‘Get back into bed,’ the older woman ordered, ‘and I shall tell you what you can do.’ She waited impatiently while Beth did as she asked.
‘If you wish to see your son then you must give up the bastard.’
‘Do not speak of my daughter in such terms!’
‘Edgar is your husband and I cannot change that but the boy is his. Edgar will let you see him when you have sent the other infant away.’
‘I don’t understand. Send her where – and f-for how long?’
‘For ever. You cannot keep her. Her existence will not be communicated to the Abbey. Lord Redfern is interested only in Edgar’s son.’
‘But I can’t give up my daughter!’
‘It is not your choice.’ Mrs Collins hated to be challenged about her decisions. ‘If you are difficult, Edgar will have you taken to a nunnery and you will not see your son either.’
‘No! He cannot do that to me.’
‘He can. He is your husband.’
‘And he does as you tell him,’ she sighed.
‘And so should you if you had any sense of duty,’ she shrilled. ‘It is all arranged. The clergy will place your bastard with a family that will ensure she does not grow into a harlot like her mother.’
Beth wished she had the strength to hit her. Mrs Roberts already had Daisy in her clutches. Beth struggled out of bed. ‘You can’t take her. You can’t.’
But they were out of the room before she was near enough to stop them. Beth heard the key turn and Daisy begin to cry. She thumped on the door with her fists calling for Edgar to let her out, to give Daisy back to her, until she crumpled into a heap on the floor. Eventually there were footsteps on the landing and Edgar called through the door. ‘Do as Mama says or it will be the worse for you.’
‘How can it be worse? You have taken my daughter from me.’ She thought she had cried out all her tears but more were coursing down her face.
‘Do not fight me on this, girl, or it’ll be the asylum for you.’
The threat shocked her into silence and she staggered back to bed. She had to regain her strength and get out of this prison of a bedchamber. There was cold food and drink on a tray. She had no appetite but she must eat for the milk to feed her son. If she had lost her daughter, at least her son would be hers, wet nurse or not.
Exhausted by her own emotions Beth slept and felt better when she woke. It was afternoon by the sun rays and she heard the sound of horses and a carriage in front of the house. She went to the window and saw Edgar and his vicar friend loading boxes. The surgeon was there too. She pressed her face to the glass panes hoping for a glimpse of Daisy.
Her only consolation was that Milo was a clergyman and she hoped he would place Daisy with kindly people. When he visited again she could ask where he had taken her child. But her knowledge of Milo did not give her hope. Clergyman or not, his actions, she believed, were motivated by self-interest. He and Edgar were two of a kind with ambitions only to increase their own wealth and status, regardless of others.
Depressed by this notion she washed at the marble washstand and searched without success for her chemise and gown. The sound of the carriage alerted her again and she rushed to the window. It was leaving, driven by Milo. She saw the surgeon lean out to look back. Edgar was driving his old pony and trap piled high with boxes and the hunters tethered and trotting behind. Was Daisy with them? Beth called out her name but no one heard. She spread her fingers on the glass. ‘I’ll come and find you my little one,’ she cried. ‘I promise.’
Chapter 9
Her head was swimming and she held on to the window sill to prevent herself keeling over. The house was quiet and Beth had another child to occupy her thoughts. She looked forward to sending away the wet nurse and reclaiming her son. Reluctantly she returned to the bed and waited, straining her ears for his cry. For the second time she contemplated running away with her infant. But it was a foolish notion for without money or friends, where would she go? She did not doubt that Edgar would hunt her down like an animal for his heir.
Mrs Roberts brought her day clothes and a medicine left by the surgeon.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s a tincture to calm your nerves.’
‘Well, I shan’t take it. It will come through my milk.’
‘You won’t be doing no feeding.’
‘You can’t stop me. Where is my son? I want to hold him.’
‘He’s gone.’
‘No, it is my daughter who has been taken away. Edgar promised me my son.’
