Daisy’s Betrayal

‘What if he loses his next fight?’

‘You’ve still lost nothing.’

Between fights Daisy saw people go inside the house and come out eating hot pies, the aroma of which drifted across to her and made her feel hungry on that cold, frosty night. But she could not eat, not with all that blood and gore from those poor mutilated fowl. And yet, with each fight her horror diminished. She was becoming desensitised to the horrifying ruin the cocks inflicted on each other. She even found herself on the side of certain fowl and actually cheered them on along with the rest of the bawling spectators, to Lawson’s great amusement and satisfaction.

She could hardly wait for Razor Bill’s next fight. When it came, he won that as well and she was delighted. He won the semi-final too and she could scarcely believe it. When the big fight came, the final, she was on the edge of her seat with excitement.

Bets were coming in fast and furious and, despite her own elation, she diligently retained all the betting slips, putting those for Razor Bill in her right coat pocket and all those for Jet Red, his opponent, into her left pocket. The crowd was wild with excitement, clamouring for blood, but nobody was more excited than she was. The appeal of this cruel and bloodthirsty sport, the nature of which she loathed, became clear; it was betting. Betting, the thrill of the gamble, was the fuel that fed it.

The final was a long and equal fight, accompanied by a protracted chorus of ranting and shouting. Daisy’s heart was in her mouth when she saw that Razor Bill was down with Jet Red on top of him, and she looked questioningly at Lawson. But Razor Bill was up again just as quickly and striking back, his head down, his neck feathers out. Both birds were tired and in a sorry state after four encounters. Neither seemed capable of finishing off the other. Then Razor Bill took the initiative and charged, steel spurs glinting in the gas lights. Jet Red was down on the floor, weak and desperately trying to shake off his adversary, but he could not do it, and he lay, gasping for breath until he was picked up by his owner.

Razor Bill had won and Lawson reckoned he owed Daisy two hundred and fifty-six guineas.

‘Two hundred and fifty-six guineas?’ she repeated in utter astonishment. ‘I can’t take that much money from you.’

‘Course you can. That was our agreement. Razor Bill won. I told you he might.’

‘But it’s a fortune, Lawson.’

‘I’ll say it’s a fortune.’

‘I don’t think you understand. It’s more than four years wages for me … Four years … It’s probably more than you’ve taken the whole evening.’

He winked artfully. ‘Before I met you tonight I placed a bet myself with another bookie. I had a five-guinea accumulator on Razor Bill.’

‘Five guineas? So you’ve won … more than twelve hundred and fifty guineas.’

‘Not a bad night’s work, eh?’

‘But how did you know that Razor Bill would win?’

‘Oh, I didn’t. You can never be certain. But he has good form. He’s in fine condition and he has a good trainer … But there was a sentimental motive that made me bet on him …’

‘I didn’t realise you were sentimental.’

‘I am about cocks,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘He belongs to me, you see. I own him. I always bet on my own cock-a-doodle …’

Daisy was not so prudish as to be shocked by this innuendo, rather she was amused by it. Lawson’s unconventionality was acceptable, not only because he broke the rules of what was expected in polite society, but he had also made her rich. For the sake of writing a few words on a piece of paper, at his behest, she was better off by two hundred and fifty-six guineas. It was magic.

Now she had money enough to spend on a doctor for her father – all thanks to Lawson Maddox. She blessed the day she met him. The trouble was, it turned out that Dr McCaskie had been right in the first place. Her father’s illness was incurable by medicine.

‘For a patient who is consumptive I prescribe not medicine, but a new mode of life,’ he told them on the day of his visit. ‘We cannot cure anybody of consumption. Endless steadfastness, courage, self-discipline and self-denial are the key. If I can get Mr Drake to alter his mode of life I am giving the correct treatment in some measure.’

But how far could her poor father go in altering his way of life? He would need the support of not only her mother, but Daisy and Sarah as well. Well, Daisy would give hers to the absolute best of her ability, for as long as her windfall lasted. She wanted to pay for her father to enter a sanatorium but, not surprisingly, he refused. They argued with him, they cajoled, they tried gentle persuasion. All failed. So her mother’s care and application of a rigid, monotonous discipline was what they depended on for him.

Doctor McCaskie also decreed that Titus Drake was to be given three good meals a day. ‘No special diet is necessary,’ he explained, ‘but the food has to be thoroughly masticated and digested. He is allowed a little alcohol – rum in warm milk. He should have a little cod liver oil every day, for it will be beneficial. As many hours as possible must be spent in the open air and, when he is indoors, the windows are to be widely opened, or even taken out of their sashes …’

‘In this vile January weather?’ Mary queried, looking at the doctor as if he’d lost touch with reality.

Dr McCaskie ignored her look. ‘Your husband has to be made to rest and he must maintain a cheerful attitude of mind …’

That amused Daisy; she hadn’t seen her father smile in years.

‘Additionally, he must carry a special receptacle to spit into, which should contain disinfectant fluid or a solution of mercury salt. He must never swallow his phlegm. Also, he has to sleep by himself. All this is necessary,’ he went on. ‘Mrs Drake, you must breathe through your nose at all times to avoid picking up the infection, and wash your hands every time you handle anything of your husband’s—’

‘Pah! I never touch him,’ Mary interjected with distaste.

