The Mistress of Windfell Manor Read online

  ‘No, I’ll be at home a lot more now, I fear. Everyone is safeguarding what money they have in their meagre purses. I heard the bank is wanting to foreclose on the cotton mill at Bell Busk. The Garforths, poor buggers, must be mortgaged to the hilt. The mere hint of trouble, and the bank soon withdraws any help.’ Joseph gazed into the fire and watched the glowing embers, wishing for better days.

  ‘I had a letter from Archie today. He sounds a bit brighter, but I don’t think he will ever get over the death of Rosie. He sounds so broken-hearted. He’s also offered to rear us a pig, to see us through the winter months, if you are interested. He’ll need paying, of course. He says he’s started lambing time, and that there are plenty of twins, so he’s busy.’ She passed Joseph the handwritten letter to read.

  ‘Farming talk – do you think I’m interested in farming talk? No wonder I spend so much time in other company, until the early hours of the morning.’ Joseph yawned. ‘It’s boring, talking of pigs and sheep. You really know how to keep a man enthralled. You and that darling Archie.’ Joseph dismissed the letter and looked at his wife, who appeared blooming in the glowing firelight. Pregnancy suited her – apart from her stomach, which was growing larger by the day. ‘Come to bed with me, come and make love to your husband,’ he whispered into Charlotte’s ear.

  ‘Joseph, the baby!’ she whispered back.

  ‘I’ll be careful. Come.’ Joseph pulled on her outstretched hand and urged her to join him. ‘Just lie by my side, like we should. After all, we are man and wife.’

  Charlotte smiled and followed her husband up the stairs. She was glad he was back in her arms. Perhaps the lack of money had made him realize what was precious to him. You could never buy love. Perhaps he knew that now.

  19

  By May and June the realization about just how bad things were going to be had finally sunk into the business people of Settle and all the districts involved in cotton in Yorkshire and Lancashire. The price of cotton, if it was accessible, trebled and the Union Yankee soldiers burned bales of it along the docksides of New Orleans.

  ‘Damn those Union Yankees!’ Joseph swore as he read the paper, before pacing back and forth in front of the bay window of Windfell. ‘Damn the weather as well. Look at it: it’s flaming June, and the weather is wretched. It poured down last night, the river is in full spate and I even had to get a man to open the lock gates this morning because the millpond was so high.’

  ‘Joseph, please – the maid will hear you.’ Charlotte leaned and pulled herself up by the fireplace.

  ‘Aye, well, damn her as well, if she doesn’t get here quickly with my drink.’ He had no patience with anything. His life was not going as he had planned it and he was angry with the world.

  ‘She’s here.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘Thank you, Mazy. Is Yates feeling any better now?’ she asked, as Mazy bobbed in recognition of her master’s temper after placing his glass of port in front of him.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, his fever is subsiding. Mrs Batty gave him a mustard plaster for his chest and he seems to be recovering.’ Mazy shot a quick glance at Joseph as he took a long swig of his port, and then made good her retreat.

  ‘There’s bugger-all wrong with him. He’s a soft lump, he wouldn’t last a day at the mill. You pamper him too much, Charlotte, just like you pamper everyone too much. Folk only take advantage of you, if they think you are weak.’

  ‘The poor man caught a chill, delivering the bread the other morning. He was only doing me a favour because he knew my back hurt, with carrying this one.’ Charlotte rubbed her hand over her stomach and stood next to her husband. ‘It won’t be long now, Joseph. Dr Burrows says all looks well. I can’t help but think of poor Rosie and her baby, and I pray that this one will be no problem when it comes into the world.’

  Joseph looked Charlotte up and down. She was seven months pregnant and he was struggling to keep everything together at the mill. He’d never felt more trapped. To make matters worse, he’d heard that his sister had married her rich jeweller and was now quite well-to-do, living at Ingfield House on the outskirts of Settle. The bitch! She’d always looked after herself before anyone else. ‘Did I tell you there’s a town-council meeting in Settle tonight? The Reverend Tiplady is going to be telling the great and the good, plus us mill owners, that we should all do more for the poor, especially the poor struggling mill workers.’ Joseph tipped back the last mouthful of port and rang the side-bell for his glass to be refilled. ‘The bloody hypocrite. He doesn’t go hungry, he’s often eating in the Talbot Arms.’

