by Diane Allen
‘I’ll not hear of it. He’s an idiot of a lad, with no control over his ardour. He shouldn’t have the habits of a rabbit, then he wouldn’t be in such a situation. He’s only got himself to blame. What if I need some money – have you thought of my needs?’ Joseph rose from the table, overturning his chair in his anger.
‘Darling, it is us I am thinking of. In the long term Crummock will be safe in his hands, and he will be able to pay us rent, once he’s settled in.’ Charlotte shook at the sight of her husband in such a mood and quivered as he walked towards her, his face red with rage.
Joseph raised his hand and slapped her around her face, bringing tears to her eyes and leaving traces of his fingers on her delicate skin. ‘You mean you’ll be safe in his hands. I’ve seen the way you look at him. Do you think I was born yesterday? Get him and his milksop wife ensconced in your love-nest, and he’s yours for the taking. You are just like your father: the lower the class, the more smitten you are. Yet you bleed me dry, with your fancy hats and the rubbish you adorn yourself with.’ Joseph stood towering over her and watched as she trembled, then stood up next to him.
‘You are wrong, Joseph, I never ask anything of you. There is nothing between me and Archie, and never has been. As for bleeding you dry, I was under the impression you had more money than you knew what to do with. If you are in financial difficulties, why don’t you confide in me?’ Charlotte’s legs shook like jelly and she felt physically sick.
‘That would suit you down to the ground, wouldn’t it? Make you feel superior. After all, I’ll never match your father, in your eyes. Look around you: I own this mansion we live in, woman; I own the mill, and the lives that make a living there. Even if you had inherited your father’s money, it wouldn’t even pay for the cotton that’s waiting in the docks at Liverpool. His piddling money means nothing to me. I play with higher stakes than your father ever did.’ Joseph pulled Charlotte’s hand off his jacket sleeve and opened the dining-room door, before making his way across the hallway and starting to climb the stairs.
‘Joseph, wait – I love you. I’m fed up of this continuous arguing. I’ll do as you say. Forget I even suggested it.’ Charlotte ran across the hallway and up nearly to the top of the sweeping stairs, pulling on Joseph’s sleeve to stop him climbing the last two steps.
‘Damn you, woman, let me be. I’m fed up of your bleating!’ He turned round sharply, throwing Charlotte off-balance. To his dismay, he watched as if by slow motion she fell, tossing and tumbling the full length of the stairs. Every bounce echoed around the hallway until Charlotte lay like a crumpled ragdoll on the polished parquet floor.
‘Oh, my Lord, what have you done? You’ve killed her!’ Yates ran out from the kitchen, followed by Dora Dodgson. Both ran to where her body lay.
Joseph ran quickly down the stairs and bent over his wife. ‘It was an accident. I didn’t mean for her to fall. She would argue with me – she always has to have her way.’
Dora felt for a pulse on Charlotte’s neck. ‘She’s alive and there’s no blood, which is a good sign. Yates, go and get Jethro to ride for the doctor. And, Yates, don’t tell a soul what you saw tonight. It was an accident, and the mistress tripped down the stairs. You understand?’ She stared at the befuddled butler, her light-blue eyes belying her cold soul.
Yates shook his head and quickly disappeared out to the stables. He didn’t want to lose his position in the household, for he was too old to look for service elsewhere. Besides, what went on between man and wife was none of his business, but he did pity Charlotte Booth. If she didn’t say what Joseph wanted to hear, it was the worse for her; and invariably it was so, seeing as she was so headstrong.
‘Don’t just stand there: look as if you care. Pick her up and put her in your bed.’ Dora hit Joseph’s shoulder and brought him to his senses, as he stroked Charlotte’s hair and watched for signs of her breathing.
‘I didn’t mean to – it was an accident. She wouldn’t shut up!’ Joseph knelt and put his arms under her small frame and looked down at the woman he had grown to love, in his own strange way.
‘Shut up and get her upstairs, and just pray she doesn’t die on you. We don’t want to cause a scandal here, else questions will be asked about Accrington.’ Dora scowled.
