The pie cases were waiting, lined up on the kitchen table. The larger ones had a strip of strong brown paper tied round with string to stop the sides sagging in the oven. Bowls of filling stood waiting on the dresser and the smell of bones boiling for the jelly filled her nostrils. Mr Farrow had gone to the inn and Mrs Farrow was upstairs having a lie down, so Daisy was left alone with her thoughts to finish the pies.
Aristocrats didn’t wed servants. They used them for – for – the word tightened around her heart – fornication. But Master James did not want her for that. He had said so to her face and she believed him because – because she loved him. The steward might be trying to prevent a scandal, but Boyd, dearest Boyd, was trying to protect her from making a fool of herself with Master James. Had she already done that by their brief exchanges and – and by agreeing to meet him in the hayloft tomorrow? Even now, after all Boyd had told her, she was excited by the prospect. Master James wanted to see her!
James had said he didn’t care what others thought and he would do as he wished. He wished to become more acquainted with her. He was attracted to her as much as she was to him. She had to see him tomorrow. She had to. When she dreamed of this, all rational thought fled from her head, all sensible caution was carried away. There was something wholly irresistible about Master James that fired her in a stirring and passionate manner. And that of course, she realised miserably, was the danger.
But she was strong. Did not folk say that to her? Well, strong-willed anyway. But was she strong-willed enough to turn away from Master James when every fibre of her being was urging her to welcome his advances? Perhaps he would not be there, in the hayloft, tomorrow? Perhaps Mr Stanton had spoken with him as firmly as he had done with her? And perhaps Master James had ignored his advice as she did?
The first meeting of the New Year was one of the biggest, drawing in villagers and townsfolk alike. Anyone with a connection to Redfern, if they owned or could hire a suitable mount, was invited to hunt. Mr Farrow’s son from the farm was there and, to Daisy’s surprise, so was Mr Shipton, smartly turned out on a fine black hunter. He cantered over to say good day to Mr and Mrs Farrow who were hovering on the perimeter in their trap.
‘You ride to hounds, sir,’ Mr Farrow boomed.
‘I was a farmer before I became a stock dealer and your son secured me an introduction. Are you enjoying the spectacle, Mrs Farrow, Daisy?’
‘We are, sir,’ Mrs Farrow replied.
Daisy avoided his eye but was forced to look at him when he addressed her. ‘Mr Farrow was telling me about your brother last night. I hope I shall meet him later.’
Why would he be interested in Boyd? Daisy felt uneasy. He must know who they were and where they came from! He was from Father after all and, no doubt, after Boyd’s wages too. Her desolation deepened and she was pleased to be occupied selling pies from the back of the trap. But as the morning wore on and the cacophony of hunting horn, calling and barking receded into the distance her mood began to lift. Every minute took her nearer to James.
‘I’ll take the rest of the pies to the stables as before, shall I?’ she suggested.
‘I suppose you may. We don’t want them going to waste. Don’t be late for tea.’
‘My brother will make sure of that, ma’am.’
‘Well, Joseph is expected at five and you want to look your best.’
‘I have laundered my lace collar and cuffs ready.’
‘That’s the spirit, my girl,’ Mr Farrow responded. He held the reins steady while she climbed down with her basket. ‘All the pennies you make today will go towards your bottom drawer.’
‘Oh, you are so generous, Mr Farrow,’ his wife gushed.
The stables were quiet as many of the servants were following the hunt. She left her basket on the mounting stone by the pony stables. The horses were out and she wandered from empty stall to empty stall then went outside to wait for Master James. She noticed him on the edge of the woods taking off his riding hat and swapping jackets with one of the stable lads who was holding his horse. She slipped inside the pony stable door out of sight and was lingering in the dark interior when he arrived. He stood at the foot of the hayloft ladder with the jacket hooked casually over his shoulder and called, ‘Daisy, are you up there?’
‘Over here.’
‘What are you doing hiding in the shadows?’ He flung the jacket on a pile of clean straw, crossed the swept floor and put his arms around her, dropping kisses on her hair. ‘I thought you might not be here.’
