Daisy’s Betrayal. Nancy Carson

Amelia somebody or other.

      Lawson handed Daisy into the carriage and they were driven away.

      ‘I’ve got a confession, Lawson,’ she said, as she arranged the folds of her skirt.

      He looked at her ominously, not knowing what to expect. ‘Oh? What’s that, my darling?’

      ‘I’ve never been on a train before. Will it be crowded?’

      He smiled, relieved it was something so trivial. ‘I doubt it. Not in first class anyway.’

      ‘How long will the journey take?’

      ‘We should be in London by about eight.’

      ‘So soon?’

      ‘I know. The wonder of modern railways. We’ll be in time to take dinner in the hotel.’

      Was this really happening to her? How could she have been so fortunate? What great goodness had she performed in her life that she was being rewarded thus?

      In Castle Hill she stared out through the weak afternoon sunshine at the passing traffic. A troupe of bare-footed urchins squatting at the gate of the Castle Grounds seemed incongruous next to the pristine white statue of the Earl of Dudley erected only the previous year. A steam tram huffed asthmatically up the hill from the opposite direction. Old women wearing black shawls carried baskets as they trudged towards the market place. Daisy glanced at Lawson, at his magnificently handsome face beneath his expensive, shiny top hat, and again she could not believe her good fortune. Less than four months ago they were strangers. They had met with polite words, given each other polite attention and admiring glances. He had not guessed then that she was merely a servant. As their affair blossomed and she nervously received his first kisses, she could never have guessed he would choose her to be his wife. She would endow him with all the love and affection it was possible for one person to give another. He deserved it. It was his due. He never so much as looked at another woman in her company. Never had she met anybody so focused on her, so generous, so affable, so pleasant to be with. And she had yet to experience the ultimate expression of love between a man and a woman. But it would not be that night, nor the next, nor, she suspected, the one after that.

      She took his hand. ‘Lawson, I have another confession …’ She smiled into his eyes apologetically.

      ‘What this time?’ he asked.

      ‘I’ve started my … you know … My monthly visitor arrived. On Wednesday.’

      ‘Hang me!’ he said, piqued. ‘I think the gods are conspiring against us. Ah, well, there’s nothing to be done. We’ll just have to wait.’ He squeezed her hand affectionately and she didn’t feel so badly about it.

      ‘You don’t mind?’

      ‘It’s not a question of minding.’

      ‘I wouldn’t have wished it for the world, Lawson, not on our wedding night, but what’s a girl to do to stop it?’

      He laughed at the irony of her words. ‘What some girls wouldn’t do to start it …’

      ‘But we shall most likely be at Bath before we can …’

      He patted her hand. ‘Then roll on Bath, eh?’

      They reached Paddington Station as it was getting dark. In the noise and bustle a porter close by was lighting gas lamps while another took their baggage to a line of hansoms. Daisy tripped along behind, astounded by the number of private carriages and horse-drawn buses that screamed advertisements from every side. The roads seemed jammed full of them and everywhere the street noise was unbelievable. More than four million souls inhabited that vast city, and it showed.

      They reached their hotel. Once she had unpacked, Daisy suggested that they have dinner, then take a walk in London’s bright gas-lit streets. In the comfortable dining room they sat at a table next to a young man and two elderly ladies, one silked, one velveted. The young man, she noticed, kept looking at her through rimless spectacles and made her feel uncomfortable. She felt the urge to do what she would have done in her early years – bob her tongue at him – but she could not behave thus now she was a lady. So she listened and spoke more attentively to Lawson, and held his hand across the table to confound the young man.

      Lawson ordered a bottle of champagne and a bottle of red burgundy. She had tasted champagne before at Baxter House and told him so.

      ‘And did you like it?’ he asked, humouring her.

      ‘Once I got used to the bubbles tickling my nose.’

      Talk of Baxter House set them conversing during their meal about the people that Lawson knew who had visited the house.

      ‘What happened to Fanny?’ Daisy asked. ‘Did she and Robert not hit it off?’

      ‘Fanny? Oh, I think he still sees Fanny from time to time,’ he answered dismissively.

      ‘He plays the field, doesn’t he?’

      ‘Robert? No more nor less than any other single man in his position. His father is pressing him to wed, but he doesn’t admire the girl his father would have him marry.’

      ‘Oh? Who is she?’

      ‘Some mine-owner’s daughter.’

      ‘Wealthy, I presume.’

      ‘Why else would he want them to marry?’

      ‘And Jack?’

      ‘Jack will now be running the family firm. I daresay he’ll need a good woman to anchor him down.’

      Time passed quickly. Before they knew it they had finished their meal and the bottle of wine and the bottle of champagne were both empty.

      ‘I know I suggested we go for a walk,’ Daisy said, ‘but I’m so tired. Shall we go up?’

      ‘You go on up, my love,’ he answered. ‘I think I’ll go to the saloon and have a whisky … and maybe a cigar as well. Even a game of billiards, if I can find somebody to play against. Do you mind?’

      ‘No, course not.’ She truly did not mind. It was considerate of him. It meant she would be able to undress without that first embarrassment and awkwardness she was sure to feel if he was there to watch. She could be in bed, covered up in her nightgown by the time he came up. Possibly asleep. There would be no deflowering anyway. Not tonight.

      ‘I’ll see you later. I’ll try not to wake you if you’re asleep.’

      She stood up but hesitated to go. ‘I’m so sorry, Lawson … To be such a disappointment on your wedding night.’

      He smiled tolerantly. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he whispered. ‘I can wait.’

      Reassured, she went up to their room and he headed for the saloon. He ordered himself a whisky, bought a cigar and meandered into the billiards room. There was no other soul in there. He set up the three balls and cued a few casual shots, potting the red, then making a couple of cannons but, uninterested in playing alone, he returned to the saloon. He sat down and contemplated events. The significance of what he had done that day in marrying Daisy was only then beginning to dawn on him. This delightful, innocent young woman depended on him. She trusted him. Like any gem, she was beautiful; the most beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on. Not that her beauty overawed him. It did not. He could handle it. Certainly he would be the envy of all his friends with a wife so lovely and so delightful. But it was not just in outward beauty that she outshone everybody else. She was blessed with a serenity that most other women lacked.

      But did he love her?

      Whether or no, she was a prize worth the having. He admired and desired her. But love? Love, surely, tended to be associated with need. The greater your need for somebody, the more you seemed to love them. Much depended on what your need was. If you needed somebody to cook and sew you could hire a maid, of course. If you needed somebody just to fornicate with, you could hire a prostitute and have a different one every night of the week so long