by Nancy Carson
He served another woman, packing two pounds of cooked tripe into a quart jug she’d brought with her specially for the purpose. The next customer eventually left with a pound of sausage, a skinned rabbit with the head still on, and some lights – lungs – which she claimed were for her cat. Daisy shuffled nearer the front of the queue in the sawdust with the other waiting customers while the butcher continued his theatricals. By this time she had most definitely decided that she did not like him. He was an actor if ever there was one, and he brandished his meat cleaver with a casualness that made her wince. She watched his tedious patronising with increasing contempt. Her frustration grew at his lack of system which was keeping her from the important duties that her new marriage imposed upon her.
The next customer bought a pair of cow heels and some lambs’ tongues. Another asked for a pig’s trotter for her husband’s tea and a quarter pound of lamb’s liver for his dinner tomorrow. Then, at long last, Daisy’s turn came.
‘Yes, my flower?’ the butcher said with his professional smile, about to embark on another performance for the entertainment of customers filling the little shop behind her. ‘What can I do for you?’
Daisy realised she was being watched now. ‘Three lamb chops, a pound of sausage, three liver faggots, and a pound of streaky bacon, please.’ These were the preferences of her mother and father and her sister, whom she intended visiting later that day.
The butcher sliced and chopped, weighed and wrapped the meat in greaseproof, and placed it all in a neat heap on a pile of newspaper he used for his outer wrappings. He jotted down the prices on a corner of the newspaper, ready to reckon up, then stuck his blacklead behind his ear. ‘Anything else, my flower?’
‘A small joint of pork, please, and a pound of best back bacon.’
‘You’m fresh round here, in’t yer?’ he asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. ‘I in’t sid yer afore. And I’d have noticed you.’
‘I’ve just married and moved to this area,’ she explained economically, enormously self-conscious. She blushed intensely as the butcher’s audience listened, for she imagined he would be tempted to make some unsavoury comment or other.
‘Just married, eh? Well yo’ll need all this meat to keep yer strength up, eh?’ He winked at one of his regular customers and leered, and everybody in the shop grinned. ‘Who’ve yer married? Anybody we know?’
‘A gentleman by the name of Mr Maddox. From Himley Road.’
‘Yer mean Lawson Maddox?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
The butcher shook his head. ‘Only by reputation, my flower.’
The shop went quiet and the butcher seemed strangely stuck for further conversation. He scanned the rows of meat hanging up, reached for a leg of pork far bigger than she needed, and placed it on his wooden chopping block. He deftly sharpened his fearsome carving knife, and made an incision into the meat as deep as the bone. Then he took his cleaver and chopped straight through it with one hefty but very precise blow. Daisy knew the routine by now. He placed a sheet of greaseproof paper onto his scale, and put the cut meat onto that. Then he turned around, picked up the piece of bone he’d hacked off the end, together with a thick strip of fat, and placed them on the scale with the meat. He tried an assortment of weights till the whole ensemble balanced exactly.
‘That joint’s one an’ eleven, Mrs Maddox,’ he said, scrutinising the conversions on the scale.
Daisy coloured up again and felt hot. She hadn’t expected bone and fat to be charged at the same rate as best pork, and she didn’t like what he’d done. She was about to appear a very silly and gullible young bride in front of his regular customers if she stood for it. But she had been the housekeeper at the home of the Cooksons and she knew better. Why should she stand for this? Why should she allow him to swindle her? Inside she was boiling with resentment, yet she hesitated to say anything. If she took issue with him he would have some glib, well-rehearsed answer to make her look even more foolish. Her sense of diplomacy told her she should say nothing, but she could not allow this to go unmentioned. She had to say something. Already people must be thinking she was stupid.
She felt herself trembling. ‘I don’t expect to pay the same for bones and scrag ends of fat as you charge for best pork,’ she said at last, trying to check the waver in her voice.
There was a profound silence in the shop.
Daisy sensed she had thrown the butcher off balance; she had disrupted his routine. She felt the people in the queue behind her waiting for her next move with increasing interest.
