Daisy’s Betrayal

Titus, typically casual, lifted one cheek of his backside, grimaced and broke wind raucously. ‘There, catch that and darn it,’ he said scornfully.

‘Father!’ Sarah and Daisy complained in unison.

Their mother picked up a cushion and fanned the tainted air back in his direction. ‘Dirty varmint.’

Sarah rolled her eyes and giggled. ‘Shall I put some coal on the fire for you, Mother?’

‘If you’ve a mind, my wench. Mind how much you put on, though. There’s on’y another bucket or two left in the cellar.’

‘But it’s bitter cold out,’ Daisy said. ‘You need to keep warm.’

‘We’ll have to wrap up then. We’ll have to put an extra ganzy on apiece.’

As Sarah made up the fire Daisy felt in her pocket for her purse, opened it and sorted through the coins. ‘Here’s a shilling.’ She offered a sixpence and two silver threepenny bits to her mother. ‘It’s all I’ve got for now. Take the handcart to the coal yard in the morning and get half a hundredweight at least. Promise me you will.’

‘I don’t need a shilling for half a hundredweight of coal.’

‘Then buy some bread or cheese or something with the change.’

‘The rent’s due Monday … But I’n got a bit put by in me jar to pay for that.’

‘Are you short?’ Daisy asked.

‘We’ll manage.’

‘Look, I shan’t be able to come on Sunday but I’ll give Sarah some money to bring you.’

‘Oh? What you doing on Sunday then?’ Sarah asked.

Daisy cast a guilty glance as Sarah passed by on her way outside to the brewhouse to wash her hands. ‘I’ve been asked to tea somewhere.’

‘Oh, very nice,’ her mother said with pride in her tone. ‘So when shall we see yer?’

Titus started coughing before Daisy could answer. He hawked blood into a piece of newspaper, screwed it up and tossed it into the fire. She noticed it with horror.

‘Has the doctor been lately?’

‘We got no money to pay for doctors, our Daisy,’ Mary replied flatly. ‘Not since you paid last time.’

‘I’ll pay again,’ she said without hesitation. ‘Coughing up blood means his consumption’s no better and might even be worse. He needs medicine.’

‘You’ve paid enough. Rest, fresh air, fresh fruit and vegetables is what he needs. That’s what the doctor said last time he come. It’s senseless paying to be told the same thing over again. It’s senseless to waste money.’

‘But he needs to go into a sanatorium out in the country … to clean air.’

‘I’m a-gooin’ into ne’er a sanatorium,’ Titus mumbled, opening his eyes then shutting them again.

‘I thought you was asleep,’ Mary said.

It was time to turn the conversation, so Daisy passed on Mrs Cookson’s good wishes and told them about the party at Baxter House. Mary was enthralled, but Titus drifted back to sleep again. Sarah made a pot of tea and they drank it while Mary related her gossip. Darkness was falling and Daisy lifted the lamp off its hook. She gave it a shake to discern whether there was any oil in it, then lit it with a spill that she kindled in the fire.

‘Have you got any more lamp oil?’

‘I think there’s a drop in the brewhouse, in a can.’

‘I’ll see if I can bring you some more. Have you got any candles in case you run out?’

‘Oh, hark at her,’ Mary complained. ‘Have you got this, have you got that. Course I got candles. I ain’t altogether helpless, you know.’

Daisy sighed. The last thing she wanted was to appear fussing like some nuisance busybody. ‘It’s just that I don’t want you to be without. I worry about you two. It’s cold out there and it won’t pick up for months yet.’ By the light of the lamp she could just see the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece; it was nearly half past four. ‘Lord, look at the time. It’s time we went, Mother. Sarah and I have to be back by five.’

Sunday seemed forever in coming. Every time Daisy thought about Lawson and their tryst her stomach churned. She worried about what she should wear, when her only choice to keep out the cold would be her best Sunday dress, her warm winter coat, her scarf and her hat. Whether she should confess from the outset that she was a servant at the home of his friend Robert Cookson also bothered her, but she decided she would confess no such thing – not yet, at any rate. She was intent on first being driven like a lady in his beautiful two-wheeled cabriolet he’d mentioned. She really wanted to play the part of a lady, wanted to be wooed and held in great esteem, if only for the short time she might be able to deceive him.

