by Dilly Court
The oak-panelled entrance hall was lit by dozens of expensive wax candles and a blaze roared up the chimney in the huge and ornate fireplace. Stern faced as before, Molesworth showed them to the drawing room, which in daylight must have had a view of the deer park, but this evening the heavy velvet curtains were drawn against the cold night.
Esmond Tattersall was standing with his back to the fire. He approached Eleanora with his hands outstretched and a smile on his face.
‘My dear Mrs Marshall, how elegant you look. It’s so kind of you to grace my humble abode.’
Eleanora blushed and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘How kind of you to invite us, Squire Tattersall.’
‘Esmond, please. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’ He bowed over her hand before turning to Sidney.
‘It’s good of you to come, sir.’
Sidney harrumphed and cleared his throat. ‘Er – thank you. This is a very fine house, Squire.’
‘Yes, it is rather. Please take a seat and make yourselves comfortable.’ He moved to the sofa and sat down. ‘Sit here, Miss Marshall, and we can converse without shouting across the room.’ He patted the space beside him, but to Daisy’s intense relief her aunt chose to sit next to the squire.
‘You have a beautiful home,’ Eleanora said, smiling. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a finer house.’
Squire Tattersall signalled to his butler. ‘We’ll have a glass of sherry wine before dinner, and afterwards we’ll play a hand or two of cards. I take it that you can all play whist?’
Eleanora glanced anxiously at her husband. ‘I’m not very good at card games.’
‘My wife speaks the truth,’ Sidney said apologetically. ‘I prefer poker myself, but that’s neither here nor there.’
‘I don’t play cards,’ Daisy said firmly.
‘A pity, but perhaps we can remedy that in time.’ Esmond moved closer to Eleanora, leaving a small space at his other side. ‘Come and sit by me, Miss Marshall. I will be a thorn between two roses.’
Daisy was tempted to refuse, but it would have been bad manners to snub their host so she went to sit beside him.
‘Er, you mentioned fishing, Squire,’ Sidney said casually. ‘You said you have a lake in the grounds.’
‘Indeed I have and it’s well stocked. You are welcome to try your hand at fishing there whenever you wish. My gamekeeper will be pleased to accompany you and show you the best places to cast your line.’
‘How generous of you, Squire.’ Eleanora took a glass of sherry from the silver tray proffered by Molesworth. ‘This is so delightful, don’t you think so, Daisy?’
Daisy took a large mouthful of her drink and swallowed hard. She could feel the warming effect of the alcohol as it reached her stomach. Perhaps, given enough wine, she might make it through the evening, but if the squire continued to inch closer, pushing her even further into the corner of the sofa, she would forget that she was a lady and slap his smiling face. She gazed down in horror as he walked his fingers across the folds of her skirt and laid his hand on her knee.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll sit in a chair,’ she said, leaping to her feet. ‘I find it rather warm in here.’
The evening dragged on, relieved only by a delicious meal served in the huge banqueting hall where the long refectory table would have seated thirty people in comfort. It seemed strange to be the only guests present, but the squire made up for lack of company with a monologue listing all his achievements, which were all money orientated and designed to show how he had restored the failing fortunes of his family. Daisy was tempted to rise to her feet and tell him what she thought of a landlord who allowed his properties to fall into disrepair while charging exorbitant rents to his tenants. Somehow she managed to restrain herself, but she could see that her aunt was impressed and Uncle Sidney nodded in agreement at some of the squire’s comments on running an estate like a business. In Daisy’s opinion the squire was boasting like a small boy who was out to impress, though as far as she was concerned, he failed.
‘We will forgo the brandy and cigars as there is no hostess to entertain the ladies,’ Squire Tattersall announced at the end of the meal. ‘Instead I suggest a tour of the old house. It dates back to the fifteenth century in parts, and has had quite a history, although I won’t bore you with details.’ He rose to his feet and walked round the table to proffer his arm to Daisy. ‘Will you allow me to escort you, Miss Marshall?’
