The Lost And Found Girl (36 page)

‘I think not. Many of the Abbey servants will still be at the Redfern Arms and I shall have plenty of company.’

‘Even so, sir,’ Mr Stanton began.

‘I am no longer a youngster,’ James interrupted firmly.

‘No, sir,’ the steward agreed with a sigh.

‘Then it is settled. Mrs Stanton, bring in the ladies’ cloaks and bonnets to warm by the fire.’

Master James did not even glance in her direction while she wrapped herself against the night air and said her good-nights. Joseph was not at all happy for some reason but his parents assured Daisy that he would present himself for tea the following Sunday.

‘Come and see me at the shop,’ she whispered to Boyd.

‘I’ll try,’ he answered. But he did not sound hopeful and she desperately wanted to speak with him about putting off Joseph.

Mr Stanton brought the trap round and held the pony’s head while James helped Mr and Mrs Farrow aboard. Daisy waited patiently at the back while Master James put his lump of coal safely inside on the trap floor. Then he placed a thick blanket on the backward facing rear seat and as he did so, stooped to kiss her forehead.

‘Don’t,’ she breathed. ‘You’ll be seen.’

His head stayed close to hers and he trailed his lips down to her ears. ‘There is another meeting of the Redfern Hunt next week. I’ll come to the pony stable loft as before.’ He hoisted her easily onto the seat.

She inhaled with excitement. An assignation with him and only a few days away! ‘I’ll wait for you,’ she whispered.

He smiled, and wrapped the blanket securely around her legs. The next thing she knew he was leading the pony away and she was gazing at the watching figure of Mr Stanton standing outside his front portico. He stayed there for a long time until the night closed in on him and he disappeared from her view.

The trap bumped and jolted along the frozen track that skirted the park, the one that had first brought her to the Abbey, and eventually they passed the entrance gates, where she heard Mr Farrow suggest that he get down and lead the pony now if Master James wished to cut along to the Abbey. She didn’t quite catch James’s reply but nothing changed as they rumbled down the hill.

He helped Mr Farrow stable the pony and trap, then brought in the coal and good wishes. He accepted a tot of warming spirit and said his goodnights. ‘I trust I shall see you at the hunt next Saturday, sir,’ he said as he took his leave. ‘The hunt followers relish your pies.’

‘Such a charming gentleman,’ Mrs Farrow sighed. ‘Oh, it will be a welcome change when he is lord of the Abbey.’

‘Well, it’s his father’s turn next,’ Mr Farrow reminded her as he came in with the key from the front door. ‘But at least he will be younger than the present crusty old incumbent. Off to bed with you, Daisy. Shop’ll be open first thing.’

It was a busy week. There were the pies to make and Mr Farrow insisted that Daisy bake bread, scones and a cake for Joseph when he visited on Sunday. On top of that, Mr Shipton, the stock dealer, turned up at the inn and Mr Farrow invited him to take dinner with them one day after he had closed the shop.

Mrs Farrow seemed delighted that he had accepted and became quite excited at planning what they would eat. Daisy tried to be enthusiastic but she was apprehensive about his visit. He was well dressed and very civil but that only made her more wary of him. Better-off folk had more power than poorer ones.

‘Leek soup followed by roasted mutton chops,’ Mr Farrow decreed.

‘Do you think mutton is wise, my dear. He will have tasted meat from the new breeds and may think ours inferior.’

‘Pork, then. Yes, we shall eat pork. I have a loin on the bone that will do splendidly. Have we apples in the larder to roast with it?’

‘Indeed we have, sir.’

‘Excellent. And for pudding?’

As they were arguing over this, a caller rapped at the front door.

‘Shop’s closed,’ Mr Farrow called.

‘I have a package from the Abbey.’

Three people raised their eyebrows and Daisy hurried to the door. She vaguely recognised the young man who handed her a box-shaped package wrapped in fabric and tied with ribbon. Ribbon? Daisy took it back to the table. ‘He said it was for the lady of the house with Mrs Stanton’s compliments.’

‘Oooh, a gift.’ Mrs Farrow smiled and tugged at the ribbon bow. The fabric fell away to reveal a box of sweetmeats bearing the label of a Leeds store. ‘Oh look, Mr Farrow. I have seen these in the catalogue at the provisions merchant. They are ever so dear.’

A small card fell from the folds of fabric.

‘Oh. Oh, I’m all a-flutter,’ Mrs Farrow fussed. ‘Oh, Mr
Farrow, she is at home to me. Look! Here are the days. How exciting! She is asking me to call on her!’

