For a Father's Pride (22 page)

A tear fell from her eye as she thought of her dead mother, and of her father locked in the newly built lunatic asylum at Lancaster, caged up like an animal. Did he deserve that? Had she driven
him insane? God only knew. She turned, quickly brushing away the tear, and made to open one of the latched shutters, before closing the door behind her. The kitchen filled with light as both
windows let in the grey illumination. Daisy looked around the kitchen. It was tidy; at least her sister kept a clean kitchen. The huge pine table was scrubbed as white as bone, and the oak dresser
was adorned with good willow-patterned china, with the dainty, patterned brass handles of the drawers gleaming in the morning light. The huge lintel of the fireplace was adorned with two
Staffordshire figures and above them hung two rifles.

Daisy turned as she heard what she took to be a dog scratching in its basket under the table. It took her by surprise, as she stood in silence. The blanket under which it lay moved and wriggled
for a minute, and then went silent as the animal went back to sleep. Daisy riddled the dying embers of the previous evening’s fire and added some of the twigs that were stacked at the
fireside, blowing gently to allow the growing flames to catch hold of the bone-dry kindling. Soon the twigs were crackling and the flames dancing, sprite-like, as Daisy added some coal and logs to
the newly lit fire. The warmth brought the room to life and she stood in front of the welcoming heat. It was the first time she had been warm since her journey on the train, and she was going to
give herself a minute or two of pleasure to get warm before preparing the breakfast that her sister was expecting.

She looked over at the dog basket, as the covers moved and a tuft of black hair appeared over the side. It was no dog – dogs didn’t have that length of hair, nor did they have ankles
and feet. Granted they were filthy, but they definitely belonged to a child. Daisy was horrified. It was a child asleep underneath the kitchen table, not a dog! She dropped her skirts to her
ankles, her legs now nice and warm, as she moved towards the stirring bundle. She bent down slowly and pulled the filthy cover back from around the child’s head. A pair of bright-blue eyes
looked back at her from under a mop of jet-black hair, and the child flinched as Daisy stroked its hair. Whether it was a boy or girl Daisy could not tell; the only thing she did know was that the
child was terrified.

She spoke softly. ‘I’ll not hurt you, little one. What are you doing here? Have you no home?’ Thoughts of her lost baby filled Daisy’s head, and her mothering instincts
took over as she looked at the waif.

The child looked at her, not daring to speak, and flinched as Daisy ran her fingers through its matted hair and around its chin, whimpering in fear of being chastised.

‘Shush, little one, I’ll not hurt you. Come and sit by the fire and get warm. You must be cold, for there isn’t much warmth in that old blanket.’ Daisy shook her head.
How could her sister treat a child like this? It wasn’t Kitty’s, she knew that. Kitty had said in her letter that they were childless, and had complained that God had not had the grace
to make her a mother. So why was the child being treated like a dog, and to whom did it belong?

The child shook its head and Daisy held out her hand, coaxing it to come out of the crate that was obviously where it slept. ‘I’ll go and fill the kettle and, while I’m not
looking, you go and sit in that chair and warm your toes.’ She smiled and walked over for the kettle that was hanging over the open fire. She pretended not to watch as she filled it from the
kitchen pump and the child made a dash to the fireside. It was a boy. He looked about four, or five at the most, and was almost skeletal. He had only the flimsiest of rags covering his bones. Daisy
smiled as she hung the kettle back over the flames to boil. The child didn’t look up and Daisy didn’t say anything. She just hummed a tune as she went into the pantry to see what could
be made for breakfast. She returned with a full milk jug and an earthenware jar filled with oats.

‘Would you like some milk and then some porridge, when I’ve made it?’

The boy shook his head, but she could tell there was hunger in his eyes, and she took no notice as she poured him a cup full of milk and pressed it into his small hands.

‘Drink – it’ll do you good.’ Daisy watched as the little boy lifted the mug to his lips and, without saying a word, drank the milk as if he’d never before been
given anything like it in his life. ‘There, you see, that will do you good. And later I’ll give you some porridge. Now what’s your name, little one, and where do you come
from?’

‘His name is Tobias, but we all know him as “Bastard”, and that is what you will call him.’ Clifford Middleton stood in the doorway to the hall, watching Daisy with the
child. ‘You’ll not feed him, or keep him warm, or mollycoddle him, while I am around. I cannot abide the sight of the child.’

