by Diane Allen
‘May, poor May, she didn’t stand a chance. She was too vulnerable for a man like my brother not to exploit. Orphaned in the world, with all that money and property in her name: a prize plum ready for the picking, and pick her he did. She thought he was wonderful, but he soon wore her down, ground her to the floor and got her to transfer all her money and businesses to him, with the help of that weasel Simmons, his so-called solicitor. Then he played games with her, got her believing things weren’t right – so bad that she thought she was going out of her head, poor cow.’ Dora stopped for a second and composed herself, putting her hard face on again. She couldn’t let anything slip.
‘I appreciate you telling me all this. It is a help. I’m beginning to get the full story about Joseph Dawson.’ Percy looked up. ‘Why are you telling me this, though?’
‘I don’t want to lose all this. I’ve been at my brother’s beck and call all my life, and I need some peace from him. Besides, it could have been me that he knocked on the head and threw in the mill race. There was many a time he gave me a good hiding. He had the brawn, but didn’t have the brains. What do they say: “A fool and his money are soon parted”? Well, add charm and good looks, and you’ve got our Joseph, the idiot.’ She sighed.
‘I aim to track him down and bring him to justice, but at the moment he’s disappeared. Nobody seems to have seen him since he walked out of Windfell on that stormy evening for a meeting in Settle. Is there anywhere you can think of that he would use as a bolthole? Anywhere he’d feel safe?’ Percy waited.
‘I’d say he’d try to contact his friend Richard Todd, on his plantation in Mississippi, but the plantation may well have been razed to the ground, with all the troubles in the Americas.’
‘He’ll not get a ship to take him anywhere near there, but he might make for the port of Liverpool. Surely he’ll have contacts there?’
‘My brother will only have contacts if he doesn’t owe them money, and they are few and far apart. Most people gave up on him a long time ago. Folk only get taken for a ride once; they soon learn that his word is not his bond.’ Dora sighed again.
‘Well, it’s somewhere I can send Sergeant Capstick to have a sniff around. But for now I think I’d better leave you, before that husband of yours comes in. As you say, he wouldn’t take kindly to finding that Joseph is your kin. I’ll keep you informed if we come across him – discreetly, that is.’ Percy rose from his seat.
‘Inspector Proctor, try Calderstone’s down near Preston, for May. You’ll hopefully find her there, but I warn you, you’ll not get any sense from her.’ Dora smiled. All she wanted was a respectable new life, and Joseph had always prevented that for her.
Percy walked to the hallway door and turned to be within earshot of the nosy maid. ‘Thank you for your contribution to this most worthy cause. I’m sure the outcome will be satisfactory. Please pass on my best wishes to Mr Bloomenber.’ He’d read Dora Dodgson incorrectly; she’d been used, just like every other woman Joseph Dawson had touched – used and abused, in more ways than he dared even think of.
Percy looked up at the huge clock tower in the centre of the forbidding red-bricked, three-storey institution. The clock tower was there to instil order from chaos in the world of the mentally unstable and the dim-witted. The sound of its heavy ticking echoed around the asylum in which Dora had informed him May Dawson was a patient. A sense of fear filled him as he enquired at the desk if May was indeed an inmate of the notorious asylum. He felt uneasy as patients walked past him like spectres in the night, uncaring, unseeing and dressed in asylum uniform to mark their unfitness for the outside world.
‘Yes, we have a May Dawson; she’s been with us for nearly two years now. Her husband signed her in as being mentally unstable, with suicidal tendencies. She’s one of the quieter ones, is May. Doesn’t give us any problems. Not like Nora, who you can hear screaming now. I’m sure I’ll end up in here myself, if she continues any longer.’ The nurse on the desk sighed.
‘May I see her? I just need to check that she is alright?’ Percy looked around him, his senses on edge, with the smell of disinfectant and urine filling his nose.
‘Yes, but you’ll not get anything out of her. She just sits and holds the doll that she came in with. Even her husband couldn’t part her from it. She’s in her room on the third floor. We keep her there; it’s less risk from some of the more unsavoury patients that we have here.’ The nurse checked through her keys, then ushered Inspector Proctor up the steep stairs that led to a long landing with more than twenty single rooms, all with closed doors and peepholes through which to check on the occupants.
