Candles in the Storm

by Rita Bradshaw

  There was another snort from the direction of the window, and Wilhelmina said quickly, ‘Give Gwendoline my best wishes, Augustus.’

  ‘Of course. Good day, Wilhelmina. I’m pleased to see you looking so well.’

  Their leavetaking was as formal as usual, and it was evident Sir Augustus would not have acknowledged Daisy’s presence but for his sister’s replying, ‘That is down to Daisy. I’ve never had such a stimulating nurse before, and I have you to thank for that, brother.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, yes.’ Sir Augustus nodded abruptly at Daisy who had risen to her feet and now bobbed a curtsey in the way Wilhelmina had instructed her before she rang for Kitty.

  Wilhelmina watched the graceful movements of the young girl she was growing increasingly fond of, and wondered if Daisy was aware that Augustus had only spoken so freely because he considered her a servant and therefore beneath his notice. Three times recently he had taken his sister to task on some small matter concerning protocol, but she knew full well what the real issue was. He objected to her informality with Daisy.

  Augustus swept out of the room in his normal overbearing manner, Kitty scurrying down the hall to open the front door ahead of the visitors, but William lingered a moment or two longer. ‘Goodbye, Aunt. Daisy.’

  ‘Goodbye, m’boy. Don’t keep him waiting, you know how it irritates him.’ Wilhelmina’s voice was brisk and matter-of-fact as though she wasn’t aware how the two young people in front of her were looking at each other. Several times now she had noticed it and had to confess to an increasing anxiety where her nephew and nurse companion were involved. Of course it might be nothing at all but perhaps she would have a word with William when a suitable opportunity presented itself and they were alone. He was not an insensitive man but he was still a Fraser, and she wouldn’t like to think he might treat the girl in a cavalier fashion. Not a girl like Daisy. No, she wouldn’t like to think that at all.

  It was one thing for young bloods like him to have intimate adventures among their own class, and goodness knew there were always enough young married women with boring elderly husbands not to mention middle-aged widows for that to be easy enough, but casual associations below one’s station could only lead to pain and scandal for the woman concerned, whoever she was. She did so hope William took after his father, rather than his uncle, in matters of this nature.

  Now Parson Lyndon, although obviously above Daisy in class, was a different kettle of fish entirely. It would be a wonderful match for someone of Daisy’s origins if the parson should think enough of the girl to make her an offer. As a clergyman’s wife she would be accepted far more easily into the lower-middle-class society the parson usually moved in. Yes, Wilhelmina could see that working very well.

  She glanced at her young companion who was busying herself tidying the tea trolley, her cheeks flushed, and nodded mentally at the thought. But of course there were the girl’s own inclinations to consider in all of this, and although Daisy was still very young she had a mind of her own.

  Well, they would just have to see . . .

  Chapter Ten

  It was Sunday afternoon and the day was hot, the sky blue and high, but to the two young girls making their way along the shoreline towards the fishing village the weather was unimportant. Kitty had just survived a clash with her mother which had rocked the kitchen, and for the last half-an-hour had been trying to convince Daisy that the fight which had ended with Gladys cuffing her hard round the ear had nothing to do with her friend.

  ‘I’ve always had barneys with me mam an’ da, lass, you know that,’ Kitty said, her plump face perspiring gently under her straw bonnet. ‘If it weren’t about me coming here it’d be something else. Before you came I’d often spend me half-day off inside, ’cos I’d got nowhere to go, and Mam always made sure she found me some job or other that couldn’t wait. You know what she’s like.’

  Oh, yes, she knew what Gladys was like all right. Selfish and spiteful with a vicious streak that was quite at odds with her rosy-cheeked face and plump comforting appearance. Daisy glanced at her friend, who still bore the red imprint of her mother’s hand on one cheek. She didn’t like to think she had in any way provided an excuse for this latest physical assault. Kitty was already partially deaf in one ear as a result of her mother’s frequent clips round the head which had been going on to a greater or lesser degree ever since she could toddle.