Tobias ran as fast as quicksilver to his hiding place below the blanket under the table. His eyes pleaded at Daisy to keep quiet and not to make trouble, as he did so.

‘That’s it, Bastard, know your place,’ Clifford boomed at the scared child as he walked over to Daisy. ‘So, you’ve had to come running back to your sister for help.
Well, you can thank me for giving you a roof over your head. If you are to stop here, you’ve to pay your way, so you can forget some of the extravagant town ways that you’ll have got
used to.’

‘I thank you for letting me stay with my sister, Clifford, and I hope to pull my weight while I am a guest at your house.’ Daisy was not going to be belittled by the raging Clifford,
and she’d start as she meant to go on.

Clifford stared at her. ‘And I’ve not forgotten our transgression, the day before I married Kitty. I want it never to be mentioned. Kitty has never known about it and there is no
reason for her to know now. Nothing became of our bonding, do you understand? The child was born dead, and that was an end to it. I have no feelings for you now, and never will have, so you need
not worry that I’ll be diverting my attentions your way.’ He stood firm, holding the back of the Windsor chair in which the child had sat, while he waited for a response.

‘I have no cause to come between you and my sister. And, as you say, the child we made between us was born dead, so we have no ties. All it brought was grief and pain, so I am happy to
move on. There is no need to mention it again.’ Daisy felt her legs go weak. She was no longer the besotted teenager, but she was still aware of her brother-in-law’s temper. But she
would stand her ground; he’d no longer use her and treat her like dirt.

‘Now that I’ve made that clear, make me a drink of tea. My mouth is parched and my head feels like a sledgehammer has hit it.’ Clifford sat in the chair next to the fire.

Daisy dared to look at him while she carried the singing kettle from the fire. He had aged; his dark hair was showing tinges of grey at his temples, but his high cheekbones still made him a
handsome man. The women of the district must still consider him a catch – that was, until they visited Grouse Hall and saw the conditions in which he really lived.

‘Damn these boots! Come here, woman, and pull them on for me. My fingers have rheumatics, and I have no feeling in them in this cold weather.’ Clifford cursed as the leather riding
boot fell to the floor.

Daisy placed his cup of tea down by the side of the fire and bent down beside Clifford, her eyes avoiding his. She pulled up his holey socks and pushed his boots onto his feet. He pressed hard
onto her thighs, nearly bringing tears to her eyes as he pushed them into the boots. She raised her eyes to his and could see that he was enjoying giving her pain.

‘Just where I like my women – grovelling on the ground for me,’ he sniggered.

‘I’m sure you could have pulled them on yourself.’ Daisy rose from her knees and pulled her skirt into place.

‘Didn’t you enjoy helping me, Daisy? Not to worry. Tomorrow I’ll get Bastard to help me. He never complains.’ Clifford took a gulp of his tea and stood up. He already
knew that Daisy would protect the brat and was taking delight in making her worry for his safety. ‘Tell that lazy wife of mine I’ve some business to attend to, and that she’ll
have to milk the cow. I’ll be back later in the day. I’m sure you will both have plenty to talk about.’ Clifford grinned.

Daisy noticed the laughter lines around his mouth and the glint in his eye, which she had once admired. Now she noticed how cruel he looked. How could she have fallen for such a shallow,
bullying man she didn’t know. Nothing meant anything to him.

Clifford grabbed a piece of stale bread from the dairy, put his cloak on from behind the door and stepped out into the white countryside. The sound of his horse neighing could be heard as he
shouted at it to make speed, despite the covering of snow. Daisy slumped into the chair next to the fire. Why had she returned to this hellhole and this devil of a man? She put her head in her
hands and despaired.

‘Don’t worry, miss, he’s always like that in the morning.’ Tobias had crept out from his hiding place and was tapping Daisy on the shoulder. ‘You get used to him. I
just keep out of his way.’

Daisy raised her head and looked at the little boy who was more concerned for her than for himself, and she smiled at him. ‘Come here. Has anybody given you one of these?’ She threw
her arms around the little waif and squeezed him tight. How he had survived at Grouse Hall, she didn’t know. But from now onwards she would try and protect him.

‘I don’t know, miss. I can’t remember being squeezed like you’re doing.’

