For a Father's Pride (4 page)

‘What’s wrong, Mam? Why is it not crying, Mam – tell me, is it dead?’ Daisy pleaded. She was exhausted and fretful for her baby. She hadn’t wanted it, in fact
she’d wished it dead over the months, but now she felt responsible for the child that she had brought into the world.

‘I’m sorry, Daisy. Happen it’s for the best – he’d only have brought shame to us.’

‘It’s a boy! I’ve had a little boy, let me look.’ Daisy tried to sit up, but cried out in pain.

‘Lie still. You’ve to lose your afterbirth yet, and it’s best you don’t see him.’ Martha picked up the baby in the blanket and began to leave the room.
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Don’t leave me, Mam, don’t leave me!’ She was exhausted, and heartbroken at her loss.

‘I’ll be back. You’ll want a change of clothes and a wash-down, when you’ve lost all.’ Martha walked out through the door with the bundle under her arm. She cradled
the stillborn baby in her arms, tears falling as she made her way down the stairs to the kitchen. Poor baby – he had done nothing wrong; he just hadn’t been wanted. She placed him next
to the sink and unwrapped the blanket slowly. The child was still warm; he was a good size, with a tuft of black hair, bless him. At least she could wash him before burying him in the orchard, in
an unmarked grave, unbeknown to anyone other than herself and Tom.

She filled the sink with warm water and picked the baby up, gently placing him in the water and washing him gently. Did he move? Had she imagined it? No, there it was again. His arm moved and
his mouth began to make movements, his little eyes screwed up, wrinkling at the warmth of the water. He was alive! He made a silent cry and opened his dark eyes, staring at the woman who had nearly
buried him.

‘By God, man, if tha doesn’t make this right, I’ll ruin you. I’ll tell every dealer – every farmer for miles around – what an underhand
bastard you are! Your reputation will be ruined.’ Tom Fraser held Clifford Middleton by the throat, at the side of Grouse Hall.

Clifford grinned at the old man, whom he was finding surprisingly strong for his age. ‘You can’t hurt me. She was asking for it, your precious Daisy, not like her useless sister
– Kitty’s never going to give me an heir; useless in bed, she is. Tell whoever you want. Money talks, and it won’t be long before all this farm is mine, and then I’m
off.’ Clifford grinned at the angry old man.

Tom Fraser lifted his free hand and made a fist, ready to come down hard onto the grinning face, but stopping inches from his nose. ‘You’ve no scruples, have you, you bastard? By
God, I should make you greet your maker. But I can’t, for you’re my daughter’s husband, and father to the baby that will soon be in the world. You want an heir? Well, you’ve
got one. When that baby is born, you’ll take it into your house and bring it up as your own. You’ll not tell Kitty where it’s come from – you can have found it, or taken
pity on a penniless woman in need. But if you ever tell her the truth while your father’s alive, I’ll get his solicitor to witness what I tell him; and by God, if that baby lives,
he’ll make it the rightful heir of Grouse Hall. Everyone knows there’s no love lost between you both. In fact, to keep your father’s life safe, I’ll see my solicitor in the
morning and tell him of our conversation tonight.’ Tom watched as the grin disappeared from the cocky Clifford.

‘You bastard, let me go.’ Clifford gripped Tom’s arm and wrenched it off him. ‘I don’t want to keep the runt. You wouldn’t dare say a word to my
father.’

‘Try me!’ Tom walked away from Clifford’s side and made steps towards the garden gate.

‘Wait, you old bastard! Send word when the runt’s born, and I’ll take it in.’ Clifford thought quickly of all the debts he was amassing in the Dales. He couldn’t
live without his father’s inheritance.

‘Right, I’ll send word. It’ll not be bloody long now, by the looks of her, so you’d better get ready. Tell our Kitty I’ll see her on market day. I’m in no
mood to talk to her tonight.’ Tom reached over and took the reins of his horse, which had been waiting patiently, and rose up into the saddle. ‘This is a gentleman’s agreement.
Not that you are any gentleman, sir!’ He whipped his horse and rode down the road into the dusk, his hatred for the man he thought no gentleman growing with every yard towards home that he
galloped.

Martha Fraser looked at the baby, now wrapped tightly in a blanket. She’d not yet told Daisy of his miraculous recovery. She held him close to her: this was her
grandchild, her blood. A tear dropped on the baby’s head. She held the perfect little hand and gazed at the angry red face.