She looked anxiously at her aunt, who, being the senior woman present, should have been the one to receive such attention from her host, but Eleanora seemed happy with the arrangement and she smiled, nodding her assent. Reluctantly, Daisy rose to her feet, wishing wholeheartedly that the evening would soon come to an end. The squire had been giving her covert looks during the meal and had smiled ingratiatingly when he caught her eye. It was embarrassing to have a middle-aged man making eyes at her like a love-struck youth. There was no way out now and she managed a shadow of a smile as she laid her hand on his arm.
‘We will follow you,’ Eleanora said eagerly. ‘But we might not be able to keep up with you young people.’
This remark was so ludicrous that Daisy was tempted to giggle. Esmond Tattersall was fifty if he was a day, and at least five years her aunt’s senior.
‘Hold on there, Eleanora, old girl.’ Sidney jumped to his feet. ‘We can keep up with the best of ’em.’
‘Oh, hush, Sidney. You know what I meant.’ Eleanora dug him in the ribs as he took her by the arm.
The squire signalled to Molesworth, who was standing to attention in front of the carved oak buffet. ‘We’ll have coffee in the drawing room after I’ve shown my guests round.’ He picked up a silver candlestick. ‘Follow me, my good people.’
Creek Manor was a rabbit warren of narrow corridors and passageways, and Daisy lost her bearings completely as the squire led them from one room to another. Her aunt and uncle were doing their best to keep up with them, but when they reached the long gallery at the top of the house, Eleanora and Sidney were lagging behind, staring at suits of armour and a sword collection strung out along the wall. Daisy found herself alone with the squire at the far end of the room.
He slipped his arm around her shoulders as he pointed to a portrait of a man in Elizabethan costume. ‘That is my ancestor. He was a privateer and earned the thanks and a huge fortune from the Queen herself.’
‘That’s very interesting, Squire. But I thought your ancestors were mine owners.’ Daisy tried to edge away, but his grip on her tightened.
‘They were, but you’re the only person who has dared to question me. I like that.’ He lowered his voice. ‘My first wife was a brainless fool, and barren – but you are a woman of spirit. You attempted to deceive me and failed, and I respect you for trying, although it would take a very clever female to get the better of me.’
Daisy twisted round to face him, but in the dim light she could not see his face clearly. ‘I’m not sure what you’re saying, Squire. But if you think I would be interested in someone like you, you’re sadly mistaken.’
‘I enjoy a challenge, and you are a pauper. Don’t worry, my dear. I know all about you now and your kind-hearted but foolish aunt and uncle. I could make them homeless if I chose to do so, and you, too.’
Daisy pulled away, glaring at him. ‘Are you threatening me, Squire?’
‘Believe it or not – and I find it hard to understand myself – I find you very appealing. I’m hoping to achieve a knighthood, or maybe even a baronetcy in the near future and I’m in desperate need of an heir. I need someone to inherit the fortune I’ve made, besides which, having a young and attractive wife would be a definite advantage in public life. I intend to go into politics.’
‘Daisy, come and look at this painting.’ Eleanora’s voice echoed eerily off the wainscoted walls.
Daisy could have cried with relief. ‘My aunt wants me, sir.’
Tattersall caught her by the wrist. ‘You haven’t given me an answer, woman. I’m asking
you to marry me. You won’t get another chance like this. Give me an answer now.’
‘I hardly know you,’ Daisy protested. ‘Let me go this instant or I’ll call out and my uncle will want to know why.’
‘Don’t be a fool. I’m offering you all this.’ He released her, making a gesture with his open arms. ‘You would share my good name and my wealth.’
‘I want neither,’ Daisy said stoutly.
‘You’re just saying that. I know that young ladies like to keep a gentleman in suspense.’
‘Daisy, do come and look at this lovely painting.’ Aunt Eleanor’s voice echoed up and down the long gallery, as if the subjects of the portraits were mocking her.
‘You couldn’t be more wrong, Squire. Please believe me when I say that I do not wish to marry you.’
‘You’ll change your mind,’ he called after her as she walked away. ‘I always get what I want.’
