Daisy's Betrayal

by Nancy Carson

  Dr McCaskie regarded her kindly. ‘Don’t worry about paying my bill till you’ve found work, Mrs Maddox. I don’t believe there’s anything outstanding.’

  ‘Except your bill for this visit.’

  ‘There’s no rush. Let it not be a worry. I’ll make my way upstairs then …’

  When the tea had steeped Daisy laid five cups, saucers and spoons on a tray, along with the pot, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. She carried it up the twisting staircase and set the tray down on the dressing table that stood under the window of Titus’s room. Dr McCaskie put his stethoscope back into his bag and looked up at Daisy ominously, shaking his head. Things did not augur well.

  ‘I’ll take a look at your new guest and her baby. I take it they’re in Sarah’s room …’

  As Daisy raised her father up she heard the doctor introduce himself and start talking to the girls as he closed the door behind him. She heard Caitlin and Sarah laughing at comments he made and it struck her that already there was some rapport between the two girls. Thank God. The only thing she hadn’t yet decided was where Caitlin should sleep. Let her decide that herself.

  She put the cup to Titus’s lips and saw to it that he took some liquid. Conversation seemed superfluous. He had her care and that seemed sufficient. She tried to pick up scraps of conversation she could hear coming from the other bedroom. Even though she couldn’t make out everything that was said, their voices were lively.

  The doctor emerged smiling from the girl’s room just as Daisy had fed the last drop of tea to Titus. She gently laid him down, smoothed the bedclothes across his chest and led the doctor downstairs.

  ‘So what do you think, Doctor?’

  ‘The girl and her baby have both made a remarkable recovery. Her influence on your sister can only be beneficial. If that’s the purpose of your bringing them together then I applaud you for your foresight. But Sarah is also making progress. She is certainly much brighter than she was last time I saw her, and gaining weight, I fancy. She tells me the pains of opiate deprivation are also somewhat reduced, as is the craving, and her bowel movements are more normal now.’

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘This is excellent progress, Mrs Maddox. We must be thankful, considering the state she was in.’

  ‘And my father, Doctor?’

  ‘Your father, Mrs Maddox, has pneumonia. No doubt brought on by the trauma of being evicted into the pouring rain and cold over the weekend. With his primary condition, it’s hardly surprising. How long did you say he’s been like this?’

  ‘Well, he took to his bed Saturday afternoon. As soon as we got to the hotel.’

  ‘Hmm … I’ll be blunt. I can’t imagine him making a recovery. He’s weak to start with.’

  ‘And grieving over my mother.’

  Dr McCaskie rubbed his chin. ‘That too. Is he eating anything? Drinking anything?’

  ‘Very little. He refuses most things. But I’ve just given him some tea.’

  ‘You’re doing all you can. That much I know. But be prepared for the worst, Mrs Maddox …’

  ‘Oh dear …’

  ‘He’s going to need some careful nursing. I’d best call tomorrow to see how he is.’

  Not only the fever, but the liquid that was filling Titus’s lungs meant that the continual gasping for breath was too much for his heart to cope with. On the Thursday morning, when Daisy went in to see him as soon as she got up, he opened his eyes and smiled.

  ‘Yo’n just missed your mother,’ he said lucidly, despite his breathlessness. ‘’Er’s on’y just gone.’

  ‘You mean she was here?’

  Titus nodded.

  ‘Oh? How was she?’ Daisy asked, humouring him.

  ‘’Er looked well. ’Er said to gi’ yer ’er love.’

  ‘Give her mine next time you see her, eh?’

  Titus nodded and closed his eyes. Evidently he and Mary had arranged something between them, for he died later that day.

  The funeral for Sarah’s son, Harry, was postponed, so that both Harry and Titus could be buried together in the grave Mary already occupied.

