The Mistress of Windfell Manor

by Diane Allen

  ‘Lottie, how grand it is to see you, but shouldn’t you be in the arms of your love, not trailing back home to see your old father?’ Wesley Booth hugged his only daughter and then stepped back to admire her in her fancy finery. Noting that her face looked pale and drawn from lack of sleep, he wondered if perhaps there had been too much in the way of lustful nights, but her eyes told him otherwise. ‘Tha’s missing Crummock’s clear air, by looks of them cheeks. What’s up with you, lass?’ Wesley wasn’t going to beat around the bush. He’d always been there for his Lottie and he knew when something was wrong.

  ‘Oh, Father, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I should never have married Joseph. We aren’t right for one another. He’s not the man I thought him to be.’ Charlotte fell into the chair next to the kitchen hearth and broke down in sobs.

  ‘He’s not hitting you, is he, or demanding too much . . . you know – you-know-what? ’Cause you are still my lass, and I’ll come and sort him out.’ Wesley clasped his hands behind his back and waited for an answer while he summoned Lucy Cranston to go out of the kitchen and leave them in peace, as she tutted and made herself busy eavesdropping on the news of Charlotte’s unhappiness.

  ‘No, Father, he’s never laid a hand on me. And as for the other, he’s hardly touched me.’ Charlotte blushed; sex was not something that was discussed.

  ‘Well, what’s up with that, lass? Tha’s dolled up like a dog’s dinner, got your own coach and driver outside. And I don’t think you’ll be going hungry, not like the poor buggers that work for your fella.’ Wesley scowled, wondering just what was amiss with his precious daughter.

  ‘He’s taken over my bank account, Father. I’ve no money, and he expects me to sit at home and just be a lady all day. He shouts at me if I ask him about his business, and he says it is to be expected that he runs my affairs as well as his own.’ Charlotte sobbed into her handkerchief and began to realize how petty her problems probably sounded to her father’s ears.

  ‘Is that what tha’s bloody sobbing like a baby for? What did you think would happen when tha married him? Many a woman would envy your position. You don’t have any worries about putting bread on the table, don’t have to scrub floors for a living, and are married to the wealthiest man there is around here. You’ve got to grow up, Charlotte, you are a married woman now. You don’t need your own money, and a man’s business is his own.’

  Wesley looked at his daughter, who stared back at him with hurt in her eyes as she sobbed.

  ‘I taught you too much about my business. A woman shouldn’t bother her head about such things. I should never have sent you to Harrogate; you came back far too independent, for a farmer’s daughter. Your job is now to look after your husband and make sure he’s satisfied. Surely you can do that?’ He paced back and forth and watched as his daughter’s eyes filled up with tears again. ‘Tha’s not my lil’ lass any more – tha’s Joseph’s wife. I’ll always be here for you but, like I told you, you’ve made your bed; now you must lie in it.’

  ‘That’s just it, Father. My bed isn’t made, because he won’t lie in it, and I don’t know what to do!’ Charlotte blurted out between sobs and hid her head in her hands.

  ‘You mean he’s not . . .’ Wesley stood still and gazed at his beautiful daughter, not quite knowing what to say.

  Charlotte shook her head and looked up at her father.

  ‘By hell, I wish your mother was alive, she’d know how to tell you what to do. I can’t understand the man – that is, if he is a man? He looks the part, but you never know. Lucy! Get yourself in here and stop hiding behind the door. I know you’ve heard every word said, so come and give my lass some advice.’

  Mrs Cranston shuffled back into the kitchen, making no apologies for eavesdropping, and sat down next to Charlotte, placing her ample arm around the sobbing young lass.

  ‘This is women’s talk, and you’ve used your charms plenty enough on me in the past. Give the lass some guidance, when it comes to men. That is one thing they mustn’t have taught her at Harrogate. I’ll make myself scarce.’ Wesley felt even more embarrassed than his daughter. He’d never previously admitted to bedding Lucy, but his temper had got the better of him today. He looked round at the pair of them. If Lucy’s advice didn’t get Joseph into bed and make him perform, then there must be something wrong with him. When they had married, his main worry was thinking of his only daughter in bed with the man. Now he found himself insulted that the same man had not even touched her. Joseph must be blind, or something was very wrong in his life.

