by Diane Allen
‘Well, he’s made you blush; there must be something about him. Do you fancy him, Mrs Lambert?’ Freddie smiled with his head on one side.
‘Don’t you be so cheeky. And get on with your orders.’ Daisy flicked her duster at the young lad’s ear, before swirling her skirts around her ankles and humming to herself as she made herself busy arranging the window display.
Freddie grinned as he filled his basket with the next goods to be delivered. It was lovely to see Daisy happy. She had been kind to him, and she didn’t have to answer his question – the pink of her cheeks told him all he needed to know.
The autumn days lengthened and, before anyone knew it, the long winter nights were upon everyone and the run-up to Christmas had begun. The streets of Leeds and Kirkstall were grey and weary, as if weighed down by the year’s age. Before daylight, the knocker-uppers could be heard coughing loudly, long before their early-morning tap on the terraced bedroom windows. The smog and grime in the air were awful, but life in the city had to go on.
Daisy wrapped her shawl around her. This was her first winter in Leeds and she didn’t appreciate the heavy, smoky air that clung around the streets, making its way into people’s lungs, causing them to wheeze and cough and gasp for breath. She hurried quickly along the dark street, her baked goods in one hand and the keys for the shop in the other. Only the workers were out at this time of the day, and in the dim gas-light she could make out the small form of Freddie waiting in the shop’s doorway. He was a good lad, was Freddie, and he was turning out to be an asset to the shop. William Mattinson had bought him a respectable uniform, along with a thick winter coat and cap, and he’d scrubbed up well. He might have come from a rough part of town, but he’d obviously been taught some manners, and Daisy had grown fond of the ‘li’l fella’, as she called him.
‘Morning, Freddie. It’s a miserable morning, but the sun might break through later on.’ She smiled and turned the key in the lock. The shop bell tinkled as she opened the door.
‘It is, Mrs Lambert. I can hardly see my hand in front of my face, and I hope old Ginge doesn’t mind this weather, because we’ve a few deliveries to make this morning.’ Freddie followed in her footsteps and waited until Daisy put on her serving apron behind the counter.
‘You and that horse – he’s had a new lease of life since you started to look after him. I think he’s fed far too well. Have you had owt to eat this morning, or is your belly empty? I bet I can guess: you slipped out of the house while everyone else was asleep?’ Daisy lit the small coal fire that kept the shop warm and put the blackened kettle on to boil. ‘We’ll have a brew, before I get started with the orders and you see to Ginger. And I suppose I can spare a penny or two for a currant bun from the baker’s, if you want to run and get one for us to share. He’ll be open. Tell him I’ll know if it’s fresh or if it’s yesterday’s. He’ll only laugh, the old devil; he knows better than to give me his leftovers,’ chuckled Daisy. She got on well with the baker and his wife, who worked further down the street, though she knew he tried to get rid of what he had left from the previous day on unsuspecting customers. Daisy dropped a couple of pennies into Freddie’s hands and he beamed up at her. His eyes were full of gratitude and it melted her heart. He was a grand lad, and she didn’t mind sharing her meagre wage on a bun in the morning to fill his hungry belly. ‘Go on then, be off! And then we’ll have to make a start on the day.’
‘Right away, missus. I’ll be back in a crack.’ Freddie turned on his heels, leaving Daisy grinning as she fed the fire a few more lumps of coal to warm the freezing shop. She could hear footsteps up above her, suggesting that Jim was stirring from his sleep. His strength was returning, and it wouldn’t be long before life was back to normal and the two brothers would be arguing about expenses and which goods to buy. As she brushed the hearth she could hear the familiar creak on the bottom step of the stairs. ‘Morning, sleepyhead. Another few days and you can be lighting the fire, and then I can look forward to a warm place of work.’ She didn’t look round, thinking it could only be Jim making his way down the stairs.
‘I don’t think so, lovey. I’ve only been visiting, and you didn’t see me here. Don’t tell Jim’s brother, nor that vixen, his wife.’ Susie grinned as she tidied her hair. ‘My man needed some extra loving, and he can’t come to me, so I came to him.’
Daisy blushed as Susie looked around the shop.
