The Mistress of Windfell Manor Page 18

  ‘He did what?’ All three servants gasped at Yates’s confession.

  ‘He hit her and then they squabbled, and I’m sure he pushed her down the stairs. Dora Dodgson told me to hold my tongue, else something horrible would befall me; that’s why I’ve never said anything until today.’ Yates sat back down and looked around at the astonished faces.

  ‘He’s nothing but a cad. He doesn’t deserve the mistress, and she’s such a lady.’ Lily sighed.

  ‘I’ve a stronger word than that for him. I’ve a good mind to spit in his soup tonight – that is if he’s here,’ said Mrs Batty.

  ‘He’ll be here tonight, Mrs Batty. He won’t dare to show his face in daylight alone down at Langcliffe Lock cottages. Mrs Potts says he isn’t that well liked down there at the moment, with cutting the hours at the mill. I bet they are taking it out on his bit of fun as well. She’s getting paid double for her nightly exploits, while everyone else is struggling,’ Mazy chipped in.

  ‘You are too young, Mazy, to know such things. I’m surprised at Gertie Potts telling you suchlike,’ said Mrs Batty.

  ‘She didn’t tell me directly. I earwigged her as she was telling the butcher’s boy, when he delivered yesterday to my nana’s house.’ Mazy folded her arms tightly.

  ‘He’s even younger than you – that’s worse than ever,’ exclaimed Mrs Batty.

  ‘Aye, but he knows everybody from Horton to Long Preston, and you know how gossip spreads.’ Mazy smiled.

  ‘Well, all I know is that that lass upstairs needs our support. I’ve never known such a to-do. Now come on, you lot, there’s plenty to do – housekeeper or not, we’ve got to keep this house going, for the sake of Mrs Dawson.’

  ‘Joseph, I’m sorry Mrs Dodgson’s left us. I know you two were quite close, like family. I think you likened her to that, when we first met?’ Charlotte smiled slightly. The whole house had heard Joseph shouting at his favoured member of staff as she ran down the servants’ back stairs. And she was sure that the entire household, except Joseph, had breathed a sigh of relief that she had gone.

  ‘I expected better of her: stealing my best gold cufflinks. How could I let her stay? I presume she was going to have her Ezera sell them in his jeweller’s shop. I was so disappointed in her behaviour – how could I overlook that?’

  ‘Indeed, my dear. She’s lucky you didn’t call the police. That would have put paid to her wedding plans. We will not shop at Ezera Bloomenber’s in the future – we can’t trust where his jewellery comes from.’

  ‘I think jewellery-buying is a thing of the past for the moment,’ grunted Joseph.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing for me to say, when your employees can barely pay for a loaf of bread. I’ve been thinking, Joseph: we don’t need to replace Mrs Dodgson; between Mrs Batty and me, we can run the house. It would give me a purpose in life, instead of sitting around wasting time embroidering or reading. I’d enjoy it.’ Charlotte looked across the dinner table at an unusually subdued Joseph and expected to have her head bitten off, for daring even to suggest such a thing.

  ‘And when the baby comes, what then?’ He looked up.

  ‘Well, we will play it by ear. I’m sure we could manage. Lily won’t mind doubling up as a nanny, I’m certain.’

  ‘Whatever! The affairs of the house are not at the forefront of my mind. Do as you wish.’ Joseph took a mouthful of something from his dinner plate. ‘What is this stuff that’s on my plate? It tastes dreadful.’ He spluttered and turned to Yates, who stood behind him waiting to clear the plates.

  ‘I believe it is called “curry of mutton”. Mrs Batty has been experimenting with what she has in the larder and what Mrs Beeton recommends in her cookbook, sir. It’s from India, I believe.’ Yates stepped forward.

  ‘Well, it wants to bugger back off to India. I’ve never eaten anything so revolting in all my life. It’s a waste of good mutton. Tell her to throw that bloody cookbook out, if that’s the best she can do with it.’ Joseph dismissed his plate and Yates obligingly removed the uneaten dinner.

  ‘If you could tell Mrs Batty that this dish is usually served with boiled rice, not boiled potatoes.’ Charlotte passed her plate to a subservient Yates. ‘And, Yates, can you tell her that we will go through the menus for the week in the morning. Now that Mrs Dodgson has left us, Mrs Batty will be dealing only with me.’ She looked across at her husband, who was quenching the taste of spices with a good swig of claret.