  On the day of the funeral, Maundy Thursday, the Reverend Cosens conducted the very private service at St Thomas’s church, which Daisy and Caitlin only attended; Sarah was as yet deemed unfit to venture out in such inclement weather. The wind was reinvigorated, blowing cold from the east and the dark clouds unleashed their burden of rain. The hawthorn trees rustled and the bunches of daffodils that had been lovingly arranged on surrounding graves swayed in sympathy. When they went out to the grave, they stood together, overlooking the hole in the ground in the lee of the church, and shivered. Caitlin had barely known Titus, Harry not at all, but she understood the grief Sarah must be feeling for a child she had known only a fleeting moment. Compounded with the grief of losing a father and a lover, she was surprised Sarah had retained the will to live at all. Daisy meanwhile pondered sadly some of those moments of pleasure she had shared with her father.

  ‘Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery … ’ intoned Reverend Cosens into the teeth of the wind.

  Daisy wept silently, surprised that she still had tears left to cry. God knew she had shed enough already over her mother, over Sarah, over Harry … over John.

  ‘In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour but of thee?’

  The first phrase stayed with her … In the midst of life we are indeed in death. Why had these dreadful things happened? Who was to blame? Was she herself to blame for defiantly going against Lawson’s will in the first place? If she had stayed, would Sarah still be the same sweet, naïve young girl she had been before? If they had not been evicted, would her father still be alive? Would their mother still be alive if Daisy had not broken her heart by defying her and Lawson, and eloping to Italy with John? Or was Lawson the only true cause of all these troubles? Yes, it was Lawson. Of course it was Lawson. Everything that had happened was a consequence of his depravity. What other man could be so vile, so evil, so immoral? What other man could knowingly, wilfully crush decency and innocence as if they were irrelevant insects unworthy of life? Her eyes behind her black veil were seething with hatred. He was as guilty of murder as he was of adultery. She could happily see him hanged for it. Her frustration over his reckless wickedness and her hopeless inability to bring him to book, were overwhelming. She was utterly helpless to do anything at all.

  ‘Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the souls of our dear brothers here departed, we therefore commit their bodies to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life … ’

  The damp, black earth thudded onto the lids of the two coffins and Daisy swayed against Caitlin, who held on to her steadily. She shivered at the awful sequence of events that had plagued her since her return to Dudley. Lawson had caused these things. Lawson was responsible. Only he could account.

  She wished she had talked more to her father. She wished she could have drawn him out of his grief. She wished she had done more for him. Now he was gone, gone to his beloved Mary. But he was happy again and she did not begrudge him his happiness. This was what he’d wanted above all else these last two months.

  In her gloved hand Daisy was already holding a small lace handkerchief. She lifted her veil and dabbed at the hot tears that were once more stinging her eyes, and felt another squeeze of sympathy from Caitlin. The wind gusted, she held on to her black hat and looked out across the churchyard, through the railings. Men were coming and going from the Three Crowns opposite. Despite everything, life went on. In the midst of death there was in fact life. As close as they were, other people were unaware of the suffering she had seen, the suffering that affected her. Beyond the Three Crowns and the Windmill Inn behind it, a billowing cloud of white steam from the Gypsy’s Tent brewery mingled, instantly dispersed, with scattered steam from the brewery of the Peacock Hote
l. So many breweries, she pondered illogically, so many public houses …

  In the midst of death there was certainly life. And where there was life, there was hope …

  Two months … It had been two months since Daisy had seen John, two months since she had last lain with him and enjoyed the warmth of his body against hers. It had been two months since they had made love and she was aching for him. Where was he now? Was he still in Bologna, or had he completed his commission and returned to Sorrento? If only there was some way of knowing. Her letter must surely have reached Concetta by now. Hopefully, he was aware by this time of the events that had compelled her to return to England and detained her. At least he would know. It would at least reduce his worrying. If only she knew how he was.

  Caitlin and her baby had been living with Daisy and Sarah for two weeks. It had been the finest tonic Sarah could have had. With a baby in the house she was enjoying a renewed interest in life, a reason to drag herself out of the mire of wretchedness in which she had been drowning. Sarah was growing stronger, her face was becoming round and pretty again, her figure was filling out nicely. Most mornings she left her bed and got dressed and took a greater interest in everything around her. The grief of losing her baby, together with the guilt she felt, which Daisy now realised overshadowed the grief of losing her mother and father, was diminishing and she was smiling again. Maybe it helped that she had known the child but a brief time, Daisy did not know. But she was thankful to see this signal improvement in Sarah’s health and demeanour.

