by Diane Allen
‘Ale will do fine. Perhaps Charlotte would like a glass of the wine, seeing as she has recommended it?’ Joseph sat down in the chair at the head of the table that he had been ushered into, as Wesley placed a tankard of ale next to him. He watched Lottie’s face as her father completely left her out of the offer of drinks.
‘I would indeed, Father. I do like a drink of claret.’ Lottie took advantage of Joseph’s hint and held her wine glass up to be filled, as she made herself comfortable in her seat between the two men.
‘Aye, well, watch it doesn’t go to your head. There’s nowt worse than a giggling, drunk woman.’ Wesley poured a half-measure into Lottie’s wine glass and then firmly placed the bottle on the sideboard.
Joseph caught Lottie’s eye and winked, as her father sat down in his chair at the other end of the table.
Mary came in, all flustered, carrying a tray laden with three bowls of steaming soup, and served Wesley first, completely forgetting the order Mrs Cranston had told her earlier in the day, and the protocol required for the evening.
‘So, lad, tha’s got big plans for that mill of yours, have you? I can’t say I’ve ever been near it. Not got much use for cotton mills up here. Now, if it had been wool, that’d be a different matter – I’d be selling you mine every autumn.’ Wesley looked up, after slurping a mouthful of soup and dipping his bread in it, and looked at Joseph for an answer.
‘I have indeed, Mr Booth.’ Joseph put down his spoon and leaned on the table, clenching his hands and leaning on them as he spoke. ‘Ferndale Mill at Langcliffe is empty at the moment. I aim to take out the old weaving looms and replace them with spinning and perhaps even doubling machinery. I’m looking at fourteen thousand spindles, if I’ve done my homework right. That’ll bring employment back into the area and fill them cottages up that are standing empty in Langcliffe, and the original rows of cottages at the end of the millpond. It’s just what this area needs. The slump in cotton that hit everybody bad, back in 1849, is hopefully over, and it’s time to look to the future.’ Joseph’s eyes glazed over, thinking of his ambition, before coming back to reality and reaching for his spoon to continue with his soup. ‘Then I hope to upgrade the derelict mill lower down the river; upgrade it to a top-class weaving mill. That’ll give the other mill owners something to think about.’
‘These are grand ideas, lad. I hope tha’s got enough brass, it’ll cost a bob or two.’ Wesley made light of his answer, but really he was wondering how much money his guest had.
‘I’ve no worries about finance; my wife made sure of that.’ Joseph sipped his soup and patted his lips with his napkin, before looking at Lottie.
‘Your wife! I didn’t know you were married.’ Charlotte heard herself gasp, as all her dreams of becoming Joseph’s wife, and living a life of style, drifted away.
‘I was. We were happily married for a whole year, and then unfortunately May caught consumption. I watched her go from a healthy, pink-cheeked young thing to an old woman within a few months. It broke my heart. That is why I decided to make a new life for myself in the country, instead of among the mill chimneys of Accrington. Fortunately, May bequeathed me all of her parents’ small fortune, which she herself had been left. So there’s no problem, Mr Booth. I do have “a bob or two”, as you say.’ Joseph watched the obvious relief on Charlotte’s face, giving her game-plan away.
‘Aye, I’m sorry to hear tha came into money through bereavement. I know what it’s like to lose the woman you love, at such a young age. I lost Lottie’s mother when she was but a baby – broke my heart, it did. Perhaps you’ll find solace in this new project. I take it you weren’t lucky enough to have any family?’ Wesley sat back and watched as Mary quickly cleared the empty soup dishes, nearly dropping the spoons as she did so.
‘No – no family. I am on my own, to do with my life as I will.’ Joseph smiled at Charlotte and leaned back comfortably in his chair.
‘It’s a bad do that you are all alone, Mr Dawson. Life must be hard sometimes.’ Lottie watched Joseph stretch his long legs under the table and gaze at his hosts. He was indeed worth money, and he was very handsome, but there was an undercurrent of arrogance about him. Lottie felt as if he knew what she was thinking when she smiled across at him, while making pleasant conversation.