‘I haven’t long.’ Any further conversation was lost in an embrace that squashed the breath out of her, along with all her resolutions to reject his aristocratic advances.
He lifted his head and tipped her chin so she was looking directly into his eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ He had undone his waistcoat and now he unwound his necktie and opened the top buttons of his shirt. She noticed a spring of dark hair curling at his throat. He took out a small package wrapped in white silk and tied with a narrow red ribbon. ‘You’re not happy,’ he stated, taking hold of her hand. ‘Come and sit with me on the straw. Perhaps this will cheer you.’
He handed her the small soft package.
‘For me?’ She untied her gift carefully. Inside, neatly folded, lay three laced-edged handkerchiefs with beautifully embroidered corners. ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘They’re daisies, how thoughtful.’ She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. ‘They are very pretty. Thank you.’ How would she explain them to Mrs Farrow? They would have to be her secret. She rewrapped them carefully in the silk and stowed them safely in her skirt pocket.
He sat on the straw stack and tugged at her hand to join him. She resisted an overwhelming urge to throw herself into his waiting arms. Oh, how she would have loved to feel his arms around her. But she replied, ‘I cannot.’
‘What has happened, Daisy? Why are you unhappy?’
‘I shall not be able to meet you after today.’
‘I don’t understand. Are you going away?’
‘No,’ she groaned with a choking sob. ‘I wish I were. I am to be married.’
‘Married? It cannot be. I shall not allow it.’
‘Oh, James, even you cannot stop this. You and I can never be together.’
‘Don’t say that!’
‘But it’s true! All this – this clandestine meeting is fanciful and – and – has no – no future.’
‘It is only secret from my guardian and soon he will be in a higher place. Truly, he does not have much longer. His physicians have advised me so and his lawyers have already written to my real father.’
‘And what will your real father say when he hears of our trysts?’
‘He has his own secrets and he will understand.’
‘It will all be too late,’ she cried. ‘I have a suitor. My brother approves and Mr Farrow has given his permission. Your steward’s wife is already planning the ceremony.’
‘Mrs Stanton is involved?’
‘My suitor is one of your footmen. He – he is to take tea with me after the hunt today.’
‘So this is Stanton’s meddling. I see that now. Well, I shall just have to put a stop to it, shan’t I?’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘You mustn’t!’ Her outburst caused him to frown irritably but she went on before he could protest. ‘Please don’t interfere. Mr Stanton has made my situation clear. If I do not marry I shall have to leave Redfern and Boyd will not let me go alone. He will lose his position and we shall both be homeless.
‘Mr Stanton? Mr Stanton? He is not Lord Redfern!’
‘But he is in charge of the servants. James, I beg of you, do not approach him. He will lay the blame at my door and Boyd will suffer. Hush! That might be him.’ She heard voices from outside and scurried to the door.
‘There you are, Boyd,’ Daisy said and stepped outside in the bright sunshine. ‘I’ve been looking for you in the stable.’
‘Thank goodness you’re here. Master James is about somewhere. One of the stable lads
said his mare went lame. I’ve had a look at her but she seems fine to me. Still, it was sensible of him not to risk the hunt.’ He bit into one of her pies. ‘These are good. It was the last one, but you’ve got quite a few coins in your basket. Come on, I’ll walk part of the way to the village with you. I have something to ask you.’
Chapter 33
Daisy glanced back at the closed stable door once and it remained firmly shut. It was most likely to be the last time she would see James alone and her heart felt heavy. It was a silly fantasy of hers but, nonetheless, it was strange how they had both recognised a kindred spirit the moment they had set eyes on each other.
She wondered if she could forget him just as quickly. She thought not. He was under her skin. She did not understand how she could believe that she loved him when she hardly knew him. But she did. It was as though he were already part of her although they had not even kissed. And now she had to forget him.
She heaved a great sigh and said, ‘What is it you want to ask me, Boyd?’