  ‘Joseph, what is wrong with you tonight?’ Charlotte walked steadily to her chair and watched as he summoned Mazy to refill his empty glass. ‘Should you not attend such a meeting, just to portray our side of things?’

  ‘What’s wrong with me? Where do I start? How about our stock of cotton is going down quicker than I thought. I can only thank God that we weave as well. At least I can deploy some of the workforce there, and try and drag out what stock we have. Do you know raw cotton has gone up from ten cents a pound to one dollar eighty-nine? It’s that scarce. But what fool is going to pay those prices? That is if it gets through the blockades.’ He drank deeply again and looked out at the dark limestone outcrop known as Langcliffe Scar across the valley from Windfell Manor. Rain lashed against it. No matter what anyone said, he was in no mood to be amicable.

  ‘But we are still here, Joseph, and there is always Crummock to fall back on. Surely the man you put in there is making money; he should be knee-deep in newborn lambs by now.’ She looked at the positives, as her dark, negative husband leaned against the frame of the bay window.

  ‘Crummock – don’t make me laugh; you won’t be able to see the bloody place for this low cloud. Wilson hasn’t been in touch with me for days, and I haven’t time to go up there and check things out. As for living there, the answer is: over my dead body. Now, if your father had left us his money, we would have been sitting pretty with nothing to worry about. I feel like closing the mill down and calling it a day.’

  ‘Oh, Joseph, things will get better. We’ve the baby to look forward to, and your mood is only dark like the day. Things are worse down in Lancashire; the cotton mills in Manchester have been hit hard. At least Mr Todd had the decency to foretell you of the coming problems.’

  Joseph sighed. ‘You are right. Bugger it, I’ll join old Tiplady and catch him filling his belly while I have a gill in the Talbot Arms. You don’t mind, do you, my dear?’ He turned and looked at Charlotte, who was yawning and looking tired as she sat listening to him complain. ‘Don’t wait up. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom – you look tired, my dear.’

  ‘No, that’s fine, you go and fight our corner. I must admit, my feet hurt and I’m tired this evening. You know if I can help, my dear, in any way, you’ve just to ask. Now go and enjoy your evening.’ Charlotte smiled at her husband. This was the first night he had not slept with her for a month or two now, and she would welcome having the bed to herself.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning, my dear. Although I might go to the mill early. I need to look at the accounts and see if I can scrape together enough funds for this white gold called cotton, which keeps everyone fed and housed.’ Joseph yelled for Mazy to give him his cape and top hat.

  ‘Do you need Jethro and the cab?’ Mazy enquired.

  ‘No, damn it, Mazy, I’ll walk. A bit of rain never hurt anyone.’ He patted his hat and stepped out with his silver-headed walking stick in his hand, kissing Charlotte on her cheek before leaving the house.

  She watched out of the window as he strode out down the pebbled drive. His hand steadied his hat against the wind and rain, and his cape flapped in the gusts of strong wind. At least the prowling, growling man had left the house. Whatever state he came back in, the house was at peace for a short while. She yawned and stretched. Even though it would still be light for a while, she was going to have an early night, as she felt drained. Besides, if Joseph was going to have a night with the town council, it cou
ld be in the early hours when he returned, depending on the company he kept and the amount of drink he had. Without Yates, he’d have to get himself to bed and that would not be without noise.

  ‘Mazy, can you tell Lily, please, that I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll go and get the bedpan to warm your bed.’

  Charlotte looked out of the window once more. Her husband must be slightly mad, walking down to Settle in the wild weather battering the beech trees that lined the drive. If it blew out the demons that were blighting him, perhaps the walk would be a blessing. Anything was better than the dark mood that had possessed him all day, she thought, as she mounted the stairs up to bed.

  Betsy Foster looked down into the swirling waters of the mill race and pulled her shawl over her head. Her stomach churned with the anticipation of Joseph arriving at any moment, as arranged earlier in the day. He’d promised to lie to his wife about his whereabouts and meet her as the mill clock struck eight, when she had pleaded with him to meet her out of sight of the prying eyes of her neighbours, with her important news. She looked across the yard and spied him striding out across the cobbles, head down and cape wrapped tightly around him for protection from the relentless rain. The phrase and speech she had rehearsed a hundred times flitted around her brain, making her tongue-tied as he stood in front of her, standing a matter of inches in front of her face.

