Daisy's Betrayal

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Lawson …’ she began tentatively as soon as she got back in the cabriolet. ‘I need to discuss divorce with you. You know I can’t afford to petition for divorce.’ Might as well mention it first as last.

  ‘Divorce?’ As he flicked the reins he looked at her earnestly. ‘I have no intention of divorcing you, Daisy. There’s no doubt in my mind that this diversion of yours with John Mallory Gibson will eventually fizzle out. My only wish is to welcome you back when that happens.’

  She sighed. It was not going to happen, this fizzling out. As each day passed the bonds of love between her and John grew stronger. Just because they were apart right now did not mean he was absent from her thoughts. Far from it. He was constantly on her mind in spite of the grief and distress at home. But how could she let Lawson know that without antagonising him? He was dangerous when he was antagonised.

  ‘How can you not wish to divorce me?’ she said vehemently. ‘I’ve been grossly unfaithful. I’ve been sleeping regularly with another man.’

  ‘But I was unfaithful as well. The one cancels out the other. No skeletons in our respective cupboards. So there’ll be no divorce. I can say that with certainty.’

  ‘Look, Lawson, can’t we talk about it … reasonably? We haven’t lived together as man and wife for what? Nearly a year and a half? And I’m sure there must have been other women in your life since. Doesn’t that suggest it’s unlikely we shall live together any more?’

  He shrugged his shoulders as he clutched the reins. ‘Well, we can talk about it, of course we can. Though I don’t understand this obsession of yours with divorce. It can only lead to contempt for you. You know how society disdains divorced women. And divorce won’t be recognised in Italy, you realise that, don’t you? You wouldn’t be allowed to remarry in Italy … But have dinner with me one evening and let’s discuss it. There’s a grand little restaurant opened over the billiard rooms in High Street. We passed it earlier. It would be good to have your company again over dinner.’

  They turned into Hall Street, and its narrowness compelled Lawson to rein in the horse to a cautious walk lest somebody stepped or slipped off the stone kerb.

  ‘What chance have I got to go out when there are three invalids to look after?’

  ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t miss you for just a couple of hours. You could make sure they were all settled for the night before you went out.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea, Lawson.’

  ‘Frankly, I think it’s an excellent idea. You’re the one who wants to discuss divorce. What better chance? And in a very civilised atmosphere … over an excellent dinner.’

  It was tempting. To get him to agree to divorce meant everything. ‘Just so long as you understand that I prefer you as a friend, not a husband. I have no intention of becoming reconciled.’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘I understand that you have no such intention.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘If nine o’clock isn’t too late. I believe I can have them all settled by then.’

  On the Friday, Dr McCaskie called. Sarah, he proclaimed, had got over the fever remarkably well considering her other difficulties. The calomel and the Dover’s Powders were doing their work. The course of Blaud’s tablets was having a beneficial effect on her anaemia too, as far as he could judge, but she remained listless. It was the opium deprivation, he said, but eventually her body would readjust to normality. Then there was the question of her thinness. She had to be built up. Large amounts of food would outface her so she was to be given small nourishing meals, and often. This same regime would not hinder Titus’s health either, for he was like a bag of bones. And it was no more difficult to cater for two as it was for one.

  So Daisy spent a great deal of time cooking. Dr McCaskie gave her a pamphlet with suggested recipes and she decided she would use them. There was calf’s foot broth, chicken broth, eel broth and a restorative soup made from veal knuckle that was thickened with arrowroot. Eggs featured strongly, coddled, scrambled, poached in milk, or made into omelettes. She produced jellies from beef, cow heel, Irish moss, orange and port wine, and nourishing puddings such as arrowroot blancmange, baked custard, curds and whey, and semolina cream. Almond restorative made a wholesome drink, as did albumenised milk, and milky coffee enriched with the beaten yolk of an egg.

  Harry, however, remained ill, barely gaining weight. Rose, the wet nurse, was still engaged to attend but as Sarah regained some strength, it was evident she was able to provide a little sustenance herself, since his demands were so tiny. So Rose was required to visit only twice a day, at midday and at teatime.