‘Well, not until he brings him home again. He’s gone with the surgeon to show him to Lord Redfern himself.’
‘But he’ll be away for days! My milk will dry.’ Beth’s anxiety seemed to close her chest and she could barely breathe. ‘Help me dress, Mrs Roberts, I will go after him. My baby needs me!’
‘Master Edgar will bring him back. He’ll have to because Lord Redfern won’t have him or the mistress at the Abbey. So you can stop your weeping and wailing.’ Mrs Roberts grimaced at her. ‘That surgeon said you’d be a handful.’ She went to the bedside table and poured a wineglassful of water, and added a few drops of the tincture. ‘Here, drink this, it’ll give you strength.’ She stretched out her hand. ‘Go on. It’ll do you good.’
Beth took the glass and sipped the potion. ‘It’s very bitter.’
‘It’s medicine. Get it down you.’
Beth tried again. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a tonic for your nerves. That surgeon said you could take it in wine if it was too bitter for you. Master Edgar agreed that I could give you wine.’
‘He did?’ Then he must really understand her despair. It had overwhelmed her and she needed her strength for her son. But she determined to be firm about her position in this household. She was mother to a future lord and would be respected as such. She sat down and drank her medicine.
A calming warmth suffused her mind and body. It gave her contentment and the strength to go on. She took it every day and it made her feel better. High Fell wasn’t such a bad place after all. Even Mrs Roberts became more acceptable as Beth recovered her composure and took up her domestic chores once more while she waited for her son to come home.
Beth scanned the lower fell every day listening for a carriage or trap. When her despair became too much to bear she took a small glass of wine with a few drops of her tincture and her burden became tolerable again.
One day a cart arrived from Settle with supplies including brandy and a box of sweetmeats that Mrs Roberts said were for her and not Beth. She had a length of good fabric, too, and lace for a new gown. There was wine and bottles of tincture for Beth but Mrs Roberts took them and locked them in the pantry.
‘Is there a letter?’ Beth asked anxiously. But there was never one for her and after two months Beth realised that Edgar was not coming home with her son. At these times her medicine was a great comfort to her although she always had to ask for it. Mrs Roberts was in control of affairs at High Fell and, Beth guessed, being well rewarded for the privilege.
So Beth took to walking the fells when her work for the day was done. They were her friends. She felt at home with their cold, wet and hostile bleakness. She trudged to the shepherd’s hut, sat inside its derelict walls and searched her mind for happier times. But all she found was a desolate despair and she returned to the farmhouse for its warming comfort. At these times her draught was waiting for her on the kitchen table. It was her medicine and she depended on it.
Milo felt confident his life had taken a turn for the better and his future would be comfortable. He was pleased to have his carriage back. The birth of Edgar’s son ensured more favour with Lord Redfern and Edgar needed that, for Lord Redfern’s lawyers kept him well away from the Abbey. However neither he nor Edgar troubled Mrs Collins with trivial detail. Milo drove Edgar’s mother to Settle and deposited her safely at the Golden Lion before continuing with Dr Melville and his wet nurse for the infants. Dr Melville had already sta
ted his sole interest was in Edgar’s son and heir as far as Lord Redfern was concerned and the wet nurse was being well paid to keep her mouth shut. Edgar had left the trap to be returned to High Fell and ridden horseback for the remainder of the journey.
It was a pity about the Blackstone girl and her bastard, Milo thought. He promised Edgar that he would take care of the child so that no one need ever know of her existence. He knew how to make an unwanted bastard disappear and serve the needs of his parish at the same time. A God-fearing childless couple in his parish had already taken a lad from him as their own under similar circumstances. The couple were getting on in years and needed children to look after them when they were too old to fend for themselves. The boy was the bastard son of one of his church congregation, a wealthy town merchant, and a housemaid. The merchant’s wife had no knowledge of their liaison and the maid had been dismissed. But Milo offered help for which he was well rewarded. He bought himself a carriage and pair, and the couple had a son to keep them off parish relief when they were older.
