘Where’s that little bastard at? I’ve a job for him that’s right up his street.’
‘He’s outside; just you let him be, he’s all right where he’s at.’ Daisy jumped to Tobias’s defence.
‘Aye, well, there’s a delivery coming from Oversby, and Bastard’s going to look after it.’
‘He’s not going anywhere near that old letch – I’ll not let him.’ Daisy stared at Clifford.
‘He’ll be nowhere near him. Oversby’s dug out some fox cubs from their den under Winder Fell and, instead of killing them, he wants someone to raise them. They’ll be easy prey for the young hounds in the hunt this autumn. Some sport for our hunting friends.’ Clifford grinned.
‘You cruel bastards! Tell him to do his own dirty work – he knows he’s not right. That’s why he’s got you rearing them.’ Kitty picked Clifford’s bowl up from under his nose and slammed it down in the stoneware sink. ‘That’s not sport, and you know it – they’ll be like pets by the time they are released.’
‘Hold your noise, woman! He’s knocked some of what I owe him off my tab. I’ll do owt to get him off my back.’ Clifford scraped his chair back along the stone flags as he lost his temper. ‘And you keep your mouth shut. I’ll do what I want with the bastard.’ His finger pointed directly at Daisy. ‘You’ve interfered enough, while I’ve been in my bed, but I’m back now. And don’t think I don’t know about you and that simpering Sam Allen – you’re the talk of Hawes.’
‘It’s nothing to do with you anyway – you don’t own me. I’ve paid my way, and more besides, while you’ve been ill.’ Daisy stood her ground. There was no way Clifford was going to go back to his bullying ways with her; he owed her his life.
‘Why you . . . ’ Clifford lifted his hand, stopping it an inch from Daisy’s face.
‘Go on then. That’ll look good at the solicitor’s.’ Daisy glared at him without flinching. He was a bully, nothing more, and she was not going to be the dumbstruck, shaking wreck that he wanted her to be.
‘So your father knows about me?’ Daisy walked by Sam’s side. They’d become close friends over the spring months and she found him easy to talk to.
‘Aye, he tackled me in the shop on Sunday. You could say we had words.’ Sam went quiet.
‘Let me guess: he said I wasn’t good enough for you, that you knew nothing about me and that I was only after your brass?’ Daisy sat down next to the trickling stream, and picked and smelled a kingcup that was growing next to the bubbling beck.
Sam looked at Daisy. ‘Summat like that.’
‘It’s only what my father would have said to me, if it had been the other way round. Besides, everybody knows everybody’s business; and what they don’t know, they make up. I’m the selfish sister who left her parents, and only came back when one was dead and the other as near as damn it.’ Daisy dropped the kingcup and wiped her eyes.
‘I’m sorry about your father – it must be hard.’ Sam squeezed her hand.
‘You know, I thought I wouldn’t be bothered, but the more I think about him, the more I realize how much I loved him. With my mother it was different, for she always favoured my sister. But until I got older, I was always my father’s favourite.’
‘You did right to leave, Daisy. It wasn’t your fault that you fell out, I’m sure he realized in the end.’ Sam put his arm around her and held her tight. He wiped away the tear that ran down her cheek and looked into her hazel eyes. Dare he kiss her? He’d never tried to kiss her before. He reached down, closed his eyes and kissed her firmly on the lips, and then kissed her again and again. Daisy pushed him back gently, smiling. ‘Sam, are you sure? This is beginning to be more than a friendship.’ She had never felt this way before. Yes, there had been Jim; but this love was being returned, and this love had to be solid.
‘I’m sure. I knew the moment you walked into the shop and stood your ground with the local gossips.’ Sam twisted her fine brown hair around his fingers while she looked at him.
‘All right, but we make it right with your father. I don’t want to come between you two.’ Daisy thought of her own family and felt guilty for not telling Sam the whole reason for her eviction from the family home. He must never know about Clifford and the dead baby. If he did find out, he might think her a loose woman and believe that the gossips in Hawes were right in their assumptions about her.
‘That’s an easy ’un, lass. Make him a pot of your lemon cheese – convince him that you worked for Mattinson’s. He’s never shut up about it since I told him; he’s seeing pound signs in front of his eyes.’ Sam lay back and laughed.
‘Here I go again. Men only want me for my cooking skills,’ laughed Daisy.
‘Nay, I want more than that, lass.’ Sam laughed and pulled her down beside him.
‘Sam Allen, what would your father say?’ Daisy smiled.
‘Remember to ask her for the bloody recipe. That’s what he’d say.’
19
‘Firstly, may I give you my condolences on behalf of Winterskill & Winterskill. Your father was always an honourable, proud man, and we were glad to be of service to him when his days of health were better.’ Henry Winterskill looked at the two sisters and at that rogue, Clifford.
‘Here is the death certificate. He was buried in the Moor’s cemetery on Friday.’ Kitty passed across the certificate to Henry with a shaky hand.
‘Mmm, yes – it all looks in order.’ Henry opened the deceased man’s files. ‘Now, you must understand that your father was not a wealthy man. I believe he’d given you a healthy dowry before he was taken ill, Kitty, and then he had the expense of your mother’s funeral just before he himself was admitted to the asylum. Then there was his expense—’
‘How much did the old bugger leave?’ Clifford could wait no longer.
Henry Winterskill coughed. ‘Along with his house at Grisedale and hi
s possessions, he left ten guineas, two shillings and tenpence in hard cash, which will just about cover my expenses.’
‘Who gets the bloody house? At least we can sell it!’ Clifford was desperate for money – he needed it.
‘Mr Middleton, if you will keep interrupting, I shall have to ask you to leave. This is your wife’s family affairs, not yours.’ Henry leaned over the desk. ‘The property at Grisedale is left to . . .’
The whole group held their breath as he double-checked the papers.
‘The property is left to Daisy, on the understanding that she gives the grandfather clock and the oak dresser and its contents to her sister, Kitty, if Daisy is in agreement.’ Henry smiled at the ashen-faced woman.
‘Nooo! The bloody old bastard! What’s he done that for, when he knew I needed the bloody money? It’s me who’s looked after his bloody daughter all these years.’ Clifford lashed out with his walking stick, knocking the small side-table over in the immaculate office. ‘The bastard!’ He swore and stamped around the office, his stick hitting the side of his leg in anger.
‘Sir, I don’t like your manner. This is a will-reading and your temper does not befit the event.’ Henry spoke sternly to the fuming Clifford, before giving his attention to Daisy.
‘Congratulations, Daisy! I can give you the keys to the property.’ He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a bunch of keys that Daisy recognized from her childhood, and passed them to her.
She took them with a shaking hand, speechless that her father had left the old home to her. He did love her after all. Her eyes filled with tears as she handled the keys of her family home, with visions of her father in all his moods playing in her mind.