by Diane Allen
‘I see, and you are happy here, Yates?’
‘Indeed, ma’am. I’m used to a larger household, but this suits me fine at this age in life.’
‘Good. Well, I hope to be a good mistress. You’ll find me fair, as long as you are right with me.’ Charlotte had rehearsed her closing lines in her mind over and over again. She was going to be shown to be caring but firm, and that was what she hoped to be.
‘Yes, ma’am. Can I say, ma’am, how refreshing it is for someone to show an interest in their servants.’ Yates looked at the young woman who sat across from him; she was the opposite of her husband, who expected everything without a care. ‘Although none of us have been serving Mr Dawson long, we are a good team and we aim to please.’
‘Thank you, Yates, I’m sure we will all rub along happily. Could you send Mrs Batty, the cook, up to see me next, if it is convenient for her?’ Charlotte rose from the table and walked to the door to open it for Yates.
‘Of course, ma’am, but you sit down. I don’t expect doors to be opened for me – that’s my job.’ Yates smiled as his new mistress blushed slightly.
‘Of course, Yates, thank you.’ Charlotte felt stupid. She was the mistress now and she had to remember that. She sat back in her chair and sighed. She felt out of her depth. Dora Dodgson had looked at her like a schoolchild earlier in the morning, as Charlotte had tackled her about her dresses from home being given away. When she had informed Dora that she wished to speak to all the servants individually, the housekeeper had sneered and virtually told her that it was not her concern how the servants lived, or whether they were happy in their positions. But in Charlotte’s eyes, it was her concern, for a place could not run smoothly if people weren’t looked after.
She could understand that she and Dora Dodgson were never going to see eye-to-eye. How she wished for the jovial laughter of Lucy Cranston and Mary, the parlour maid at Crummock. However, as her father would have said, ‘She’d made her bed and now she must lie in it.’ Even though that bed was perhaps not as full of love as she had first thought. She could feel a hatred for Dora Dodgson growing, but she knew that Joseph would hear no ill of her, so she would just have to bite her tongue and grow in strength, to outplay Dora at her own game.
The kitchen was abuzz with gossip about the new mistress. She’d spoken to all the staff personally that morning, and now they were making their minds up on how they felt about the new lady of the manor. Mrs Batty had listened to all the comments and decided to share her views.
‘Well, I think she’s a right grand lass – she’s not much different from any of us. After all, she’s only a farmer’s daughter!’ Mrs Batty stopped stirring the lunchtime vegetable soup for a second and added her fourpenn’th about Charlotte.
‘She hasn’t had the breeding, I think you mean. She actually opened the door for me. Now that’s a first!’ Yates scoffed as he waited for the soup to be placed in the silver serving tureen that he was about to present in the dining room.
‘That’s called manners, Mr Yates, and don’t you knock it. You wouldn’t get him opening the door for anyone!’ Mrs Batty poured the soup into the tureen, splashing herself as she did so. She muttered under her breath as she reached for the bicarbonate-of-soda, to put on the burn to cool it.
‘Him as got a name, and don’t you forget he keeps us housed and fed.’ Yates looked down his nose at the straight-talking cook, whose face was as red as the pickled beetroot that was to accompany the next course.
‘Aye, and he likes to keep us all in our places. Which I don’t mind – I know my place in life. I’ll never be lady of the manor, but I’ll not be treated like a dog.’ Mrs Batty stood with her hands on her hips and watched as Yates carried the lunch towards the stairs leading up to the dining room.
‘Just watch what you are saying. Mrs Dodgson could be listening and she tells him everything – the woman’s got bat ears, I’m sure.’ Yates looked at the blustering cook. He admired her strengths, and the woman could certainly cook, but she was in the same situation as him and needed her job.
‘I think she’s alright, Mrs Batty, she was really kind to me. She asked me about my brothers and sisters, and where in Settle I live. I think she’ll be good for the house.’ Mazy gave the candelabra that she was polishing an extra-vigorous rub and reached for the next item to be cleaned.