‘The cost o’ the pig to me includes the bone,’ he retorted. ‘That’s the way we do it in the butchery trade.’ No hint of an apology.
‘Not with my money it isn’t. Not with my husband’s money, if you don’t mind.’ She sensed she had the upper hand when she heard murmurs of approval from behind.
‘Huh! ’Ow’m we poor butchers ever supposed to mek a livin’ then? Any road, yer need the fat to mek it nice an’ tasty. Your mother must’ve told yer that afore yo’ left ’um.’ He wrapped the meat, complete with bones and fat, in a sheet of newspaper, then disdainfully handed her the parcel. Haughtily, he held his hand out for the money.
‘How much did you say?’
‘One an’ eleven for the joint. Plus two an’ eleven for the rest.’
She fumbled in her purse for one of the sovereigns that Lawson had given her, allowing him to believe for a few seconds that she had capitulated. But she had not. ‘Would you take the bone and fat off and weigh it again, please?’ she asked politely, much to his surprise. There was another murmur and some shuffling of feet behind.
‘Yo’m a contrary madam,’ he muttered irritably. ‘Let’s hope yo’ ain’t as contrary wi’ yer new husband.’ Daisy wondered if she’d dug herself into a hole. However, sensing the silent condemnation of his other customers if he refused, he unwrapped the meat and did as she requested, removing the fat as well before weighing it. ‘One an’ sevenpence,’ he said at last.
Despite his concession, Daisy handed her money over with great reluctance. She was certain he had still overcharged her – for everything.
‘Perhaps you’d like to recommend another butcher,’ she said as she took her change.
‘Yes, there’s one along the road,’ he replied. ‘Go to ’im next time.’
She left the shop and visited the grocery shop where she experienced no trouble. She bought food enough for the next few days, including lard, suet, sugar, tea and fresh vegetables. She bought washing soda, starch and tablets of soap, candles, matches and spills. Laden down, she took everything back home before she went shopping again for cooking and kitchen utensils, lamp oil and other household goods she could only get from the ironmonger’s. When she had taken that home she collected everything she had bought for her parents and set off again, this time on the long walk to Campbell Street.
‘So, how was your honeymoon?’ Mary Drake enquired as she poked the fire to liven it up for her newly married daughter.
‘Oh, we had a lovely time. Waited on hand and foot, we were. The hotels were lovely – nothing was too much trouble. The food was tasty and there was plenty of it.’
‘How was London?’ Sarah asked. ‘Is it as busy as they say it is?
‘Busy? It’s bustling,’ Daisy replied.
‘So what am the shops like?’
‘Well, you can’t imagine, Sarah. Everything you could ever want you can buy in London shops. And the fashions …’
‘Babylon,’ Titus put in contemptuously from his threadbare armchair. ‘They reckon there’s anything up to sixty thousand prostitutes in London.’
‘Hark at him,’ Mary complained. ‘You should be ashamed, talking about such things in front of your daughters. Get back to sleep and mind your filthy mouth.’
Titus shrugged. ‘I on’y know what’s in the papers …’
‘It’s disgusting what they print in the papers.’
‘How’s he been?’ Daisy
asked.
‘Same as ever,’ said Mary.
Sarah brewed a pot of tea and made cheese sandwiches. While they supped, Daisy was keen to tell them all about London and Bath and, once she started, there was no stopping her. Sarah listened with wide-eyed enchantment.
‘Oh, it sounds beautiful, our Daisy,’ she said. ‘I’d love to go.’
‘Then yo’d best find a rich husband,’ her mother advised.
‘It’s time her fun’ work,’ Titus muttered. ‘Never mind a bleedin’ husband.’
‘I’m looking for work, Father.’
‘Not very bloody hard, yo’ ain’t. Get off your arse and start looking proper.’
‘Don’t you want a maid, our Daisy?’ her mother enquired.
