Daisy’s Betrayal. Nancy Carson

summer evenings, on her nights off, they would sit among the limestone ruins of the old St James’s Priory. Once, while Charlie was idly poking the ground with a stick, they found some tiles embedded in the dirt and moss, laid originally by the monks that had built the place centuries ago. The tiles had strange, beautiful patterns on them and must have been five hundred years old or more but, at the time, that meant nothing to her. When she went back years later, those old tiles were still there. Then, she could see how beautiful they were, and could appreciate the time and skill that was required to make them and fire them in those long-gone days.

      Charlie and Daisy courted for about two years. He was always talking about getting married but she knew, even then, that he would never measure up to her notions. When she was eighteen, he asked her seriously to become his wife and she said no – politely, of course. He became resentful at being rejected and told her one day, when he delivered the Spencers’ bread, that he had started seeing somebody else. Daisy was hurt and disappointed but not heartbroken. After that she didn’t bother with boys. Those she met all seemed too silly and only interested in one thing, which she, having been tutored by the Girls’ Friendly Society, was certainly not prepared to give.

      It became manifestly obvious that boys were interested in her by this time. With good reason. She had a shock of dark hair that she wore elegantly pinned up at work and when she went out. When she let it down at bedtime, it cascaded down her back like a silky, shiny mane. She had a lovely round face, with high cheekbones. Her blue eyes were big and bright, slightly slanted, with long lashes that swept her cheek as she fluttered them playfully whenever she chose to flirt with those lads that showed an interest. She had inherited her mother’s slenderness and grace and was exquisitely constructed. Her skin was an appealing pale olive, smooth and utterly flawless. And, in the same way that a fat person knows when she is fat, or an ugly person knows when she is ugly, Daisy knew she was a thoroughly good-looking young woman with as good a figure as she’d ever seen. Furthermore, she always tried to make the best of herself in a proper, demure way.

      Daisy progressed well in the Spencer household. She did every job that was given her, without resentment or complaint and always to the best of her ability. Fire grates had to be cleaned, including a six-foot range in the kitchen that had to be blackleaded. Fires had to be lit, candlesticks and lamp glasses cleaned. All the water-jugs, basins and chamber pots in the house had to be emptied, carefully washed and scalded if necessary. Windows had to be shone. Each week every bedroom had to be cleaned from top to bottom, so there were mattresses to be turned and brushed, pillows shaken and smoothed and, naturally, no dust was allowed to remain under any of the beds. Curtains had to be shaken, brass curtain rods burnished bright, paintwork washed, looking glasses polished and floors buffed. She had to keep a sharp look out for insects and bed bugs, which could enter the house on visitors who had travelled by train or hackney carriage. All hell would be let loose at the discovery of a bed bug.

      About a year after Charlie decided he was wasting his time with Daisy, her father fell ill. It started with gout in his right foot; all that beer, Mary said. Mary accidentally knocked his gouty foot once and he called her all the names under the sun. From that day on, he sat in his armchair with his foot in a wicker clothes basket for protection, with a soft cushion to afford some damping if ever it was knocked again. To top it all, he had an abscess up his backside as well. It did not stop him breaking wind, though. ‘Abscess makes the fart go yonder,’ he remarked on one such turbulent occasion – despite his acute discomfort, he retained his dry Black Country sense of humour. He had about three months off work and then, as he was about to return, his gout and his abscess having retreated, he began complaining about his chest. He was having difficulty breathing and was having night sweats.

      Mary sent for Dr McCaskie and it was evident he was worried about poor Titus. He promised to keep an eye on him, said that he must rest and not go to work. Daisy was desperate to help and handed over all her wages to her mother, arguing that she needed very little herself since she ate heartily and slept at the home of Mr Spencer. Already she had saved up and bought another uniform, and had made a couple of decent frocks besides for going out in. She was earning £12 a year by this time, not a fortune and certainly not enough to keep her family.

      Of course, the Spencers were not so well off that Mrs Spencer had a lady’s maid, so Daisy carried hot water upstairs so they could wash. She worked in the kitchen with the cook and got to know her routine. By the time she was twenty, she was the head maid and earning £15 a year.

      Meanwhile, Titus got no better and had to give up work entirely. He was beginning to lose weight, which he could ill afford to do. Mary applied for parish relief. It was always a struggle to find money for coal, for rent and for food. Daisy tried to borrow money to pay the doctor to treat her father, but realised she had no chance of paying it back, so gave up the idea.

      Sarah, by this time had, left school and found work in service. Unfortunately, the family she worked for were not kind to her and she hated her job. Yet she stuck it out, concerned only that she give money to her mother to help keep them.

      They all struggled through for a couple of years. Dr McCaskie was sent for again and he warned that Titus might be consumptive. Then, Daisy had a spot of good fortune. Again, through somebody she had got to know at church, she was asked if she would be interested in the position of housekeeper at a place called Baxter House on the rural north-western side of Dudley. The house was named after Richard Baxter, a long-departed headmaster at the grammar school, famed for having written the words to the hymn, ‘Ye Holy Angels Bright’. Baxter House was the home of Mr Jeremiah Cookson. Daisy had seen Mr Cookson before, as he was a business friend of Mr Spencer. She had also occasionally spoken to his wife in the course of her duties, as the couple were visitors to the Spencer household. Her wages were to be £60 a year, a goodly amount. Daisy found it impossible to resist when she realised how much easier it would be to help support her mother and father and pay for the doctor and medical treatment. Naturally, she was grateful to accept the position. She could scarcely believe that she was to become a fully-fledged housekeeper at only twenty-two years of age. When she went with trepidation and mounting guilt to see Mrs Spencer to terminate her employment, the lady of the house smiled benignly.

      ‘Oh, don’t worry, Daisy,’ she said. ‘Mr Cookson asked Mr Spencer a while ago for permission to approach you. He and his wife have had their eye on you for some time. They said how much they admire your demeanour and your application to your work.’

      Daisy bobbed a curtsy. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I had no idea you’d talked about me.’

      ‘It’s a grand opportunity for you, Daisy, and you deserve it. Far be it from me to hold you back from finer things. I also understand the difficulties you face with your father unable to work any more. It must be a big worry for your poor mother. This new position means you’ll be of greater help to her too, I imagine.’

      ‘Oh, yes, ma’am. I already hand over all my wages to my mother. I only want for decent shoes and stockings and she gives me money back to buy those as and when.’

      Mrs Spencer smiled sympathetically and touched Daisy’s arm. ‘We shall miss you, my dear. But we shall manage, I daresay. Come and see us whenever you have the time. You will always be welcome.’

      Daisy tried hard to stem the tears that were welling up in her eyes but, rather than let them show, she swiftly thanked Mrs Spencer for her kindness and curtsied again before she turned and walked away. When she was out of sight she pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the tears that, by now, were streaming down her face. She had been happy at the Spencers’ and they had been so kind. She vowed never to forget their kindness.

      On 25th May 1888, a week after her twenty-second birthday, Daisy moved to Baxter House, a fine modern mansion built of red brick. The household was appropriately large too, with many more servants than there were at the Spencers’ more modest dwelling. Baxter House was set back from St James’s Road, close to where it joined Ednam Road, and overlooked green meadows and grazing cattle. No doubt Mr Cookson preferred it to overlooking the dirty, grey, slag-heaped outlook on the other side of the town. He was immensely rich and spent lavishly. It was said that he employed three hundred men at his iron foundry in Dudley, and had recently invested a great deal of money building a railway