Daisy’s Betrayal. Nancy Carson

all right?’ Daisy asked discreetly.

      ‘Fine,’ Sarah said and pressed on with her work conscientiously.

      ‘Good. I’ll go to the kitchen and see if Martha needs any help.’

      It was the excuse she needed to make herself scarce because she did not want Lawson to see her supervising the maids. It would be obvious that she was employed at Baxter House and thus ruin any chance at all she might have with him. So far, her experiment to pass herself off as a lady had brought a very satisfactory result. In the kitchen Martha had brewed a pot of tea although she had already been supping sherry with Gerald the groom-cum-handyman. Gerald called himself a coachman but Daisy knew he wasn’t paid a coachman’s wages, even though he drove Mr Cookson to and from the iron foundry in his brougham. She poured them each a cup and, while they chatted, began putting the puddings on trays, ready to be taken to the dining room.

      After a further quarter of an hour Daisy gave the instruction to take the puddings to the dining room and stayed chatting with Martha and Gerald. He had to remain on duty to convey certain important guests home afterwards. When Daisy returned to the party, Mrs Cookson was the first person she saw.

      ‘Oh, Daisy, it’s all going so well, my dear,’ she said excitedly. ‘Everybody seems to be enjoying themselves so much.’

      Daisy smiled graciously, perceiving it as a compliment. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I agree, your efforts don’t appear to have been in vain.’

      ‘Is everything under control?’

      ‘Oh, yes, ma’am. Everything’s running like clockwork.’

      Mrs Cookson looked Daisy up and down approvingly. ‘Then relax a little and enjoy the party.’

      ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

      She was not sure quite how far Mrs Cookson meant she could go, for the woman was aware Daisy had no escort and no other member of staff was allowed access to roam. Parties that involved staff tended to take place below stairs. But, a nod’s as good as a wink, she thought, and meandered through the guests as if she was one of them.

      Lawson saw her enter and intercepted her. ‘Daisy …’ She smiled warmly at him as he spoke her name. ‘Won’t you join me with Robert and Fanny?’

      ‘Oh.’ She was taken aback at the suggestion. Mr Robert was sure to blow her cover, especially since he had already scorned her. And Miss Fanny Lampitt was hardly likely to welcome her as a sister-in-arms when she’d been dancing closely with the man she so obviously adored, despite Lawson’s denial. ‘Do you mind if I don’t?’ Daisy asked. ‘I would rather not be in the company of Robert.’

      He glanced over his shoulder at his two companions, and shrugged. ‘All right by me. I reckon they can keep each other entertained, don’t you? Shall we dance together a while?’

      She smiled, lowering her lids. ‘If you think they won’t mind you abandoning them.’

      His eyes sparkled with the reflection of the gas lights that shone so brightly. ‘I would ask you to accompany me outside to take a walk, but I suspect the weather would incline you to decline that offer as well.’

      She would have gone out into the cold night gladly, just to be alone with him, but the prospect of fetching her hat and coat from her room and sneaking out of the house without permission presented too many potential pitfalls.

      ‘So let’s dance,’ she said, tilting her head girlishly, and allowed herself to be led onto the floor again.

      She was in his arms once more. They were laughing and he made her feel as if she were the most important, most desirable girl in the world. She forgot about Fanny, she forgot about Mr Robert; whether he and Fanny were dancing together she did not know and cared even less. She was entirely focused on Lawson. He was so amusing and direct. She hung on his every word, laughed at his every quip, and began to feel possessive, even so soon after they had met.

      ‘I’d love to see you alone sometime,’ he said and, all of a sudden, her legs felt wobbly and she feared she would lose control of them. ‘Is there any chance of that?’

      Was there any chance! ‘That would be lovely.’ She rapidly considered the options. ‘I would be free next Sunday afternoon.’

      ‘But Daisy! Must I wait so long?’ He looked sullen with disappointment. ‘I don’t know if I can stand it.’

      ‘I’m not free before then.’

      ‘How elusive you are! Are you in such demand? Ah, well. They say good things are worth waiting for. I’ll collect you Sunday then, in my cabriolet. You must give me your address.’

      She smiled agreeably. ‘So how long have you known Fanny?’ Daisy was perceiving her more as a great rival with every minute that passed.

      ‘A year, maybe longer.’

      ‘How did you meet?’

      ‘We were introduced.’

      ‘But she can’t be any more than nineteen,’ Daisy suggested.

      ‘Eighteen, if you want to be precise.’

      ‘So she was seventeen when you met her?’

      ‘Yes, I suppose she might have been. Possibly even sixteen. I forget.’

      ‘Where did you meet her?’

      ‘At a Band of Hope temperance meeting.’

      She looked at him with disbelief. ‘Honestly?’ She saw humour dancing in his eyes. ‘You’re mocking me. I’ve seen you drinking … and her.’

      ‘Well, I’ve already told you we’re not romantically linked, but you persist in asking questions as if we are.’

      ‘You might not be romantically linked,’ Daisy replied, aware that her jealousy was surfacing, ‘but she is.’

      ‘So you said before. Well, if she’s got such preoccupations, that’s her concern.’

      She was happy to hear it. It confirmed that Fanny had no prior claim on him.

      All too soon their dancing was interrupted. The New Year was about to be greeted and everybody was expected to link hands and sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’. They lost each other in the mêlée while everybody was hugging the person closest to them, shaking hands and giving their sincere best wishes for a happy and prosperous 1889. Daisy decided she must go and check on the soup that would already be heating up in the kitchen to be served later … until she realised in a blind panic that she had not finalised the arrangement to meet Lawson. She spotted him, shoved through the noisy crowd of revellers and tapped him on the shoulder.

      ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’

      ‘You’re leaving already?’

      ‘I have to. Do you still want to meet me on Sunday?’ Maybe she was being forward, but she was desperate not to let him go now she had found him.

      ‘I’ll call for you. Just tell me your address.’

      ‘It would be better if I met you somewhere … You know …’ She wanted him to think it might be embarrassing with her family, or even frowned on to be seen going out without a chaperone. ‘Can we meet outside the police station?’

      ‘All right. Shall we say three o’clock?’

      ‘Three o’clock, Sunday.’ She turned and made her way to the kitchen, extraordinarily pleased with herself.

      By the time they had cleared up after the party it was nearly four o’clock in the morning, but it had been a huge success for the Cooksons and a personal triumph for Daisy. She had met the man of her dreams and was euphoric. She couldn’t sleep, of course she couldn’t. She lay awake for what remained of that cold night thinking about him, going over and over in her mind every word they had spoken to each other. After she’d bid him goodnight she made it her business not to be seen again, staying in the