  ‘Well, what’s so important that you have me coming down here on a godforsaken night like this? Don’t tell me you want some money, because you’ll be out of luck on that one.’ Joseph tapped the silver-mounted cane next to his leg and waited for the pale-faced Betsy to reply.

  ‘I don’t want your money, not yet anyway.’ Betsy swallowed hard.

  ‘What do you mean “not yet”?’ Joseph leaned near her, watching as her lips quivered with anticipation.

  ‘I’m pregnant. I’m having your baby,’ she spouted, as if it was a relief to expel the words that she had mouthed all day.

  ‘My baby – I don’t think so! It could belong to half the district, from what I hear. You are nothing but a slut who sleeps with anyone for money, so don’t blame me for your misfortune.’ Joseph walked along the edge of the millpond and turned just before reaching the sluice gate, as Betsy pulled on the edge of his cape.

  ‘You know that’s not true; you know I kept myself just for you. You loved me. You told me so. The baby’s yours, and you know it. All my free time I’ve spent with you, and I’ve never so much looked at another fella.’ Her shawl fell onto her shoulders, and the rain and tears from her eyes mingled as she begged Joseph not to be so cruel.

  ‘Me, love you, when I’ve a wife at home and a baby that is mine on the way. You fantasize, woman. Now let me be, and get home to your hovel.’ Joseph prised her hand from its grasp on his cloak and started to walk away.

  ‘I’ll tell that wife of yours. I’ll tell her everything: how you abused me, how this baby is yours and that you are certainly no gentleman,’ Betsy screamed in desperation above the rush of the storm waters.

  ‘You’ll tell her nothing, nor will you go anywhere near my home. Do you hear?’ Joseph turned quickly on his heels and grabbed her throat. He breathed heavily as he held her tightly against him. ‘You say a word, bitch, and it’ll be the worse for you.’

  ‘I don’t need to say anything. All the mill knows I’m your fancy, and all of Langcliffe Lock cottages. You made sure of that, with all your comings and goings.’ Betsy looked him straight in the eyes as she gasped for breath.

  Joseph let go of her quickly, leaving her shaking on the wet slate path above the gushing millrace. Then, with a mighty strike, he brought down the silver head of his walking stick onto her skull, knocking her senseless and throwing her into the gushing waters of the race. He watched as the swirling waters dragged Betsy’s body down, the current pulling and tugging her towards the sluice gate, where her body floated upwards, her dead eyes looking up at him, accusing him of her fate, with her haunting gaze. Quickly Joseph went to the crank handle driving the cogs that opened the sluice gate letting the excess water down into the flooded River Ribble. He swore as his walking stick slipped from his grasp, falling into the murky depths of the millpond as he quickly turned the crank handle to let Betsy’s body wash down into the mighty roaring river. He watched as the body of his lover disappeared on the foaming waters, hopefully never to be seen again. Or at least not until the river reached the sea or until her body was unrecognizable, battered and broken by the power of the river forces. Quickly he wound the sluice gate closed, straining against the force of the water and swearing with panic at the thought that he might be found at the site of his crime.

  Once the gate was closed he made his way to the mill, unlocking the great door with trembling hands and making his way in the quickening dusk to his office two storeys up. He dared not light the gas lamp in his office, for fear of somebody wondering who was at Ferndale at such an hour. Instead he sat shaking at his desk, taking a bottle of whisky from out of his bottom drawer and pouring an extra-large portion in the crystal hand-cut tumbler that he had bought before hard times hit the mill. He looked around him. This was his empire – his empire of nothing at the moment – and he’d just committed murder. He could be hanged at the gallows. The judges would show no mercy, especially if they were to start delving into the supposed death of his first wife. He gulped his drink back and went to the mill’s safe. He turned the combination lock and lifted the mill workers’ weekly wages out of it. It wasn’t much to escape on, as he counted the few paltry pounds that his employees depended upon, but it was better than losing his life. To hell with it: a new life called. He’d made it on less in the past, and he’d build a new life again elsewhere.