  She felt confident that she could leave the two girls together with the baby to occupy them while she found work. And she found work that same Easter Tuesday afternoon, producing brass stampings at a factory in New Mill Street, just two minutes’ walk from Bond Street. She was to commence her employment next day. It was not work she had done before, or even entertained, but they needed money now. Until she heard from John, until Sarah was fully recovered and she was sure she would never relapse into opium taking, she would have to stay in England and work. That much she sadly accepted.

  Chapter 32

  Daisy did not enjoy very much her first day at Town Mills Stampings. The work was too repetitive, the whole place reeked of tallow, and the stampings she produced from the thin coils of brass were too small and fiddly to handle easily. Several times she cut her fingers as she lifted the tiny pressings from the pattern. It would take some getting used to. As she swung the handle of the hand press there was little of joy to contemplate, only its annoying squeak and the awful sequence of events that had overtaken her since her return to Dudley, which played over and over in her mind.

  At half past twelve the hooter blew and, following the example of all the other girls in the workshop, Daisy stopped working and ate the sandwiches she had brought, and flipped the stopper off the bottle of tea that had long since gone cold. Two other girls, Minnie and Maude, suggested she draw her stool alongside theirs and eat with them. She was glad of their easy company and their ready smiles. She listened to their bubbling enthusiasm for their lives and their loves and hoped they would never suffer the outrages she had seen. Of course, she told them nothing about her own life; when she knew them better she might. There would be plenty of time.

  At one o’clock the hooter blew again and they all returned to their workbenches. Her spirits were more elevated. She relived the wonderful months she had shared in Italy with John and she tried to imagine it now; the Bay of Naples in all its brilliant springtime glory, its bright, warm sunshine, its exotic umbrella pines, its blue skies and bluer sea. How she missed it all, how she ached to be back there and experience unimpeded contentment again with John. She longed to hear Concetta’s infectious laughter and talk of her silkworms, Pasquale’s forward yet guileless charm. She fondly remembered sitting out late beneath the stars with John at her side, drinking wine and listening to Pietro’s music, Francesca’s singing and the impromptu harmonies they all produced, that sent shivers up and down her spine. But none of these things affected her quite like her love for John. Dear, intense, reserved John.

  Well, what of John’s work in Bologna? She wondered how close he was to finishing it, what they had made of him there, how the family had treated him. One thing for certain was that he would be surrounded by girls, the daughters of Salvatore Vinaccia. If he became grossly involved in his work maybe he would not worry too much about not hearing from her. Maybe the girls would divert him. She hoped they liked him, that they felt they could include him in their domestic lives and make him feel at home. She had no worries about his fidelity. His fidelity was assured … and wasn’t it good to know it?

  A man wearing a greasy overall came and stood at her side, interrupting her thoughts. He had come to pick up the tray of finished stampings.

  ‘Do you have the time?’ Daisy enquired.

  ‘Yes, my flower.’ He looked her up and down admiringly. ‘And the inclination …’

  She smiled patiently. ‘So what time is it?’

  ‘Five an’ twenty past.’

  ‘Five and twenty past what?’

  ‘Five,’ he said, amused that she was not aware of the hour.

  ‘Is it as late as that?’

  ‘It is, my flower. Yo’m a fresh un ’ere, ai’ yer?’

  ‘I started today.’

  ‘Wha’n yer think? Dost think yo’ll tek to it?’

  ‘It’s a job of work,’ she replied. ‘I don’t do it for love of it. Just for the money.’

  ‘Well, there’s sod-all new in that, eh? What’s yer name?’

  ‘Daisy.’

  ‘Bist married, Daisy?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m married.’