  ‘I take it you don’t like spices?’ She nearly laughed.

  ‘I hate anything highly flavoured. Besides, that just looked like a plate of slop – or even worse.’ Joseph took another long sup and looked across at his wife.

  ‘I’ll ask Mrs Batty to look in the English section, not the Indian, if she is determined to try recipes from out of this all-singing cookbook. You were going to tell me about your day, before you decided to dislike your dinner so much. It must be hard for you at the moment, because ordinary people do not understand commerce.’

  ‘They don’t understand commerce, or war in another land, but they understand that their bellies are rumbling, bairns crying and wives complaining. Even Bert Bannister is not happy with his lot at the moment. I’m a hard man, but even I realize we will either sink or swim with this, and that lives may be lost if it carries on for any length of time.’

  ‘Well, I looked in our storeroom this morning. We seem to have a surplus of flour, which will only end up weevil-infested if we don’t use it quickly. How about Mrs Batty and I make a few batches of bread and distribute it at the mill gates in the morning, while we survive this bad patch? It will win you some sympathy, if they feel you care.’ Charlotte looked at her husband, who hated giving anything for nothing.

  ‘I suppose that’s one up on Christie: he’s not cut his hours, but it’ll be at his own cost. His warehouse is not as full as ours.’ Joseph thought for a moment. ‘Aye, go on, it might keep quiet the ones that say I don’t care. But don’t forget: folk have their pride, they don’t like charity.’

  ‘I know, but they’d rather have a loaf of bread than cheap words, I can assure you.’ Charlotte smiled.

  ‘Thank you, my dear, for trying to help. It means a lot to me.’ Joseph patted her hand and looked more relaxed, thankful that he had someone to share his worries.

  Charlotte decided that the time was right to ask a long-standing question, to which she knew Joseph might react badly. ‘I thought I might visit Archie and Rosie tomorrow. Would that cause you concern, my love? It would be so nice to see baby Daniel. I bet he’s grown.’ She sat back and waited for his response.

  ‘That bloody man – I hate him, you know. I can’t understand your attraction to him. You can go, but take Lily with you. I don’t trust him.’ Joseph scowled.

  ‘Don’t trust him or don’t trust me? Really, Joseph, I’m six months pregnant and I look terrible, and my husband owns a failing cotton mill. What is possibly attractive about me? He’s a friend – and a friend only.’

  ‘No, it’s deeper than that with you two. Knowing you, you’ll be whingeing to him about your beloved Crummock and saying that you wished he was in it,’ Joseph snarled.

  ‘Well, I wish he was. We wouldn’t go hungry if he was there. But that isn’t what I’m going for. Rosie is not carrying this baby very well – she’s ill, and I just want to see if there’s anything I can do for her before the new baby is born.’ Charlotte lowered her head.

  ‘Just go. You’d probably go, with or without my permission. After all, as you say, who’s going to look at you, in your condition?’ Joseph said coldly.

  ‘Thank you, Joseph. You do know I love you more than anything else in the world.’ Charlotte looked over at her husband.

  ‘Well, you’ve a strange way of showing it, visiting an old lover.’ Joseph sat back and stared at the woman he had married, but could never completely own.

  17

  Rosie’s father and mother sat in the small room they lived in and listened to the screams of thei
r daughter, as Lucy Cranston tried to help her with the birth of their next grandchild. They had faith in Lucy, for she’d brought many a child into the world, but this one seemed to be struggling to make its entrance. Rosie’s mother sobbed and held Daniel close to her body, rocking him with every scream, knowing the pain of childbirth that her daughter was going through.

  ‘Go get the doctor, Archie, something’s wrong.’ Lucy Cranston wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘The baby’s early anyway, but Rosie shouldn’t be screaming like this.’

  Rosie screamed again, the noise echoing around the small farmhouse like a wild banshee’s wail.

  ‘For God’s sake, go, lad – else we are going to lose them both.’ Lucy turned and went back into the bedroom, stopping for a second to reassure her white-faced nephew with a quick hug. She knew damn well what was wrong – the baby was early and was a breach birth – but without the aid of the doctor she couldn’t turn it. Rosie was getting weaker with each push, and the bed that she lay on was wet with sweat and blood. Lucy prayed silently to herself: God let Archie find the doctor in time. There wasn’t a second to waste.