  9

  ‘The Angel in the House’

  Man must be pleased; but him to please

  Is woman’s pleasure; down the gulf

  Of his condoled necessities

  She casts her best, she flings herself . . .

  She loves with love that cannot tire,

  And when, ah woe, she loves alone,

  Through passionate duty love springs higher,

  As grass grows taller round a stone.

  COVENTRY PATMORE, 1854

  ‘You alright?’ Sally Oversby glanced across at her new friend Betsy, who looked to be struggling with her workload, and hoped that she could either hear her or read her lips over the noise of the frames going backwards and forwards.

  Betsy nodded and wiped her running nose on her sleeve. She looked anything but alright, as she concentrated on the job in hand and at the same time kept an eye on the all-seeing overseer Bert Bannister.

  ‘See you outside when we have our bait,’ Sally mouthed, as Bert walked between the carding machines and scowled at the talking women.

  ‘Get on with your bloody work; you’ve no time to gossip,’ he growled.

  ‘Kiss my arse!’ Sally mouthed behind his back, making Betsy smile for the first time that morning. He’d no need to complain, and he knew it.

  ‘Well, are you going to tell me what’s up, or have I to drag it out of you?’ Sally leaned over the small metal bridge spanning the mill race that fed the huge water wheel powering the machines inside Ferndale Mill. She bit into her bread and dripping and waited for her newfound friend to tell her the woes that were obviously weighing heavily on her shoulders.

  Betsy sniffed hard. ‘It’s our Johnny.’ She stopped for a second, wondering if she should tell Sally Oversby her worry. Since she’d moved to Langcliffe she’d realized that everybody was related to everybody else, and she was careful about saying anything about other families in case she offended anyone.

  ‘Well?’ Sally threw her dried crusts to the ducks that were circling in the muddy waters, in anticipation of dinner, and watched as they squabbled over the meagre offering.

  ‘I don’t know if I should say – you might be related to those that have got him into bother.’ Betsy caught her breath and looked hard at Sally.

  ‘Bother? I thought your Johnny was an angel, a right good scholar, with his head screwed on.’ Sally waited to hear the news that had obviously shattered Betsy’s world.

  ‘Aye, well, he’s got in with those Wainwright lads. I told him they’d get him into trouble, but he didn’t listen. Or should I say: he listened to his hungry belly, and them egging him on. I could bloody kill him.’ Betsy blew her nose hard and looked at Sally. ‘He got caught poaching over at Knight Stainforth, on the manor’s land, by Thomas Maudsley himself. Needless to say, the Wain-wright lads made themselves scarce, leaving my Johnny holding the rabbit they’d snared, making him look like an idiot. Maudsley is demanding payment of five shillings, in compensation for the rabbits he says Johnny’s poached over the last few months, or he will put our Johnny up in front of the magistrates in Skipton. Oh, Sally, how am I going to pay him five shillings? Weavers only make two shillings and sixpence a week, and us carders make even less. I can hardly put bread on the table, without paying any fines.’ She leaned over the bridge and waited for her friend’s response.

  ‘Those bloody Wainwright lads are a bad lot, but you can’t blame ’em – they’ve had a hard life themselves, with
their mother walking out on them when they were babies. As for Thomas Maudsley, I’m surprised he’d be that hard on your Johnny. He lost twins a few years back, when they were just babies; and his daughter Jennet with a fever, when she was in her early teens. Then as if that wasn’t a big enough blow, his wife died. He’s just got the one lad called Henry, who’s the apple of his father’s eye. Perhaps if you go and see him, and explain your Johnny means the same to you, I’m sure he’d understand. A few rabbits mean nowt to him – he’s got enough brass.’

  ‘I don’t know. He lives in Knight Stainforth Manor and I daren’t go there. He’s gentry; he’ll not listen to me. I’ll just have to find the money from somewhere. I’ve a bit of savings put away for Johnny’s tools that he’ll need when he leaves school next summer, and perhaps I could ask Mr Dawson for a loan, or extra hours? I know one thing: my Johnny is not going to court. I will find the money somehow.’ Betsy sighed.