  Daisy decided to keep secret for the time being her arrangement to have dinner with Lawson. When it was over she would hopefully be able to announce that he’d agreed to divorce her as soon as the law allowed it. On the Saturday night before she went out, she made a beverage of eggs and brandy for Titus and Sarah which, Dr McCaskie assured her, was a powerful restorative and would give a restful night’s sleep taken at bedtime. She put Titus to bed, made sure Sarah and the child were comfortable and, after changing into her best dress, she awaited Lawson’s arrival.

  In a strange sort of way she’d looked forward to it. Seeing him again had triggered memories of the good times they’d had together and she’d pondered them a great deal. She recalled again that first tryst when he’d taken her to a cockfight. She should have realised then what type of person he was, but his roguish yet harmless disregard of the law was attractive to a girl who had spent all her adult life in the sheltered monotony of domestic service and the Girls’ Friendly Society. She had profited from that illegal cockfight, too; that money she won had been a godsend. And still was.

  She heard the sound of the horse’s hoofs on the hard, rough surface of the road outside and, checking that the fire was safely banked up and guarded, she locked the door quietly behind her and left the house. The carriage lamps illuminated her as she climbed aboard Lawson’s cabriolet.

  ‘My life, you look astonishingly beautiful,’ he said sincerely. ‘I am going to be so proud of being seen with you again.’

  ‘Who is likely to see us who matters?’ she enquired.

  ‘I shall delight in the admiring glances other men flash in your direction. It doesn’t matter who.’

  Very soon they arrived at the restaurant, which occupied the first floor over one of the town’s billiards rooms. They dined on lamb cutlets fried in breadcrumbs and then Dutch apple pie followed by cheese. Lawson had ordered a bottle of Burgundy but Daisy took only one glass, realising she must keep her wits about her. Throughout the meal she told him of the troubles she’d encountered since her return home. She explained Sarah’s problems and wondered how she had got into such a state. She told him how sorry she was to have arrived after her mother had passed away and told of her anxiety for her father and poor little Harry. Lawson listened attentively making sympathetic noises at appropriate times, until he’d had enough morbidity.

  ‘I want to cheer you up,’ he said when they finished eating.

  So he reverted to how he used to be. Having got her troubles off her chest, she seemed glad of the opportunity for some mirth at last. He talked bawdily but wittily, which amused and, to her surprise, excited her. This was the Lawson she had fallen in love with; dashing, daring, funny, indelicate, sometimes ribald. This was the unconventional Lawson who had swept her off her feet.

  Encouraged by her easy laughter and the way she looked at him, he squeezed her thigh beneath the table.

  ‘Lawson! We happen to be in a restaurant!’

  ‘Nobody can see. The tablecloth hides us. I have a bloody marvellous erection too … Give me your hand …’

  ‘I most certainly will not.’

  ‘Nobody will see. Go on … Feel it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘It’s a miracle of hydraulic engineering, this doodle of mine. You don’t know what you’re missing. Its ability to stand up and defy gravity amazes even me. Go on, feel it …’

>   ‘As I recall, it’s more like an unreliable pistol that can only fire one shot at a time and takes at least an hour to reload,’ she said disparagingly.

  He chuckled at that. ‘Half an hour,’ he riposted. ‘Only ten minutes with you.’

  ‘Even if that were true, it’s nothing to boast about.’

  ‘You think not?… But you must admit it’s pretty …’

  Talk veered towards sex in their marriage, to Daisy’s unease. He reminded her of the first night they made love in that hotel at Bath, several days into their honeymoon.

  ‘I thought it was never going to happen. I wanted you so much I was getting depressed …’

  ‘Oh, spare me the reminder, Lawson.’

  ‘I still want you, you know. You must realise it by now. I’m still deeply in love with you. Come back to me. I need you more than ever. I’ll change. I want to change. I want to make you happy.’