‘This is May’s room. Do you want me to open the door?’ The nurse turned and looked at the inspector, who nodded his head.
She unlocked the door and let him step past her.
In the corner of the room sat a thin, grey-haired woman, rocking back and forth. She held a ragged, filthy hand-made doll, which had obviously been beautiful in its day.
‘May, don’t be frightened. I’ve just come to talk to you.’ Percy knelt down and looked at the sad creature as she shuddered before him. Her hair was unbrushed and uncared for and the striped uniform of the asylum was stained. The eyes, which were the brightest cornflower-blue, looked at him with no feeling, her soul lost in agony. ‘How long has she been like this?’ Percy asked the nurse.
‘Ever since her husband brought her in. He’d cared for her after her parents died, he told us. The poor man was a martyr. He told us he’d known that madness ran in the family and, even though he knew that, he had taken the chance and married her, because they had fallen madly in love. Unfortunately, as you can see, there is no preventing hereditary madness and that is why she’s here. You are wasting your time, Inspector. She’s not said a word in all the time she’s been here.’
‘Will you promise me something, Nurse? That as long as you work here, you’ll make sure May is well looked after. She was once a lady of great beauty and wealth, until she was wronged by that so-called “husband”, who used and abused her. He didn’t love her, he loved her money, and I’m going to see him hang for what he’s done to May and the other women he’s used all his life.’ Percy stood up and looked at the wretched creature that he was leaving behind. ‘I’ll get him, May – not just for you, but for Betsy Foster and Charlotte Booth, and even his sister, whose life he has made horrendous. May his soul rot in hell, because that’s what he deserves.’
24
‘Now, Mazy, Lily informs me that you are good with children. Is that right?’ Charlotte sat in the parlour, with Mazy fidgeting nervously in front of her.
‘I think I am, ma’am. My mother always trusts me with all my brothers and sisters, and there’s enough of them.’ Mazy looked at her mistress and didn’t know quite what to say, for looking after children was second nature to her. Keep them fed, keep them clean and, most of all, keep a wary eye on them – that’s what she’d always done.
‘And babies, what about them? Have you patience enough to look after a baby?’ Charlotte looked up and down at the slightly scruffy kitchen maid, visualizing her in a smarter outfit and with her hair tied back in a tight bun.
‘Oh yes, ma’am, I love babies. My twin brothers are a dream. It’s when the little buggers get cheeky enough to answer back that I lose a bit of interest.’ She grinned.
‘Well, Mazy, Lily thinks you’d be ideal for looking after baby Isabelle. However, there will be things for you to take into consideration. I would expect you to live in, like Lily and the rest of the staff do. And until Isabelle reaches an age when she knows her way around Windfell, I’d expect you to sleep in the adjoining room to the nursery, which is going to be made out of Mr Dawson’s old room, now that he’s gone. I’d expect you to be there for her twenty-four hours a day, and in return I’d pay you well for your services.’
‘Me, ma’am, look after baby Isabelle? I’m only the scullery maid! But I could do it, I know I could, and me ma would be grateful to get rid of one of us. Our Lizz
ie is old enough to look after my lot. It’ll do her bloomin’ well good; she needs to grow up, she’s nearly eleven.’ ‘Well, Mazy, how about we give it a go? We’ll get you suitably attired tomorrow in Settle, and I’ll ask Yates and Jethro to move the cot and Isabelle’s things into Mr Dawson’s old room and to dismantle his bed.’ Charlotte looked at the amazement on Mazy’s face, only for it to cloud over as fast as it had lit up.
‘What if he bloody well comes back? I’ll be in his bedroom, with baby Isabelle.’ Mazy looked worried. ‘Who’s to know what he’d do to me, if he found me in there alone.’
‘He’ll not come back, Mazy. Mr Dawson is a wanted man – he’d lose his life if he returned.’ Charlotte smiled at the straight-talking maid.
‘And I’ll get my own uniform and a room, and some more money?’ Mazy smiled.
‘Yes, you’ll get all that. Should we say twenty-five pounds a year? That’s not quite double what you are on now, and Sundays would be free to do as you like. You’ll need to see your family, just as I will. But the job comes with a lot of responsibilities, Mazy. Isabelle is the most precious thing in my life, I can’t emphasize that enough.’
