The Mistress of Windfell Manor

by Diane Allen

  Betsy quietly crept out of the side of the bed and looked at Joseph Dawson, snoring under her hand-made patchwork quilt. She could hear her mother’s scolding voice in her ears, preaching at her for having sex with her master. A few weeks ago she would have agreed and thought herself dirty and worthless; but after this night, things had changed. She looked at the silver threepenny piece in her hand. It was only half of what Sally had said to charge, but it was thruppence more than she thought she would get. It was worth the slap that Joseph had given her, when she had threatened to tell his wife. His displeasure at her threat had told her everything: he might be in control at the mill, but he had a weak spot when it came to his precious wife hearing about his lifestyle.

  She silently opened the secret door in her dressing table and placed the coin in a small trinket box, safe within it. Once he had gone, she would write in a journal the date and payment: 2nd January 1861. Services rendered to Joseph Dawson: 3d. She was going to treat this like a business, with her ill-gotten gains making sure that Johnny wanted for nothing.

  She walked across the pegged rug on the floor and climbed softly back into bed beside the warm, sleeping body of Joseph. She listened to him breathing and watched him as his eyes twitched in his dreams. He was such a bastard, but his looks belied his nature. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. The trouble was that he wasn’t her man. He came for pleasure that he couldn’t get elsewhere, often in a temper or in lust, and that was how it would always be, for a mill girl who had nowt. Betsy sighed and looked at the frosty fern patterns on her bedroom window. She watched her warm breath evaporate in the moonlight that shone through her curtainless windows. Why was he in bed with her, when he had a beautiful young wife waiting for him, a warm grand house, and servants at his beck and call? It must be the demons that raged in him, when he lashed out in anger, that kept him unhappy. Perhaps as a result of some deep pain from his past? Whatever it was, she’d never know, and for the time being threepence for services rendered would be most welcomed.

  Betsy closed her eyes and prayed that Joseph would be gone before light of day and before the neighbours caught sight of him. She couldn’t abide the scandal that his presence would cause. She whispered under her breath, Please, God, look after me and Johnny and let him be gone by the time I awake, and then pulled the sparse cover over her to sleep.

  Charlotte lay in the bed she usually shared with Joseph. There had been no sign of him all evening, and even Dora Dodgson had been perplexed by his notable absence at the dinner table. Charlotte’s mind was racing with the day’s events. What was going to happen to Crummock? It was obvious that Joseph wanted her to sell it, but she couldn’t even think about that. The best option was to rent it out, and then both she and Joseph would benefit from the extra income. What had Charles Walker said about trouble in America? Was it really that bad over there, and why hadn’t Joseph told her? Why had he been so angry when Lucy had inherited her father’s money? After all, that was only right. Lucy had loved him.

  She tossed and turned and plumped up her pillows in an attempt to get comfortable and finally fall sleep. The few embers in the bedroom fire grate still glowed, giving an orange hue to part of the bedroom as she wrestled with the pillows and blankets. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck five o’clock. As if on cue, she heard the front door of the manor being opened by Yates, his voice noticeably sleepy as he answered his master’s request for his boots to be removed, before climbing the stairs. She hardly dared breathe as she waited for the bedroom door to be opened, and pulled the covers up to her chin, closing her eyes as she waited for Joseph to enter the room and get into bed with her. Instead his footsteps went past her door, and his own bedroom door, which he had abandoned several months ago, slammed shut. So that was the way he was going to play it tonight. At least he was home and, quite frankly, she was past caring if he slept with her or not, at this time of night. He’d probably been drinking and was in a foul mood anyway.

  Charlotte hugged her pillow and closed her eyes. What had she done to deserve a man like Joseph, and why on earth had she ever been attracted to him?

  13

  The ride in the trap up to Crummock was stifling. The silence was unbearable and Charlotte kept her eyes focused on the back of Jethro, as Joseph kept his thoughts to himself on the viewing of his new property. His horse trotted happily behind the trap, the stirrups jangling down by its side, glad that it was riderless. Never had the trip up to her beloved home been so agonizing as Charlotte debated how the cook she loved would have reacted to the news that she had to leave Crummock. She was hating having to enter Crummock without her father there and her stomach churned as the trap finally turned into the farmyard.