  ‘Actually, lass, it was worth this’ - Kitty touched the side of her face where her ear was still ringing from the blow - ‘to see the look on me mam’s face when you came in the kitchen just as she clouted me and threatened to do the same to her if she touched me again. It’ll make her think twice next time.’

  Daisy smiled but said nothing. She doubted it. And she didn’t understand why Kitty, who was so full of pluck and hardiness and spirit most of the time, didn’t retaliate when Gladys got physical, if only to try to push her mother’s hands away or something similar. It would be no exaggeration to say that Gladys often went out of her way to pick arguments and attempted to make Kitty’s life miserable most of the time. And her father stood by and did nothing. If ever there was a hen-pecked man it was Kitty’s da, all right.

  ‘Eeh, surprise, surprise. Looks like Alf’s decided to take a walk just about the time we come.’ Kitty slanted a sly look at Daisy as she spoke. If she had expressed her true feelings she would have had to admit to a sense of bewilderment where Alf and Daisy were concerned. Here was a fine, good-looking man with his own cottage and boat who was clearly daft about Daisy, and yet she didn’t want to look the side he was on. And he was so nice, Alf. Even Daisy said he was the kindest man she’d ever met. And kindness counted for something in this life, by, it did. Kitty touched her cheek again. Even without the cottage and boat she would have snapped Alf’s hand off when he’d said he wanted to start courting, if she’d been Daisy.

  ‘If it isn’t me two favourite lasses come visitin’ again.’ Alf was smiling widely as he reached them, immediately taking the wicker basket with the hinged lid containing the food Wilhelmina had sent, and which the two girls had been carrying between them. ‘An’ bonny you both look, if I may say so.’

  It was Kitty who answered pertly, ‘Aye, you may, lad, you may. The truth never hurt no one,’ at which they all laughed, though for Daisy it was somewhat forced. Every Sunday he was waiting, even when it rained, and she wished he wouldn’t. She had said so several times and tried to put him off, but still the next week he would be looking out for them - for her. And he was good to her granny and the others, regularly dropping in some fish when he’d had a haul and always making sure her granny had a couple of nice big crabs for the soup she loved so much.

  Alf followed them into the cottage as he had taken to doing every Sunday, something else which disturbed Daisy. It was as though he was making a statement, one which said quite clearly he had a claim on her, and although he always divided his attention equally between them all, the hot look was in his eyes whenever she caught him glancing at her directly.

  ‘Aw, lass, lass.’ Nellie’s face lit up at the sight of her granddaughter, and Margery, who had been sitting mending one of Tilly’s bairn’s torn smocks at the table, smiled too as she said, ‘Hello, Daisy. Hello, Kitty.’

  As Kitty seated herself at the table opposite Margery, Daisy walked across and hugged her grandmother before doing the same to Tom’s lass, as she still thought of Margery. Then she said, ‘By, it’s quiet, Gran. Where’s Tilly and the bairns?’

  ‘The little ’un’s had the skitters an’ bin right middlin’ the last few days although she seems to have turned the corner now. Her an’ Tilly are upstairs havin’ a nap, an’ Rose took the others for the afternoon. I tell you, lass, that bairn might have had the belly ache but she’s got a pair of lungs on her enough to wake the dead. There’s none of us had a wink of sleep the last night or two.’

  Daisy had been unpacking the basket Alf had placed on the table as her grandmother had spoken. Now she said, ‘Miss Wil
helmina’s sent you another cooked chicken, Gran, look. And there’s some ham and eggs, and a full bag of sugar and eight ounces of tea. And she’s sent some vinegar toffee and coconut ice for the bairns, and a drop of brandy for when you’re feeling bad. She swears by a tot in her tea in the morning.’

  ‘Does she? Well, I never.’ Nellie stared in wonder, as she did every Sunday afternoon when the basket was emptied. ‘You thank your Miss Wilhelmina for us, hinny.’

  ‘Aye, I will.’