‘I’ll look after her like one of my own, ma’am, don’t you worry. She’ll want for nothing, with me looking after her.’ Mazy was over the moon.
‘That’s settled then. I’ll give you a three-month trial, just in case it doesn’t suit one or the other of us. And, Mazy, two things: try and stop swearing, for I don’t want Isabelle growing up hearing such foul words; and secondly, let’s get you in a bath before we go for those nanny’s uniforms, eh?’ Charlotte watched as Mazy’s face went bright red.
‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. My father says he’s going to wash my mouth out with soap, and so does Mrs Batty. I’ll get the tin bath out at home tonight and give myself a good scrub. I’ll not let you down, ma’am, I promise. Baby Isabelle will be the best looked-after baby in Craven.’ Mazy looked down at her feet.
‘Very well. Go and tell downstairs the good news. And could you ask Mrs Batty to come up and see me? I need to put her mind at rest and tell her that I will find a replacement for your position.’ Charlotte picked up the newspaper that she had discarded before she spoke to Mazy and glanced at the headlines: ‘Confederates capture Fort Sunter from Union soldiers’. Would the cotton-driven civil war never end? Why was she fighting for a mill that was not worth fighting for? She sighed.
‘Ma’am, I know somebody who would be perfect for the scullery-maid position. She used to work at Sidgwick’s mill at Skipton, but they’ve laid a lot of people off. She’s called Ruby Baxter and she lives back with her mother at Selside. They could do with the money, because her mother lost a hand when she caught it in the carding machine at Ferndale a few years ago.’ Mazy hesitated.
‘Was it when she worked for Mr Dawson?’ Charlotte waited.
‘No, it was the mill owner before him. There’s always injuries in a mill, ma’am.’ Mazy shrugged her shoulders.
‘Not in mine – not if I can help it.’ Charlotte uttered the words without thinking. Her mill, her headache; and hers to keep afloat through hard times. And by the looks of the headlines, harder ones still to come. Was she a fool, passing her baby over to a scullery maid to look after, while she ran a cotton mill? She was a farmer’s daughter, not a mill owner. The only thing in her favour was her love of figures and a good way with people. Folk were the same, no matter what class; they just wanted to be treated right, no matter what their breeding. ‘Tell this Ruby to come and see me and I’ll see if she’s suitable. If Ferndale took the bread off her table, then I should put it back on it, by employing the lass.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell her. You’ll not regret taking us both on.’ Mazy curtsied and then ran across the hallway. Mistress Charlotte was a strong woman, now that her husband had left; she knew her mind and was kind. Just the opposite to the master they’d all hated.
‘Mazy, for heaven’s sake, calm down.’ Mrs Batty sat down in her chair and watched the beaming girl dance around the kitchen.
‘I’m Miss Isabelle’s nanny. What do you think of that? I’m in charge of baby Isabelle, while the mistress goes to the mill each day. And I’ve my own room next to the new nursery, and tomorrow I’m going into Settle for a fitting for a uniform.’ Mazy couldn’t shut up.
‘Well, ain’t that just grand. And what am I supposed to do without a scullery maid? You just tell me that?’ Mrs Batty crossed her arms and scowled at the excited lass in her kitchen.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Batty, I told the mistress Ruby Baxter up at Stainforth would like to work here. I’ve to go and tell her to come and see the mistress. Anyway, she wants to see you too, to put your mind at rest. I’ve to tell you to go up and see her in the parlour.’ Mazy flopped down in the opposite chair and grinned at the annoyed cook.
‘For Lord’s sake, Mazy, why didn’t you tell me that first. Does my hair look alright?’ Mrs Batty untied her apron and swept a stray grey hair behind her ear. ‘And who’s Ruby Baxter – do I know her family? And who are you to recommend who I have in my kitchen?’ Mrs Batty raced to the bottom of the kitchen stairs.
‘I’m the new nanny, That’s bloody well who I am.’ Mazy grinned.
‘Soap and water, girl. Mind that mouth, else you’ll soon be back downstairs, mark my words.’ Mrs Batty grinned.
‘Nah, I’ve got a good position now. I’m not daft. If the mistress can run a mill, then I can be nanny to that baby.’ Mazy sat back in her chair.