‘He’s definitely on the mend. He’s got his strength back – he kept us entertained all night, did my Jim. He’s got a good little business here, ain’t he? Must be worth a bob or two, not that it matters to me. I’d love him, no matter what.’
‘Yes, yes, he’s got a good business head; both brothers have.’ Daisy felt a pang of jealousy and anger sweep over her. Susie had spent all night next to the man Daisy now knew she was in love with. The man she would do anything for, if only he asked.
‘Ah well, pet, I’m off. Things to do, people to see. Remember – not a word!’ Susie smiled as she let herself out of the shop, the bell tinkling louder than usual as she closed the door behind her. Her cheap perfume filled the shop and reminded Daisy that she was just a plain Dales lass, with no townie ways.
‘Who’s that, Mrs Lambert?’ Freddie came rushing in with two warm buns clutched tightly in his hands.
‘That is Susie. She’s a friend of Mr Jim’s.’ Daisy brushed away the lone tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.
‘He must keep funny friends, ’cause she looks like a tart to me.’ Freddie munched into his bun as Daisy made him a pot of tea.
‘Quiet, Freddie, or Mr Jim will hear you. Pretend you never saw her coming out of the shop this morning.’
‘So, I was right. She is a tart. We have them at the end of our street. My mam says to keep clear of ’em.’
‘Well, you keep listening to your mam and you’ll not go far wrong,’ Daisy growled.
Susie might be a tart, but she held Jim’s heart – and that, Daisy knew, she could never have.
12
‘I love an English Christmas, but this year I am so tired. With the baby, the house and the business, I didn’t realize this lemon cheese and marmalade took so long to make, and that you were going to make so much of it. Every day your orders grow. Something is going to have to be done.’ Angelina was complaining to William over their evening meal.
‘Well, my dear, you were so quick to take the making of it off Daisy. I must admit I was surprised, because you have enough on your plate, with the house and our dear Charles.’ William pushed his dessert dish to one side and helped himself to a grape or two from the fruit display in the middle of the table, spitting the seeds out onto his dish.
‘I had to take it off her. She was getting all the glory – our rough northern servant – and I didn’t want her forgetting her place. I’m the lady of the house, and it is my family’s money that keeps us afloat.’ Angelina scowled at her husband.
‘Aye, and it’s her recipe that’s making our fortune at the moment. I can’t believe that bloody lemon cheese could be so popular, and her mincemeat is selling. I don’t think she was so pleased when we called it “Mrs Mattinson’s Mincemeat”, but I’ll raise her pay or find something to appease her, once we close for Christmas Day. I suppose she’ll be off back to the Dales for a day or two. I know her father won’t have her back, but she’ll not want to be with us.’ William leaned back and lit his usual after-meal cigar.
‘She has no family, or at least she’s lost contact with them. She told me so, some weeks ago, so who is she supposed to go to?’ Angelina sipped her tea. ‘I don’t want her staying with us. It’s a family time, and Daisy is not family. Anyway my papa is coming to stay, and what will he think of her!’
‘Angelina, you are the most unchristian person I have ever known. The poor woman has no family, she is making you a small fortune working all the hours we could possibly ask of her, and yet you won’t share your Christmas with her.’ William scowled at his hoity-toity wife.
&n
bsp; ‘At Christmas, William, I need my kitchen to myself – and she’ll be there. Besides, I could do with her room for my father to stay in. Can she not go somewhere? Suggest something to her, for I need my house back!’ Angelina slammed her napkin down and stared at her husband.
‘I don’t know what you expect me to do, but I’ll think about it. Where is she tonight anyway? She can’t hear us, can she?’ William didn’t want to offend Daisy, for he’d grown to depend on her, and he knew his wife was just wanting her own way.
‘She’s visiting friends. I think it’s the baker, Fergus, and his wife Mary. She said she was having supper and a game of cards with them, and that I hadn’t to worry if she was late back. As if she thinks I’d care! As long as she’s out of my kitchen, I’m not bothered where she is.’
‘The bakers – I don’t know how she got friendly with them. You don’t think she’s off to work for them? My God, I hope not. She could take everything with her. We’d have nothing to sell in the shop!’ William looked worried.