  Alf had joined Kitty at the table and the two of them were chaffing each other over something or other, so while Margery brewed a pot of tea, Daisy busied herself putting the chicken, ham and eggs on the marble slab in the scullery. The tea and sugar she placed on one of the two shelves above the tin bath where other foodstuffs were kept, and then she came back into the living room and took the small bottle of brandy across to her grandmother. ‘Keep this by you, Gran, for when you need it,’ she said softly, smiling down into the wrinkled old face. ‘And don’t you give anyone else a sip, mind. Miss Wilhelmina was very insistent, it’s all for you.’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right, lass. Don’t you fret about me. I’ve never had it so good an’ that’s the truth. This new mattress you got me makes me think I’m floatin’ on air, I tell you. I’ve never slept so well in me life an’ it’s surprisin’ the difference it makes to me poor old bones.’

  ‘It’ll be thick blankets for you next, and a feather bolster and new pillows.’

  ‘Lass, I don’t want you to spend your money on me, now then. It’s yours, you earn it. Kitty let on to Tilly last week that sometimes you’re up half the night with the old lady an’ then dancin’ attendance on her all day.’

  ‘Gran, I like it. I like her, and that makes all the difference.’ It did too, Daisy reflected, walking across to the table and picking up her tea and her granny’s. When Miss Wilhelmina was feeling bad there was more physical work than she’d expected, what with lifting her and helping her wash and dress and things of that sort, but the old lady was skin and bone like her granny, and she’d been attending to her gran’s needs for years.

  Sometimes Miss Wilhelmina wanted her to read to her most of the night when she couldn’t sleep, and Daisy still had to attend to her duties in the day, but that was all right. She knew just what medication to adminster now, and how to massage her mistress’s back, limbs and feet to help her circulation, and she enjoyed pushing Miss Wilhelmina round the grounds for a couple of hours in the afternoons. That was always the best part of the day, even when the wheels of the chair got stuck and she had to heave and push until she felt her arms were going to snap.

  And the money she was earning was the icing on the cake. It was grand that after she’d paid the rent due for the cottage and provided for all the household necessities, there were always some shillings left over - even when she had had to pay for the doctor from Whitburn to call and see her granny, like last month.

  It was the first time they had been able to afford to have the doctor to the house; before this her da had always walked into Monkwearmouth and had a word with the apothecary. The doctor had come out with a list as long as your arm of things wrong with her granny, and now she was on all different sorts of pills and potions like Miss Wilhelmina. There was a noticeable difference in her health, however, so to Daisy it was money well spent each month.

  She had saved the money left from her wages after the household was taken care of and recently had had enough to purchase a fine new feather mattress for Nellie. Once she had replaced her granny’s blankets, bolster and pillows, she intended to put new mattresses and blankets on all the other beds and maybe buy a crib for Margery’s baby. She had told Tilly to tell her when the bairns needed new boots and clothes, but they could shop at the second-hand market at Boldon or Monkwearmouth for those.

  Daisy took the two cups of tea over to the pallet bed, perching on the edge of it and handing one to her grandmother. ‘Here, Gran.’

  ‘Ta, me bairn.’ Nellie stared at her precious granddaughter while slowly beginning to sip her tea. She looked at the fine clothes, which stated her lass had gone up in the world. By, but they’d had a crack or two the afternoon Daisy had first waltzed in dressed up to the nines, pretending to walk with a mincing air as though she was holding a parasol over her head. And then she had had them in stitches when she had listed all the items of clothing her mistress wore, acting as though she was climbing into them herself as she did so.

  ‘Gran, you wouldn’t believe it! I didn’t know if I was on foot or horseback that first morning I saw everything,’ Daisy had said. ‘First there were thick woollen combinations, and over them white cotton ones with plenty of buttons. Then grey stays with suspenders and black woollen stockings, white cotton drawers with buttons and frills, and a petticoat-bodice with lovely embroidery and more buttons. There was a cotton petticoat and then a beautiful lace one with a flounce round the bottom. Honestly, Miss Wilhelmina was getting fatter in front of my eyes!

  ‘On top of all that she wears one of her satin blouses, lovely they are, with a separate high starched lace collar fastened with gold studs. Oh, I hated them studs for the first couple of days, Gran, but I’ve got the hang of them now. Then a skirt which touches the ground, and a pocket watch - beautiful it is, all fancy gold and precious stones - fixed to the front of her blouse. Then, to finish off, round her shoulders she has a collection of silk and lace shawls, only the gentry call them stoles ’cos they’re a bit like long scarfs. Then I lace her boots on to her feet. But they’re not boots like we know, Gran.’