‘Well, Tobias, as long as I’m here I’ll give you one of these every morning, along with some breakfast, before anyone else is awake. Is that all right? But you keep it our
secret, mind!’

‘I will, I think, like a squeeze every day.’

Daisy ruffled his filthy hair and stirred the porridge that she had placed over the fire. ‘Well, seeing as His Nibs has gone without any breakfast in him, you’d better have some
porridge in that stomach of yours.’ Daisy spooned a dishful of porridge out for Tobias and watched him eat it, after she’d added sugar and cold milk to cool it. She’d left Freddie
behind in Leeds, but now she had gained Tobias. Tobias was going to be her reason to stay at Grouse Hall; she could not abide a child being ill-treated.

‘This porridge should be half milk, half water, and there’s too much salt in it.’ Kitty sat across from her sister, scraping her earthenware bowl clean of the
porridge she had just eaten two helpings of. ‘And the fires are too high. Are you trying to keep the entire dale warm?’

Daisy looked across at her complaining sister. In the cold light of day she could now see what four years of marriage to Clifford had done to her. The blushing bride had turned into a wrinkled,
grey woman who did nothing but complain. The tables had turned; Daisy was now the one with the bloom in her cheeks and a shine in her hair. Even after her recent illness she looked healthier than
her sister.

‘Whatever you say, Kitty. I’ll make it with less milk tomorrow. Wasn’t it nice getting up to a warm kitchen? Didn’t it remind you of when we were little and used to sneak
down to the warmth of the bakery and be treated to the first two buns of our dad’s batch?’

‘I don’t remember anything like that. I only remember being clouted around the ear for getting in the way. You were always the favourite – the one our father favoured.’
Kitty scowled at her sister. ‘You could never do anything wrong. That’s why my mother died of a broken heart when you left.’

‘Don’t be stupid – it was you they favoured; you they thought the world of. They even fixed you up with Clifford to make sure you had a secure future. I’ve never seen my
parents happier than on the day you walked down the aisle with him on your arm.’ Daisy couldn’t believe her ears. Kitty jealous of her – it was ridiculous, if only her sister knew
what she’d been through. Her mother had died of smallpox, not a broken heart, and even though Martha had treated her badly, the thought of her being so ill had tugged on Daisy’s heart
strings, especially knowing that she had not been there to help her. She realized that she had grown up a lot since those days locked in her own bedroom, and that hating her mother and father was
wrong. Now she knew how heartbroken they had been over her pregnancy. Her mother had been a good woman – always fair, always there to kiss her better – and Daisy should have been there
to tell her how much she loved her, when she was dying.

‘Fixed me up with Clifford! He raped me on our wedding night – there was no love shown at all, that night and every night for a month, and after. He was desperate for a son to show
to his father before he died. And then, when I didn’t deliver, he slept with every woman in the dale. I was ashamed of myself; I couldn’t hold my head up anywhere we went, because I
knew everyone was talking about us.’

‘Oh, Kitty, I thought you were happy, that you’d got your man and the home you’d always wanted.’

‘What I wanted! What I wanted was to do what you did: leave the dale and make a life for myself, not be pawned off in a deal between families.’ Kitty slammed her spoon down, her eyes
filling with tears. ‘Then the final insult came when, one night, he brought Tobias home – or “Bastard” as he calls him now. He tried to tell me that he’d found him
nearly dead in a ditch, but I knew it was the baby of one of his whores. He thought he would be bringing me comfort. The only comfort I got was when the child was asleep and I prayed for the Lord
to take him, instead of me having to see his face every day.’ Kitty sobbed, her face reddening and her chest heaving. She’d shut up her feelings for years, with no one to talk to, and
now they were rushing out like pent-up demons.

‘Shush, Kitty, think of the child. He shouldn’t be hearing such talk. It’s a wicked thing you say. He is innocent in all this – it’s his parents who are to
blame.’ Daisy reached out for her sister’s hand and squeezed it tight.

‘Oh! He’s heard worse – things a child’s eyes and ears should never see or hear. Clifford has made sure of that. He takes delight in abusing the child; you see how he
sleeps, like a dog under the table, fed only on leftovers. He’d have been better off dead years ago, but he is a determined soul, I give him that,’ Kitty sobbed.