‘Aye, well, we will take her as we find, that’s the best way. If she’s right with us, it’ll be grand, and we’ll look after her when it comes to him. God knows, she’ll need it.’ Mrs Batty plated up the sliced baked ham for the next course and stood back and admired her handiwork.
‘Who’ll need God’s help? Who are you gossiping about now?’ Mrs Dodgson entered the room and quickly gazed around the room, sensing that she was not going to be included in the conversation that was taking place.
‘Oh! Mrs Dodgson, we were just commenting about Mazy’s youngest sister – she’s got influenza. Hasn’t she, Mazy? She’s right poorly; she’s in bed with a temperature.’ Mrs Batty passed Yates the platter of carved ham as he came back into the kitchen and noted his disapproving stare.
‘That’s right, Mrs Dodgson. My mother just hopes that we are not all going to go down with it.’ Mazy coughed slightly, to add substance to the lie.
‘Well, you can keep it to yourself. Get a move on and clean the dining-room silver after you’ve done that.’ She sneered at young Mazy. Typical that her family had influenza. They probably lived like rats in the gutter. ‘Mrs Dawson will be eating alone this evening. Mr Dawson is going to a meeting and will dine out. He’s just informed me.’
‘Would she like a light meal, Mrs Dodgson, or should I make her the full three courses that I had planned?’ enquired Mrs Batty, as the hoity housekeeper started to leave the room.
‘I’ll ask her. Not that she’s used to answering such questions; I think the cook just did what she liked at her old home. Next week, when we are in a routine, she will have to start to look at the menus and see if they are to her liking. When you have the time, put your suggestions for next week’s meals together, please, Mrs Batty, and give them to me.’ Dora was still fuming that Charlotte had given up her morning to talk to the staff and get to know them. She’d even been to the stables to talk to old Bob, the groom, and the stable lad, whose name Dora could never remember. Why would she? He was not part of Charlotte’s world. She knew as soon as she entered the kitchen that they were all talking about the insipid milksop who was now more important than her, in their eyes. ‘And make sure you price everything up. We run to a budget, and it’s best she knows that; and that it is us servants who have to be responsible for the money.’ Dora lifted her skirts and climbed the few steps that led into the hallway. She stood by the doorway listening to any backchat from the servants, which she had no time for. But it was silent as she listened – too silent for her liking; they must have known she was eavesdropping. She crossed the hallway and entered the dining room.
‘Cook would like to know: would you like a full dinner tonight or something lighter, as Mr Dawson is dining out this evening?’ Dora waited for a reply, noticing that Charlotte looked upset as she finished sipping her soup.
‘I’ll have something lighter – a sandwich or some more of this soup, if there is any left. I didn’t realize I was going to be on my own.’ Charlotte flashed a querying look at Joseph, who sat across from her. Why did the housekeeper know before her where her husband was going to be? Nobody had told her that life with Joseph Dawson was going to be so lonely. There had been no offer of a honeymoon or of time together, alone. Instead, so far, all Joseph’s time had been spent with his work, or telling his housekeeper his daily plans, instead of her.
‘Very well, ma’am, I’ll tell Mrs Batty. I presume you would like afternoon tea in the drawing room? The late Mrs Dawson always enjoyed her afternoon tea in the drawing room, when we lived at Accrington.’ Dora smiled, remembering her previous mistress.
‘I prefer the morning room, please, Mrs Dodgson.’ Charlo
tte glared at the housekeeper, who was still living in the past.
‘Do as Charlotte requests, Mrs Dodgson. She enjoys the view in the morning room.’ Joseph pushed his soup bowl away and waited until Yates, who had been standing next to the sideboard, quickly cleared it away. He turned and smiled at Charlotte. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I should have told you first that I am dining out tonight. I do apologize. The first Monday of the month I usually meet with my fellow businessmen and we have dinner in the Talbot Arms in Settle.’ Joseph patted his lips with his serviette and looked at his wife, who seemed displeased at his confession.
‘I forgive you for not telling me, but can I not come with you? I’d like to learn about local business.’ Charlotte held back her disappointment and hoped that Joseph would invite her along with him. She could have sworn she heard Mrs Dodgson mutter something under her breath as she turned to leave the room.
