Daisy’s Betrayal

‘Yes, sir. On Wellington Road, sir. I know just where it is.’

‘Come and see my wife at half past four tomorrow afternoon … and don’t forget to bring your character.’

As he and Mrs Spencer left, Daisy looked at Emily with open-mouthed disbelief and chuckled at her own audacity.

‘There you am,’ Emily said. ‘Easy. Yo’ll get that job and no mistek.’

‘But who’ll give me a character?’

‘Ask the vicar.’

It was July 1879 and since Daisy was just about to leave school, the timing could not have been better, for she was given the job, as Emily had predicted. Although she was thrilled, she was naturally sorry to leave her mother and father and little Sarah in that modest terraced house of theirs. Her mother was so proud, however. She cashed in her older daughter’s insurance policy, bought her uniform and off Daisy went to work. For many a young girl, leaving home to live and work in a strange house was a lonely and depressing experience. Daisy was lucky; she knew Emily. Otherwise, for a time, she might have been lonely even though Mr Spencer was very kind to his staff. She had Sunday afternoons off, when she would visit her family, one night off every week besides, and she was promised two weeks’ holiday a year. In addition, she was to be paid an annual salary of £10, most of which she hoped to give to her mother.

Daisy and Emily joined the St Thomas’s Girls’ Friendly Society which they attended on their night off. It provided social and religious activities and sewing. They bought material at half the price it was offered in the town shops and a lady came in and taught them how to cut it and sew it, so they could make dresses and other garments. There were Bible readings from Reverend Cosens, beetle drives, and Daisy made friends with some lovely girls, though not all were in service. She felt a great affinity to that sisterhood of young women who taught her so much, not just about sewing either, but about life.

She settled well into working at the Spencer household and enjoyed it. Once, she was taken ill with flu and Mr Spencer paid the doctor to come and see her, then allowed her home for a week afterwards to convalesce. Yet, despite his kindness and commendable charitableness, he docked her a week’s money.

In the summer of 1882 when she was sixteen, Daisy realised that the baker’s boy was taking an interest in her. Charlie Bills was a good-looking lad with a cheeky grin and she’d secretly been admiring him for some time. One day, when he was delivering, he asked to see her on her night off.

‘But I go with Emily to the Girls’ Friendly Society at Top Church on my night off,’ she told him disappointedly.

‘I could meet yer after and walk yer back.’

Her heart started hammering hard at the prospect. ‘All right,’ she agreed with a smile, and the tryst was arranged.

When that eagerly anticipated time came she bid Emily goodnight and Charlie whisked her away.

‘Want to see a wasp’s nest?’ he asked boyishly.

‘Not particularly.’ Daisy was not impressed. The thought of being attacked by a million of the humming little devils terrified her.

Yet despite a poor start, Charlie Bills became her first sweetheart. He harboured some exalted plans: he was going to start his own bakery and marry her. They would live in a fine house on Ednam Road, have several children and a top floor full of servants. He was a dreamer and Daisy took all this in like the immature young girl that she was. Charlie never once considered the difficulties, the sacrifices. To start a bakery business he first needed money. Then he would have to work all the hours that God sent, getting up at two or three in the morning to bake bread ready for his first customers who wanted it before their husbands scurried off to work. Once Daisy realised this, she decided she didn’t fancy the life of a baker’s wife.

When you are sixteen and in love, your emotions boil over. They run away with you. Thus it was with Daisy. She was besotted, early on at least. Sometimes, when Charlie called to deliver the bread, she would contrive to be in the laundry and he would come and furtively seek her out. He would take her in his arms, press her against the mangle or the stone sink, and she would feel all swoony with pleasure when he kissed her. She could always smell fresh-baked bread on him, a smell she adored. Of course, she never allowed him to go any further than kissing … except for the few occasions after they got to know each other better, when she allowed him to feel her breasts, but only ever over her bodice, never underneath. After all, she went to church regularly, she was a regular member of the Girls’ Friendly Society and they were always warned about what happened to silly girls who allowed boys to take liberties; well, the workhouse was full of unfortunate examples. Yet, when she sat daydreaming, the thought of having her breasts fondled in the flesh, imagining what his lips might feel like nuzzling her nipples, was decidedly appealing. When Charlie kissed her on the lips she would feel her breathing coming harder and faster, and was surprised at her own physical reactions.

On summer evenings, on her nights off, they would sit among the limestone ruins of the old St James’s Priory. Once, while Charlie was idly poking the ground with a stick, they found some tiles embedded in the dirt and moss, laid originally by the monks that had built the place centuries ago. The tiles had strange, beautiful patterns on them and must have been five hundred years old or more but, at the time, that meant nothing to her. When she went back years later, those old tiles were still there. Then, she could see how beautiful they were, and could appreciate the time and skill that was required to make them and fire them in those long-gone days.

