Daisy's Betrayal

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Oh?’ Mary uttered as she peeled potatoes at the stone sink. ‘How come?’

  ‘I was getting too independent for Lawson’s taste. Have you seen him lately?’

  ‘He ai’ bin a-nigh neither.’

  ‘I’m surprised. I imagined he would’ve been to see you.’

  ‘Why’s that then?’

  ‘Because I’ve left him.’

  There was a stunned silence while Mary and Titus looked at each other with open-mouthed incredulity.

  ‘But you’m a-going back?’ Titus goaded.

  ‘I’m never going back.’

  Daisy explained about his infidelity, how she’d actually caught him in the act. She confessed her burgeoning friendship with John Gibson and how Lawson had finally made it plain he didn’t want her in the house any longer because of it. She told how she’d fallen in love with John Gibson and how she was now living in the same house, even confessed to sharing his bed. Mary listened with increasing agitation and disgust while Titus sat and shook his head sagely. Nothing in this life surprised him any more.

  ‘Yo’ll be the talk o’ the town,’ Mary asserted acidly, unwittingly wagging a knife at her daughter.

  ‘Well, while they’re talking about me they’ll be giving somebody else a rest.’

  ‘Yo’ ought to be ashamed,’ Mary went on, her contempt increasing as the information and its disturbing implications sunk in.

  Well, at least it was an honest response, Daisy thought. ‘Why should I be ashamed, Mother? Don’t you think that he should be ashamed after what he’s done?’

  ‘Men will always have their mistresses, Daisy,’ Mary said. ‘It’s up to a woman to accept that with dignity when it happens, turn a blind eye and rise above it.’

  Titus looked at Daisy with a puzzled frown. ‘So, if I’d have had a bit on the side yo’ wouldn’t have complained?’

  ‘Huh!’ Mary replied impatiently. ‘There was never any fear of you a-straying. Who in their right mind would suffer yo’ climbing all over ’em?’

  ‘Hey, I had me chances, Missus, I’ll have you know. Just ’cause I never took ’em there’s no need to look down on me and fling insults.’

  ‘Well, I’m not about to turn a blind eye and rise above it, Mother. I’ve left him, I’m living in sin with a kind, decent and honest man who I love very much. And I’m not about to move out.’

  Mary’s face was like thunder. ‘I don’t admire you, Daisy,’ she said with utter disdain. ‘To think a daughter of mine would stoop to such degradation. You’m a fallen woman and I’ll have nothing more to do with you. What d’you think will happen to you when you’m pregnant and this new bloke wants to get shut of yer, eh? Why, you’m no better than a common prostitute when you’ve got a husband who thinks the world of you and has been as good as gold to you – to all of us. You must want your head looking.’

  ‘That’s a point,’ Titus exclaimed. ‘Is Lawson gunna suffer we living here in his house because of yo’ leaving him for another mon?’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it, Father. He’ll have you out in no time. I’m surprised he hasn’t already. I’ve offered to pay rent till we find somewhere else for you. I’ve got a little bit of money put by.’

  ‘I want nothing more off you,’ Mary rasped. ‘I won’t be beholden to a whore, daughter or no. We’ll tek our chances, me and your father. If we get turned out, then it’ll be on your conscience. We’ll manage one road or another. We managed afore.’

  ‘I’m sorry you think like that, Mother. I just wanted to help. I wanted to make amends.’

  ‘You can mek amends by going back to your husband – if he’s saft enough to still have yer. Unless you do, never set foot in my house again.’

  Daisy looked at her father for support. ‘She means it,’ she said, with hurt surprise.

  ‘Oh, ar, ’er means it,’ Titus quietly affirmed.

  ‘What about you, Father? Are you on her side or mine?’

  ‘I’m taking no sides. But remember, I have to live with your mother. And yet yo’ll always be me daughter, my wench … But yo’ve med your bed … Yo’m the one who has to lie in it …’

  Daisy trudged back to Windmill Street in a miasma of frustration and disappointment. It was difficult to grasp that her own mother had disowned her for her affair with John, yet Lawson’s affair meant nothing and was to be tolerated. Now, as a result of her confession, if Lawson had them evicted, it must be on her own conscience as Mary had said, even though she was willing, anxious to help alleviate any hardship. How unreasonable people were in such situations, especially family; only concerned about their respectability and what other people might say. Why no support?