‘Aye, well, if you want my view, I think both of you will be up against it, but time will tell – we’ll see. Now bide your tongue while I see the mistress, and put the kettle on the hob. You still work for me in the kitchen for now, and don’t you forget it.’
Mazy watched Mrs Batty climb the stairs and waited till she heard the door at the top open into the hallway, before she stuck her tongue out and waggled it at the old cook, who always made sure Mazy kept her feet on the ground and was in her place. She’d show the old bat, of that she was sure.
‘Well, Mazy, just look at you: don’t you scrub up well.’ Charlotte stood back and admired the pretty-looking nanny in her crisp, clean uniform as she smiled lovingly at baby Isabelle. ‘And just look at Isabelle, she loves you already. Look at her smiling and blowing bubbles. I’m quite jealous of how fast she has taken to you.’
‘I told you she was good with children, ma’am. I knew she’d be like a duck in water, given the right position.’ Lily stood back and enjoyed the perfect picture of a respectable nanny with her ward, in the perfect nursery.
‘I won’t let you down, ma’am, don’t you worry. Me and Isabelle are going to get on fine, she’s such a good ’un. She’s worth ten of my brothers.’ Mazy looked down at a contented Isabelle and gurgled nonsensical baby-talk to the little one.
‘You won’t be saying that when she’s screaming the house down for her two o’clock feed. And don’t forget that she has to be kept in a routine – no deviating from it.’ Charlotte wagged her finger and smiled at the besotted young nursemaid.
‘I won’t, ma’am, but I can’t abide a baby crying. They only cry because something is wrong.’ Mazy looked sheepishly at Charlotte.
‘You’ll only make a rod for your own back, if you forever nurse her. She is my precious darling, but I know a spoilt child can be an obnoxious, petty thing. Believe me, I went to school with plenty of them in Harrogate. Well, Mazy, that’s you settled into your new post. And the nursery looks superb, now that everything is in place for you. I just had to buy the pram and rocking horse when I saw them in the toy shop in Settle. They make the nursery, and I’m sure Isabelle will love them when she’s old enough.’ Charlotte looked around her spotless nursery. ‘Are you happy with your room, Mazy? I’ve tried to make it a home for you.’ Every sign of her husband had been wiped from the adjoining bedroom. He no longer existed in her eyes. She could manage everything without him, and she secretly wished she would never hear of him again.
‘It�
��s perfect, ma’am, I don’t want for anything.’ Mazy smiled and then sniggered at the hypocrisy of Charlotte’s words about not spoiling the child. She’d just bought the most expensive items in the toy shop, and the baby wasn’t even walking.
‘Right, Lily, let’s go and see how Ruby is coping with her new life downstairs. I’m sure Mrs Batty will have her in hand.’ Charlotte turned and gave another backward glance at the perfect nursery scene – one she thought she would never achieve.
‘Ruby’s just fine, ma’am, we are getting on famously. I’ve even realized that I know her uncle Bert at Lancaster. He used to be my next-door neighbour when I was married to the late Mr Batty, God rest his soul.’ Mrs Batty was itching to get on with mixing her cake, before she could place it in the perfectly warmed oven. The kitchen was her domain, and the mistress’s constant visits delayed her in her duties.
‘Are you settling in, Ruby?’ Charlotte looked at the mousy-haired young girl, who was washing the pans from luncheon in the shallow earthenware sink.
‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’ Ruby curtsied and bobbed and then got on with her task in hand.
‘See, you’ve much better manners than that Mazy upstairs.’ Mrs Batty couldn’t restrain herself any longer and started to fold the flour into her sandwich cake.
‘Talking of manners, Mrs Batty, can I just dip my finger into your cake mix? I loved doing that when I was a little girl, and Mrs Cranston always used to let me. I love the taste.’ Charlotte took everyone aback by her request. Mrs Batty stopped in her tracks and offered her mistress the mixing bowl.
‘Mmm. Lovely.’ Charlotte ran her delicate finger around the inside of the bowl and licked it clean of the creamed eggy mixture. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It reminds me of home.’
Lily, Mrs Cranston and the newly employed Ruby looked at one another and then grinned. They’d all done that in their time; it was the best part of making a cake, and their mistress knew it. She was no snob, unlike her miserable rat of a husband.