  ‘I’ll leave you to deal with your father’s shame. I’m going to look at the stock with Jethro and this so-called farm man. Just make sure Mrs Cranston goes, and quickly. I don’t want to have to come and throw her out myself. She’s had plenty of time to pack her bags and leave.’

  Charlotte looked at Joseph and decided silence was her best option as she walked away and made her way to the back door of her old home. Lucy greeted her with tears in her eyes and an outpouring of her feelings.

  ‘Aye, Miss Charlotte, it’s been the longest month I’ve ever known, without your father here to cheer me along. I can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of the place, now I’ve rented myself a cottage down in Austwick, but it won’t be the same as here. What’s to become of the place – who’s going to live here? Young Arthur can’t look after all them sheep on his own.’

  ‘I don’t know, Lucy. Joseph doesn’t know himself, and I have no say in it. Crummock’s mine, but not mine to do with as I wish, and I miss my father so much.’ Charlotte sniffed and fought back the tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte, you must be brokenhearted too. It’s just that the place is not the same without your father. I miss him sitting next to the fire with his darned socks on his feet, and I miss seeing the hay seeds scattered around, which had fallen out of his breeches after he’d fed the cattle. I miss the moaning when his bacon was a bit too crisp, and all the daft things he used to say. There will never be another Wesley Booth. The world’s a sadder place without your father.’ Lucy sat at the pine kitchen table and sobbed into her handkerchief. ‘I know he’s left me all his money, but that doesn’t mean a thing without him. I got that solicitor to draw all the money out of the bank and I’ve kept it under my mattress. I don’t trust banks – never needed them, don’t need them now. But I keep looking at all this money and thinking it can’t be mine. He should have left it to you, the silly old fool. There’s thousands – I’ll never spend it. I think that solicitor thought me daft.’

  ‘Hush now, Lucy. Joseph will be in at any minute. Has Arthur loaded the cart with all your possessions? Because once Joseph sees you out of the door, he will not let you in again.’ Charlotte didn’t want faithful Lucy to know how angry her husband had been to hear that he would not benefit from Wesley’s bank account. So far she had sheltered the cook from his anger, but it was plain for all to see that he was not a happy man. The last thing she wanted was for Lucy to tell him where she had hidden her money, and that she wasn’t appreciative of it.

  ‘Aye, I’ve packed everything I have on the cart. Arthur took most of the things yesterday, so that was a good help. And the cottage I’m moving in to is clean and tidy, and Archie said he’d pop in to see me every now and then. I might write to my sister over at More-cambe. She runs a boarding house for sailors; she could probably do with another pair of hands – it would make me feel wanted.’ Lucy sighed and looked at Charlotte, remembering all the love that her father had put into her upbringing.

  Charlotte put her arm around the shaking cook and kissed her gently on the quivering mob cap that sat askew on her mop of thin, grey hair. ‘I’m sorry you are losing your home. It must be a big shock for you, and I’m not helping because I truly don’t know what Joseph’s plans are for this place.’

  �
��At least Mary’s found herself work at Austwick Hall, and I’m glad that you are keeping Arthur on. I know he’s single, but he still needs the wage and he’s a good hand with the stock.’ Lucy pulled her shawl around her and looked out of the kitchen window for one last time. ‘I’ll miss this place, but you’ve got to move on. Just look at you: you’ve turned out to be the lady your father always wanted, in your finery. You’re a good ’un, Miss Charlotte. Your father brought you up correctly, and he’d be right proud of you. That husband of yours must be counting himself lucky: a bonny slip of a wife, a farm and his mill – you should want for nowt.’ Lucy had shared confidences with Wesley that she also thought Joseph was not all that he seemed.

  ‘I’m coping with my new status in life. Like you, I miss my father, and I’m not quite used to doing all the things that ladies do. I’m not into tapestry and reading. You know me, I’d rather be doing something more productive with my time.’ Charlotte smiled. She wasn’t going to say, Well, actually I’m regretting the day I set eyes on Joseph Dawson, which was just what she felt at that moment in time.