  She arrived home but John had not yet returned. She went to the studio to look at the painting he was currently engaged on. It was of herself reclining on a marble bench, looking lovingly at the ring on her wedding finger. A tiger skin was beneath her, a large purple cushion supporting her head. She was wearing a long dress of very thin blue cotton gauze and around her hips to protect her modesty, she wore a cream-coloured stola decorated with large orange and gold polka-dots. Already, it was turning out to be the finest painting John had done.

  The blue sea in the distance, the fascinating umbrella pines and the overall feeling of tranquillity elicited a sigh from Daisy. With all this trouble they had brought upon themselves and which had been wrought upon them, this tiny piece of Italy that had so obviously been conceived in John’s imagination looked so wondrously beautiful.

  There was lots to be done. John had several paintings that were ready to be shipped to his art dealer in London. Within the next day or two they would have to be packed up and sent to the railway station. He would have to uproot his studio again, store all his paints and other accoutrements and get ready to move to another house. Their clothes, shoes, hats, kitchen utensils, pots and pans, crockery – everything – would have to be packed ready for the move. They would need tea chests. And the furniture? Well, maybe they should burn it, such as it was; save the expense of hiring a carter to shift it.

  Presently, when Daisy was making up the fire, John returned, looking agitated.

  ‘What happened?’ Daisy asked anxiously.

  ‘I am ostracised, disinherited, disowned. What about you?’

  ‘I’m ostracised, disinherited and disowned as well,’ she said.

  ‘We still have each other.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a smile. ‘And never did we realise we would need each other so much.’ She put the coal scuttle down, washed and dried her hands and turned to face him. Her arms went around his waist affectionately, his went around her shoulders. ‘And we have work to do if we are to vacate this old house.’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I know.’

  ‘First we must let your art dealer have whatever paintings are ready. That at least will save us from carting them with us.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said again.

  ‘Then we have to pack everything ready for the move.’

  ‘Would that we had somewhere to move to, Daisy.’

  ‘I know … Nobody wants to know us any more. We’re miserable sinners who have no right to love one another. We might as well move miles away from here where nobody knows us, where nobody can point fingers at us.’

  ‘That would be ideal. And you’re prepared to go to those lengths?’

  ‘Wouldn’t Italy be nice?’

  ‘Italy?’ he laughed. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘It was just a thought. It looks so vivid in your paintings.’

  The very next day, Daisy went out of her way to intercept Sarah coming home from work. She felt an urgent need to make her peace with at least one member of her close family. To be at odds was unthinkable, especially with her poor father suffering as he did. Sarah would understand, she would not condemn her for what she had done. Sarah might even be able to persuade their mother and father that she had done the right thing, that she really had no alternative but to leave Lawson if she did not relish the prospect of a life o
f anxious wondering and perpetual unhappiness.

  She waited at the corner of King Street and Oakeywell Street and, from her vantage point, eventually saw Sarah crossing Hall Street with another girl.

  But Sarah looked beyond her sister and walked past without acknowledging her.

  ‘Sarah! …’

  Despite the compelling entreaty, Sarah continued walking, continued to ignore her. Daisy, incredulous, ran after her.

  ‘Sarah!… Why are you ignoring me? We have to talk …’

  Sarah stopped, turned and looked at Daisy, and rolled her eyes with scornful impatience.

  ‘I have to speak with you, Sarah. Would your friend mind if we talked alone for a few minutes?’

  ‘I’ll go, Sarah,’ Maggie said diplomatically. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t see as we’ve got much to say to each other,’ Sarah said with disdain.

  ‘You as well?’ Daisy said, her heart heavy. ‘Are you going to disown me as well, just because my husband was making me unhappy and I left him?’