‘And if they can stand to do all this, will his health improve?’ Daisy asked sceptically, because it all sounded rather like shutting the gate after the horse had run off.

‘Truly, I cannot say for certain. But it is the only chance he has got. If he is foolish and lapses, then his health will not improve.’

Lawson and Daisy became regular companions, although her evenings off and Sunday afternoons were the only times they could be together. Every other Sunday she was given the whole day off and it was on the mornings of those days that she visited her mother and father. Sometimes, during the week, her duties took her into the town and then she would make a quick diversion to their house in Campbell Street, less than five minutes’ walk from the market place.

There was not a profusion of eating houses in Dudley but, on a couple of occasions, Lawson entertained her at the Dudley Arms Hotel and at the Fountain Dining Rooms. He made her feel like a princess. He never failed to bring her a gift; some trinket that she could wear or place on the mantelshelf in her little attic room at Baxter House. Lawson was becoming increasingly attentive, to Daisy’s great satisfaction.

The weeks passed in a haze of tantalising romance and sweet talk, and Daisy began to wonder whether Lawson loved her enough to make her his bride. She had thought long and hard about it. The very fact that she was contemplating the possibility told her how much she wanted already to be his wife. She pondered all aspects. At night she went to bed in her attic bedroom in a reverie of romance, imagining delightful evenings curled in his arms on a sofa in front of the fire, weaving dreams and planning what names to give their children. She imagined laughter ringing through the house as they decided how they would design each room. She imagined trips to the shops to choose new furniture, bone china dinner sets, tea sets and silver cutlery for when they entertained his influential friends. Oh, she would love being married to Lawson.

She had not failed to consider their love life either. Lawson was always sweet and attentive. He made her ache with desire with his delicious, lingering kisses, but he had not made the suggestion or contrived to manipulate her into a situation where he might have tried to take advantage of her. She was still intact of course, yet here was the one man for whom she would gladly lose her virginity without a second thought, so much did she love him.

Each time they met, she wondered if this was the occasion he would take her to his home. She was dying to see his house, to assess its potential, to plan what she would do to improve it when she became Mrs Lawson Maddox. But never did he suggest that he might one day take her there. Daisy wondered, anxiously, if it was because he was already married. It would explain a lot. The thought made her grossly unhappy. She was hooked like some poor fish dangling on the end of a line and the possibility that she might actually be sharing him with another woman began to worry her.

One Wednesday evening Daisy and Lawson were invited for supper at the house of one of his well-to-do friends. They played whist and the lady of the house played piano and sang very pleasantly for them. It was a convivial evening and Daisy drank port. She was becoming very attached to port; it seemed to boost her confidence. Lawson never embarrassed her by letting on to any of his high-class friends that the lovely young lady who accompanied him was merely a servant; which had more to do with his own self-esteem than hers, although that never crossed her mind.

When they left and were in the cabriolet, she asked him the question that was consuming her. ‘Are you married, Lawson?’

He guffawed and almost spooked the horse. ‘Good God, no. Whatever gave you that idea?’

She shrugged in the darkness, but felt anxiety slough off her like a constricting skin, since he was manifestly not lying. ‘Because you’ve never taken me to your home. I wondered if you were hiding a wife there. I just wonder if you are serious about me, if you really care for me.’

‘Oh, I’m in dead earnest, my love,’ he answered directly, looking into her wide eyes. ‘But my home is like the Sack of Carthage and you would not be impressed … Besides, there are two more reasons why I ain’t taken you there. Firstly, whilst I can hardly wait to lure you into my bed, I want to behave like a gentleman. You see, despite this ardent desire to bed you, I respect you and regard you as a lady, even though sometimes you don’t quite see yourself as one.’

‘Oh, Lawson … I appreciate I’m not a lady born and bred, but I do try … I do try to be like a lady,’ she protested.

‘So would you like me to show you my home?’

‘I’d love you to.’

‘Right. I shall make a very determined effort to have the house cleaned up and made presentable. Then I shall invite you to dinner and you will dine like a lady. We shall have a very romantic evening of it and I might even ply you with strong drink …’

‘Strong drink?’ She chuckled at the inference. ‘Shall I need strong drink?’

The following night, Sarah went to Daisy’s room for a gossip and to have a moan about another of the girls. They dispensed with those trivialities quickly and Daisy saw this as an opportunity to confess what she should have confessed weeks ago.

‘Sarah,’ she began quietly, taking Sarah’s hand and holding it gently. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. I hope you won’t despise me but it’s been worrying me exactly how to tell you. So I’ve decided to come straight out with it … I’ve been seeing Lawson Maddox … regularly, in my free time … I know how you’ve admired Lawson yourself, Sarah, so I think it’s only fair I should let you know … We’re in love and very serious about each other. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if—’

‘You’re courting Lawson?’ Sarah said tersely. ‘Even though you know I fancy him? That’s not very nice, our Daisy. That’s not a very nice trick to pull across your sister.’ She withdrew her hand from Daisy’s, aggrieved, and shuffled agitatedly on the bed.

‘There was no intention to slight you, Sarah.’ Daisy was struggling to state her case without seeming insensitive. ‘It just happened. We met and suddenly there was this magic … Oh, I love him dearly …’