On Sunday mornings Daisy always went to church, walking to St Thomas’s with those maids whose turn it was to go also, while the family travelled in their smart brougham. That Sunday it was damp, misty and cold but the snow her father predicted had not materialised. As they walked and talked their breath hung like steam in the still winter air. Daisy sat in the pew at the back of the church along with the other girls and Gerald the groom. She heard barely any of the service. Her eyes were fixed on the huge and colourful rendering on glass of the Ascension that was the east window, but her thoughts were focused solely on Lawson Maddox. Like an automaton she stood up for hymns, knelt for prayers and sat down for the lessons. She was still reliving the dances they’d enjoyed, the words they’d exchanged, cherishing every blessed moment, nurturing the beautiful memory, hopeful and yet apprehensive about their rendezvous, which was still nearly four hours away.

They returned to Baxter House, served lunch and the family retired to the drawing room. Daisy’s eyes were riveted to the clock. She was feeling all jittery inside. At half past two she went to her room unnoticed, adjusted a curl, reset a couple of grips in her hair and reddened her lips with a few hard bites. Then she put on her hat, her coat, her scarf and her best gloves and, at ten minutes to three, left the house by the back door.

The police station where Daisy was to meet Lawson faced an open square where a market was held regularly. On the adjacent corner, where it met Stone Street, stood a public house called the Saracen’s Head. As she waited, it occurred to her that Lawson might not turn up after all, especially if that bounder Mr Robert had enlightened him as to her true status. But, when she looked across the road and saw a beautiful black horse between the shafts of an immaculate black cabriolet standing outside the Saracen’s Head, she prayed that it was his and that he was intending to show up after all.

He did. Daisy saw him leave the public house and scan the street. When he saw her he smiled and beckoned her over. She hitched up her skirts a little and hurried to him, picking her way over the cobblestones to avoid the slurry that ran murkily between them. Her heart was in her mouth, but there was a smile on her face as she presented herself before him and stood transfixed.

‘Been waiting long?’ he asked and his smile was warm on her.

Daisy shook her head, the smile never leaving her face. She was so happy to see him. She had waited so long for this moment, with such trepidation. But just seeing his face, just experiencing his warm glow of friendship, made her feel quite at ease.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Hop in,’ he said and handed her up onto the cabriolet.

He clambered in beside her, and the two-wheeled carriage rocked gently on its springs. He clicked to the horse, flicked the reins and they set off towards Wolverhampton Street.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I thought you might enjoy a little run out,’ he replied, turning to her. She caught a whiff of alcohol on his steamy breath. ‘But I have a bit of business to attend to first.’

‘Oh?’

‘Tenants of mine … One owes me three months’ rent. I know I’ll catch him with his feet up at this time of a Sunday. You don’t mind my mixing business with pleasure, do you, Daisy?’

He’d remembered her name. She swelled with satisfaction.

‘No, course not … Is it far?’ Secretly she hoped it would not be; she was cold and damp already from the dismal January mist and drizzle. But she did not mind so much, just as long as she was with him.

‘No, not far. So … what have you been doing with yourself all week?’

‘Oh, the usual,’ she answered, with the nonchalance of a lady of leisure.

She realised she must have sounded inanely boring. She could have told him she had been on tenterhooks the whole time waiting for this moment. She could have told him about going to the Union Workhouse, visiting her mother and sick father. She could have told him how poor Martha the cook had scalded herself when she spilled boiling water on Friday, or how her sister Sarah had crowed all week about how wonderfully handsome he was. She could have told him about the problem they’d had at Baxter House with a young maid who had been employed on her recommendation last November, who was connected with a burglary they’d had on Thursday. Nothing much had been taken but that which had required knowledge of the house and that knowledge had come from within. The maid admitted she had given information to her beau, a young man already known to the police. But Daisy told Lawson none of this, of course.