  ‘Pity. I could tek to a likely wench like thee. Always too late, me. Somebody always gets theer fust. What’s his name?’

  She hesitated. Never again would she admit to being married to Lawson Maddox. ‘His name’s John.’

  ‘John, eh. Well, I’m George. We’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other, Daisy, as I do me rounds.’

  Daisy smiled and George turned to walk away. ‘Tell me, George,’ she said, halting him. ‘Are you married?’

  ‘Me? No, not proper married. Could never afford a weddin’. But me an’ me wench live together as man and wife. What’s being married, other than havin’ a bit o’ paper that says so that I cor read any road? ’Er’s still got a ring on her finger and ’er’s took me name. I defy anybody to say as we ai’ wed.’

  ‘What’s her name?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Em’ly.’

  ‘Have you ever been unfaithful to her?’

  ‘Me? No. But I’m always game.’ He grinned at her with increasing interest.

  ‘You’ve never been with a prostitute?’

  ‘Christ, no. I couldn’t afford it. Any road, why pay good money for summat as I get for nothing at ’um?… Don’t tell me as yo’m a pro, Daisy,’ he added disbelievingly.

  Daisy chuckled. ‘Lord, no. Oh, it’s all right, George, I’m not propositioning you either. I was just curious. I just wondered what sort of men go with prostitutes. That’s all.’

  ‘Them as have got a shillin’ or two to spare I reckon.’

  ‘Is that all? Just those that can afford it?’

  George shrugged. ‘Mebbe them as am fed up wi’ their missuses an’ all. Them as have wed ugly buggers. Them as think they can get away with it. Them as cor ’elp theirselves …’Ave yer put your card in here saying how many stampin’s yo’ve done?’

  ‘Sorry … Here it is. I don’t seem to have done that many. I daresay I’ll get quicker.’

  ‘Course yo’ will … Well, I’ll be on me rounds, Daisy. See yer tomorrer.’

  Shortly after six o’clock Daisy stamped her time-card and walked home. Caitlin had begun preparing a meal while Sarah played with the baby. As she entered, Daisy could smell lamb chops cooking in the oven at the side of the cast-iron grate, and the rich aroma made her mouth water. A pan of potatoes was boiling on the hob next to another pan containing shredded cabbage.
>
  ‘Has everybody been all right?’

  ‘We’ve been fine, is that not so, Sarah?’

  Sarah smiled and turned the baby to face Daisy. ‘She’s cutting a tooth,’ she said excitedly. ‘She’s been a bit grumpy today and when I put me little finger around her gums I could feel this little sharp lump. She’s cutting a tooth. See if you can see it, Daisy.’

  Daisy stooped down obediently and tried to coax her namesake into opening her mouth, but to no avail.

  ‘Here, let me have her a while.’

  Daisy took the child and sat down in the armchair her father used to sit in. As she bestowed hugs and baby talk on little Daisy she watched the two girls. They were like two mothers looking after one child, both devoted to it, though neither competing for its attention. Even though the poor baby didn’t have a decent father who could be present, it did not lack for love and attention. The very presence of the baby in the house had had a magical influence on Sarah. And each girl had found a friend.

  As Sarah began making gravy, Daisy heard the sound of horses hoofs outside and the rattle of carriage wheels. There was a knock at the door.

  She froze.

  Lawson.

  God, not Lawson again. What could he possibly want?

  She decided to ignore it. Another knock, more impatient this time. Warily, she got up and peeped through the hole that the latch went through. Nobody was in the narrow angle of sight. Curiosity got the better of her and she lifted the latch, still holding the baby. She opened the door a fraction. At once, she thought she was going to faint and gripped the door handle firmly with one hand while she held on to the baby with the other.

  As she flung open the door, a familiar face looked at the baby, its expression changing from concern to puzzlement. ‘I didn’t think we’d been apart that long.’

  ‘John!… Oh, John!’

  She could say nothing more. Tears of joy filled her eyes as she fell into his arms. ‘You’re here. My God, you’re here. How long—? When did—? Why did—?’