‘She’s had it, then?’

Martha jumped in fright, for she’d not heard Tom enter the kitchen.

‘Aye, she’s had a rough time, but we’ve got a grandson – look at him.’ She held the baby up for Tom to see.

‘I don’t want to look at that bastard.’ Tom turned his head.

Martha knew better than to push it – he’d come round. ‘I’ll go and tell Daisy he’s alive, and give him to her.’ She rose from her chair, ignoring Tom’s
hard words.

‘She thinks he’s dead?’

‘Aye, he didn’t breathe for a good few minutes – not until I washed him, for what I thought was his burial.’ Martha smiled at the little face.

‘Well, tell her no different, because the baby goes to Grouse Hall in the morning. His father is going to have him, and our Kitty will never know he’s her sister’s. Now take
him out of my sight. I can’t abide to think of how he got brought into the world.’

‘And Daisy?’ Martha looked at her husband.

‘I’ll give her till the end of the week, and then she goes. Every time I look at her I think of what she’s done to this family. She’s nothing but a whore!’
Tom’s face turned red, remembering the smiles he’d seen Daisy give to Clifford Middleton and her near-tears at Kitty’s wedding. ‘She’s no daughter of mine, and
she’s not welcome under my roof.’

The wind howled and the rain lashed down on the silent couple huddled on the seat of the cart. The horse’s harness jangled and shook, as it pulled the cart of misery up
the steep hill-climb out of Widdale and onto the rough moorland of Dent Head, the horse’s head bent lowly, as if in shame itself, as it used each muscle on the steep fell-climb. Tom Fraser
had said nothing as his wife had helped Daisy up beside him; he’d seen the tears in his wife’s eyes and heard her sobs from under her shawl. It was no good – his mind was made up.
The lass had to find her own way in the world. She was no longer welcome under his roof, and he’d not go back on his word.

He’d not said anything when Martha had forced a florin into Daisy’s hand; after all, he’d have to be Christian about it, and make sure she didn’t starve until she found
work. Daisy had said nothing, cringing from her father’s hand as he tried to help her up to her seat next to him. All the trust had been beaten out of her, and where there had been love in
her eyes for her father there now burned hate. Not a word had been spoken since leaving Grisedale at first light. The horse and cart made their way out of Grisedale up the broader sweep of
Garsdale, skirting through the sleeping village of Appersett, over the bridge and up the gillside road to Widdale and Dent Head. It was there that Tom was going to abandon Daisy; she could make her
own mind up about where to go from there. She could either turn right down into Dent or go on to Ingleton, or even further if she’d a notion. The horse eased itself back into an easier stride
as the summit of Widdale was reached and they steadily pulled the cart past the dwelling place of Dent Head. The house looked in darkness as the mist and rain tried to envelop it in nature’s
cloak.

‘Right, down you get. This is far enough – tha’ll not be walking back home in a hurry.’ Tom pulled on the horse’s reins and put the brake on.

Daisy pulled her cloak’s hood back and removed the sacking that had been giving her a bit of protection from the elements. She looked around her at the bleak setting: the mists shifting
and banking around the looming fells, and the rushes bent double in the wind and rain. She was used to Grisedale looking like this on a wild day, but she always knew there was a warm, dry home
waiting for her. Today she was on her own against the elements, with no home and no one to love her. But no matter how wild the weather was, she would not attempt to walk home, so her father
needn’t be afeared of that.

Tom never stirred from his cart as his daughter climbed down onto the cobbled road. He watched her for a minute as she looked around her, deciding where to go. His heart hurt as he saw her take
the first few steps down the road to Ingleton, never once looking back at him, but his pride forbade him to stop her, beg her forgiveness and take her home. He clicked his tongue and pulled at the
reins, turning the horse and cart homewards on the road. A tear filled the big man’s eyes and a silent prayer was said for his daughter’s safety, before he whipped the horse into a trot
to take them quickly down the dale and home. Tom hoped that the sooner he was away from Daisy, the quicker he could forget, although he secretly knew that would never happen.

Daisy heard her father click the horse into action. A wave of panic came over her. Had she been that bad – should she ask for his forgiveness and beg to go home? Her heart beat fast and
she felt sick. No! There was nothing at home for her: just a dead baby buried in the orchard, a baby she’d never seen, and an unloving family. She’d make her own way in the world. She
wrapped her cloak and shawl around her and set off down the dale. Somewhere out there would be a new life. She’d find a job and earn her own living, and Grisedale and the lecherous Clifford
Middleton would be forgotten.

