Daisy’s Betrayal. Nancy Carson

for this moment. She could have told him about going to the Union Workhouse, visiting her mother and sick father. She could have told him how poor Martha the cook had scalded herself when she spilled boiling water on Friday, or how her sister Sarah had crowed all week about how wonderfully handsome he was. She could have told him about the problem they’d had at Baxter House with a young maid who had been employed on her recommendation last November, who was connected with a burglary they’d had on Thursday. Nothing much had been taken but that which had required knowledge of the house and that knowledge had come from within. The maid admitted she had given information to her beau, a young man already known to the police. But Daisy told Lawson none of this, of course.

      ‘What about you?’ she asked brightly. ‘Been working hard?’

      ‘Working?’ he said, as if it were a dirty word. ‘I don’t work. At least, not in the sense that I own a factory or a farm that needs running. I purport to be a gentleman, Daisy. I keep busy. I do business. I let others work.’

      She smiled, too reticent to ask more.

      Lawson turned to look at a young man and woman who were walking in their direction. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. So he’s stepping out with her.’

      ‘Should I know them?’

      ‘I sincerely hope not,’ he replied.

      He offered no explanation as to who the two people were but flicked the reins and the horse broke into a trot. She could hear the dabs of slurry flung from the horse’s hooves hitting the underside of the running board.

      ‘Has anybody ever told you that you have the most beautiful, kissable mouth?’

      ‘No,’ she answered coyly and smiled. She was aware of seeming to be forever smiling when she was with Lawson.

      ‘Honest? I’m surprised. You have, you know.’

      ‘I’ve never thought about it,’ she responded.

      ‘So what would you consider your best feature?’

      She shrugged and giggled with girlish embarrassment. ‘I don’t know. I’m not even sure it’s fair to ask a young lady that.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Well, whatever I answer, you could say I was being conceited. I don’t think I’m conceited.’

      He laughed at that, not mockingly, but genuinely pleased. ‘I applaud that answer, Daisy. You’re a smart girl.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘I’m serious. I do admire intelligence in a woman.’

      They turned into a road called Southall’s Lane, a ramshackle street of old red-brick buildings. Daisy anticipated that they might drive past the Spencers’ house in Wellington Road. She wondered what the Spencers would make of her if they saw her beside this handsome man in his smart cabriolet. She was sorry they would be avoiding the Spencers when they turned left again into Stafford Street.

      ‘We’re here,’ Lawson said as he headed the horse into another narrow lane called Albert Street. On the left was a terrace of small houses, not very old. ‘Wait in the buggy. I won’t be long.’

      Daisy nodded and smiled and settled herself in the seat. She adjusted her scarf to benefit from the warmth and waited. So he owned a house here. A man of property. How many others did he have? As she waited, two boys ambled past, scruffy, dirty. They kept turning to look at her, making Lord knows what comments and giggling.

      Lawson was about five minutes.

      When he returned there was a look of thunder on his face. ‘All I could get out of the swine was a sovereign, so he still owes me nineteen shillings. But I’ll be back next week. And he knows he’d better have the money by then or he’ll be evicted.’

      He jumped agitatedly into the cabriolet and flicked the reins.

      ‘But what if he can’t afford to pay?’ Daisy suggested, reminded of the plight of her own mother and father sometimes. ‘What if the poor man, whoever he is, has been off work sick, and earned no money?’

      ‘He’s not been off work, he’s not sick. He’s an inveterate gambler though. I know that for a fact. If he didn’t waste his money betting on horses and dogs he might have some money left to pay his rent. I don’t see why I should subsidise his gambling.’

      ‘I see,’ Daisy conceded, unwilling to defend the tenant more for fear of alienating Lawson.

      They drove forward no further than twenty-five yards and stopped again.

      ‘Now for that Molly Kettle.’ He jumped down again. ‘She owes more than is good for her. This one’s a sot – spends it all on gin. D’you think I should subsidise her drinking?’ he asked.

      ‘No, course not,’ she answered, unable to dispute his logic.

      ‘I shan’t be a minute.’

      Daisy made up her mind to ask him whether he owned all the houses in the terrace, even though it was none of her business. But if he was putting on this show of ownership to impress her, she presumed he would not mind her asking.

      Then a young girl of about thirteen casually appeared from the house Lawson was visiting, possibly coming out to inspect her. She was very dainty, with long, dark hair that framed a lovely, angelic face. The girl smiled appealingly but soon went back into the house, clutching herself around the shoulders to ward off the cold. Daisy felt an affinity with her, recalling her own youth before she went into service. The girl reminded her so much of herself at thirteen.

      ‘Who was that young girl?’ Daisy asked when Lawson returned.

      ‘Oh, one of Molly Kettle’s daughters.’

      ‘She’s very pretty.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’

      Daisy said, ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

      ‘Depends what it is?’

      ‘How many houses in this terrace do you own?’

      He laughed. ‘All of them. And more besides.’

      ‘Well, well. Lawson Maddox, the great landlord,’ she commented. ‘Would you describe yourself as a kind and understanding landlord?’

      ‘Would I hell!’ he guffawed. ‘There’s no sentiment in business – and that’s what it is – business.’ Once more he flicked the reins and the horse hauled them away. ‘And these crafty devils will try and fleece you for every last penny … But enough of them. Now I’m going to take you somewhere warm. I bet you’re frozen solid.’

      ‘Yes, please.’ She nodded and shivered at the same time.

      ‘Thanks for being so patient, Daisy … Giddup!’

      The horse broke into a trot once more and they headed back towards the centre of the town. Eventually, they drew up at the fountain in the market place and Lawson let the horse drink before he tethered it. He handed Daisy down and took her arm as he led her towards the Dudley Arms Hotel.

      ‘A drink will warm you,’ he said attentively. ‘And there’ll be a good fire in the saloon.’

      He saw that she was reticent about going in but he smiled to reassure her. She needed little persuading; the thought of a warm fire and a drop of some smooth, warming drink inside her was very appealing.

      ‘What would you like?’ he asked as he sat her at a table close to the fire.

      She remembered that Fanny had asked for port when she arrived at the party. ‘Port, please.’

      Lawson went to the bar and came back with her port and a glass of whisky for himself. He sat beside her and looked into her eyes.

      ‘I’ve been looking forward to this,’ he said in an intimate whisper. ‘Getting you on your own, I mean, and having you all to myself.’