Chapter Eleven
Eleanora chattered volubly during the carriage ride home, but Daisy said little. She could think of nothing other than the squire’s insulting behaviour, and his assumption that she would be honoured by his proposal. The mere thought of an intimate relationship with him made her feel physically sick, and the fact that he had tried to blackmail her with the threat of evicting her aunt and uncle from their home made matters even worse. Oblivious to the fact that neither her husband nor her niece seemed to share her enjoyment of the evening’s entertainment, Eleanora continue to extol the virtues of Squire Tattersall and the grandeur of his house. Sidney answered in monosyllables when forced to respond, and Daisy closed her eyes, feigning sleep.
When she eventually lay down in her bed Daisy could not sleep. She found herself thinking of Julian and comparing his romantic proposal with the one she had received that evening from Squire Tattersall. She wondered if Julian ever thought of her now, or perhaps he was too busy establishing himself in his new profession. His rejection still hurt, but the pain had eased and perhaps it was more bruised pride than a broken heart. As they were unlikely to meet again she might never know her true feelings, and her dislike of Esmond Tattersall and anger at the way he had treated her was uppermost in her mind. The clock in the hall below struck midnight and sleep still evaded her. She decided to get up and go downstairs. A cup of cocoa might help her to relax, and she reached for her wrap.
She managed to avoid the fifth step from the bottom, which creaked loudly when trodden on in a certain place, and she tiptoed to the kitchen. The warmth from the range had permeated the whole room and Hattie had banked up the fire. All she would have to do first thing next morning was to riddle the embers and they would burst into flame. Daisy moved the kettle to the hob while she went in search of the cocoa tin, sugar and the milk jug, which was in its usual place on the marble slab in the larder. She had just settled down to sip the hot drink when she heard a noise outside. Someone was banging on the scullery door. She sat for a moment, hoping that whoever it was would go away, but the knocking became more insistent and she rose to her feet. She went to the door and hesitated, afraid of who might be demanding admittance at this ungodly hour, but curiosity got the better of her and she opened the back door.
A boy she recognised as Alfie Green, one of Jack’s friends, was pale-faced in the moonlight, and shivering violently.
‘What’s the matter?’ Daisy asked anxiously.
‘Ma’s sick, and the doctor’s gone away.’
‘You’re cold. Come inside and get warm.’ Daisy ushered him into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry to hear that your mother is ill, but why do you think I can help?’
‘You knew what to do when Jack broke his arm, and you saved Jay Fox when he was drownded.’
Daisy shook her head. ‘He wasn’t drowned, and I really didn’t do anything for Jack other than immobilise his arm.’
‘But Ma’s going to die, miss. There’s no one who can help me.’
‘Where’s your father? Isn’t he at home?’
‘He’s dead drunk, miss. He’s no good to man nor beast.’
Daisy stared at Alfie in dismay. Her medical knowledge was scant – really little more than common sense – but she could see that the boy was trembling violently and alarmingly pale. She was wondering what to do when the door opened and Linnet peered into the kitchen.
‘I heard the noise,’ she said, staring at Alfie. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He says his mother is ill and his father is too drunk to be of any use.’ Daisy poured the remainder of the cocoa into a clean cup and handed it to Alfie. ‘Drink this. It will warm you up.’
‘I got to get back to Ma. Will you come, miss? Please.’
Daisy turned to Linnet. ‘I’m not a nurse. She might be really ill.’
‘Mabel Green is in the family way for the fifth time,’ Linnet said in a low voice. ‘If it’s the baby coming why didn’t you go for the midwife, Alfie?’
‘She not there. I dunno where she is.’
Linnet patted him on the back. ‘Never mind, love. I’ll see if I can find Annie Maggs.’ She met Daisy’s worried glance with a smile. ‘I think I might know where she is, but it would help if you could go home with Alfie. Just keep Mabel comfortable while I fetch the midwife.’
Daisy stared at them in horror. She had never seen a woman in labour, let alone been present at a birth, but the boy was clearly terrified and Linnet seemed confident she could get help. Daisy managed a smile. ‘Of course I’ll go with you, Alfie. I’ll get dressed and then we’ll set off.’
‘Me, too.’ Linnet followed Daisy out into the hall. ‘Don’t worry, miss. I know where Annie might be. I just hope she’s sober.’