  ‘Lawson is a good, kind and generous man, our Daisy and one thing’s for certain – you didn’t deserve him. But he’s well rid of you now. You can go and live in sin with your artist chap. None of us admire you for that.’

  ‘I’m not asking for anybody’s admiration. I’m asking for your understanding. But a little bit of support wouldn’t have come amiss. It’s been difficult enough—’

  ‘You don’t deserve no support …’

  Daisy tried to hold back the tears that were rimming her anxious eyes. ‘Look, as regards the house … I wanted to help the three of you. I’m quite prepared to pay the rent for you till you find somewhere else to live. I know Lawson wants you out of there.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Sarah said with a supercilious air. ‘That’s all been sorted out. I told you Lawson is a kind and generous man. Well, he’s agreed that we can stay. Rent-free, same as before. He says why should we suffer because of you.’

  ‘He’s been to see you all then?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You don’t think he’d leave us in the lurch, do you? Not Lawson. I think that’s very good of him. Especially the way you’ve treated him.’

  ‘The way I’ve treated him? That’s rich. Did he tell you why I left? Did he tell you I wasn’t prepared to put up with his shenanigans with our Irish maid?’

  Sarah shook her head with scorn, as if she was anticipating being fed a pack of lies and excuses. ‘Oh, he was right about you. You’ll make up all sorts of wicked lies to justify running off with this other bloke. Well, I don’t believe a word you say, Daisy. I’m ashamed that you’m my own sister.’

  ‘Well, he’s really got to you and no mistake. I just hope you come to realise the truth someday.’ Daisy sniffed, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. ‘In the meantime, if you’re so certain I don’t need to worry about you, I won’t,’ she added with a defiance she did not feel.

  ‘I told you. Lawson will look after us. Ta-ra, Daisy. I hope I never see you again.’ Sarah turned her back on her and walked away.

  ‘You might not,’ Daisy cried huffily, trying to disguise the hurt she felt from this absolute rebuff by her beloved sister. ‘But don’t be so stupid as to put all your trust in Lawson Maddox.’

  ‘Oh, good riddance, Daisy,’ Sarah called impatiently.

  Chapter 22

  After visiting Messrs Thomas Miller McLean in the Haymarket on 31st October and depositing several paintings there, Daisy and John arrived at Folkestone at about midday the following day. She looked at him with a reassuring smile as their train slowly traversed the Railway Pier which divided the harbour into inner and outer.

  ‘Well, the sea looks nice and calm,’ she said brightly, looking towards the outer harbour past the funnels of several steamships, then at the inner haven where sailing colliers were berthed.

  ‘Let’s hope it stays that way. I’m sure if that ferryboat rocks more than an inch I’ll be seasick.’

  Daisy laughed. ‘Of course you won’t.’

  The locomotive crossed the swing bridge that allowed ships passage in and out. The train stopped briefly, its line of carriages lying bowed in the left-hand curve of the Harbour Station before slithering like a snake in a sharp right-hand arc that straightened out at the steamer berths on the New Pier. They alighted from their carriage and for the first time Daisy could smell the sea and feel the stiff south-easterly breeze on her face. The air had a distinct autumnal nip and she shivered as she looked up at a crane that would hoist containers full of registered luggage onto the ship. Daisy was glad to board the large paddle steamer, the Louise Dagmar, and find a seat by a window fore of the paddle wheels, where they would have a decent view of the English Channel, uninterrupted by spray. The sea, to John’s satisfaction, remained calm. On arrival at Boulogne they had time to eat prior to their onward journey to Paris.

  From London, it had taken less than eight hours to get to Paris; a tribute to the enterprise and efficiency of the South Eastern Railway. In Paris Daisy and John left the train, went through the custom house without trouble and took a cab. With his limited French, John made the cabman, whose blue hat with red cockade amused Daisy, understand that they needed a decent hotel for the night. They were not due to catch their next train until Saturday evening so, next morning, at John’s insistence, they visited the Louvre and later the cathedral of Notre Dame. Daisy was interested in seeing the new Eiffel Tower, especially since Lawson had mentioned it, and was struck by its intricate tracery of ironwork and how delicate it looked from a distance. During the late afternoon they walked along the banks of the Seine, hand in hand, bought some provisions for their journey, including a bottle of wine then returned to their hotel.

