The Mistress of Windfell Manor

by Diane Allen

  ‘That’s alright, ma’am, it’s your cake to lick.’ Mrs Batty grinned.

  ‘I’ll never be a lady, will I? Not with manners like that.’ Charlotte looked at the innocent face of Ruby.

  ‘You are every bit a lady, ma’am, and don’t you change. You’ve a heart of gold and all of us know it.’ Mrs Batty looked at the woman who had changed from a slip of a lass to someone with huge responsibilities. ‘You can come and lick the cake bowl out any time you want. I’ll tell you next time I’m making one.’

  ‘Bless you, but no – that was just a quick indulgence. I should set a standard for Ruby, now, shouldn’t I? No licking cake bowls out, do you hear, Ruby?’ Charlotte looked stern.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Ruby dutifully replied.

  ‘That’s that then. I’m going to walk down to the mill now. I should be back for dinner, Mrs Batty. Six-thirty as usual?’ Charlotte stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around her happy, busy kitchen. Even though there was no master in the house, everyone was managing. The house was a better place without Joseph’s presence. His moods had only brought the staff, and her, down.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Roast shoulder of lamb and new potatoes out of the garden, along with some mint sauce. Ruby picked the mint and chopped it so finely, before adding the vinegar and sugar, that I swear it was better made than my own.’ Mrs Batty wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the cake tins that were waiting on the kitchen dresser.

  ‘And a nice slice of cake, I hope, for dessert?’ Charlotte grinned.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I think you’ve left enough for that.’ Mrs Batty smiled.

  ‘See you later then.’ Charlotte lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs. If only the mill ran as smoothly as the house, she would be more than happy.

  Charlotte walked slowly down the lane to the mill. Other women in her position would have been ordered to have bed rest after giving birth, but there she was, a month after having baby Isabelle, walking down the lane to talk to the manager of her mill. Her manager and her mill – the words still frightened her. She’d put nearly every pound of her father’s hard-earned money, which Mrs Cranston had been kind enough to lend to her, into propping up the mill and paying off some of the mortgage on Windfell, the home that Joseph had spent so much of the bank’s money on, trying to impress local folk. He should have realized that money did not make the man; it was actions that proved more, to the local folk. She didn’t know what she’d seen in Joseph before, but life felt better now without him. Despite being left in debt, with a baby and no husband, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in her own home, and she knew her income exactly, and how much the mill was making.

  The sun shone down, warming her skin and making her feel content. In the hay meadows lying on either side of the lane down to the mill, the farmers were turning the swathes of mown hay with their rakes. The sweet smell filled the air, reminding her of her old home at Crummock.

  She’d not heard from Archie since she had sent him the letter informing him of Isabelle’s birth. Perhaps he could not bear to see a newborn baby, after the loss of Rosie and his own baby. Added to that, he would be busy with his own haytime, eager to please his in-laws. She cast her mind back to her father and Crummock, and how he’d brought hired men to the farm to help with haytime, and with the clipping of the sheep in the warm summer months. He’d bedded them down in the loft above the cow biers and told her not to pester them, whilst he made sure they had everything they needed until the autumn weather came. For the few months they were with them, the men, who were invariably from Ireland, taught Charlotte new songs of an evening, and carved her tops and whips out of wasted pieces of wood.

  It was with a heavy heart that she thought now of the once-loved farmhouse standing empty, for the sake of her foolish husband letting it to his criminal friend, and she only hoped that Arthur was managing to do as much as he could, until the present situation was resolved. She couldn’t help but think that Isabelle was going to know nothing about a life of farming. She was going to be raised a lady, not a farmer’s daughter. But would she be happy with all her finery?

  Some tall swaying foxgloves flowering profusely in the hedge caught Charlotte’s eye and she remembered how she used to put each individual flower on her fingers, making them look like gloves, just as their name suggested. That was until Mrs Cranston had chastised her for playing with them, saying they were poisonous and could stop her heart from beating. That had always made her cautious of the long, slim flower that grew in every hedgerow and in the long, curling fronds of musky bracken covering the fellsides. Her heart beat a little faster as the lane opened up to the cobbled yard of the mill and she walked up to the busy warehouse doors, where packed bales of cotton were being carted across to the main mill building.

