Daisy’s Betrayal

‘And does he love you?’

‘Oh, yes. He says so – often … Oh, please don’t be resentful, Sarah. I had hoped for your good wishes.’

‘You told me once that gentlemen don’t marry servants.’

‘And what I said holds true. But Lawson is not gentry born and bred. His father was only a corn merchant. But Lawson’s done well for himself. For all his hob-nobbing with the well-to-do, he doesn’t see any distinction between us.’

‘Lucky you,’ Sarah said scornfully and made as if to rise from Daisy’s bed.

Daisy took her hand again to prevent her going. ‘Wish me well, Sarah,’ she pleaded. ‘You know that Lawson is much too old for you anyway.’

Sarah shrugged but remained where she was. ‘All the same, it doesn’t mean to say you can’t fancy somebody older.’

Daisy could see from the look in Sarah’s piqued eyes that she was coming round, that she just wanted a fuss made of her. ‘You’re such a beautiful creature, our Sarah, men will be falling over themselves to win you. I bet the boys are already lining up.’

The compliment elicited a smile from Sarah. She shrugged again, shyly. ‘There is one lad who comes to the kitchen most days. One of the delivery lads.’

‘Oh? How old?’

‘Eighteen.’

‘That’s more the age for you, our Sarah. Far more sensible. What’s his name?’

‘Roland.’

‘So who does he work for?’

‘Parker’s.’

‘And you like him?’

‘Yes. He makes me laugh.’

Daisy nodded her assent, glad that they’d got that one big hurdle out of the way, content to condone Sarah’s flirting with a grocery boy. ‘Well, that’s nice. But don’t get too serious at your age. There’ll be plenty more, I promise.’

Chapter 5 (#u9b12c5ec-05e5-5e37-93a1-a6f7ad75b7a1)

Lawson did not employ a live-in maid-of-all-work to do his domestic chores, for such an arrangement would have been unseemly for a bachelor of his standing. He chose not to employ a man-servant either, or a married couple to look after him. Hence, he lived his life alone. His laundry he sent out regularly and usually he dined at whichever hostelry he happened to be in when he was hungry.

Although he had some respect for his surroundings, it was only when he sent for Molly Kettle and her young daughter, Flossie to clean for him that the house became truly tidy. Flossie was the pretty girl who had cursorily inspected Daisy as she sat in his cabriolet in Albert Street while he wheedled seriously overdue rent out of her mother. The cleaning was in lieu of part of the rent that Molly owed.

This particular series of cleaning events, as well as some serious redecorating by a local tradesman, took some weeks and Lawson, whenever he saw Daisy, would enthuse about how fine and dandy it was all turning out.

Daisy was completely overwhelmed that he was going to all this trouble to impress her. The very thought made her smile with satisfaction. Marriage had to be his intention. If he merely wanted to seduce her he could have rented a room at the Dudley Arms Hotel or at any number of inns in the area. But he wouldn’t do that. Already he’d told her he wanted to be gentlemanly; he wanted to treat her like a lady and she relished his consideration.

Not that she would have baulked at being seduced before her wedding night. She knew that a girl’s initiation must happen sooner or later, and suspected that it would be memorable wherever and whenever it happened. She imagined that farm girls who lost their maidenhood in some dusty hayloft recalled it just as readily and with as much pleasure as if it had occurred in the warmth and luxury of their master’s and mistress’s soft featherbed. Daisy knew from talking to girls that some of them used the graves of the dear departed in the town’s bone yards as a bed. But such licentious outdoor shenanigans were not for her; they were hardly the antics of a lady.

Meanwhile, a dinner party had been planned at the Cooksons’ for 16th March. Invited guests were the wealthy and very eminent Mr and Mrs Alexander Gibson, Alderman and Mrs George Folkes, whom Daisy had never seen before, and Mr and Mrs Ernest Bagnall of Tipton, whom she had. The best silver was of course to be used. On the morning of the party Daisy asked one of the maids, Elsie Morpeth, to make sure every piece was all cleaned and ready. As noon approached she was stopped in the passageway to the kitchen by the same Elsie.

‘Oh, Miss, some of the silver’s a-missing,’ she informed her, wringing her hands as if anticipating being blamed for it.

‘Missing?’ Daisy queried incredulously. ‘How can any be missing?’

Elsie shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Miss, but they bain’t nowhere. I’n searched high and low.’

‘Which pieces can’t you find, Elsie?’

‘At fust, I thought as it was just two servin’ platters, but when I come to fill the salt cellar, I could see as the cruet’s gone an’ all.’

‘They have to be somewhere,’ Daisy said calmly. ‘Things don’t just go missing.’

At that point, Mrs Cookson came along. ‘Good morning, ladies.’ She always greeted her girls as ladies. ‘Is everything all right?’

Daisy naturally felt obliged to report what Elsie had just told her and did so. ‘I wonder if it has anything to do with that burglary in January,’ she suggested.

‘No, Daisy. I think not. We have used the silver since then and nothing was missing.’

‘Yes, you’re right, ma’am. I’ll have a proper search made.’

‘Please do, Daisy. And let me know the outcome.’

‘As soon as I can, ma’am.’

Daisy went into the kitchen, which was always the centre of activity when meal times were due. She asked if anybody knew anything of the whereabouts of the missing silverware. There was a general shaking of heads. ‘Perhaps we can all double check cupboards and sideboards,’ Daisy suggested. ‘Before lunch.’

As they all dispersed, leaving Cook and a kitchen maid who had been hired just for the day to help out, Sarah beckoned Daisy to one side.

‘I think I know where the missing silver plates and cruet are,’ she said.

‘Thank God. Then you’d best tell me, our Sarah, before Mrs Cookson blows her wig.’

She took Daisy’s hand and led her out of earshot, through the heavy door of the kitchen. ‘I think they’m at the pawnbrokers in the town.’

‘At the pawnbrokers? How come they’re at a pawnbrokers?’

‘I can explain,’ Sarah bleated defensively in a pathetic little voice.

‘I think you’d better.’

‘Roland … You know, that lad I told you about …’

‘Parker’s the grocer’s boy?’

She nodded. ‘He asked me if he could borrow some silver. He asked me if I would get some for him.’

‘What the devil did he want with Mr Cookson’s best silver?’

‘He said he was going to pawn them to get money to wager on a horse. He said he needed the money desperate and he pleaded with me to help him. He said that if the horse won he would be well off and be able to buy the silver back and pay me some money for my trouble besides. I remembered all that money you won on that bet, our Daisy, and thought it would be a good idea. I mean, he was going to bring it back.’