  After a long drive across Paris they reached the Gare de Lyons where they were to board their overnight train. They had a compartment to themselves and were able to settle comfortably for the night. When they awoke from a sleep that had not been particularly tranquil, daylight was filtering through the carriage windows and they were hurtling through Mâcon. As the morning progressed and the miles stacked up behind them, both were taken by the landscape of regimented vineyards, placid lakes and distant mountains covered in snow. After another customs stop and a change of train at Modane, they arrived in Turin in the early evening, deposited their luggage at the station and found a suitable hotel.

  Daisy was disappointed with the first Italian city she set foot in. The light of that November morning revealed that Turin was modern, lacking in the classical columns and cupolas she had anticipated. It was also snowing and cold. Why had they come to Italy when winter was knocking at the door? It was as damp and miserable as England. But they were impressed by the food and wine in a trattoria, and bought fresh provisions for the train journey to Rome that evening.

  Turin to Florence was a long haul, some two hundred and fifty miles. But at last the exquisite dome and towers of the beautiful old city were evident in the distance. There was time to stop for breakfast before continuing the journey.

  In Florence, the sun ceased to hide behind clouds, which retreated for the rest of that day. As Daisy and John resumed their journey, they were transfixed by the majestic scenery. This was more like the Italy she had expected. The River Arno, which they travelled alongside for a while, was flowing brim full in a broad brown flood between hills freckled with villages and churches. Snow-capped mountains beyond were festooned with curling clouds, like elaborate wigs woven round the heads of eccentric granite giants. The area around Arezzo and Lake Trasimeno was sufficiently beautiful to put what seemed like a permanent smile on Daisy’s face.

  And then, at last, as the winter sun hung low and orange in the sky, Rome, the Eternal City, manifested itself in its splendour of steeples and towers and roofs and, high above them all, the dome of St Peter’s. The train passed the old walls and soon halted in the heart of the city.

  ‘You realise what day it is?’ John remarked as they boarded the omnibus that would take them to their hotel.
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  ‘The fifth of November,’ Daisy answered. ‘I think.’

  ‘Gunpowder, treason and plot …’

  She gave a dazzling smile. ‘I see no reason why Rome in this season should ever be forgot.’

  They laughed at that.

  The hotel was a temporary residence. They had decided before they left England that they would need to take rooms suitable for John to work in. In the magnificent Piazza di Spagna next day they found a letting bureau run by an Englishman called Johnson who gave them a list of available apartments.

  ‘But it’s November and the winter is our busiest time,’ Mr Johnson warned. ‘Consequently our range of available rooms won’t improve until May when most of the tourists disappear.’

  Daisy was tired after the long days of travelling and sleeping in strange beds, so they decided to return to their hotel and rest.

  The following day they decided to combine an inspection of a couple of apartments around Piazza Navona with a visit to St Peter’s. From a distance, the Vatican looked enormous but, as they approached, seemed but a cluster of ornate buildings. Daisy gasped and clutched at John’s hand when she saw the beauty of the Piazza San Pietro laid out before her with its central obelisk, sparkling fountains and elaborate baroque colonnades.

  Inside the basilica, the initial burst of majesty and glory, especially as she looked up into the Dome, was an experience Daisy swore to John she would never forget. It’s impressiveness did not affect her in any religious way, however. To her it was an immense and extraordinarily beautiful edifice, with so many wonderful images and artefacts to distract her, but not particularly revealing of its real function as a place of worship.

  John was keen to show her the Raphael Rooms, to tell her about the work and the influence of this man who was possibly the greatest artist ever.

  ‘My work seems so insignificant compared to his,’ John said.

  ‘But your paintings are so much smaller,’ Daisy replied consolingly.

  He laughed. ‘It has nothing to do with the size. More the emotion and sense of movement he achieves.’