‘My dear, the Talbot Arms is no place for a lady, when we men get together. I’m afraid we would bore you to death with talk of business. Plus, some of my so-called business colleagues get a little leery after a gill or two of the Talbot’s excellent beers.’ Joseph threw his napkin down on the table and waited until Yates served the roast ham, boiled potatoes and beetroot, then ordered him to leave them both.
‘But, Joseph, I want to help with the mill and learn more about it. If it is to keep us in this style, then surely I should contribute to its running.’ Charlotte was used to helping on the farm and knowing the everyday running of it.
‘The mill is my business; it is not for a woman to know how it runs. Yours is the house to run, along with Mrs Dodgson. You should not worry your head about things you don’t understand. Be glad for what you’ve got, and stop interfering in things you do not know about.’ Joseph sliced into his cold ham with his knife and stared at his new wife.
Charlotte looked across at her husband. The house would take no running – not with all the staff and Dora Dodgson, who ran things so strictly no one dared breathe. She would learn about the mill, and he wasn’t going to stop her. After all, it was part of her new life and she had every right to know how their income was earned. If Joseph didn’t want children in his life, then he should look at her as a partner in his work, to stop her from losing her sanity from boredom, if for no other reason.
‘But, Joseph, I need my life fulfilling, either with children or with you at your side at the mill. I realize I don’t know anything about cotton, but I could learn . . .’
‘You know nothing. I don’t want you anywhere near that mill, do you hear? You keep away and leave it to me.’ Joseph raised his voice loudly and his eyes flashed as he banged his knife down in his fist upon the table. ‘As for children, I don’t like them. However, if it would keep you content, we should perhaps try for a child. A male heir would perhaps be an asset. It would at least give you some purpose in life, else I can see that you are going to be forever whining around my feet. It is our first day of marriage and already you are discontented with your lot.’ He glared across at Charlotte, noticing that she was on the brink of tears.
‘I’m not ungrateful, Joseph. I’m just used to having something to do, and I would love a child to call our own – isn’t that what any couple want?’ Charlotte wiped away a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye. Was she being unreasonable? After all, this was only her first day of being married, and Joseph had to carry on with business commitments, regardless of his personal life. But if he’d agree to try for a baby, then she would be content. It was a security that she longed for and had not yet been given, with the marriage not being consummated.
‘For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, do you not know how much I love you? I’m just a selfish man and wanted some time alone with you, without the burden of children around our feet. You need time to enjoy the house and the gardens, when spring comes – that’s all, my dear. Forgive me for raising my voice, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ His temper subsided and was replaced by a sympathetic purring. ‘Come here, my dear. Let me kiss you.’ Joseph held out his hand for Charlotte to embrace. She rushed to his side and knelt down on the floor, putting her head on his lap as he stroked her blonde hair. ‘I’m just a grumpy old man, forgive me.’ He tilted her chin upwards and kissed her passionately on the lips. ‘You know I’ll do anything you want – just look at this fine house, and the servants at your beck and call. Just let me be selfish a little bit longer.’ He smiled and looked into Charlotte’s tear-filled eyes.
‘No, it’s me who’s selfish, pushing you to do things you don’t want to. I’m trying to run in my new life before I can walk. Wanting it all before I know anything about everything.’ Charlotte wiped a tear away and smiled at her husband. ‘I do love you.’
‘And I you, my dear. One day we will look back at this, our first tiff, and laugh.’ Joseph kissed her on her brow. ‘Now, my dear, I’ve some business to do. I will see you tomorrow, but please do not wait up for me. It’s usually after midnight before I return from my tedious meeting, and I’m generally the worse for drink, like the rest of them.’ Joseph kissed her again and noticed the look of disappointment clouding his wife’s face again.
‘Take care, my love.’ Charlotte’s hand lingered in his as he walked away from her through the dining-room doors. She was alone again; she was going to have to make the best of her life, if this was how it was going to be. Tomorrow she would take a ride into Settle and would treat herself to a new hat; and the day after that she might even go back home and visit her father. Home! This was her home now, so she had better make the best of it.