  ‘No signs of family yet? Your father was really looking forward to being a grandfather.’ Lucy squeezed Charlotte’s arm as she brushed past her.

  ‘No, not yet.’ Charlotte averted the cook’s attentions by picking up her full basket and walking towards the back door.

  ‘Did you get a chance to talk to Archie at the funeral? Did he tell you they are expecting another? Baby Daniel’s not even crawling yet and she’s in the family way again. And she’s ill with it; he nearly lost her last time, and it’s dangerous having another straight away.’ Lucy shook her head in disbelief at the situation her nephew was in.

  ‘No, I didn’t talk to him. Poor Rosie. She looked worn out when I saw her in Settle before Christmas and unfortunately they didn’t accept my invite to join us at Windfell at Christmas. They’ll be struggling up on Mewith Moor. There won’t be enough living up there for one family, let alone two. There’s us with everything, and there’s poor Archie with nothing and soon another mouth to feed.’ Charlotte dropped her head onto her breast. It hurt when she thought about the feelings she still had for the boy from across the dale. She even felt a pang of jealousy when it came to his wife, Rosie. They might not have any money, but they were happy, which was more than she was.

  ‘Aye, if he’d have played his cards right, he could have been sitting here with us as the new owner of Crummock. If only he’d been good enough for you. Your father wouldn’t have had it. In his eyes, you’d to marry somebody with status – he made that clear from the day you were born.’ Lucy Cranston gave a loving look around her beloved kitchen and wiped a tear as it escaped from her eye. ‘It’s a shame he hasn’t got a better start in life. He’s not a bad lad. You and him always seemed happy together. I might be able to help him out a bit, with this brass of your father’s, but he’s a proud one, is Archie. I doubt he’d take it.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d perhaps appreciate a bit of help. He’s with Rosie now, and I’m with Joseph, so it was not to be.’ Charlotte could feel tears welling up in her eyes as she thought of the time when Archie had shouted out that he loved her, from the knot behind Crummock. Had he meant it? And did he still love her?

  ‘Aye, life moves on. It’s a good job we don’t know what life’s going to throw at us, else sometimes I think we’d give in. Well, come on, let’s get me on that cart. I’ve said my goodbyes to the old place. I’ll leave it and let the ghosts that rattle around it take care of it for now.’ Lucy breathed in deeply and followed Charlotte out of the back door.

  Charlotte lifted Lucy’s basket up to Arthur, who was waiting patiently on the cart. ‘Where’s Mr Dawson, Arthur?’ Charlotte looked around her, as Lucy hitched her long skirts up to sit next to the farm lad.

  ‘He’s in the barn, Miss. I think he’s looking at the stock.’ Arthur smirked; the townie knew nowt about owt. Didn’t know a gimmer from a tup.

  ‘Alright, thank you. Take care of Mrs Cranston. Make sure she’s settled when you leave her, and then come back and get your orders from Mr Dawson.’ Charlotte patted Lucy’s hand and climbed up on the buck-board to give her a peck on the cheek. ‘Take care, I’ll always love you, and I’ll call in when I can.’

  ‘Aye, take care, lass, and I’ll always be there for you. If you need anything, you know where I am.’ Lucy pulled her apron to her eyes and sobbed openly as the cart drew away from the place she had called home.

  Charlotte stood back and watched as the cart with Lucy and all her belongings made its way past the duck pond and the wood that sheltered the ancient farmhouse, then round the corner out of sight. Her breath caught in her throat and a wave of sorrow flooded over her. There was nobody left at her beloved Crummock. It was empty and unloved, apart from the ghosts that Lucy had always insisted inhabited it.

  ‘Well, has the old bag gone?’ Joseph walked up quietly behind her. ‘I couldn’t stand to look at her. She had your father wrapped around her finger.’

  ‘She loved him, and he her. She’s heartbroken that she’s been thrown out of her home of forty years.’ Charlotte turned with anger in her eyes and glared at her uncaring husband.

