Daisy’s Betrayal. Nancy Carson

woman, somebody you could wear like a glittering piece of jewellery, was hugely effective in gaining the attention and respect of others. And the more beautiful the woman – the more desirable – the higher your peers would esteem you. Was not that the way of the world? Did it not come down to personal vanity or personal well-being in the long run? Did not vanity and well-being fuel need, and thus our self-regard, which we pretend is our love for somebody else?

      But a woman’s needs … They were subtly different to a man’s. A woman needed security, somewhere comfortable and safe to raise her brood. When she met a man who declared his love – which was the irresistible hook that caught any and every woman – would she not surrender herself to him and trade her sexuality to acquire his security and protection? Then, would she not justify her submission by convincing herself that she loved him?

      Love. Need. Vanity. Sex. Marriage … Children.

      Children … Ugh!

      The prospect of children horrified him. The thought of witnessing the physical beauty of his wife marred by the disfiguring ugliness of pregnancy was abhorrent. But he would see how it went, this marriage lark – without children. In the long term he had no doubt it would not change him. He was a realist if nothing else. In bed, in the dark, one woman was much like another. Poking the same fire, night in night out, tended to become a chore, whoever’s grate it was and however beautifully constructed. And if it was his own grate … Well, he was going to be master in his own house; he could pick and choose if and when he would poke his own fire and liven the flames that burned in it. But tonight, he would honour his bride with his presence, if only a passive, admiring presence.

      He stubbed out his cigar and drained his glass. He stood up and walked out of the saloon and headed towards the stairs. At the front door, two young women, flightily dressed and flaunting smooth, rounded bosoms, bantered with each other in their strange cockney accents and giggled. One of them saw him through the glass and she nudged her friend. With big eyes, she beckoned Lawson to come to them. Prostitutes. He never went with prostitutes. Why take the risk of catching something incurable? Nonetheless, it was tempting. They were young. They might be clean.

      He smiled at their vivacity and, with a great effort of will, turned his back and walked upstairs.

       Chapter 7

      Lawson had not seen Daisy with her hair down before and he looked at her for some seconds as she brushed it, savouring the sight. He unfastened his cuffs, took off his necktie and removed his collar.

      ‘Tomorrow we’ll hire a hansom and have a look at the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll have a bite to eat and go to the Tower of London and see how they’re getting on with that Tower Bridge they’re building.’

      ‘I wouldn’t mind spending a whole day in the National Gallery,’ she answered as she got up from her stool. ‘You know how I enjoy nice paintings.’

      ‘We’ll go there on Monday. On Sunday afternoon we’ll go to tea at Buckingham Palace, eh? I bet her blessed Majesty Queen Victoria would be keen enough to hang the kettle over the fire, lay her best chenille cloth over the table and bring out her home-made fruit cake.’

      Daisy laughed happily as she pulled back the bedclothes and slid between the sheets. She looked at him and sighed. ‘Oh, I love you so much, Lawson …’

      He sat beside her on the bed and put his arm around her. He kissed her on the cheek affectionately. ‘I love you as well, Daisy. With all my heart. Now get some sleep.’

      ‘But I want to feel the warmth of your body next to mine,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks.’

      He shook his head and chuckled. ‘I want to feel your body next to mine, my love. I want nothing more. But I’m not about to get myself worked up into a lather if I can’t have you because of your … your circumstance. If I take my beauty sleep instead and appear to ignore you, you won’t be offended, will you?’

      ‘Oh, Lawson, I’m so sorry about tonight …’

      Paddington Station was overtly grand and pungently aromatic, as well as being excessively noisy with the hideous roar of steam locomotives and their ear-splitting whistles. Porters and guards hurried to and fro, opening carriage doors, stowing luggage and giving other unmistakable signs that the departure of the 9.45 to Bristol was approaching. A footplateman was leaning out of his cab, routinely watching, waiting for the signal to depart. Lawson hurriedly gave a silver threepenny bit to the porter who was leaving them, having stashed their luggage inside their first-class carriage just in time. A whistle blew and the great blast of steam from the locomotive’s funnel was like Krakatoa erupting.

      ‘We only just made it,’ Daisy said, feeling the first forward movement of the train as she got her breath back.

      ‘Well, you were in no rush to get up and have breakfast.’

      She chuckled. ‘I’m on honeymoon.’

      ‘The honeymoon begins at Bath,’ he proclaimed. ‘In earnest.’

      She smiled and nodded acquiescently, then looked out of the window at the dismal hulk of a gasometer and the lines of drab houses along the Paddington Canal.

      ‘How long is this journey likely to take, Lawson?’

      ‘About two and a half hours. Sit back and enjoy the scenery.’

      In no time they had travelled through the pleasant suburbs of New Kensington and Notting Hill, through fields verdant in their new spring greenery, and had reached Ealing Station. Daisy sat with her head against the soft squab of the headrest as they crossed over the Thames at Maidenhead. They traversed some spectacular countryside adorned with villages, farmsteads and quaint church towers that peeped over the tops of trees like lookouts. The river appeared again as soon as they pulled out of Reading Station. Daisy was fascinated by the ever-changing vista of a countryside she had never expected to see.

      At Pangbourne an elderly gentlemen entered their compartment. A profusion of untrimmed hairs sprouted from his nose and ears. He raised his hat to Daisy and offered a polite good morning to Lawson, then settled down to read his newspaper. His presence inhibited their intimate discussion of the treats she could expect in Bath but not her affectionate smiles that flashed across the compartment from time to time. Lawson tried to strike up a conversation with the man, but he was more interested in his newspaper. However, they did glean from him that the train would stop at Swindon long enough to visit the refreshment rooms.

      The first-class side of the refreshment room was exquisite, elaborately decorated in arabesques and supported by columns painted to imitate inlaid woods. The mirrors, the hangings and the furniture would have done justice to the dining rooms of nobility. Daisy sat at a table while Lawson went to the counter and was rapidly served by an obliging young woman. He bought a selection of sandwiches, two Banbury cakes, a pot of tea and a pint of pale ale. Soon they were back in their compartment and on their way.

      Daisy knew they had arrived at Bath when the train slowed down as it emerged from a deep, beautifully landscaped cutting. The line of carriages, like a regal procession, sedately crossed a castellated viaduct built in yellow stone high above the River Avon. Daisy beheld a striking panorama of the city, a profusion of golden buildings bathed in spring sunshine, like some new Jerusalem, she thought, spreading up the surrounding hills. She enthusiastically nudged Lawson.

      ‘Oh, look at the view.’

      Lawson smiled indulgently and patted her hand.

      ‘Oh, please can we take a walk, Lawson? I’m dying to see the shops.’

      ‘As soon as we can. But first things first. We’ll have to find a hansom to take us to our hotel.’

      They alighted from the carriage, a porter took their baggage, and they headed for the row of hansom cabs already lined up outside in Dorchester Street.