  The warehouse looked full as the workers hauled their loads, politely doffing their hats to the woman they now knew paid their wages.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Dawson, I thought I saw you walking down the lane from the office window. Come up to the office, and I’ll ask one of the lasses to make us a cup of tea. We can at least offer you that.’ Bert Bannister strode across the yard and smiled at his boss. ‘We are busy, eh! It’s good: we’ve plenty of cotton to last us a while, and the weaving shed next door is in full production. As long as we are careful, we should see into next spring, with what we’ve got.’ He was eager to impress. ‘The books are on the master’s desk awaiting you, and once you’ve taken a look at those, I’ll tell you where we stand in each department.’

  Charlotte followed Bert up the steep stairs and walked into the office that overlooked the main spinning room. She stopped in the doorway and looked at the desk where her husband used to sit, king of his domain, cock of the midden; his lair, from which he preyed on poor Betsy and any other bright young thing that took his fancy.

  ‘Thank you, Bert. I’ll look at the books now. I take it these are the invoices and delivery notes from the last few weeks? They’ll need entering, and then I’ll balance them against any payments that have been made. Then I hope we will have enough left over to pay everybody for the next week or two.’ Charlotte sat down in her high leather-backed chair and looked at her second-in-command.

  ‘Aye, well, I’m not good with figures, but I know how this mill works and I know nearly everybody who works here, and you’ve a good lot, ma’am. They are all thankful that they’ve got jobs, they’ll not let you down.’ Bert rubbed his chin with his hands and looked at the woman in all her finery, who was going to run Ferndale.

  ‘Well, I only hope I don’t let you all down. This is new to me, but I’m going to run this mill like a well-run household, and then surely we won’t go wrong. I’d like to walk around the mill every day that I am here, Bert, and for you to accompany me. I need to get to know everyone and exactly what they do in my mill. And when I do, I’ll be satisfied. It’s no good not knowing how your own mill functions.’ She opened the sales ledger and then picked up the delivery note and invoice pile that had been left on her desk, awaiting her arrival.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll have to go and look at the carding room. As you can see, they were just unloading a new bale of cotton, and it’s been full of rubbish lately. The pickers over there must have no pride in their work since this war, but still I’m not complaining; at least we have some cotton with this batch that you bought in.’

  ‘Those pickers want to be free men, and not having to pick cotton just to survive, Bert. Can you blame them if they send us dirty cotton balls?’ Charlotte looked up from her books.

  ‘No, ma’am, can’t say I’d want to be a slave and work for nowt.’ The mistress was made from a different mould from her husband. Joseph Dawson would have played hell at the state of the cotton. ‘I’ll get away, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Yes, you go, Bert. And as you offered, ask one of the lasses for a cup of tea; it would not go amiss.’ Charlotte put her head down and got on with the task in hand.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll ask one to be made for you straight
away.’

  She watched as Bert shouted instructions to one of the workers on the spinning machines. In another few months she would have the clout to do that, but today she would get the books in order. She would gain the knowledge to run this mill profitably and fairly, if it was the last thing she did. Life was going to be hard, corners were going to have to be cut and every penny watched, both at Ferndale and at Windfell, but she’d make it work.

  ‘Oh, Mistress, just look at you. Come and sit down and put your feet up until dinner.’ Lily plumped the cushion and watched as Charlotte slowly sat down on the sofa in the parlour.

  ‘I’ll be alright. I’ve just overdone it a little today. After all, it’s my first day in Joseph’s shoes, and I was catching up with the bookkeeping.’ Charlotte yawned

  ‘Pardon me for saying, ma’am, but do you not think you have taken on too much? I mean, you are only a woman.’ The maid blushed.

  ‘Only a woman, Lily! If we can bear children, we can do anything. Besides, look at the mess Mr Dawson left us in. I couldn’t do any worse than him. How’s my Isabelle? Has Mazy been good with her?’ Charlotte had counted the minutes to getting back home and seeing her daughter.