  ‘As I am, that we haven’t got your father’s bank account. You’d better get yourself home. Jethro will take you; he’s just wasting time grooming your father’s old knackered nags. I’ll come back in my own time. I need to look around to see exactly what I own and what it’s worth.’

  ‘It’s just another possession to you, like I am. I’m beginning to think you don’t care about anything and anybody,’ Charlotte spat at him. She loved every inch of her previous home but was powerless to do anything with it.

  ‘I beg to differ, my dear. I care deeply about things. It’s just that, unlike you, my heart does not rule my head.’ Joseph stepped away from her and shouted at Jethro to bring the trap to take Charlotte home.

  Charlotte stood helplessly in the farmyard that she had played in for many a happy hour and heard herself echoing the same question as Lucy. What was going to happen to her beloved Crummock?

  ‘You ready, ma’am?’ Jethro brought the horse and trap next to her.

  ‘Yes, let’s get back to Windfell before the sun drops too much.’

  Jethro tapped his cap in recognition and helped Charlotte into the trap, then set off back through the farmyard, following the road down between tall limestone escarpments that ran down to the dale bottom.

  ‘Can we stop here for five minutes, Jethro? I want to go down this path on my own for a few minutes.’ Charlotte asked Jethro to stop as they reached the last fields of Crummock land. They pulled up at a small lane that led to the hamlet of Wharfe, and to Charlotte’s favourite place, called Wash Dubbs, where in summer the sheep were washed and where she had played in the warmth of the sun.

  Jethro sighed. He was chilled to the bone, even more so than the horses.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute, I promise.’ She climbed down from the trap. ‘I’ll really not be long.’ She picked her skirts up and ran along the rough stone pathway. The grass hedges sparkled with frost and the hillsides shone crystal-white in the late afternoon sunshine. She took care walking over the huge embedded boulder that made up part of the pathway, which had been there since the glacier from the Ice Age had carved out its path down the valley. She finally turned the corner to her most-loved place. The ancient bridge was just as she remembered it: large slate slabs held up by pillars of concealed stones, passing over the bubbling beck that ran from a small spring high above the fells. In summer the banks were adorned with foxgloves, mountain avens and the bright blues of scabious, but today the mossy banks were littered with glistening white icicles hanging over the icy river, their shapes like fairy palaces twinkling and shining in the reflections of the water. Charlotte stood and looked for a minute, remembering happier times when she and Archie had played together in the river and she had thought those days would never end. Times when the sun shone every day, and the swallows and swifts darted high
above their heads screeching their songs, and the two of them caught bullheads in the beck. Afterwards she would be told off by Lucy Cranston for being a tomboy and not acting like a young lady should. How she wished she was that young again and that she could stop there, safe and secure, without a worry in the world.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. I’ve never heard anything so stupid in all my life!’ Joseph took a long, slow drink of his claret and stared at his wife, who had obviously lost leave of her senses, to suggest such a thing.

  ‘But it makes sense. Crummock will be looked after and we still get rent – only a little later in the year than we expected.’ Charlotte laid down her knife and fork and watched her husband struggle with the suggestion she had made.

  ‘I will not have that farm lad live rent-free, at our expense! We need the money, Charlotte. Besides, you always have been sweet on him; perhaps you should have married him instead of me. I suppose it is that witch Lucy Cranston who’s convinced you of such a hare-brained scheme. I should have known, and I should have thrown her out of the house myself. If it was up to you, you would see us penniless. Did you not hear Charles Walker say that dark days were coming?’ Joseph threw his napkin down onto the table and ushered Yates out of the room.

  ‘Yes, and you assured me there was nothing to worry about. We have plenty of money, Joseph. We could help somebody less fortunate than ourselves, and Archie’s been a good friend to me over the years.’ Charlotte picked at her supper plate. She had no appetite, and nerves had been building up inside her, since her decision earlier in the day to suggest to Joseph that Archie lived in Crummock rent-free. That was until the backend sales of the sheep and lambs, when he’d be in a better position to pay the rent; or, if Joseph wished, he could sell the farm.