  ‘Lily, I know that Mr Dawson said you had to accompany me to see the Atkinsons, but there really is no need to. I would prefer to go there by myself. Besides, Jethro is taking me in the trap. I’ll ask him to come into the house with me, while I talk business with Mr Atkinson. And just look at the day: it is wet and miserable. The fog will be down around Mewith, and it can be a dark, foreboding place on a day like this.’ Charlotte stood in the doorway of Windfell.

  ‘If you are sure, ma’am.’

  ‘I’m sure, Lily. Jethro will look after me, and we’ll be back before dinner.’ Charlotte sighed as she stepped out towards the waiting trap and looked skywards at the grey clouds dispersing a fine mizzle of rain, while the surrounding fells were covered with low clouds, making the day dank and downcast.

  ‘Are you sure you want to go in the trap, ma’am? It isn’t any problem to get the team ready, for you to go in the carriage.’ Jethro gave Charlotte a hand up into the back of the trap and covered her with an oilskin from the stable.

  ‘I’m fine, Jethro. I prefer the trap, and I can take in the scenery better. I just love the views on the road past Clapham. The ride is so beautiful; all the fellsides are lovely at this time of the year, with the blue hues of bluebells.’ Charlotte missed wandering along the fells and byways around Austwick. The trap was an excuse to be as near her beloved surroundings as a lady of her stature could be. She made herself comfortable and smiled as the trap took the turn up the road, passing the hamlet of Stainforth, and then the bay horse struggled a little as it trotted up the steep hill known as Sherrard Brow, to drop down to the turning to Helwith Bridge and then on through Austwick and Clapham. ‘See, Jethro, I’d have missed all these hedgerows. Just look at them. And the hillside above Ribble is blue with bluebells, just like I said.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, but it’s wet and miserable. Just look at Pen-y-ghent – it’s shrouded by cloud.’

  ‘Proper Dales weather, I think you call it, Jethro. I love it. Just smell the air, clear and fresh.’ Charlotte smiled.

  Jethro couldn’t understand his mistress. She wouldn’t love the weather if she had to work out in it as much as he did.

  ‘Cheer up, Jethro, there’s a bit of blue sky there. The day is improving slightly.’

  Charlotte sat back and enjoyed the ride, taking in every turn and twist on the way across the wild moorland on the way up to Mewith. She’d soon be seeing Archie. Lately she’d realized just how much she had missed him.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman, where’s the doctor? I need him. My wife’s in childbirth and in difficulty.’ Archie’s face was red with frustration as the doctor’s housekeeper kept him on the step of the grand home.

  ‘He’s not in, he’s visiting friends up Eldroth. He won’t be back until later in the day.’ The housekeeper looked at the young man on her doorstep and saw that he was in distress.

  ‘Where – where up Eldroth? Give me the house name?’ Archie was desperate. Eldroth was a good hour’s ride, depending on which house the doctor was at.

  ‘Blackbank; he’s at Blackbank. I don’t think he’ll want to be disturbed,’ the housekeeper yelled at the fleeing lad, who jumped on his horse like the Devil himself and galloped through the streets of Austwick, without giving any thanks for her information.

  Blackbank was nearly in the centre of Eldroth. Archie prayed that he would get the doctor and be back in time to save Rosie and the baby.

  ‘Oh, Miss Charlotte, I heard the horses and thought it was the doctor.’ Lucy Cranston flung the door of the small farmhouse open to her visitor.

  ‘Doctor! Why, who’s ill? Not Archie? I hope he’s alright?’ Charlotte flounced into the gloom of the farmhouse and cast aside her cloak.

  ‘It’s our lass – she’s in a bad way, with this one,’ Rosie’s mother cried, while her father went and stood in the doorway, feeling awkward with all this women’s business being spoken of around him. He loved his lass and couldn’t help but think badly of the lad who had got her in this state; she was only a baby herself, without having two children – if God was willing – at her young age.

  ‘Sorry, Charlotte, I can’t stand and talk. I’ve got to get back upstairs to Rosie. She’s in childbirth, but the baby won’t come. Archie’s gone for the doctor, but he’s taking his time. I think he’s going to be too late. I’ve done all I can – I can’t do no more. Miss Charlotte, I don’t know what to do.’

  Charlotte grabbed Lucy’s arm, stopping her in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs. ‘What do you mean too late, she isn’t . . . dying, surely?’