His reward for placing the girl would come later when he had the living at Redfern Abbey. As soon as he had delivered his valuable passengers to their destinations he whipped up the horse and headed for the far side of the Riding. The infant began to whimper when he hoisted her in a laundry basket from under the carriage seat. ‘Be quiet! Mrs Higgins does not want a whining child to help her in the house. It is bad enough that your mother is a whore and you are fit only for the workhouse. But why should any parish have to pay for your keep when you can earn it well enough as you grow?’
Daisy’s cries strengthened as he carried her towards a tiny farm labourer’s cottage on the edge of a growing industrial town. It was evening and if Mr Higgins was home he would be in his workshop repairing anything that needed his attention while his wife occupied herself in the hovel they called a home. They were well-suited as a couple, Milo thought, pious to a fault and sanctimonious about others; they would bring up their family to be the same and expect them to work all the hours that God sent.
Mr and Mrs Higgins had married late in life and after ten years had given up hope of having children of their own. They were destined in their dotage to be a burden on the parish. But they believed that God had chosen them to suffer in this way and they did so in self-righteous silence until Milo had brought them baby Boyd three years ago.
‘As soon as he is grown,’ Milo had explained, ‘he will provide Mr Higgins with a pair of hands for his workshop. He is the Lord’s reward for your forbearance.’
He placed Daisy’s basket on the stone threshold and raised the rusting iron doorknocker and then picked her up, wrappings and all. For a few moments she quietened and Mrs Higgins opened the door. She was a plain woman with greying hair, now past forty years, and wore a large apron and had floury hands. She looked at the bundle in Milo’s arms and said, before any sort of greeting, ‘Not another one, vicar. I don’t want any more under my feet all day.’
‘The Lord has sent her here, Mrs Higgins. I prayed for direction and he sent me to your door. Would you reject the hand of Lord?’
‘You’d better come in then.’
‘Bring in the basket,’ Milo responded.
The cottage was damp and chilly even though a fire burned in the grate. A small child was sitting on the stone-flagged floor with a sullen expression on his face. He had a leather strap around his middle that was fastened to the leg of the kitchen table. Milo looked down at him briefly and the boy’s eyes lit up with interest. Daisy started her crying again and the child stood up, straining at his strap to see where the noise was coming from.
‘How is young Boyd?’ Milo asked.
‘He’s into everything. I’ll be glad when he’s grown up.’
‘Well, this one’s a girl,’ Milo said. He placed Daisy in her basket in front of the fire. ‘When you’ve two grown men to feed at the end of the day and your legs are a few years older, you’ll be glad of a housemaid.’
‘Aye, you might be right about that.’ Mrs Higgins looked at Daisy’s wailing reddened face. ‘She’s got a good voice on her, I’ll say that, and my legs don’t get any younger. Is she hungry?’
‘Have you hot water to hand for warming some mother’s milk? It’s in a feeding bottle at the bottom of the basket.’
‘She has a feeding bottle? Who bought that for her then?’
‘You know better than to ask, Mrs Higgins.’
Mrs Higgins wiped her hands and busied herself warming the milk. ‘I’ve not seen you out and about round these parts recently.’
‘Most of my parish work is in town. It’s expanding all the time.’
‘Aye, it’s all them mills and factories. I thought you’d been tekken poorly.’
‘Church business keeps me very busy.’ The kitchen table legs grated on the floor as it moved slightly. ‘Look at young Boyd. He’s certainly growing strong. He wants to see what’s going on.’
‘He’s too much for me, vicar. I don’t really see how I can take on another bairn at my age.’
‘Why don’t you ask Mr Higgins to have Boyd in his workshop with him? Now he can walk, he could take him out on the cart delivering.’
‘That’s an idea. Start learning the lad now. Well, he’ll have to if I keep this one. Mr Higgins is such stickler, you see. He can’t be doing with things not being just the way he likes.’
‘Then you need a girl to help you, Mrs Higgins.’