  ‘They’ve been fine, ma’am. Mazy took Isabelle a walk in her perambulator this afternoon. She had her bottle at the times you said, and now she’s just been bathed and put in her cot. She’s been so good, and Mazy’s enjoyed every minute of it.’

  ‘I should have done all that. But the mill will be her future, so I hope she will forgive me when she is old enough to understand the situation her father left me in.’

  ‘Mentioning her father, ma’am, Inspector Proctor called while you were at Ferndale. He’s left his calling card and will be coming back tomorrow afternoon, if it is convenient.’ Lily looked at her exhausted mistress and felt a wave of sympathy for her.

  ‘Oh, I could do without seeing him. I dread to think what he’s going to tell me. I wonder if they have found that wastrel of a husband of mine?’

  ‘He didn’t say, ma’am, but Yates said he looked quite worried when you weren’t available. I’m sure Yates would tell him to go away, if you are not up to seeing him,’ Lily offered.

  ‘No, let’s see what the inspector has to say. Whatever it is, I should know. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be back to myself. Every day should get easier. It’s just that I’ve so much to learn, and I feel all the workers at the mill are talking about me behind my back.’

  ‘They probably are, ma’am. Only because they know you’ve saved them from the workhouse. Now, I’ll tell Mrs Batty that you’ve returned, and ask Yates to lay the table.’

  ‘I really should get changed for dinner, but I’m only on my own. Just this once I’ll not bother, Lily.’ She yawned again.

  ‘No, don’t you worry, ma’am. You are the mistress of your own house and what you say goes. There’s no Dora Dodgson now.’ Lily knew all too well that there was no love lost between the two women.

  ‘Just don’t remind me of that woman, Lily. She was a stickler. Thank God she left.’ Charlotte closed her eyes.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, she was indeed and, although I shouldn’t say it, we were all thankful when she walked out on Mr Dawson,’ whispered Lily.

  ‘Perhaps they were too much alike, Lily. They were both unpredictable, let’s face it.’ Charlotte sighed, still keeping her eyes closed.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. We are better off without the both of them, that we are.’

  25

  ‘Inspector Proctor, ma’am.’ Yates showed Percy into the drawing room and announced his presence to Charlotte as she sat next to the window.

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector. I take it you have news of my husband, else you wouldn’t be here?’ Isabelle urged him to sit next to her. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, to both. Tea would be most welcome, and I do have some news regarding your husband, but unfortunately perhaps not what you want to hear.’ Percy sat down next to the woman who was going to hear the shocking news that her husband had been not only a murderer, but a conman and bigamist to boot.

  ‘We’d better have that tea first then.’ Charlotte rang the small bell next to her and Yates appeared like magic from the hallway. ‘Tea for two, Yates, and a piece of the cake that Mrs Batty made yesterday. I fear I might need something to lift my spirits while Inspector Proctor gives me the latest information on my husband.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Straight away, ma’am.’ Yates looked at the inspector and knew things were grave.

  ‘Now, Inspector, while Yates is out of earshot, tell me the worst. Is he dead? Have you found him? Or, even worse, is he still in the area?’ Charlotte waited.

  ‘None of those, I’m afraid. We haven’t been able to track him down, but I do have reason to believe that he might have fled to Liverpool, seeking passage to America, of all places. I believe he has a friend there, a Mr Richard Todd in Mississippi. Have you heard of him?’ Percy watched as Charlotte relaxed.

  ‘Yes, Mr Todd is his contact at the Natchez Plantation, from which he used to buy cotton, but according to the newspaper reports, it may have been razed to the ground. There is fighting all around it – only a fool would attempt to go there. But tell me, how have you found out about him? He used to keep everything to himself.’ She looked at the inspector, amazed at his knowledge of her husband.

  The conversation stopped for a short while as Yates delicately placed a covered tea tray in front of them and waited for instructions, but when none were forthcoming he offered his services.

  ‘Should I pour, ma’am?’