  ‘She’s weak, Miss Charlotte; she’s been in labour for over three days now. I’ve seen this before. I think the baby’s the wrong way around, but I can’t turn it. God knows, I’ve tried, but I can’t hurt her any more.’ Lucy sobbed into her blood-covered apron and rushed up the stairs. ‘She’s even stopped screaming now. I think the baby must be dead.’ She paused on the landing and looked at Charlotte, knowing that she was with child herself and that the sight behind the bedroom door would give her cause to worry. ‘Best you stay here, Miss Charlotte, it isn’t something you’d want to see.’

  ‘Open the door, Lucy. I can’t do anything, but I can be there for her.’ Charlotte walked past the sobbing cook and went to the side of the pale, dying Rosie. She looked at the blood-covered bedclothes, at the washbowl filled with wet cloths and at the moaning body on the bed. ‘Rosie, it’s me, Charlotte. Archie will soon be here, he’s gone for the doctor.’ She wrung out a cloth and placed it on Rosie’s forehead and then grasped her whiter-than-white hand.

  ‘Charlotte,’ Rosie whispered faintly. ‘Charlotte, I’m dying. This baby won’t come. Archie’s too late.’ She sighed and caught her breath. ‘Promise me – please promise me – that you will look after my Archie and our baby Daniel,’ she whispered, clasping Charlotte’s hand tightly.

  ‘I promise, Rosie, I promise.’ Charlotte fought back her tears.

  ‘He was always yours anyway. Archie has always loved you. I pinched him from you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. He loves you and baby Daniel. Now no more of this silly talk. You and the baby are going to be fine.’ Charlotte ran her fingers through Rosie’s soaked hair.

  Rosie smiled. ‘Tell him I loved him.’ Her voice was getting weaker and faltered. ‘Remember, tell Archie that I . . .’ Then the silence was heartbreaking. At peace in the knowledge that her wishes would be fulfilled, she gave up the fight to live and slipped away. She lay white and lifeless in Charlotte’s arms, her struggle for breath ceased and her eyes gazed heavenwards.

  ‘Rosie, no. Rosie, please, just wait until Archie returns.’ Charlotte patted her hand and sobbed, then cried as she realized that the girl had taken her last breath on earth. ‘No, Rosie, no – don’t leave. What will become of baby Daniel? He needs his mother. Archie needs his wife.’

  ‘Come away, Miss Charlotte, there’s n
othing more you can do now. Time for the good Lord to look after her now, and a gentler soul he’ll not have in that heaven of his. She was a good lass, was Rosie; she didn’t deserve this. It’ll break Archie’s heart, no matter what she whispered to you.’ Lucy leaned over Rosie and closed her eyelids gently, while whispering, ‘God bless,’ before pulling the sheets over her head. She put her arm around Charlotte as she sobbed. ‘It’s alright, Miss Charlotte. Now, you pull yourself together, because that lad will need a friend when he comes home. He’ll carry all his life the guilt of not getting the doctor in time. Just like your father did, with your mother.’

  ‘You can’t put the blame on him – his heart will be broken anyway,’ sobbed Charlotte.

  ‘No one’s blaming the lad, but I know how he thinks, and he’ll blame himself. The doctor must have been out on his rounds, else he’d have been here by now. Now come on, Miss Charlotte, let’s wash them hands of yours, and come and sit next to the fire. I’ll put the kettle on and wait for Archie to return.’

  Charlotte looked down at her blood-covered hands. ‘I’m frightened, Mrs Cranston. What if I die in childbirth, along with my child? Or, worse still, what if I die and my baby lives? Joseph would abandon it, I’m sure,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Now, don’t talk daft. You are a strong lass, you’ve nowt to bother about. Poor Rosie there was a feeble bit of a thing; she’d nowt on her to fight with. Besides, the doctor will be with you by your side, and I’m sure Mr Dawson would do no such thing, with his own flesh and blood. It’ll be his heir – all men want an heir, especially one in his position.’ Lucy put her arm around Charlotte and guided her out of the room. They both looked back for a second at the body of Rosie lying at peace under the sheets. As they did so, a ray of sunshine shone through the west-facing window and lit up the room with a strange aurora. ‘There, you see, Miss Charlotte. Rosie and her baby are being welcomed into heaven already. They’ll not be on their own for long.’