Charlie and Daisy courted for about two years. He was always talking about getting married but she knew, even then, that he would never measure up to her notions. When she was eighteen, he asked her seriously to become his wife and she said no – politely, of course. He became resentful at being rejected and told her one day, when he delivered the Spencers’ bread, that he had started seeing somebody else. Daisy was hurt and disappointed but not heartbroken. After that she didn’t bother with boys. Those she met all seemed too silly and only interested in one thing, which she, having been tutored by the Girls’ Friendly Society, was certainly not prepared to give.

It became manifestly obvious that boys were interested in her by this time. With good reason. She had a shock of dark hair that she wore elegantly pinned up at work and when she went out. When she let it down at bedtime, it cascaded down her back like a silky, shiny mane. She had a lovely round face, with high cheekbones. Her blue eyes were big and bright, slightly slanted, with long lashes that swept her cheek as she fluttered them playfully whenever she chose to flirt with those lads that showed an interest. She had inherited her mother’s slenderness and grace and was exquisitely constructed. Her skin was an appealing pale olive, smooth and utterly flawless. And, in the same way that a fat person knows when she is fat, or an ugly person knows when she is ugly, Daisy knew she was a thoroughly good-looking young woman with as good a figure as she’d ever seen. Furthermore, she always tried to make the best of herself in a proper, demure way.

Daisy progressed well in the Spencer household. She did every job that was given her, without resentment or complaint and always to the best of her ability. Fire grates had to be cleaned, including a six-foot range in the kitchen that had to be blackleaded. Fires had to be lit, candlesticks and lamp glasses cleaned. All the water-jugs, basins and chamber pots in the house had to be emptied, carefully washed and scalded if necessary. Windows had to be shone. Each week every bedroom had to be cleaned from top to bottom, so there were mattresses to be turned and brushed, pillows shaken and smoothed and, naturally, no dust was allowed to remain under any of the beds. Curtains had to be shaken, brass curtain rods burnished bright, paintwork washed, looking glasses polished and floors buffed. She had to keep a sharp look out for insects and bed bugs, which could enter the house on visitors who had travelled by train or hackney carriage. All hell would be let loose at the discovery of a bed bug.

About a year after Charlie decided he was wasting his time with Daisy, her father fell ill. It started with gout in his right foot; all that beer, Mary said. Mary accidentally knocked his gouty foot once and he called her all the names under the sun. From that day on, he sat in his armchair with his foot in a wicker clothes basket for protection, with a soft cushion to afford some damping if ever it was knocked again. To top it all, he had an abscess up his backside as well. It did not stop him breaking wind, though. ‘Abscess makes the fart go yonder,’ he remarked on one such turbulent occasion – despite his acute discomfort, he retained his dry Black Country sense of humour. He had about three months off work and then, as he was about to return, his gout and his abscess having retreated, he began complaining about his chest. He was having difficulty breathing and was having night sweats.

Mary sent for Dr McCaskie and it was evident he was worried about poor Titus. He promised to keep an eye on him, said that he must rest and not go to work. Daisy was desperate to help and handed over all her wages to her mother, arguing that she needed very little herself since she ate heartily and slept at the home of Mr Spencer. Already she had saved up and bought another uniform, and had made a couple of decent frocks besides for going out in. She was earning £12 a year by this time, not a fortune and certainly not enough to keep her family.

Of course, the Spencers were not so well off that Mrs Spencer had a lady’s maid, so Daisy carried hot water upstairs so they could wash. She worked in the kitchen with the cook and got to know her routine. By the time she was twenty, she was the head maid and earning £15 a year.

Meanwhile, Titus got no better and had to give up work entirely. He was beginning to lose weight, which he could ill afford to do. Mary applied for parish relief. It was always a struggle to find money for coal, for rent and for food. Daisy tried to borrow money to pay the doctor to treat her father, but realised she had no chance of paying it back, so gave up the idea.

Sarah, by this time had, left school and found work in service. Unfortunately, the family she worked for were not kind to her and she hated her job. Yet she stuck it out, concerned only that she give money to her mother to help keep them.