  ‘Well, I wish you luck, lass. I’d help, but you know what it’s like at our house. Five mouths to feed, and rent to pay. There’s never a penny left by the end of the week. But I will say something: you mind yourself with Joseph Dawson; don’t play into his hands. He plays a hard game, does that one, and it’s always to his advantage.’ Sally hugged Betsy quickly, feeling her thin body under her rough woollen shawl. ‘Bugger me, dinner hour goes faster every day, I swear it.’ She swore as the mill bell summoned the workers back to their posts.

  ‘Aye, time waits for no man or woman, now we have a mill clock, and Bert Bannister watching us.’ Betsy pulled her shawl around her shoulders. ‘I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I brought Johnny out of Skipton so that he’d keep out of bother, and now look what he’s done.’

  ‘Chin up, lass, at least we don’t look as miserable as her.’ Sally nudged Betsy and grinned, as they both watched Charlotte walk across the mill yard and enter the heavy oak doors that led into the heart of the mill. ‘All that money, posh clothes and no worries, yet look at that miserable face. But then again, I’d be miserable if I were married to Joseph bloody Dawson.’

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ Betsy watched as Charlotte disappeared gracefully from view.

  ‘Beautiful but miserable – that’s what money does for you, girl.’ Sally put her arm through Betsy’s. ‘Come on, else we’ll be docked wages. Race you back!’ They both lifted their skirts and ran across the yard, their clogs sparking as the metal on them contacted with the cobbles.

  ‘Charlotte, what on earth do you think you’re doing here?’ Joseph looked up from his desk, surrounded by paperwork and unpaid bills.

  ‘I’ve just come back from visiting my father, and he has made me realize what a child I have been. I couldn’t bear to wait until you came home tonight. I needed to talk to you straight away and ask for your forgiveness. I’ve been so stupid.’ Charlotte lowered her eyes and hoped that she looked demure enough to win the affections of her husband.

  ‘My dear, you still shouldn’t have come here – it’s no place for a lady. And forgiveness for what? We’ve both perhaps been over-hasty, and we are new to one another’s ways. I’m to be blamed as much as you. I work too much, and the mill demands so much of my time.’ Joseph looked at his wife, who was close to tears, and regretted being so hard on her since their wedding.

  ‘No, my love, the blame is all mine. Here I stand, dressed in the finest clothes, with nothing to worry about, and a handsome husband working hard to keep me in a lifestyle beyond my wildest dreams, and all I do is nag and make you angry.’ She walked towards him, then ran her hand over his hand and looked into his blue eyes. ‘I do love you, Joseph, and you were quite right to take control of my bank account. I am, after all, your wife; and business is a man’s world, and I shouldn’t bother my head about such things. Just look at all the responsibility you have in your work. It’s far too much for an empty-headed woman like me.’ Charlotte remembered all Lucy’s advice and laid on the stupid-woman act that she had been told to try on her hot-headed husband.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve realized that I am only trying to protect you, Charlotte. I too love you – you must know that?’

  She gently ran her hand around the back of his neck, and Joseph smiled as he sat in his chair, catching her hand when it reached his shoulder and kissing it gently.

  ‘I know, my love. Just looking around your office, I don’t quite know what I was thinking of, when I wanted to get involved with the running of the mill. The noise and the dust are horrendous; no wonder you come home and just want to go to bed, you must be exhausted. Come home to me tonight, my love, and I’ll show you how much I love you. I swear I know my place now and will not pester you for your attention.’ She stood by his side and watched the relief flood over her husband’s face.

  ‘I’ll look forward to coming home this evening, Charlotte. I must learn to spend more time at home. In another month or two the mill will not need as much attention. You must realize that the business is relatively young and demands my time.’ Joseph held onto her hand and looked into the eyes that he was starting to love, despite every fibre of his body telling him just to use her for his own ends. After all, wasn’t that what she was doing to him: using him for her position in so-called society?