‘Well now, that is an honour. You must have made a good impression on her.’

‘Eee, I think it’s our Daisy who’s done that. Although there’s no reason to send a gift, is there?’

‘It’ll be a thank you for what you’ll have to do for the lass, her not having a mam, like. They’ll want to make sure one of their footmen gets a proper wedding.’

‘Well, I’ve seen three of me own lasses wed so I’m sure we can give this one as good a send off. What do you say, Mr Farrow?’

‘I say go and see what Mrs Stanton has in mind.’

‘Aye. I won’t open these now. I’ll save them for when Abel Shipton calls.’

Daisy retrieved the ribbon and wound it around her fingers to straighten out the creases. She wasn’t comfortable with the way everyone was talking as though she had already agreed to marry Joseph Gardner. She had no desire to go against her or Boyd’s employers’ wishes but nobody had asked her what she wanted and she did not want to wed Joseph. Sooner or later she must tell them.

‘I must compliment you on the excellence of your table, ma’am.’

Mrs Farrow smiled. ‘Thank you, sir, but I cannot take all the credit. Daisy has a sure hand in the kitchen.’

Abel’s keen eyes lingered on Daisy and she looked away.

‘Shall I make coffee now, Mrs Farrow?’

‘Yes, dear, and bring in the sweetmeats. Do you have a taste for coffee, Mr Shipton?’

‘I do indeed.’

‘Mr Farrow has a liking for it too and we are lucky with our provisions merchant in Redfern. He is not afraid to buy in special goods from Leeds, even when it is not ordered.’

‘I am heartened to see the prosperity that the Redfern estate brings to its tenants.’

‘It’s the coal, sir,’ Mr Farrow added. ‘Folk have money in their pockets, and since the manufactories have spread along the valley, we have a lot more folk in the Riding.
His lordship has built a whole row of houses for his colliers and he’s planning a new village at yon side of his land.’

And they all need feeding, Daisy thought as she cleared away the pudding plates. It is not just the mines and manufactories that gain. Farmers and shopkeepers prospered too. She ground the roasted coffee beans in a little machine Mrs Farrow had bought especially for the purpose and laid up a tray with tiny porcelain coffee cups and saucers, also purchased from the provisions merchant’s catalogue. She had buffed the pewter coffee pot, retrieved from the dusty top shelf of a cupboard, and warmed it with hot water. When the coffee was brewed she poured it carefully from the saucepan through muslin into the pot. To her the aroma was intoxicating but she remembered servants at the Abbey who had felt sick at the same smell. In the small dining room, Mrs Farrow served it to her guest from the dresser and offered him her coveted sugared-fruit sweetmeats.

Mr Farrow appeared to be really enjoying himself. ‘Now, ladies, Mr Shipton and myself will smoke a cigar so why don’t you take the box of sweeties to enjoy in the kitchen?’

Abel responded quickly. ‘Perhaps they may stay a little while longer, sir. I have not had a chance to converse with Daisy.’

Daisy looked up sharply. Why should he wish to speak with her? Mrs Farrow also looked surprised.

Mr Farrow laughed. ‘Now then, my good fellow, I’ll not let you poach the best maid my good lady has ever had.’

Abel joined in the good humour. ‘No, sir, I should not be so cruel.’

‘Then why are you interested, sir?’ Mr Farrow went on.

‘I understand that she is more of a daughter to you than a servant.’

Suddenly the laughter died and Mrs Farrow’s eyes rounded. Daisy saw her exchange a glance with her husband. She spoke carefully. ‘Yes, we do think of her as such, sir, and I feel I must tell you that she is spoken for and soon to be betrothed.’

Now it was Abel’s turn to be surprised. ‘I assure you, sir – and madam – that, truly, I have no such intentions towards her. I am old enough to be her father!’

‘That wouldn’t stop a fellow,’ Mr Farrow said. ‘She’s lovely enough to land herself a lord.’ He grunted. ‘Well, the heir, anyway.’

‘Mr Farrow! You have said too much!’

Daisy was embarrassed that they were speaking of her in this way. Mr Stanton must have told Mr Farrow why he wished her to be wed so hastily. She blushed to the roots of her hair. For a moment, she concentrated on her hands neatly folded in her lap then thought that they – all of them – should know the truth about
her
feelings and now was the time to tell them. She raised her chin defiantly and surveyed the faces at the table.

Mr Shipton’s face was so grave that she faltered. He was shocked! His eyes were – were – almost fearful. He hadn’t talked much during the meal. Mr and Mrs Farrow had kept up a lively banter of entertaining conversation. But Daisy reckoned that Abel Shipton absorbed everything. He remembered things and he mulled them over.