  She sighed and finished what remained of her wine. His lack of understanding of her feelings frustrated her. Did he really believe she would go back to him after the way he behaved when they lived together?

  ‘The only reason you want me back is to thwart John.’

  ‘To hell with John. Come back to me and I promise I’ll stop seeing other women. We’ll have maids that are repulsive and an ugly cook. You can have another gig, and another pretty mare like Blossom—’

  ‘I’ll never forget the way you had Blossom stolen from under my very nose.’

  ‘To bring you to your cake and milk. You were being unfaithful.’

  ‘Not then, I wasn’t. But you were … With our maid-of-all-work. Caitlin … Do you still bed her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So who are you bedding these days? Can you count them on the fingers of one hand?’

  ‘I’m not bedding anybody.’

  ‘So I’m your target till you find somebody, am I?’

  ‘You are my wife,’ he said, his indignation rising. ‘Let’s not forget that. There’s nothing unusual or controversial in a man bedding his wife.’

  Or his maid, Daisy thought, but did not say. Instead, she said, ‘Except that in our case it’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I have the right,’ he asserted. ‘And am I not an excellent lover?’

  ‘Quite right, Lawson. You are not an excellent lover.’

  ‘Ah, and now you have enough experience to judge,’ he commented disdainfully.

  Daisy twirled the empty glass by the stem between her fingers. She wanted to make no further comment. She had goaded him and he’d had too much to drink. Already, by the tone of his last remark, he was spoiling for a fight.

  ‘I’d like to go home now,’ she said.

  ‘Go home? You haven’t earned your supper yet, my dear. The only home you’re going to see tonight is our marital home. And you know what to expect when you get there … You’re no different to other women – you’ll love it anyway … Why put on this absurd charade of resistance?’

  She got up from the table. ‘You think it’s a charade, do you, Lawson?’ she asked with a calmness that was false. ‘Well I can assure you it’s not. You might consider yourself God’s gift to womankind, but I don’t. I know you too well. Thank you for the dinner … That at least was excellent.’

  ‘Wait! …’ He stood up, took out his wallet and dropped a banknote on the table. ‘I’ll take you home.’

  She was conscious that their raised voices had attracted the attention of the other diners. Discreetly, she swept out of the room, grabbed her coat from the stand and skipped down the stairs, knowing that Lawson would follow as soon as the waiter had taken his money. Outside, she turned right, past his parked cabriolet, heading towards Top Church as she put on her coat. He appeared, looked left and right, saw her and ran after her.

  ‘You’ll get manhandled walking alone at this time of night,’ he called, his breath a cloud of steam in the February cold.

  ‘I’ll get manhandled if I ride with you,’ she retorted. ‘I’d rather be manhandled up an entry by some drunken miner.’

  ‘Or miners … plural.’

  ‘Better still.’

  She turned and hurried away. Thankfully, he did not follow, but she heard him uttering obscenities as he climbed into his cabriolet. By the time he had clicked to the horse she was fifty yards away and she hid in a shop doorway until he disappeared in the other direction. When she was sure he had gone, she stepped out again into the dimly-lit street and hurried towards home.

  Oh, her refusal had done her no favours, but she could never allow herself to be used and abused again by him. Who did he think he was? What sort of woman did he think she was? Did he believe her to be as fickle as him? She had John now. She loved John. She would never, could never be unfaithful to him … Oh, John … Gianni … What was he doing right now? Was he sleeping, or looking up at the stars in a clear Italian sky wondering if she was watching the same stars too. She looked up. If the sky was not swathed with dark storm clouds she might be able to see the same stars as he. Even the clouds were conspiring to prevent that elusive, tenuous communion.

  She turned the corner at Top Church and looked about her. There was no sign of Lawson. Well, maybe she had put him off sufficiently to stop him pestering her any more. She might have known he would behave like that. It was in his nature. Despite all his fine words and promises he could never be faithful; not when that thing between his legs ruled his head; that thing of which he was so proud and so fond of talking about, that was such a miracle of gravity-defying hydraulic engineering. Somebody else was welcome to it. Anybody was welcome to it who was stupid enough to fall for his suggestive talk.