‘Daisy, Daisy, Daisy . . . It’s all I bloody hear.’ Angelina started rattling Italian swear-words at her husband, as her temper got the better of her. ‘I want her out – out by Christmas Day – so that the house is my own!’
The drawing-room door slammed, leaving William with an uncleared dining table and an extremely agitated wife. If his ears didn’t deceive him, he had a yowling baby, too. He could do without this in the run-up to Christmas.
William watched Daisy as she displayed her latest product of mincemeat in the shop window. It was selling well, especially as she was telling people how to make mince pies and mincemeat crumble. She had an everyday knack with folk, and she worked like a trooper. His old friend Bert, from up the dale, had certainly done him a favour when he had sent Daisy his way. But the thought of her getting too friendly with the baker and his wife was beginning to worry William, and he’d thought long and hard about how he could keep both of his women happy.
‘Are you not going home for Christmas, Daisy? You’ve got three days off – I’m closing the shop for three days. Angelina has her father coming to stay, so we will all be at home.’
‘No, this is my home now, William, but I understand. I’ll find somewhere to go, if I’m going to be in the way.’ Daisy’s face dropped. She’d known this was coming. Angelina had not exactly been subtle with her hints of late. Daisy had thought of visiting Jenny Pratt, but she’d left so slyly, without so much as a by-your-leave; besides, she wasn’t family and they probably had long since forgotten about her.
‘Come on, our William, you can’t throw Daisy out at Christmas!’ Jim looked up from his calculations. His health was improving day by day, and he was now keeping the books and stock in order.
‘Well, it’s Angelina: she wants the kitchen to herself. She likes to impress her father. I’ll see what I can do.’ William looked worried. Yet again he was stuck in the middle of the two women.
‘I understand, don’t worry.’ Daisy smiled, but underneath she was fretting. She had nowhere to go, and Christmas would soon be upon her.
‘You’d better look after our Daisy, brother – we owe her a lot,’ Jim whispered to William, as the brothers showed an interest in the figures they were discussing. ‘Don’t let Angelina boss you around his time.’
‘I’ll see, but you know what she’s like.’ William glared at his younger brother. Jim had no idea what it was like to be married. ‘Why don’t you give Daisy your rooms. I’m sure you’ve somewhere to go – after all, you’ve plenty of admirers.’
‘I know you’re being sarcastic, but I might just do that. Nearly dying gives you a whole new outlook on life.’ Jim slammed his books shut. ‘Daisy petal, stay in my rooms over Christmas. I’ve other plans,’ he shouted over to her, after she finished serving the latest customer.
‘I can’t do that. Where would you go?’
‘Never mind about me. I’ve something to do over Christmas – something I should have done a long time ago.’
‘Don’t be hasty, our Jim. I’ll sort it with Angelina.’ William looked as startled as Daisy.
‘Aye, and pigs can fly! It’s all right, I’ve made my mind up. Daisy, go no further. My rooms are yours over Christmas.’ And with that, Jim left the two of them searching for words as he climbed the stairs to his rooms.
A tear filled Daisy’s eye. She’d heard all the arguments – it was only a terraced house they were living in and its walls were thin. She’d also heard Angelina being sick in the morning, a sure sign of things to come. With a new baby on the way, things were only going to get worse.
‘And you’re going to stop over the shop at Christmas!’ Freddie looked at her in dismay as he listened to Daisy’s new living arrangements, and looked around the room that was now a mixture of Daisy’s meagre belongings and Master Jim’s.
‘That’s right, just until Mr Petronelli returns home.’ Daisy smiled at the young lad.
‘My mam says a woman needs her own space, and sometimes she just wishes my father would bugger off. Like he’s not with us a lot of the time, but he always turns up when he’s run out of brass.’ Freddie stopped for a breather and looked round the room.
‘What’s your father do, Freddie?’ Daisy couldn’t help but smile, thinking that she bet his mother wished his father would bugger off – to get away from his obviously lustful arms.