‘Oh yes. What do you know about Abel Shipton? They say he’s a friend of Mr Farrow’s farming son.’
Daisy told him what she knew about his occupation and connections. ‘I think Father has sent him.’
‘Me too. He’s been asking me a lot of questions. He actually came looking for me during the hunt.’
‘He’s been to dinner with the Farrows a couple of times. He said I reminded him of someone.’
They walked for several yards in silence before Boyd went on. ‘He was questioning me about you, Daisy. He wanted to know personal things, like he – he might want to court you.’
‘Oh it’s definitely not that. He’s not interested in me in that way. He said so to Mr Farrow. Ask him, he’ll tell you.’
‘I don’t need to. I believe you. I asked him straight why he wanted to know. He wouldn’t say until he had spoken again with you, but he hinted that we might have relations in the Dales.’
A cold hand clutched to her heart. ‘Relations! He has been sent by Mother and Father, hasn’t he? You’re almost of age but I’m not.’ Daisy suddenly thought of a really good reason to marry Joseph.
‘I asked him the same question and he was vague. I didn’t know what to make of him. He seems a trustworthy sort of fellow most of the time. But I tell you, Daisy, he was quite secretive. I don’t like secrets as well you know. He wanted to know if we knew a vicar called Milo.’
Daisy shook her head at first and then remembered. ‘Wasn’t he the vicar when we were little and went to Sunday school? He upset Mother by moving to Leeds.’
‘Oh yes. I remember. Reverend Miles Milo. Mother said he married for money and secured a better living.’
‘She never mentioned any relations in the Dales. She would have done if we had any, wouldn’t she?’
‘Not if they weren’t the religious sort, or she thought they were common,’ Boyd answered.
Daisy lapsed into silence at the memory of her own parents. Eventually she said, ‘They must still be looking for us.’
‘Abel said he met up with them. The church folk put him in touch.’
‘He visited the cottage?’
‘He said they went funny after we left. Y’know – loony. Anyway they were taken into an almshouse.’
Daisy stared into the distance. ‘Perhaps they were always a bit like that.’
Boyd shrugged. ‘Who can tell? But they were lucky it was an almshouse and not a workhouse.’
‘At least they’ll be looked after. We did do the right thing by running away, didn’t we, Boyd?’
‘Of course we did.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed them. Then seemed to think better of the gesture and moved away from her.
Daisy was getting used this hot and cold behaviour from Boyd. She understood. He was trying to make her more independent of him for both their sakes and she tried her best to struggle with her own beleaguered feelings. Boyd pushed her away in the same manner that she had had to push James away. She felt so alone that she would have welcomed the discovery of new relations anywhere. But she had had enough of fanciful dreams and declared, ‘Well, I think Abel Shipton is mistaken.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
They walked on in reflective silence and parted on the edge of the village.
‘Give Joseph a fair hearing, Daisy,’ Boyd said.
‘I shall. But I have to be able to care for him a little, don’t I?’ She hurried down the main street past the inn and the shops until she came to the butcher’s. Mrs Farrow was watching for her from the window of her upstairs chamber, and waved excitedly when she saw her. Daisy suppressed a sigh. Everyone seemed to want this marriage; everyone except the prospective bride.
She lay awake for ages that night re-living Joseph’s visit. Her first impressions of him were reinforced. He was pompous and patronising, believing himself to be a desirable match for her and the instrument of closer connections between the Farrows and the Abbey. When Mrs Farrow suggested they would be forever in his debt, he readily agreed.
Daisy tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was loquacious and cheerful. Her ‘dowry’ of an estate cottage was generous and tempting bait, and one that few men would refuse. But his behaviour towards her in the scullery set her mind against him for ever.
He had gone out to the privy and she was stacking the tea pots ready to wash later, when a left-over piece of scone fell on the floor and she bent to retrieve it. Then she felt his hand run up the back of her leg and squeeze the flesh of her behind and she would have squealed if he had not stifled her mouth with his other hand. He pulled her upright and breathed, ‘Don’t make a sound. You wouldn’t want to upset Mrs Farrow if I have to tell her of your lewd ways.’