Charlotte moaned as Joseph picked her up gently, his arms supporting her whole body as he walked steadily up the stairs.
‘I didn’t mean to make you fall. I love you, Charlotte. Why do you persist in arguing with me? It just gets me angry.’ Joseph struggled for breath as he carried her limp body across the bedroom and placed her in their bed, as Dora pulled back the sheets.
‘I’ll undo her laces and make her comfortable. You just get your story straight, because the doctor will want to know what happened tonight.’ Dora’s mind was racing. There had to be no sense of scandal in this new life they had made for themselves. She had to save her skin, as well as her brother’s.
‘But it was an accident.’ Joseph paced the room, while Dora pulled at the dress of his moaning wife and tried to make her look as comfortable as possible.
‘And the finger marks, where you’ve slapped her across her face? How do you think the doctor’s going to view those?’ Dora sighed and pulled the sheets up to Charlotte’s chin.
‘I tried to revive her!’ Joseph looked down at his pale wife, who was breathing softly with no colour in her usually rosy cheeks and lips.
‘Hah! I suppose it will do. I’ll think of something to help you out – leave it with me.’ Dora closed the door behind her and went to wait for the doctor’s arrival. Her mind was working fast. How stupid her brother was, nearly killing his wife. His temper was always going to be their downfall; he should learn to control it, and the sooner the better.
‘I came as fast as I could.’ Dr Burrows handed Yates his hat and cloak and followed Dora up the stairs.
‘This is the step she fell from, Doctor. I’ve been telling Yates to fix that stair rod for a day or two now. I just knew it was an accident waiting to happen.’ The housekeeper made a point of showing him the rod, which she had dislodged just before the doctor had arrived, and the thick ruffled carpet that it had secured.
‘Most unsatisfactory, Mrs Dodgson. I hope Mr Dawson shows the idle fella the door.’ The doctor tutted as he stood on the stairs and looked at how far his patient had fallen.
‘I should think so, but knowing Mr Dawson, he will be too lenient. He treats us servants like family.’ Dora showed the doctor to Charlotte’s bedroom and opened the door for him to go in.
‘Ah! Dawson, a most unfortunate fall. I’d give Yates his marching orders for not securing that carpet rod securely. Now, give me some room, man, and let me have a look at the patient. That’s a good sign – she’s breathing evenly.’ Dr Burrows strode over to the bed-side and opened his leather bag, reaching in for his stethoscope.
Joseph looked up from her side as he held his wife’s hand tenderly and gave his sister a questioning glance. ‘Thank you for coming, Doctor. It’s been a terrible accident. I love her – please tell me that she will live.’ He lingered for a second, before relinquishing his grip on Charlotte’s hand.
‘Perhaps if you leave me to my business.’ Dr Burrows looked at the ashen-faced Joseph and reached for Charlotte’s pulse. ‘Wait outside the door, and I’ll shout if I need anything.’ He breathed on his stethoscope, warming it up, before placing it to his ears to listen to Charlotte’s breathing. ‘Go on, she’s safe with me.’
Dora and Joseph stood outside the door and waited for what seemed an age, before the doctor opened the door and bade them enter.
‘You are a lucky man, Mr Dawson. As far as I can see, Charlotte is just suffering from deep concussion. She could easily have broken her neck, with a fall like that. Let her sleep the night round, and let me know if she does not wake in the morning or has any memory loss, and I’ll come back to see her. When it comes to the baby, it seems to have survived the fall, you’ll be glad to know. We couldn’t let Charlotte
lose her first baby now, could we? You must be proud to be becoming a father. You’ll need an heir to that mill of yours.’
The doctor picked up his bag and looked at the amazement on Joseph’s face.
‘I gather by that look on your face she had not got around to telling you?’ I gave her the good news last week, when she visited me at my practice in Settle. Just watch she doesn’t start bleeding, Mrs Dodgson, else you will need me back again.’ Dr Burrows patted Joseph on the back. ‘Congratulations, old chap – let it be the first of many. I’m only sorry it was me who broke the news to you, and not your good lady, but I’m sure she will forgive me, in the circumstances.’