The rain came down and the wind was so fierce it nearly blew the weak Daisy off her feet. She stumbled down the twisting downhill road to the village of Ingleton, looking only
forward, to the great looming sight of Whernside Fell and a brief glimpse of the Ribble valley, with the sleeping lion of Ingleborough Fell in her midst. Occasionally in the wind she could hear
what sounded like the noise of thunder and wondered what it could be. This was new land to her. Although not really far from home, she was only used to her own patch and had never travelled more
than the five miles to Sedbergh and Hawes on market day.

Feeling weary, she stopped for a moment under the seeping eaves of a gamekeeper’s small shooting lodge by the side of the swelling river. Dare she knock on the door? Walking quietly around
the low building, she noticed that it looked empty, as she peered through the windows. She knocked on the door, quietly at first, but then more noisily. All she wanted was a moment away from the
lashing rain. No answer came, so she tried the door. It was locked – there would be no sanctuary here. She stood in the doorway and watched the peat-filled pools at her feet, the wind making
ripples on them and shaking the purple heather that covered the wild moorland. She’d have to move on, for it would soon be dusk and she didn’t want to be on the fell alone. She’d
not seen a soul since her father had left her. Nobody would even send their dog out on a day like this. Her body was aching and her stomach felt empty as she rounded the bend. The sound of singing
and of men laughing came from a rough-looking building set just below a well-built square grey house by the side of the road. She quickly went down the bank and looked in through the window.

‘Now then, little ’un, looking for a bed for the night? Tha can share mine.’ A huge man burst out laughing, showing his badly blackened teeth as he patted her on the back.
He’d come from nowhere and was now urging Daisy inside, to what she knew to be a drinking hole, full of the roughest men she had ever seen.

‘No, leave me be – let me go.’ Daisy pulled her arm out of the grasp of the huge beast of a man and turned to flee, only to bump into his weasel-like mate.

‘Now, you can’t turn Jake down. He’s a one with the women.’

Daisy shrieked, as the smaller of the two grabbed her arm.

Jake growled at his mate, ‘Let her go. She’s nobbut a young lass – there’s nowt on her. She’d not keep me warm on a night like this.’ Then he grabbed his
mate, nearly throwing him into the foul-smelling drinking den, leaving Daisy shaking with fear.

She composed herself quickly and walked back up to the main road, making a note of the name on the house: GEARSTONES LODGE. If she was ever offered work there, she’d certainly not accept;
it wasn’t for the likes of her. In the distance she could hear the sound of pickaxes and men’s voices in the wind and, when the fog and mists permitted, she could make out the shape of
huts and a strange structure that spanned the Dales. She wondered what it could be. It was a strange place, and she’d be glad to get off the wild moorland road. She walked on, the rain
seeping to her skin, making her shiver and feel feverish. It had only been a few days since she’d given birth, and she was exhausted. As she neared the outskirts of what looked like a hut
settlement, an old woman came out of one of the cabins.

Daisy ran and caught her arm to ask her where she was.

‘Tha’s at Ribblehead, lass, or Batty Green as we call it. Come to help build the railway, have you? Wildest spot you could have picked. Today’s like a summer’s day; wait
until a December’s day, when it’s a blizzard and you can’t see your hand in front of your face.’ She laughed and shook her head, before scurrying off like a busy
hedgehog.

So that was what the noise had been: it was the railway! She’d heard it was being built. The farmers at the market last spring had been full of their land being bought up. Now it was here.
Soon it would plough through the fells up to Garsdale, and even as far as the Scottish borders.

Daisy stood in the rain and looked around her. What a rough spot – how could folk live like this? She might have little money, no home and no work, but she couldn’t stay here; these
were not her sort of people. She trudged along a quagmire of a road with huts on either side, reaching a signpost that said ‘Horton-in-Ribblesdale 8 miles’ and, in the other direction,
‘Ingleton 5 miles’. That was where she’d go to: Ingleton. There’d be plenty of work there for a decently brought-up lass. But for now she just needed to get herself there
before nightfall. She’d get there and find a lodging that would take her in, for the florin that her mother had given her, and then in the morning she’d seek employment.