‘Yours, you mean,’ she tried to say.
He turned her round and pinned her against the rough stone wall, still pressing a hand over her mouth. The hand under her skirts moved around to the front and began stroking her lower abdomen, trailing down between her legs, his probing fingers finding her flesh through the opening in her drawers.
‘Stop it,’ she mumbled.
‘Not on your life. It’s what married folk do and we’re as good as.’
‘We are not,’ she muttered through his fingers.
He ignored her, pressed the full length of his body hard against hers and plonked his open mouth over her lips. She flailed around with her hands and managed to knock a plate to the floor so that it shattered noisily on the flags. She heard a door open and, thankfully, he released her as Mrs Farrow called, ‘Daisy!’
‘Coming, Mrs Farrow,’ she answered.
‘Better get back in there.’ Joseph shoved her in the middle of the back. ‘I’ll follow in five minutes.’
Daisy fled from the scullery. The incident troubled her and disturbed her sleep that night so she was awake when the church clock chimed the hour. But it wasn’t the clock. It was the Big Bell, and the deep sonorous bong continued, one note, one repetitive note. She heard Mrs and Mrs Farrow climb out of bed and raise a window. There were voices, shouting, coming from the street. Something was amiss! A flood? A fire? Daisy scrambled out of bed, pulled on her cloak and went on to the small landing. The single bell from the church tower continued to ring.
‘What is it?’ she called. ‘What’s happening?’
The door to the front bedchamber opened and Mrs Farrow appeared with a lighted candle.
‘He’s gone,’ she said vacantly. ‘After all these years, he’s gone.’
Daisy’s lack of sleep had made her irritable and she demanded, ‘Who?’
‘Lord Redfern, of course. Who else? He slipped away in the early hours.’
Mr Farrow appeared beside her. ‘Best get yourself dressed and the range going, lass. The whole village will be up and about soon.’
‘Over here, Boyd.’ Daisy jumped up and down to see over the heads of folk lining the main street in Redfern Village. The sash window above her head slid open and Mrs Farrow leaned out.
‘C
ome inside quickly, before you are both crushed to your de—’ Her head disappeared inside abruptly as Mr Farrow yanked her back.
Daisy took hold of Boyd’s hand and dragged him down the side of the shop to the backyard, into the house and up the stairs to Mr and Mrs Farrow’s front bedchamber.
‘Come along in, lad,’ Mr Farrow said. ‘You two young ’uns kneel in the front then we can see over you.’
‘How long can you be away from the stables?’ Daisy asked.
‘I have to be back before the carriages arrive from church. I’ve never seen so many lined up along the driveways. Every grand family in the country must be here.’
‘It’ll take ’em an hour to fill the church and just as long to empty. We’ve been told there’s no room for us villagers. Most have taken up positions on Church Rise for a view of the churchyard.’
‘Who are these people out here, then?’
‘They’ve come from all over the county to pay their last respects. There’s not many folk that don’t benefit from Redfern Abbey one way or another.’
‘Here they come!’
Daisy watched in silence as a procession of grand carriages, many with ornate coats of arms painted on the doors and black leatherwork on their horses, rolled slowly down the main street. Drivers and liveried footmen wore dark coats and sombre expressions. The coffin rumbled past covered by the Redfern standard and resting on a black bier drawn by two black horses with black plumes on the heads. An open carriage followed carrying Master James accompanied by a thick-set older man with a swarthy ruddy face who was vaguely familiar to Daisy.
Daisy stared at James. He was dressed in black and wore a tall hat. His countenance, as Daisy expected, was serious. But he appeared so very sad that she wanted to rush out and comfort him with hugs and kisses. Her sentiment was so strong that she had to blink back tears. Onlookers were standing on boxes and even chairs brought along for the purpose of securing a good view of the visiting gentry that followed the chief mourners.
The Lost And Found Girl Page 30