  ‘No, thank you, Yates, I’ll do it myself. Please thank Mrs Batty for her wonderful tea tray.’ Charlotte smiled at the butler, who was itching to know the next chapter in the Dawson family scandal. She poured the tea and passed the delicate cup and saucer to Inspector Proctor, watching for Yates to disappear from view. ‘Do help yourself to cake, Inspector, it is truly delicious.’

  ‘Thank you, I don’t mind if I do.’ Percy took a mouthful and waited until he’d swallowed it, before telling her the facts that he had accumulated. ‘I got the name from his sister.’ He took another mouthful and watched Charlotte’s face.

  ‘His sister? Joseph didn’t have a sister – he told me he was an only child. Was he lying yet again? Did he leave a sister back in Accrington?’ Charlotte placed her cup and saucer back down on the tray and looked at the inspector, as crumbs fell from his mouth in a bid to eat his cake before the next round of talking.

  ‘No, ma’am, she was a lot closer to home. I believe you know her as Dora Dodgson, your onetime housekeeper!’

  Charlotte’s face said it all. ‘Dora Dodgson! I knew there was something about her. She knew everything about Joseph, more than I ever did. But he said she’d been with the family for years as a servant.’ She gasped. ‘Lily and I only commented yesterday how alike they were, but we never imagined they were brother and sister.’

  ‘Well, she had been with the family for years – ever since she was born – and she was his servant in a way, because he used Dora just like he used everyone else. Until she met someone who could give her a decent life, and he hadn’t bargained on that.’ Percy sat back and waited, before he gave Charlotte the next shock.

  ‘That would be Ezera Bloomenber, the poor man. Does he know who he’s married to?’ Charlotte couldn’t help but smile slightly. No wonder Joseph had been so upset the day Dora left.

  ‘No, and I promised to keep the information about who she is a secret, because Dora gave me the information I needed, and there was no need to rattle her cage at this point. I might need to know more from her.’ Percy watched and then decided to tell Charlotte the news he had been dreading. ‘She did tell me that Joseph had got married to May Pilling while living in Accrington, as you informed me, when I asked you. However, the spit boy at the Talbot Arms had overheard a conversation between your husband and a Mr Simmons, a solicitor from Accrington, that got me looking into what exactly had become of his first wife.’ Percy he
sitated.

  ‘She died, that’s what Joseph told me. Don’t say he killed her!’ Charlotte held her breath.

  ‘No, he didn’t kill her physically, but mentally he did far worse. May Pilling is not dead, Mrs Dawson, she is locked in a room at Calderstone’s asylum in Lancashire, incapable of even saying her name, let alone knowing anything about who she is. It’s all his doing, from what I can understand, as a result of his desperation for power and money. You have had a very lucky escape from Joseph Dawson. Unlike May and Betsy Foster, you’ve got away with your life.’ He waited as Charlotte took in the news.

  ‘But he can’t be still married – he married me. You must be wrong. That can’t be his wife.’ Charlotte didn’t know what to say. What else was the man she had thought she loved going to do to her?

  ‘There’s no mistake, Mrs Dawson. Joseph Dawson is a bigamist. Your marriage to him was a sham. And as for poor May Pilling, she is never going to get her life back, locked in that asylum until she ends her natural days. The cad has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘So my child does not have a legitimate father, and I’m not married in the eyes of the law. It couldn’t get much worse. I don’t know whether to cry or laugh. That poor woman locked away from the world, driven insane by that bastard. I don’t know how I fell for his charms.’ Charlotte sighed.

  ‘It seems that he and his sister were brought up on the streets of Accrington. Their mother was a prostitute, and that’s why he has no respect for women, or so Dora said. He’s even treated her badly in the past. He’s only got away with everything because of her cunning and his good looks and easy way with women. Apologies if I offend, Mrs Dawson.’ Percy coughed slightly.

  ‘I think you’ll find that I’m still “Miss Booth”, if what you say is true. However, I’d prefer it if we keep that to ourselves, for the sake of baby Isabelle. I know it is common in lower society that if a marriage doesn’t work out, then you can go your own way and find another partner, but not in my circles. After all, Joseph would simply claim that his marriage to poor May was annulled, due to her madness. But technically my daughter is illegitimate. I only hope that she doesn’t take after her father.’