‘As a matter of fact we do … But how could I employ my own sister? I mean, when Lawson invites friends to supper or to dinner, I can hardly present my own sister as a servant when I’m supposed to be the lady of the house, can I?’
‘Folk needn’t know I’m your sister,’ Sarah suggested.
‘No, Daisy’s right,’ Mary conceded, sympathetic to Daisy’s reasoning. ‘It’s obvious she can’t hazard her own standing. But if you hear of any positions going, our Daisy …’
‘Of course, I’ll let you know. As a matter of fact, I could always give our Sarah a character. We have different names now. Prospective employers wouldn’t connect us.’
‘That would help,’ Sarah said.
Daisy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was after three.
‘I’d better go. I’ve got Lawson’s meal to get ready. It’s my first. I have to give myself time to get it right.’
‘Well thanks for the meat and stuff, our Daisy. How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing, Mother. Lawson can afford it.’
‘I’ll have to thank him when I see him.’ She got up to see her daughter out.
‘No, don’t mention it,’ Daisy said. ‘I don’t want him to know.’
When she returned to her new home, Daisy settled down to cooking the joint of pork. She prepared her vegetables and decided she would have it all ready by six o’clock. By then, the meat was done to perfection and the vegetables were cooked. She had the choice of plating their dinners or leaving the stuff in the pans and reheating when Lawson returned. She decided to serve the dinners and keep them warm under upturned plates in the oven, till he returned.
By seven he still had not shown up and Daisy was beginning to get anxious. She checked the dinners to make sure they had not spoilt. She was beginning to feel hungry herself and wished he would hurry. By eight o’clock there was still no sign of him and she took to standing in the sitting room window, looking up and down the road for sight of him until it was too dark to see. Nine o’clock, and still he had not come back. She felt slighted as well as ravenously hungry and decided to sit down and eat her own dinner. Already it had started to dry out, but it was tasty.
Ten o’clock arrived but no Lawson, and Daisy, angry and deeply hurt that he should avoid their first meal together, a meal she had painstakingly prepared for him, decided that she should get undressed, ready for bed. She was loath to go to bed without him, so she sat up and waited.
She waited till well after midnight. The first sign of his return was the clip-clop of the horse’s hoofs at the back of the house. She heard Lawson unharnessing the animal and then shutting the stable door, and his voice as he spoke to the horse. She opened the back door ready for him and heard him curse as he tripped over a loose cobble.
‘You’re late,’ she said evenly. ‘I expected you earlier than this.’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ he responded, and there was impatience in his tone. ‘I got caught up in some business.’
‘But you said you’d be back for tea.’
‘I might have said I’d try … And don’t you bloody nag me.’
She could smell whisky on him and saw his eyes were heavy-lidded. ‘Have you eaten, Lawson?’
‘Course I’ve eaten.’
‘Then I might as well throw your dinner away.’ In a fit of pique, she opened the oven and, with a cloth, lifted out the plate with his dinner on. She uncovered it and defiantly scraped it into a newspaper to throw away.
‘Yes, you can damn-well throw that in the rubbish – or burn it,’ he commented. ‘You didn’t expect me to eat that, did you?’
‘Well, when it was cooked it was beautiful, although I say so myself. It’s ruined now.’
‘I’ll have a bit of pork pie.’
‘We haven’t got any pork pie. How am I supposed to know you like pork pie?’
‘I gave you a cartload of money this morning, and you didn’t get me any pork pie? What have you spent it on, for God’s sake?’
‘On other things. On things we needed … For all you seem to care.’
‘I’ll have some cheese,’ he said quietly, as if reluctant to pursue an argument. ‘Have we got any pickled onions?’
‘No, but there’s some fresh onion. I’ll cut you some. Go and sit down and I’ll bring it to you.’
She made a cheese and onion sandwich and a pot of tea, then took it on a tray into the sitting room for him.
Lawson was asleep.
Aggrieved and annoyed, she left him there with his sandwich and went to bed.