Joseph looked at the squat little man who sat across from him in the dim candlelight of the Talbot Arms.
The room was filled with heavy tobacco smoke, and next to the open fireplace a young servant boy turned the handle of the spit that held a side of pork, which was gently cooking over the open fire. The boy’s gaze took in all the drinkers and gamblers who frequently spent their lives in the Talbot Arms. He saw all, but said nothing; it was his job in life to turn the spit and do nothing more, unless it was worth his while.
‘What the hell do you want with me, Simmons? I thought I’d left you back in Accrington.’ Joseph sipped from his tankard and waited for an answer from his late wife’s solicitor.
‘It’s funny you ask me that, Dawson. News travels fast, you know. When I heard from one of my clients that you’d started a new life up here in the Dales, and saw the announcement of your marriage to the lovely Charlotte Booth, I thought I’d better remind you of your past. I owe it to your new wife, if nothing else. We can’t have another mishap – or should I say disappearance – now can we?’ Simmons took a long drink from his tankard and watched him over the brim, as Joseph Dawson studied the face of the man who had supposedly found out his secret. ‘I should add that, if you are thinking of doing the same to me, there is a letter in the hands of my partner telling him of my suspicions, if I do not return from visiting my old friend in Yorkshire.’
Simmons sat back and waited for a reply. He hadn’t liked the man May Pilling had married, so when he’d tracked down the loyal kitchen maid of the Pilling family who had owned the Helene Mill on Grange Lane, and heard her side of the story, he knew his suspicions had been well founded and that Joseph Dawson was a no-good imposter and rogue.
‘You know nothing – you are bluffing. And keep your bloody voice down. This isn’t Accrington; everyone’s local and they all know me.’ Joseph bent over the table and breathed heavily into Simmons’s face. ‘What do you want from me, you bloody snake?’
‘I want that pretty new wife of yours to be kept safe. But most of all, I want my bank balance to look a little healthier – say, around thirty guineas healthier – just to help me in my old age!’ Simmons waited, watching the handsome face of Joseph cloud over with suppressed anger. ‘After all, you wouldn’t want the information I hold to get into the wrong hands. The cells at Preston are waiting, if I were to open my mouth, and what a shame for a man of such high status in the community.’ He
leered, and liked the look of panic on that bastard Dawson’s face. He knew he’d got what he came for.
‘You bastard! Breathe a word and I’ll break your bloody neck.’ Joseph lent back in his chair. ‘Twenty guineas. I’ll give you not a penny more. My stable lad will bring it to you in the morning.’ He wasn’t prepared to lose his lifestyle for the sake of this worm from his past. ‘You then get out, and stay out, of my life. Do you understand?’ Joseph rose from his chair and swigged his gill back.
‘I understand perfectly. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Dawson.’ Simmons held out his hand to be shaken, but was ignored by Joseph, who put his hat on and pushed his chair back. ‘By the way, how is that sister of yours? I presume she’s here with you; after all, you couldn’t leave her back in Accrington.’ Simmons knew he had Joseph Dawson by the balls. The man should think himself lucky that he wasn’t asking for more, considering the information he had on the loathsome guttersnipe.
‘Shut your mouth and piss off, back to the hole you’ve come from,’ whispered Joseph, while holding the back of his chair as his knuckles turned white with rage.
‘Good evening, Mr Dawson. As I say, the pleasure has been all mine.’ Simmons sniggered. It was good to see Joseph Dawson worried. He and his sister had crawled their way out of the gutter at the expense of poor May. He only hoped that Dawson’s new wife had a bit more sense about her. He’d heard that her father was wealthy – that was obviously what had attracted that rat Dawson. He watched as Joseph made his way to the door, giving him a backward glance with his hand on the latch. ‘Regards to your beautiful new wife.’ Simmons laughed as Joseph slammed the door behind him, stopping the drinkers’ banter instantly. He raised his tankard to the other drinkers and laughed. ‘Must have been something I said.’