  Joseph looked around Ferndale for the last time and breathed a sigh of relief. What had started out so well had become a burden. Good riddance – he was glad to leave it all behind.

  ‘Yates, Yates, did you hear my husband returning last night?’ Charlotte questioned the butler as he experienced an exceptional bout of coughing in the middle of the hallway. Bert Bannister had just left her in a state of shock, after informing her that Joseph had not been at the mill that morning.

  ‘No, ma’am, I never heard a thing. I’m sorry, ma’am, but if he’d wanted me I wouldn’t have heard. I’m afraid this cold has left me a bit deaf.’ Yates wiped his nose and watched as Charlotte looked at him, flustered.

  ‘Some of the master’s things have gone missing, namely his shaving equipment from our bedroom. And I’ve just looked into his bedroom and his shirts are missing from the wardrobe,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps they are in the laundry, ma’am. Have you asked Mazy?’ Yates felt fuzzy-headed with his cold and didn’t know why his mistress was in such a way this morning.

  ‘That’s not all, Yates. Mr Dawson’s not been at the mill this morning, and his favourite horse is not in the stable.’ Charlotte was nearly in tears, remembering the mood he had been in the previous evening.

  ‘Oh, ma’am, I’m sure there’s an explanation. Perhaps he’s gone to see the Jacksons on business in Long Preston and forgotten to tell you.’ Yates came quickly to his senses and felt sorry for Charlotte, as she held back the tears in front of him. ‘I’ll get Lily to make you a cup of tea and I’ll bring it to you in the morning room.’

  ‘I don’t want tea, I want to know where my husband is. He wouldn’t take his shirts, just to go to Long Preston.’ Charlotte sobbed and made her way into the morning room, sitting down at Joseph’s desk. She ran her hand over the highly polished surface, expecting the top to be locked as usual. To her surprise, when she pulled at the lid, it opened, allowing her to look into the contents of the highly guarded desk. She gasped as it revealed its darkest secrets. Inside, the contents told her everything she feared: the mill was in bother; bank documents confirmed that Joseph had borrowed more than he could repay; and his debts were suffocating him. Charlotte sat with the latest letter in her hand, stating that if they didn’t have at
least some of their lending repaid, the bank would have no option but to foreclose on Joseph’s debt and declare him bankrupt. Her hand shook as she read the stern, no-nonsense letter.

  Yates came in with the tea tray. ‘I’ll ask Jethro to ride to Long Preston, if you want, ma’am, and check if he is at the Jacksons. The lad won’t mind; it’s a grand day for a ride out. You can never make sense of this weather. It was like the middle of winter yesterday and now look at it: as bonny a day as I’ve ever seen.’ He placed the tea tray down in front of Charlotte, watching her shake as she reread the letter in her hand.

  ‘There’s no need, Yates, Mr Dawson won’t be coming back, I know that now.’ Charlotte breathed in deeply.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, I don’t understand?’ The butler looked puzzled.

  ‘He’s left, Yates. Leaving us all in a right state of affairs. It seems all was not as it seemed. You might as well know that Mr Dawson is in trouble with the bank.’ Charlotte gazed out of the window and watched as the sun streamed in through it, highlighting the spot where a silver statue once stood on top of the desk.

  ‘Ma’am, what are you going to do? You and the baby?’

  ‘At this moment, Yates, I don’t rightly know. However, perhaps now it is time for me to learn how the mill works and fight to keep it open. I owe it to all those who work there. I’m perhaps in a good enough position to be able to sort his mess out, if he has decided to leave.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘Yates, I’d appreciate it if you kept this quiet, just until I have confirmation that I can somehow cover my husband’s debts.’

  Charlotte was angry with herself for not realizing that she was being conned these past few months. All Joseph had told her about his wealth was lies, belittling her farm and savings. Thank God her solicitor had got the measure of him, holding back on revealing at her father’s funeral her true wealth, to make Joseph think she wasn’t worth much. Wesley Booth had been a very wealthy man and had monies wisely invested, which were now hers to do with as she pleased, unbeknown to the missing Joseph.