They all struggled through for a couple of years. Dr McCaskie was sent for again and he warned that Titus might be consumptive. Then, Daisy had a spot of good fortune. Again, through somebody she had got to know at church, she was asked if she would be interested in the position of housekeeper at a place called Baxter House on the rural north-western side of Dudley. The house was named after Richard Baxter, a long-departed headmaster at the grammar school, famed for having written the words to the hymn, ‘Ye Holy Angels Bright’. Baxter House was the home of Mr Jeremiah Cookson. Daisy had seen Mr Cookson before, as he was a business friend of Mr Spencer. She had also occasionally spoken to his wife in the course of her duties, as the couple were visitors to the Spencer household. Her wages were to be £60 a year, a goodly amount. Daisy found it impossible to resist when she realised how much easier it would be to help support her mother and father and pay for the doctor and medical treatment. Naturally, she was grateful to accept the position. She could scarcely believe that she was to become a fully-fledged housekeeper at only twenty-two years of age. When she went with trepidation and mounting guilt to see Mrs Spencer to terminate her employment, the lady of the house smiled benignly.

‘Oh, don’t worry, Daisy,’ she said. ‘Mr Cookson asked Mr Spencer a while ago for permission to approach you. He and his wife have had their eye on you for some time. They said how much they admire your demeanour and your application to your work.’

Daisy bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I had no idea you’d talked about me.’

‘It’s a grand opportunity for you, Daisy, and you deserve it. Far be it from me to hold you back from finer things. I also understand the difficulties you face with your father unable to work any more. It must be a big worry for your poor mother. This new position means you’ll be of greater help to her too, I imagine.’

‘Oh, yes, ma’am. I already hand over all my wages to my mother. I only want for decent shoes and stockings and she gives me money back to buy those as and when.’

Mrs Spencer smiled sympathetically and touched Daisy’s arm. ‘We shall miss you, my dear. But we shall manage, I daresay. Come and see us whenever you have the time. You will always be welcome.’

Daisy tried hard to stem the tears that were welling up in her eyes but, rather than let them show, she swiftly thanked Mrs Spencer for her kindness and curtsied again before she turned and walked away. When she was out of sight she pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the tears that, by now, were streaming down her face. She had been happy at the Spencers’ and they had been so kind. She vowed never to forget their kindness.

On 25th May 1888, a week after her twenty-second birthday, Daisy moved to Baxter House, a fine modern mansion built of red brick. The household was appropriately large too, with many more servants than there were at the Spencers’ more modest dwelling. Baxter House was set back from St James’s Road, close to where it joined Ednam Road, and overlooked green meadows and grazing cattle. No doubt Mr Cookson preferred it to overlooking the dirty, grey, slag-heaped outlook on the other side of the town. He was immensely rich and spent lavishly. It was said that he employed three hundred men at his iron foundry in Dudley, and had recently invested a great deal of money building a railway siding at the works.

Some of the maids at Baxter House were older than Daisy and at first she sensed some resentment that they should be told what to do and be given tasks by a girl so much younger. Yet she succeeded in earning their respect. She was never haughty to them, but gave them their jobs as if making a request and with an open smile to which they always responded positively. In so many big houses, girls were unhappy, often abused and sometimes even beaten. The staff of Baxter House were thankful they were well treated and appreciated. Nobody ever took it upon herself to rebel and make things uncomfortable for everybody else.

As soon as there was a vacancy for a maid Daisy recruited Sarah, her sister. She was fourteen by that time and a good, reliable worker, although not as bright as Daisy. Daisy even managed to secure her an increase on what she had been earning but Sarah would have come for less, glad to get away from that house in Holly Hall. Sarah settled in promisingly and Daisy was happy to have her under her wing. Most nights Sarah would go to Daisy’s little room on the top floor, where they would talk until the small hours, before returning to the room she shared with Hannah Bissell, a kitchen maid the same age as her.

‘Have you got a sweetheart?’ Sarah asked one night as she lay sprawled across Daisy’s legs.

Daisy was sitting up in bed attending to her fingernails. ‘You know I haven’t,’ she replied. ‘Have you?’

Sarah smiled bashfully and shook her head. ‘Have you ever had a sweetheart, Daisy?’

‘Once,’ she answered honestly. ‘For a while. His name was Charlie Bills. He was the baker’s boy when I worked at the Spencers’.’

‘Did you love him?’

‘I suppose I did. At first, at any rate. Leastwise, he made me feel all soppy.’

‘Did you let him kiss you?’

‘Yes, sometimes.’

‘Is it nice to be kissed by a boy?’

Daisy smiled patiently. ‘I think that might depend on the boy – and on how much you like him.’

‘Would you like a sweetheart again?’ Sarah enquired after listening carefully to Daisy’s answers.

‘If somebody came along who I fancied.’

‘Tell me the kind of man you fancy,’ Sarah said dreamily.