  ‘They’re not, hinny?’

  ‘No. The leather is so soft it feels like a baby’s bum and Miss Wilhelmina has more than ten pairs, all with different patterns on and beading and things. She doesn’t like shoes, the mistress, but her boots are better than any shoes.’

  And she had said to her lass, ‘Her boots are better than the ones she’s bought you?’ as she had looked at the fine high button boots Daisy had been wearing, because she could hardly believe there was anything that’d surpass them.

  ‘Twenty times better, Gran. Fifty! Oh, and she has scented hankies that are as fine as cobwebs, and so many hats, and a beautiful fur cape, and lots of other capes and coats.’

  Aye, they’d had some fun that afternoon all right, Nellie reflected silently, but even then she’d had her concerns and they had mounted over the weeks and months Daisy had been at Evenley House. Look at her now, sitting as far away from Alf as she could get, and him like a dog with two tails come Sunday afternoon.

  How many times did her lass mention Mr William on her visits? If it was once it was a dozen times during the hours she spent here. And her face would light up and her eyes would become starry . . . Dear God, dear God. Nellie continued sipping her tea, her thoughts racing. I’ve prayed to You to nip this thing in the bud and I’ll continue praying till the breath leaves me body. Hadn’t they had enough shame brought on their heads with Tom’s lass? And Margery was a nice lass, a good girl, no doubt about it, but still the stigma of carrying a bastard would be with her to her dying day. And it’d be worse for her lass, her Daisy. Tom would have married Margery and everyone in the village knew it, George and the others had made sure of that. But Daisy? If the worst happened she’d be packed off back here quicker than a dose of salts. That was the way of it with the gentry.

  ‘Gran?’

  When Nellie felt a warm hand close over hers she realised she had been staring at the lass without seeing her, and the look on her face must have been disturbing because Daisy was clearly agitated.

  ‘You feeling bad, Gran? Do you want me to get your medicine?’

  ‘No, lass, no.’ How many times had she held her tongue lately? It was beginning to feel like too many. Her lass was blossoming, Daisy was more beautiful each time she came home, and she was frightened for her. Gut frightened. ‘Lass, I want to say somethin’ but ’tisn’t easy. You . . . you might not thank me for voicin’ it.’

  Daisy smiled a small smil
e. ‘Since when has that stopped you?’

  Nellie couldn’t return the smile and there was a tightness in her throat. It hurt her to say anything that might take the light out of her bairn’s eyes, but she couldn’t lie here another minute without speaking. She glanced across at the others who were chatting among themselves. They were used to her and her lass talking quietly for a while when Daisy first came home. ‘It’s the lad . . . Mr William.’ The tone of her voice was different, she could hear it herself. Although still low and pitched so the others couldn’t hear, it had a rough note to it.

  Nellie swallowed and tried again. ‘Lass, you know nothin’ can happen there, don’t you? Not between you and him?’

  The girl’s hand left hers and Daisy tossed her head but didn’t answer. Nellie waited until the grey eyes met hers again and then she said softly, ‘Hinny, he’s a being from another world, an’ whatever you’re thinkin’ he’ll never leave it an’ you can’t enter it. You can’t, lass. It don’t happen.’

  ‘Gran, you don’t know that.’

  ‘Oh, aye, I do, lass. I do. He couldn’t survive a week workin’ like Alf or your brothers, an’ you wouldn’t survive a day trying to live like the women he’s used to. They wouldn’t let you.’ Nellie’s face held sadness touched with pity. ‘You might tell yourself it don’t matter that he’s never encountered hunger an’ hardship, that he knows nothin’ about workin’ till he drops an’ for a pittance that barely feeds a wife an’ family, but it does, lass, it does. They think different, the gentry. Right from birth they do. He might be charmin’ enough but he’ll never marry you. He’d be content to take you down, oh, aye, he’d be quick enough to do that. But marry you? Never. Never, lass.’