‘Do I understand correctly?’ he queried. ‘Daisy is to be betrothed to his lordship’s heir?’

‘Good God, no!’ Mr Farrow spluttered. ‘But she will—’

‘Mr Farrow! Your language!’ Mrs Farrow interrupted.

‘—she will be wed within the month,‘her husband finished.

Within a month! They had decided when she would marry Joseph before he had even been to court her! ‘No, I shan’t!’ Daisy cried. ‘I shan’t marry him. I don’t like him.’

Abel Shipton’s eyes darted from one face to another taking in the surprise of Daisy’s outburst.

Mrs Farrow became fidgety and hastened to explain. ‘Daisy! That is uncalled for!’ She smiled weakly at Abel. ‘Mr Farrow has taken too much ale and he is confused,’ she said. ‘What he means is that Daisy has a follower from the Abbey. He is a footman so his lordship must approve of the match and his – his ward is involved in such estate duties. Of course, I do not want to lose Daisy but I shall not stand in the way of his lordship’s wishes.’

‘Mr Stanton’s wishes you mean,’ Daisy muttered.

‘So just exactly who is it you don’t like, Daisy?’ Mr Shipton asked, looking directly at her.

‘Joseph, the footman,’ she replied, holding his gaze.

Mrs Farrow gave a nervous laugh. ‘Nonsense. Come along, Daisy, away with you to the scullery now.’

Daisy scraped back her chair, anxious to be excused from further awkwardness. At least she had said it, whether they believed her or not.

Mrs Farrow had to go outside to the privy and Daisy returned briefly to the dining salon with port and glasses. She heard the end of a conversation between the two gentlemen.

‘—a relation of a friend of mine.’ Abel stopped speaking as soon as she appeared on the threshold.

‘Do you want anything else, sir?’ Daisy asked and stood quietly waiting for an answer.

Mr Farrow grunted and waved her away, but Mr Shipton said, ‘If I have caused you any embarrassment, Daisy, then I
apologise.’ He raised his eyebrows as though he expected her to respond.

It was not he but her employers who had embarrassed her but she replied graciously, ‘Thank you, sir. I am sorry I raised my voice.’ She wanted to ask if her father and mother had sent him but no one here knew about them so she bobbed a polite curtsey adding, ‘Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Mr Farrow,’ and retreated thankfully to the kitchen.

‘By heaven, it’s chilly out there tonight.’ Mrs Farrow came in with a blast of cold night air and went to stand by the scullery boiler. ‘I’ll not say any more about your behaviour in front of our guest,’ she said to Daisy, adding, ‘Not tonight, I shan’t anyway. Finish up in here and take yourself off to bed. There’s a brick for you in the oven.’ She went back to her dining table without another word.

‘How can you say you don’t like Joseph? You’ve hardly met him yet.’

A few days later, Mrs Farrow was standing at her kitchen range, beating flour into hot water and lard to make pie crusts. Daisy was preparing wooden moulds and lining them up on the kitchen table. She worked on in silence.

‘You see how Saturday goes first, after the hunt. He’ll be charm itself. Him being a footman, he knows how to carry on. He has a secure position at the Abbey. And he’ll get a cottage! You don’t know how lucky you are, my lass.’

‘Well, I didn’t like the way he looked at me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was scary, as though – as though, somehow, he thought I wanted – you know – what married people do.’ Daisy knew she was blushing and felt uncomfortable.

‘And don’t you want that?’

‘Not with him, not even if I am wed to him.’

Mrs Farrow took her pan off the range and set it down on the table with a thump. ‘I think you and me will have to have a little talk before your wedding day.’ She frowned and tipped out the hot mix on to a board where she began working it with vigour. ‘Joseph is a grown man and he’ll have his needs,’ she added, passing over lumps of paste for Daisy to roll out and shape over the moulds. ‘Now leave these to cool while I get on with the filling. I want you to nip down to the provisions shop for a nutmeg.’

Daisy was glad to escape and even more pleased when she saw Boyd riding a pony down the middle of the road. She waved and he dismounted.

‘Boyd! What are you doing in the village?’

‘I’ve come to see you.’ He stroked the pony’s nose. ‘And this one needed an outing.’

‘I’m on an errand. Meet me in the churchyard in a few minutes.’

They separated and Daisy ran on to the provisions merchant. Boyd was waiting under the trees for her and she hurried towards him, throwing her arms around his neck. He pulled them free and stepped back from her.