‘I didn’t know – she never said.’ Joseph stood staring at Charlotte, whose eyes started to flicker.
‘Ah! My patient awakes – concussion, as I suspected. Did you get carried away with trying to waken her, Dawson? I couldn’t help but notice the finger-marks on her cheek. I suppose you were frantic with worry.’ Dr Burrows looked at Joseph Dawson, who was perhaps not quite acting in the way he had expected him to.
‘Yes, yes, I got carried away.’ Joseph grabbed for Charlotte’s outstretched hand as she moaned.
Dr Burrows reached inside his bag for smelling salts and watched Charlotte’s colour return as she slowly gained consciousness.
‘Joseph, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my love.’ The faint whisper made everyone breathe a sigh of relief as Charlotte grasped his hand.
‘He doesn’t know his own strength, Doctor – do you, sir?’ Dora butted in, before opening the door to hint that it was time for the good doctor to leave.
‘Never mind, I understand. Keep her in bed for the next day or two. And, Mrs Dodgson, keep an eye on her, but I’m sure she will be fine. I wouldn’t recommend she tried it again, though; it’s a miracle that she didn’t break anything, or lose the baby.’ He patted Joseph on the back again and watched as the man bent down to kiss Charlotte on the cheek, as she shed tears on his shoulder. ‘Lovely to see such a happy couple – they will make wonderful parents.’
‘Yes, thank you, Doctor. Let me see you out.’ Dora led the old man quickly out of the bedroom and down the stairs, where Yates waited with his cape and hat next to the doorway.
‘And you: I hope you get dismissed, you lazy man. You could have had your mistress’s death on your head.’ Dr Burrows gave Yates a mouthful and stepped out into the night. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Dodgson, and do let me know if Charlotte doesn’t improve. And remember what to look out for.’
‘I will, Doctor, and thank you for coming so quickly. The mistress will be so grateful for your attentions.’ Dora closed the door on the night and turned to look at Yates. ‘One wrong word, Yates, and you will be out – or worse. Remember: you saw nothing!’
14
Charlotte sat in the morning room, taking in the weak late-January sunshine and watching the snowdrops’ delicate heads shake in the bitter north wind that was blowing down the dale. It had been a week since her fall. Her body felt battered and bruised and her mind was confused about the evening’s happenings. She knew it had been an accident. Joseph hadn’t meant to push her down the full length of the stairs, but she could never forget the anger she had witnessed in his eyes, or the slap around her face when he had tried to make her bend to his will. Those eyes came back to haunt her in the night’s darkest hours as she lay in her bed, thinking of the man she had married, and how she would have to protect her unborn child from his rages.
Joseph had taken the news of her pregnancy remarkably well, considering that he had made it abundantly clear in the first weeks of marriage that he neither wanted nor cared for children in his life. Charlotte could not help but wonder: would he have reacted in the same way if the fall had never happened? Perhaps it was guilt that he was feeling, as she could well have broken her neck when he accidentally pushed her down the stairs. Whatever it was, his anger had subsided, but she couldn’t help but notice the worried look that clouded his face when business at the mill was mentioned. Things were not right, and she knew it.
Since her fall he’d gone back to his old ways of sleeping on his own, making the excuse that Charlotte needed her sleep and that he would only disturb her. She could hear him entering the manor at unearthly times of the night – only to be told, when she questioned him, that he had been working on new ideas for the mill and hadn’t realized the hour. The shipment of raw cotton had been delivered, as per Richard Todd’s promise, and Joseph had assured her that Ferndale Mill could face any upset that was to come from across the Atlantic.
Charlotte’s thoughts wandered back to her father’s death. She missed him so much. And now, with a baby growing inside her, she couldn’t help but think how much Wesley would have loved to have been a grandfather. Things would have been so different. If only he were alive, at least she would have had a second home to run to, if things deteriorated between her and Joseph. However, her father’s words – ‘You’ve made your bed; now you must lie in it’ – came back to haunt her. He’d probably have told her to go back and be the wife she should be; and then he would have worried to death, once her back had been turned, concerned that she wasn’t happy. Then he would probably have discussed it with Lucy Cranston, the second love of his life.