‘Life’s what you make it, Miss Booth. I’ve no time for folk who feel sorry for themselves. I hadn’t a penny to my name a few years ago. Now I’m comfortable and, when it comes to friends and relations, they come and go. I’ve learned to be independent. Folk need me more than I need them.’
‘Well, lad, my lass Lottie means the world to me, and I don’t know what I’d do without friends. Happen us farmers depend on one another when times are hard. Your life sounds different to ours, lad, but as long as you’re happy.’ Wesley rubbed his hands and looked at the roast blade of beef that Mary had just placed on a plate in front of him. He remembered butchering the bullock that the beef had come from. A finer beast he’d never owned, and he knew that the beef in front of him would be succulent. ‘Give me a full belly and a happy daughter, and I ask for no more. Now, let’s get stuck into this beef, it’s a shame for it to go cold. Mary, fill mine and Mr Dawson’s tankards, and pass the tatties, lass. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’
Joseph smirked at his host. The man had no social graces or skills.
‘My father appreciates good food. After all, it’s like you producing good cotton: that’s what our trade is about.’ Lottie had caught the look on Joseph’s face and decided to squash his disgust.
‘And you, Miss Booth, what do you do with your life, up here on this remote farm? Do you not get bored?’ Joseph tilted his head while chewing a mouthful of beef.
‘She’s like a mountain hare, that’s what she is. She wanders the fells, knows every one of my sheep, and keeps up-to-date with all the gossip that’s talked in the kitchen. But when it comes to doing my accounts and watching where I spend my brass, I can’t fault her. Better eyes than old Brown in the bank at Settle, that ’un has.’ Wesley Booth butted in and summoned Mary, who was standing in the corner, to clear some of the empty plates.
‘So you are good with figures, Miss Booth. That’s unusual in a woman. You will be an asset to any forward-thinking husband you might take in the future.’ Joseph lowered his eyes and took the last mouthful of his dinner.
‘Aye, but she can spend it and all – she likes the finer things, does our Lottie.’ Wesley laughed as he watched Joseph finding out about his daughter. ‘Got a good eye, though; doesn’t spend money daft. She gets that from her mother.’
‘Father, will you be quiet. I am here, you know!’ Charlotte was mortified by her father’s outburst, likening her to a mountain hare. ‘I do seem to be good at bookkeeping. I learned it at Harrogate. It wasn’t my first choice of subject, but I found I had a head for figures. But, like my father says, I also like to wander the fells. I love my home.’ She felt her cheeks flush as she took a delicate sip of her wine for comfort.
‘Mmm. A woman of good taste. You must come and look around Windfell before I start to furnish it. I would like to have some advice from a female perspective. Us old males could do with some help on curtains and the like.’ Joseph grinned at Charlotte and her blushing cheeks.
‘Windfell!’ Wesley and Charlotte echoed together.
‘Yes, didn’t I mention that I’d bought Windfell, in between Stainforth and Langcliffe? I signed the deeds for it just this morning. I thought it was time I got myself a home, and Windfell Manor should do the job. It needs some money spending on it, but it is a good house for someone in my position and will make a fitting home if I ever decide to take myself a wife and family.’ Joseph sat back and watched both the Booths mentally trying to calculate exactly how much money he was worth.
‘Aye, it’ll be a grand house that. It’s set in some good grounds and has a grand view down to the River Ribble. I remember when Tom Redmayne built it. Shame he only got thirty years living in it, before he died.
His wife got even less – I don’t think she saw it completed. Could happen to be buying a bit of bad luck there, lad.’ Wesley pictured the large, pillared hall set in its own grounds, surrounded by beautiful copper beeches.
‘I’d love . . . I’d love to come and look around Windfell.’ Charlotte stuttered over her words, eager to accept Joseph’s offer to give him some advice, and to be given the chance to get to know a little better the man sitting across from her – and without her father’s interference.
‘Well, that’s a deal then, Miss Booth. We will make an afternoon of it, and I will arrange some tea.’ Joseph leaned over to slice a piece of cheese from the selection that Mary had placed in the middle of the dining table. She left the room, stifling a giggle, after eavesdropping on the ongoing conversation at her master’s table.