The Greens’ cottage was small and cramped, quite similar to the one rented by the Fox family. A single tallow candle burned with a dull flame, filling the room with the overpowering smell of rancid animal fat. Alfie’s brothers sat huddled on the flagstone floor, the eldest boy holding their baby sister in his arms. From upstairs low moans developed into high-pitched screams, and the two smaller boys buried their heads in their hands, sobbing loudly. The baby, who looked to be about a year old, started to wail, and Alfie wiped his nose on his sleeve, stifling a sob.
‘She’s upstairs, miss,’ he said unnecessarily.
‘Where’s your dad?’ Daisy asked warily. ‘You said he was dead drunk.’
‘He’s out in the yard, miss. Fell flat on his face on his way back from the privy. We couldn’t move him, so we left him there.’
The screams from above were getting louder and Daisy headed for the stairs. ‘We’ll worry about your dad later. You stay here and look after the young ones. I’ll see what I can do for your ma.’ Daisy hoped she sounded more confident than she felt, but she went upstairs anyway.
Mabel Green was lying on a bare mattress, the double bed being the only furniture in the room apart from a chest of drawers. The stub of a wax candle shed a feeble, flickering light on the woman’s distorted body as she writhed in agony. Plucking up all her courage, Daisy went to stand at the bedside. ‘I’m Daisy Marshall, Mrs Green. I’ve come to sit with you until the midwife arrives.’
Mabel opened her eyes and she reached out to grasp Daisy’s hand. ‘Are you an angel?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not, but I’ll see if I can make you more comfortable. Just tell me what to do.’
Mabel closed her eyes and her grip on Daisy’s hand tightened until Daisy was certain her bones would break. A low moan turned into a scream, and Daisy was tempted to run away, but seeing the woman’s pain and distress she forced herself to be calm. She stroked Mabel’s matted hair back from her forehead, murmuring words of encouragement, and she flexed her fingers when Mabel’s grip slackened and she was able to pull her hand free.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Green, the midwife is on her way. She’ll help you.’
‘She’ll be drunk at this time of night,’ Mabel muttered. ‘You must stay, miss. You’ll have to help birth my baby.’
‘Of course I’ll stay,’ Daisy sai
d, trying to sound confident. ‘Can I fetch you something to drink. A glass of water, perhaps?’
‘Or a tot of gin.’ Mabel uttered a throaty laugh. ‘Send Alfie for a mug of water – my throat is parched – but don’t leave me.’ She grabbed Daisy by the hand as she turned to leave the room. ‘Call out for him. Alfie’s a good boy, he’ll do as you say.’
Daisy did as she asked and after a minute or two Alfie came clattering up the stairs with a tin mug, although he had slopped most of the water on the floor in his haste.
‘Is she going to die, miss?’ he asked nervously.
‘Of course not,’ Daisy said with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘Go downstairs and try to keep the little ones from fretting. I’m sure Mrs Maggs will be here soon.’
He glanced anxiously at his mother, but a low moan from her made him take flight. Daisy closed the door behind him, as Mabel’s screams grew louder. Her pains seemed to be getting closer together, and although Daisy knew nothing about childbirth, Mabel was able to give her instructions in between contractions.
The candle burned down even further and still there was no sign of the midwife. Mabel was growing weaker and Daisy was close to panicking, but somehow she managed to keep an outward show of calm. And then, just as she was beginning to think that Mabel could bear it no longer, everything happened so quickly that Daisy had no time to be afraid. The tiny, red-faced baby entered the world in a rush, just as Linnet arrived, although there was no sign of the midwife.
‘What do I do now?’ Daisy asked breathlessly.
Linnet handed her a pair of scissors and Mabel, miraculously alert although weak and exhausted, talked Daisy through the process of cutting the umbilical cord and tying it off.
‘You’ve done well, miss. Better than old Annie Maggs when she’s had a skinful.’ Mabel lay back on the pillow, holding the baby in her arms.
‘I couldn’t have done it,’ Linnet whispered. ‘I’d have run away.’
Daisy felt her knees trembling but she managed a smile. ‘You’ve got a lovely baby girl, Mrs Green. What are you going to call her?’