Mrs Higgins picked up Daisy to give her the milk. ‘Does she have a name?’
‘Her mother called her Daisy.’
‘That’s pretty. Was her ma pretty? She won’t be much use to me if she grows up to catch the fellas’ eyes and gets wed.’
‘You’ll just have to make sure she knows where her duty lies. I’m sure Mr Higgins can keep her in line.’
‘Oh aye. He’s not above taking his belt to me if he thinks I’ve been straying from my duty. Her mother wasn’t a – a – you know?’
‘You have my word that she’s from good stock. This one has a real aristocrat’s blood in her veins.’
Mrs Higgins’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She’s not from round here is she?’
‘No, of course not; she’s from miles away, but you know I can’t say where. You’ll keep her then?’
‘As long as she grows up a grafter – and Mr Higgins will see that she does – she’ll do me.’
Milo stood up, satisfied that his work here was finished. ‘I shall say a special prayer for you in church.’
Chapter 10
Early in the New Year, Abel lifted a heavy brass knocker and let it fall twice. Within minutes a young girl in a brown dress, white apron and cap opened the door.
‘Abel Shipton.’
The maid stepped back. ‘Come in, sir. Mr Stacey is expecting you.’
As he followed her to a back room, he glanced around. Mr Stacey had done well for himself as a drover. He stood up as Abel entered.
‘Sit yourself down, Abel. Will you drink a dish of tea with me?’
‘Thank you, I will.’
The maid left the room and the two men sank into comfortable chairs before a good fire.
‘I heard there was trouble up at High Fell.’
‘I moved out before Christmas. I was ready to leave anyway. There was nothing for me up there and too many years of isolation are not good for any man.’
‘So you’ve decided to look for a wife and apply for your drovers’ licence at last? It’s high time you did, if I may say so, Abel Shipton.’
Abel looked around at the polished furniture and comfortable seating. ‘It’s certainly a good living. But I wouldn’t set up against you. Besides I’d need to afford the wife and home first for my licence. I was thinking there might be more of a future as an agent for the stock.’
‘Not in Settle. Most of my dealings are direct with the farmers and we have the market for selling. Skipton might offer you better options. It’s more of a centre for commerce than around here.’
‘I w
as thinking of establishing myself in one of the South Riding towns. They’re growing so fast the farmers and butchers can barely keep pace.’
‘That’s true. I hear that mutton prices are shooting up.’
‘I’m interested in cattle and pigs as well as sheep, especially these new breeds that have more leg and loin. They fetch good money on the hoof.’
‘Yes, I’ve been reading about them. It’ll take you a year or two to get established though.’
‘I’ve got a fair few head to sell to tide me over.’
‘It’s a good idea but it’s a long trail from here to the South Riding.’
Abel didn’t waste any more time. ‘I have a proposition for you. I want you to drive my flock to the industrial towns around the Don navigation. I’ll come with you on the trail to keep down your costs. My plan is to sell the whole lot, fat stock, breeding ewes, my rams and all and use the profits to set up a livestock broker’s office.’
The maid came in with the tea and Mr Stacey got up to fetch his decanter. ‘You’ll have a drop of brandy in it for this cold weather?’
‘I don’t mind if I do.’
‘Try one of these savoury biscuits with it. My good lady has them sent over from Leeds.’
Abel helped himself and waited for Mr Stacey’s response.
‘That’s a long haul. I’d have to turn down shorter trails, so it would be a dear do.’
‘You’ll have me and Sal to help speed things up,’ Abel volunteered. He was beginning to feel anxious. He had to get himself and his flock to where he could make the most money.
‘And you want me to quote you a lower price?’
‘I’ve put a fair bit of work your way for the last few years, Mr Stacey.’
‘Aye I know, and not just from your own flocks neither.’
‘As I say, I think I can make a good living as a decent broker.’
‘I agree with you. You’re an honest man and folk who know you trust you so I’ll cut a deal with you. I’ll do it for a percentage.’
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