‘Please, Mr Dawson, call me Charlotte. I’m sure my father won’t mind.’ Charlotte glanced at her father.
‘I’m not bothered. Can’t be doing with standing on ceremony. Call her what you want, lad, as long as you are civil.’ Wesley Booth rose from his chair and charged Joseph’s tankard. ‘Tha’s a slow drinker – are you sure you like ale? I’ve some port on the sideboard. Do you fancy a glass of that?’
‘“Charlotte” it is, then. And yes, a glass of port would be most welcome. I look forward to showing you around. Would Monday next week fit in with your plans?’ Joseph raised his glass of port without thanking Wesley for it, and waited for a reply from the bewitched young woman.
‘That would be perfect. I’ll look forward to it very much. But now I’ll leave you to talk with Father. I know your business matters will be far over my head.’ Charlotte rose from her chair. She would have liked to have stayed longer, but it would not be deemed polite. She’d got what she had wanted: an invitation into the world of Joseph Dawson, with a visit to Windfell Manor as an added bonus.
‘I look forward to that indeed, Charlotte. And I’m sure that anything your father and I discuss tonight will not be too intellectual for your pretty head.’ Joseph stood up from his chair and watched the perfect figure of Charlotte saying her farewells.
‘Goodnight, Father. Goodnight, Mr Dawson.’ The rustle of black taffeta followed her out of the room. She stopped just outside the door, not quite closing it behind her, and listened to both men for a few brief seconds.
‘She’s a bit of a one, is our Lottie. Got her own mind, and as sharp as a vixen,’ she could hear her father saying.
‘I’m sure she is, Mr Booth – and beautiful with it, may I add, if I’m not being too presumptuous.’
‘Aye, I know I’ve got a winner there, lad. That’s why I’ve got to get the right bull in the pasture. No good her going with a fella with no breeding,’ Wesley muttered quietly.
Charlotte could have died. Would her father never learn any manners!
3
‘You look lovely, Miss Charlotte. Not to worry that you are in mourning – black quite suits you.’ Mrs Cranston stood back on the pegged rug in the kitchen and admired the daughter she had never had.
Charlotte reeled around and grinned like the cat that got the cream, as she adjusted a small silver hair-slide. ‘How many bedrooms do you think Windfell has? And how many servants will he be taking on? What did you think of him, Mary? Is he not truly handsome? I think I’m going to be lost for words when I speak to him.’ For once Charlotte was acting her age, and already she had plans in her head to be lady of the manor.
‘He was indeed handsome, Miss Charlotte. I’m quite envious. You will have to tell us everything when you come back home.’ Mary giggled at her mistress and clapped her hands as Charlotte pulled on her long velvet gloves, adding the final piece to her apparel.
‘Aye, well, you’d better get a move on, as his carriage is here. And it’ll not wait.’ Wesley Booth entered the kitchen and looked at his only child, noting the flutter she was in. ‘Anybody would think you were wedding him, not just having tea.’ He pulled his hanky out of his pocket and blew his nose, his eyes on the brink of tears at the beauty of his beloved daughter. ‘Now behave yourself, don’t act like an idiot and try to impress him, our Lottie.’
Charlotte kissed her father on the cheek and secured the small lace-frilled bag on her arm. ‘I’ll not let you down, Father.’ She gave a parting grin to the two servants as she picked up her skirts and left the three of them watching her. All of them thought this was the day she had upped her game, for the man of her dreams.
‘I have a funny feeling about this, Lucy. I think I might just have opened a can of worms, introducing Joseph Dawson to my lass. His brass would keep her in a good lifestyle, but as I talked to him the other evening, I don’t know if I liked what I heard. I think he could perhaps be a hard man.’ Wesley looked out of the kitchen window, watching the carriage that was carrying his daughter down the rough farm track.
Lucy caught his arm gently. ‘She’s only going for tea. She’s not eloping with him, and Lottie has a mind of her own. She’ll soon find out if he’s not what he seems.’
‘Aye, you’re right, but that lass is all I’ve got, and I’d rather she stopped at home all her life than be unhappy. She means everything to me.’ Wesley sighed.