Her mind wandered back to Crummock, the place she loved. Joseph had taken his time telling her the deed he had done, while she was too ill to complain: placing an associate from Accrington in the farmhouse. She could only wonder what a friend from his town days could have to do with farming. He might know about weaving wool, if he had to do with textiles, but breeding sheep was a different matter. She sighed; probably her profitable home was going to rack and ruin. She only hoped that Arthur would keep his eye on everything.
‘Are you alright, ma’am?’ Lily walked across the room and tucked in the rug, whilst fussing around Charlotte. ‘Are you warm enough? That wind is vicious – it’s blowing right out of the north. I’ll get Jethro to bring in some more coal for the fire.’ Lily looked at her mistress. Every servant was sympathetic to her plight, knowing that both she and the baby she was now carrying could have died, if the fates had decreed it.
‘I’m fine, Lily, stop fussing. It’s those poor snowdrops I feel sorry for – look at them shivering in the cold. A messenger of brighter spring days to come, I hope.’ Charlotte placed the letter that she had been putting off replying to down on the table next to her.
‘I’m sure they are, ma’am. Spring is only around the corner. It’s not long now until Valentine’s Day, when the birds find their mates and we are winning. That’s what my old ma always says.’
‘I could do with some of your mother’s sense, Lily, and some hope, for things look dark at the moment.’ Charlotte could feel tears welling up inside her as she thought of the previous year and the changes it had brought.
‘Now, ma’am, you’ve so much to look forward to. You’ve the baby on the way, and you’ve the love of Mr Dawson, and a wonderful home. You are just a little upset with the fall and with losing your father. Things will get better, don’t you worry.’ Lily felt for her mistress. The kitchen had been awash with gossip over Charlotte’s fall. Had Joseph Dawson pushed her, or hadn’t he? Yates swore he had, but made everyone promise not to breathe a word of it, especially around Dora Dodgson.
‘Oh, I know, Lily. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. There are people dying from hunger in the streets of Manchester and there’s me, drowning in self-pity.’ Charlotte patted the hand of the maid she had grown close to and smiled. ‘Could you pass me my writing desk? I think I will write to a dear friend. Would you post it for me, before Mr Dawson returns from the mill?’
‘Of course I will, ma’am. Jethro can take it into Settle, if you want; he’s not doing a lot, except annoying Yates with his cheek.’ Lily laughed and passed Charlotte her small writing desk, placing it on the table in front of her and making sure she had enough ink and paper to compose her letter.
Charlotte sighed. How did you begin a letter to the man you t
ruly loved? A man who was happily married with one child, and another on the way.
Windfell Manor
Stainforth
Settle
Dear Archie,
I’m sorry for my late reply, but I have been unwell of late. I rather foolishly fell down the stairs a week ago and have been trying to gain my strength ever since. My main concern was: what if I had lost the baby that Joseph and I are eagerly awaiting? We are delighted that we are both to become parents.
You ask if Crummock is available to rent, as your Aunt Lucy would be willing to fund you. Unfortunately my husband has already put a tenant in place. I don’t know much about the man, but Joseph must have faith in him.
I do hope that Rosie is keeping well. I was surprised to hear that she was with child again.
You must take care of her. Give all my love to Daniel; he will soon have a sister or brother to love.
You are always in my thoughts. I often recall our moments together.
Your dearest friend,
Lottie
Charlotte looked at the letter she had written, and wondered if she had put too much of her true feelings into it. Archie was always in her thoughts; she wasn’t lying. But perhaps a little too often, since she was respectably married. She only wished that she could have let him live at Crummock. He would have been ideal, and it would make a good home for his family. Lucy must love her nephew dearly to offer him some of her inheritance, but that just showed what a good woman she actually was.
She folded the letter and sealed it into its envelope, holding it for a second in her hand, hoping that it would purvey her love silently to Archie. Her thoughts were interrupted when Lily came back into the room.