Lying alone in bed, Daisy could scarcely believe Lawson could be so inconsiderate on their first full day of living in the house that was to be their marital home. She pondered how hard she had worked, so full of enthusiasm to get things right, to make things work, to please him. She was profoundly hurt and prayed that this was not the beginning of a pattern of behaviour she would not be able to endure. She was worthy of better and she had not counted on being treated like a maid. Even though she had been a servant in somebody else’s house, her self-esteem was high and she would not accept the unacceptable, however much she loved him. Where had he been? Who had he been with, out till this hour? Well, better not plague herself with stupid speculations. It must have been business. He’d said so. So it must have been important business, else he would have come home when she expected him.
Daisy cried herself to sleep that night, alone in her new marriage bed.
But, in the morning, Lawson was lying beside her. They awoke at the same time and he smiled at her as if nothing untoward had happened. He went to put his arm around her, but she turned away. Why should she reward him for being so thoughtless? She quickly slipped out of bed and began washing her face at the wash stand.
‘Come back to bed,’ he said and his voice was as smooth as butter.
‘It’s time to get up, Lawson,’ she said indifferently. ‘There’s work to be done.’
‘You’re not in service now.’
She wanted to suggest that she was; that she was in service to him, that she was his wife and, after the way he’d treated her last night, wanted to question whether there was really any difference. But she thought better of it. ‘How do you feel this morning?’ she asked instead. ‘You were the worse for drink last night.’
‘I know. I’m sorry, Daisy. I fell amongst thieves …’
‘You mean business thieves?’
He laughed ironically. ‘Oh, yes, business thieves … Come on back to bed. I want you.’
‘I’m sorry, Lawson, but I haven’t forgiven you. You can’t butter me up with sweet talk.’
He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Ooh, my head …’
Daisy dried her face, ears and neck with a towel. ‘It serves you right. I’ve got no sympathy. Fancy leaving me on my own all night in this house when it was our first full day of marriage … the day that was to have been the start of our normal married life. Well, I hope that was not normal …’
‘So you’re not coming back to bed so’s I can make passionate love to you? Look at this for a whopping doodle, all ready for you.’
‘I don’t want to see, Lawson. Anyway, why should I reward you?’
He shrugged and lay down again but unable to settle, he sli
pped out of bed, washed and dressed and followed Daisy downstairs. She did the things that she envisaged were about to become her domestic practice, stoking the fire, boiling the kettle, preparing to make breakfast. He stood facing her, holding his arms out and took her upper arms gently.
‘Don’t touch me …’
He let go of her and felt in his pocket. ‘I have this for you … Close your eyes and hold your hand out … Here …’
Resignedly, she did as he bid.
‘Now open it …’
She looked at the open palm of her hand. ‘It’s a key.’ Her expression revealed the extent of her puzzlement.
‘It’s the key to a cottage I own.’
‘Are you throwing me out?’ she asked, bewildered.
‘Throwing you out? Of course not. It’s for your mother and father and your sister.’
‘Oh, Lawson,’ she said quietly, her resentment, her bewilderment blending into gratitude and admiration. All at once she felt humble, having castigated him for being inconsiderate. How wrong she’d been. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him full on the lips, then nestled her head against his chest as he held her to him. ‘Oh, Lawson, what can I say?… You’re so generous … Thank you … Oh, Mother and Sarah will be beside themselves with joy. Where is this cottage? Maybe I can show them while you’re out today. Does it need any work done on it?’
‘I’ve seen to it that it’s in perfect condition, Daisy,’ he stated proudly, entirely pleased with her gratitude, however predictable it might be. ‘It’s what occupied me most of yesterday.’
‘So where is it?’
‘In Paradise.’
She laughed. ‘Well it would be, compared to the house they live in now.’
‘No. I mean that’s the address – Paradise – that place surrounded by fields and allotments that overlooks the Buffery.’
‘Oh, there! Well that’s not so far from Campbell Street. And it’ll be good for Father’s health. All that fresh air. Oh, Lawson, I’m so grateful to you.’
‘Kiss me then, and tell me you’re sorry for ticking me off about being home late.’