‘Come here, sit next to the fire. Mary, put that kettle on and make your master a cup of tea. I don’t know, Miss Charlotte goes for her first proper invite out and the house falls apart. It’s going to be a long year, if she does take his eye, God help us all!’ Lucy puffed. ‘I’ve never known such a precious lass.’
Joseph Dawson stood outside the front doors of Windfell Manor. He gazed up at the fluted columns and cast-iron balcony above the entrance to his latest purchase. He silently admitted to himself that he had come a long way, since being a snotty, ragged kid in the back streets of Accrington, begging for a crust from passers-by just to fill his belly. He’d vowed, on the day that a rich merchant had hit him with the back of his hand, after Joseph put his filthy hands on his plush jacket, that he would not remain poor, and that he would play the rich at their own game.
By luck, cunning and good looks, he had managed it. And now he was starting a new life, comfortable in a wealthy lifestyle in the quiet Yorkshire Dales, where nobody knew of his past and where money talked louder than actions. Windfell was part of his dream, a mansion house built by the brother of a silk merchant. What a house that man had built, and now Joseph owned it, along with Ferndale Mill – thanks to his docile, trusting, dear wife. It had been a good day when he had met May, when she had opened her heart to him on the death of her parents, as he had sipped his coffee in the coffee house on Wellington Street. Fate had smiled at him, as May borrowed his handkerchief to wipe away her tears and then looked into his eyes. He could still see those almond-coloured puppy-dog eyes, the ones that – even now – bore into his soul and would make him wake at night, screaming.
He breathed in deeply. There, that was all in the past. It was time to move on. He had a guest coming, and he must not be seen wallowing in things that were now buried and gone. No sooner had he gathered his thoughts than he heard the sound of his coach approaching, turning its way into the gateway of Windfell to come to a standstill a yard away from him. The horses pounded and snorted as their driver dismounted and opened the carriage door to reveal Charlotte. Her head of blonde hair shone, as she politely thanked the driver for the help of his hand in assisting her.
‘Charlotte, so good to see you. I trust the ride was not too uncomfortable?’ Joseph held out his hand and smiled at his guest as she stood on the pebbled driveway and admired his home.
‘It’s beautiful, Joseph. I’ve always looked at this house from the road, but hadn’t realized it was so large! It must be three times the size of my home, and I thought our farmhouse was large. I’m sorry – I’m forgetting my manners. I didn’t even answer your question and say good afternoon, but I truly am in awe of the grandness of your home. The ride was comfortable; it made a pleasant change from my father’s plodding pair of nags. I must tell him to put his hand in his pocket
and get a team of horses with some style, instead of practicality.’ Charlotte turned and looked at Joseph, who appeared even more handsome in the cold light of day and blended in with his surroundings perfectly.
‘Yes, the Redmaynes knew how to build a house alright. But let’s not stand here. Come, let me show you the rest of the building. I’m afraid only one of the rooms is furnished as of yet, but my housekeeper has lit the fire in the parlour and has prepared some tea for us, once you’ve looked around my new home.’
Charlotte walked up the entrance steps into the large hall and gasped as she surveyed the huge, sweeping staircase before her. Her eyes surveyed the grandness of the hallway, the beautiful glittering chandelier that was the centrepiece of the ceiling, and the rich tapestries that hung at the windows. Never had she seen such luxury.
Joseph breathed in deeply. The smell of perfume surrounded him as Charlotte brushed past and stood in the centre of his hall. She looked the perfect picture. Even in her mourning dress, she seemed as if she was in her natural setting.
‘It is marvellous, Joseph. Look at the staircase and this hallway. How many rooms do you actually have?’ Charlotte twirled around, filling the room with the smell of violets, and Joseph smiled as he read on her face her impatience to be shown around.
‘Take my arm and I’ll show you round. I can’t quite believe it myself that this is to be my home. Mrs Dodgson, my housekeeper, is grumbling already, thinking how many servants I’m going to need to keep on top of it, once I’ve got all the rooms prepared. Now tell me, I thought this would make a perfect morning room, where I could write all my correspondence. And perhaps, if I take a wife, she could sit and sew in here. The room catches all the light in the morning.’