  She turned into Paradise, treading carefully over its uneven surface. There, at the bottom, she could just make out a horse and gig, its lamps unlit in the darkness. Her heart lurched to her mouth. There would be no escaping him after all. If only there was some other decent soul about to whom she could turn for help. She turned back along Prospect Row, reached Constitution Hill and scoured its dimness. At the bottom of the hill two hundred yards away she could see the figure of a man in a cape silhouetted against the light from the gasworks. He was walking towards her. She would wait for him, seek his help. Better the devil you don’t know … She glanced behind to make sure Lawson was not coming. As the man got closer she saw with the utmost relief that it was a bobby on the beat. As he approached she went to meet him.

  ‘Oh, please officer, will you help me?’

  ‘It’s time you were tucked up in bed, eh, young lady?’ She thought she detected some sarcasm in his voice. ‘It’s a bit late for walking the streets in this neck of the woods.’

  ‘Please, I need your protection,’ she entreated.

  ‘Protection? Hey, don’t try that on me. I’ll take you to the station and lock you up if you don’t get on home quick. You’ll find precious few customers about up here.’

  ‘Listen, I am not a prostitute,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’m a decent, respectable woman and I’m asking for your protection. You’re a police constable and a man is pestering me.’

  ‘Where? I can’t see no man?’

  She explained her presence there and that the man was waiting for her outside her home in Paradise.

  ‘Very well, miss,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’

  They walked on unspeaking, along Prospect Row and down the hill. As they turned into Paradise, Daisy pointed. ‘There. Can you see him? That horse and gig. That’s where I live. He’s waiting for me.’

  ‘Yes, I can see him,’ the constable said without enthusiasm. ‘Come on, we’ll have you home safe and sound. When you get in, just lock your door, eh?’

  As they walked towards the horse and gig, Lawson lit the coach lamps and stepped down into their light. He smiled at the constable.

  ‘Good evening Albert.’

  ‘Good evening, Mr Maddox, sir. I thought I recognised the gig.’

  ‘That’s a fine specimen you have there, Albert.’ He nodded t
owards Daisy.

  ‘A lady, to hear her talk. Yours, is she?’

  ‘Oh, she’s mine all right. She’s my wife.’

  ‘Your wife? In that case …’

  ‘We live apart … at the moment. A temporary arrangement.’

  ‘Is that why she reckons she don’t—?’

  ‘You don’t need to get involved in a dispute between husband and wife, Albert. It’d be a waste of your time. We can sort out our differences ourselves.’

  Daisy, seeing which way the tide was turning, crept away in the shadows while they were talking. Before Lawson realised she had gone, she was at the top of the entry. As he went to follow, he heard the back door close and the key turn in the lock.

  ‘Better sort it out another day, eh, Mr Maddox?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so … Can I give you a lift, Albert?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, sir.’

  ‘Women!’ Lawson said disparagingly. ‘Are they worth all the effort we put in for them, all the kindness?’ He felt in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He picked out a sovereign and handed it to the constable.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Maddox, sir. That’s very kind. I hope I didn’t put my foot in it when I asked if she was one of yours.’

  ‘Not at all. She knows there have been other women. It’s the reason we’re not together now.’

  ‘Well, sir, there’s plenty more fish in the sea, I always say.’

  ‘It’s teeming with them, Albert.’

  When Daisy entered the house she was surprised to see an oil lamp burning on the table. It could only mean one thing: Sarah must have come downstairs. One of the cupboards at the side of the grate was open; the cupboard in which she stored all their medicines and pills. She picked up the lamp and held it up to peer inside. Everything had been moved, a couple of bottles had been knocked over. Her heart, already thumping over her escape from Lawson, now started pounding harder. Sarah … Opium … Where was the green bottle of laudanum? Oh, God, no …