  ‘I know. Until tonight.’ Charlotte smiled and looked up quickly as Bert Bannister knocked sharply on the office door. ‘I’ll go, you are busy. I’ll be waiting.’ She smiled and gathered her skirts as she quickly brushed her way past the burly overseer and a pretty-faced mill girl who stood next to him.

  ‘Afternoon, ma’am, nice to see you here at the mill.’ Bert tugged on his cap.

  ‘Good to see you, Bert. I hope all is well with you?’ Charlotte smiled as the girl next to him didn’t dare look up at her. Her father had been right: she didn’t know how lucky she was and, if she played Joseph at his own game, then the world was her oyster.

  Betsy stood in front of Joseph Dawson. Her legs felt like jelly and her stomach churned with apprehension at the possibility of her request being declined or, even worse, being told that her brother deserved all that he got.

  ‘Well, what’s all this about then? Why do you want to see me?’ Joseph had dismissed Bert quickly from his office, once he realized that it was the attractive Betsy he had standing quivering behind him.

  ‘I . . . I need your help. You are the only one I can think of that can help me and Johnny.’ Betsy played with her handkerchief and lowered her eyes, not wanting to look at the man who held the power over their life or death.

  ‘Oh? And how’s that then? Why should I help you and your brother, who the other week was too grand to come and work for me?’ Joseph looked at the young woman. She was a beauty – a beauty that he could exploit. She was his for the taking, and she knew it. He rose from his desk and stood next to her, running his fingers through her long, dark hair, and breathed heavily on her neck. ‘Well? I’m waiting.’

  ‘Johnny’s in a bit of bother. Thomas Maudsley from Knight Stainforth caught him poaching on his land, and now he’s demanding payment for the rabbits he says he’s been missing from his land, or he’ll take Johnny in front of the magistrate at Skipton.’ Betsy trembled as Joseph licked her neck and ran his finger around the top of her laced-up dress. She hated being used and touched by him, but daren’t complain and risk being homeless and jobless.

  ‘Why do you think I should care about that? You’ve a thief under your roof. I’m just glad that he doesn’t work for me,’ whispered Joseph in her ear. ‘Of course, we could come to an understanding. How much is Maudsley wanting for his flea-ridden rabbits?’ He kissed the nape of Betsy’s neck and slipped his hands inside her bodice, feeling her pert breasts.

  Betsy froze; she couldn’t scream for help. Nobody would believe her word against the mighty Joseph Dawson. His hands squeezed each breast tighter than a vice. She caught her breath and managed to whisper, ‘Five shillings.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money, Miss Foster, for a mill lass to pay. How about I lend you it, and we can come to an arra
ngement. I’ll even go and have a word with Thomas Maudsley, to explain the situation.’ Joseph pushed himself hard against Betsy’s skirts and felt her tremble, as she expected him to force himself on her.

  ‘Would you, sir? I would do anything.’ Betsy could have cried. God forgive her for her sins, but she could see no other way out of the situation.

  Joseph kissed her neck again and then released his hold, turning her round to face him. ‘I’ll see Maudsley for your precious Johnny, but you are now mine. I’ll visit you later this evening, for you to make the first payment that you owe me.’ He looked at the relief on Betsy’s face. ‘What, you thought I’d take you in my office! A quick five-minute fumble is not long enough for me, Betsy Foster; you’ll earn your five shillings.’ He smirked.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ A tear ran down Betsy’s face and she quickly wiped it away. Her legs trembled as Joseph walked away from her and opened the office door for her to leave.

  ‘And, Betsy, don’t think of doing a moonlight flit, else it will be the worse for you. I always get what I want, and I’d hunt you both down. The trouble you are in now is nothing compared to what I could make for you.’ He stared at her. ‘Keep your mouth shut, and make sure you close the door on your way out.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Betsy wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to control her shaking. Things had just got so much worse for her. No self-respecting girl should be submitted to this.

  Joseph sat in the parlour of Knight Stainforth Manor, a modest dwelling that had been built with the hard Yorkshire winters and warm summers in mind. The walls were nearly three feet thick and the windows small and narrow, to keep the cold out.