‘He works down on t’ canal wharf, loading and unloading stuff, when he can be bothered. He sometimes brings us all sorts of stuff. He even brought me a thing called a “banana” t’other day. I’d never seen anything like it before in my life. It was a funny yellow thing that you peel and then eat. I didn’t like it. The trouble is, he trades what he gets for drink money, and then we don’t see him for days, until somebody sobers him up or he limps home penniless. I don’t know why my mam puts up with him. We can manage. I give her all I make and she takes in washing, and our Annie will soon be old enough to go into service.’
Daisy listened to the young lad. He talked more like the man of the house than his years suggested. Poor lad, he’s had it hard, she thought. ‘Well, here’s a sixpence for helping me with my move. Don’t spend it all at once.’ Daisy took the small silver coin out of her meagre savings and thought it was money well spent. Freddie had worked hard, and now he could have a treat.
‘Oh ta, Mrs Lambert. I’ll get me mam summat special for Christmas. My uncle’s coming around with a broiler hen for Christmas dinner. He pulled its neck last night and plucked it, so we’ve something good to eat. I can’t wait!’
Daisy looked at young Freddie’s eyes twinkling as he thought about eating the aged hen. ‘I tell you what, Freddie. Take this cake. I’ve just made it. I was trying the oven out and it’s not good enough for the shop.’ There was nothing wrong with it, in fact it was a perfectly good Victoria sandwich cake. ‘Here, take care with it. Tell your mam it’s a present from me, and have a good Christmas.’ She wrapped it up in one of the ‘Mattinson’ bags and patted him on the back. ‘Now go on, get yourself home and have a good Christmas. And don’t lose that sixpence.’
She watched him run down the stairs and heard the back door slam. She shook her head. She must be going soft in her old age, but she had almost everything, and the lad had hardly anything. The only thing Daisy didn’t have was the love of Jim, and she knew she’d never have that. Especially when he had disappeared without telling anyone where he was going over the Christmas period, leaving everyone worrying about what he was up to.
‘Oh, Papa, that is fantastic news, isn’t it, William? William, thank Papa. Just think what you can do now.’
William looked at the pompous Italian sitting on the other side of his Christmas dinner table. He didn’t want to thank him; he didn’t want to be any deeper in debt to his father-in-law.
‘William, say something!’ Angelina flashed her dark eyes at him.
‘Thank you, sir. That is indeed generous.’
‘It is nothing. I couldn’t have my daughter slaving in a kitchen
, making jams and jellies. Besides, think of the sales you will now have, with a factory of your own. You can distribute this, er . . . lemon cheese, all over the country, not just in Leeds. Use my contacts. People won’t say no when they realize who you are.’ Franco Petronelli took a long drink of his red wine and looked satisfied.
‘I’ve also got some good news, Papa. I think William will already have guessed, but I wanted to tell my two favourite men together.’ Angelina paused and blushed. ‘We are to be parents again. I am with child, so there’s even more reason for the factory.’
‘Bellissima – God be praised, a new grandchild. You do your father proud.’ Franco walked around to Angelina and hugged her. ‘A new baby and a new business – who could want for more, William?’ Franco laughed and his round belly shook with mirth. ‘I wish your mother was still alive, to see how well our family is doing. My two strong boys with two shops each; our eldest daughter well catered for, even with her husband dead; and now you and William in business, with more grandchildren on the way. What more could a man wish for?’ Franco lit a cigar and patted William on the back. ‘We need a talk, man-to-man. Angelina, you understand. Leave us to talk, for there are some things William needs to know.’ Franco’s face went serious and he sat back down at the table, pouring himself a port.
William scowled at his wife. He had suspected her news, for he’d witnessed her sickness and knew the signs, but he was peeved that she had not told him first. He could never compete with her father. In fact he had a feeling that, compared to her father, every man would always be inferior, so strong was her love for him.
‘Of course, Papa. William, are you not pleased? You haven’t said anything.’ Angelina’s eyes glanced at the troubled look on her husband’s face.
‘Of course I’m pleased, my dear. It will be a playmate for Charles. I had suspected it, my dear, for you have been a little off-colour in the mornings.’ William smiled. A new baby in the family he would welcome, but his father-in-law’s interference in his business he might not, depending on the terms.
