For a Father's Pride (11 page)

‘Well, ma’am, I know her as Shipley Susie. Her patch is just behind Granary Wharf. She’s a favourite with the gents, and she comes here most nights with her clients. Mr Trotter
say’s he’s built his empire with her lying on her back – she’s his favourite.’

Daisy looked at her in disbelief. Her new friend was a prostitute, a lady of the night, and she herself was sleeping in a brothel. Tomorrow she would have to leave. In fact, no matter how
exhausted she was, she would leave by first light. She couldn’t be seen leaving the doors of this establishment by anyone.

William Mattinson stood in the hallway of his home. His hands were shaking as he took in the news his brother had just told him. William’s son James was fighting for his
life, back at Skipton, at the home of his sister-in-law in Caroline Square. William’s wife had been in such good spirits, wanting to show her widowed sister the new baby and for her to spend
time with her mischievous nephew. When William had kissed his two-year-old sweetly on the cheek, along with the newly born Charles and his dear wife Angelina, James had seemed in such good health.
A slight cough perhaps, but nothing that had concerned him. Now it seemed that James was on his deathbed, and it was only a matter of time until the inevitable happened.

William paced the hallway, looking at the newly papered walls and the carpet that had just been laid. He was starting to make money, but he’d give it all away for the life of his first
son. He looked at his pocket-watch. Where was that bloody woman? He wished he had never listened to his old friend Bert Pritchard, but Bert had assured him that a better cook he’d never set
eyes on. She’d have to walk the streets if she didn’t come within the next few minutes. William’s main priority was to get to his son’s bedside.

As if by surprise, the doorbell rang, nearly making William jump out of his skin. He’d wished for it so hard that it was a shock when it happened for real. He rushed to the door, opening
it wide to find a dripping, bedraggled, thin woman, looking quite young in black attire, standing on his step. She held out her hand and muttered a few words of apology for her lateness.

‘Come in, come in. I haven’t time for your apologies or niceties. I’ve wasted enough of my time waiting of you. My son’s ill – I’m away to Skipton to be with
my family. The kitchen’s downstairs – everything’s there that you need. You’ll find a room made up for you next to the kitchen. There isn’t much natural light there,
but it’s warm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off. Don’t know when we will be returning. My brother Jim will keep you informed, and if there is anything you need,
he’s at the grocer’s just around the corner.’

Daisy watched as a very abrupt William Mattinson snatched an umbrella, to shield him from the inclement Yorkshire weather, and then slammed the door after himself, leaving her bemused. She
hadn’t had time to say how grateful she was to her new employer, or to tell him what she could do and, more importantly, to seek her instructions. Did he say that his son was ill in Skipton?
He must be gravely ill for the poor man to behave in such a fashion, leaving a woman he didn’t even know in charge of his house.

She took off her sodden topcoat and shook her head free of the dripping raindrops. She held her coat over her arm, not knowing where to place it. She lifted her drenched skirts and ventured up
the dark hallway. There was a door to her left, and she opened it gingerly and looked into what seemed to be the family drawing room. A good leather settee and chairs took pride of place, with a
piano next to the wall. Daisy noted that someone in her new family must be musical. The fireplace was in white marble, and upon it were figurines of young women leading mottled brown cows,
surrounded by brightly coloured daisies; to either side of the fireplace were glistening candelabra. The clear-crystal glass caught the rain-filled light, making it shine like diamonds.

She closed the door behind her, careful not to catch the trailing leaves of an aspidistra plant that stood guard at the door, on a carved cane stand. A further door led to what seemed to be the
family’s main living area. There was a desk and chair, and an everyday table strewn with papers and invoices; a grandfather clock that ticked the time away happily; and two Windsor chairs by
the side of an uncleared fire grate. So her new family had no servants other than herself, else all would have been tidy and the fire laid. Daisy put her coat over the back of one of the chairs and
checked her hair in the mirror that hung next to the window. Then she looked out of the window. The rain was pouring, and it looked colder than the month would suggest. All she could see was an
austere, walled back yard with an outside lavvy and coal shed. There were no flowers, just paving; and not a hint of the early September day that it was.

The stairs led both up and down, and Daisy decided to explore upstairs first, holding onto the curving mahogany handrail that led her to a master bedroom and two smaller bedrooms that were
filled with children’s toys. One had a bed in it and toy soldiers lined up, as if to attention at the presence of Daisy; the other bedroom contained just a small cot and not much else, apart
from a cloth rabbit that looked at her helplessly from behind the cot’s railings. Daisy picked up the floppy rabbit in her hands and shook it to make its head wobble and the small silver bell
on the end of its ear rattle. Would her son have had one of these, if he had lived? She hugged it close to her body and then placed it back into the safety of the cot. The Mattinsons obviously had
two very young children. Bert hadn’t mentioned that – she might have thought twice about taking the position, if she’d known there were young children. Lately she had found
herself feeling more and more uncomfortable in the presence of children. It hurt to think of the loss of her baby, and life had begun to teach her how unreasonably her parents had treated her and
her child.

She closed the door silently, almost reverently, and made her way down two flights to the kitchen and the small room that was to be her home. To her delight, the kitchen had running water with a
huge white pot-sink directly beneath the small window that let in light from the pavement above. There was even a built-in pot-boiler, so that she could heat water as and when she wanted. Such
luxuries were unheard-of at Gearstones Lodge. But most of all her eye was taken by the fireplace. It was blackleaded, with an oven and a warming drawer at the top, and it proudly boasted on the
fireback of being ‘A YORKSHIRE RANGE’. Daisy just stared at it and thought of the things she could cook in the oven, and the pans she could put on the fire, on the trivets that dropped
down for just such a purpose.

She stood and looked around at the china and the glasses that were in every cupboard. This was a different, finer world from the one at Batty Green. Finally she opened the door to what she had
been told was to be her room. William Mattinson had been right – there wasn’t a lot of natural light, but the room was clean, with a bed, a chest of drawers, a chair and a mirror. It
would suffice. After all, most of her time would be spent in the kitchen. She sat on the edge of the bed and pushed her sodden shoes off, then folded the few clothes that she had brought with her
away in the drawers, hiding what money she had left underneath her clothes. Well! Here she was in a fancy house in Leeds on her own, with no one to tell her what to do. Tomorrow she’d find
William Mattinson’s brother and establish how ill the boy was. But for now she’d just have a lie-down. She’d not slept last night, after finding out that her lodging was a
brothel, and the hard street-walking had made her legs ache; the cobbled streets were not like the soft fells of home.

She lay on her single bed and closed her eyes. She could hear the trotting of horses and carts going by in the street above, and the laughter of children playing and their mother chastising them
for making so much noise. She was a long way from home, but now all she wanted to do was sleep.

William rushed along the streets of Skipton to Caroline Square. He knew most of the people who lived in the area, from his old job of delivery boy for his uncle, who traded in
groceries on Sheep Street. By the time he turned the corner into Caroline Square he knew that things were not good. People who would usually have said hello were going out of their way not to talk
to him, crossing to the other side of the road so as not to show their sorrow to the unknowing father. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled closed at number 2 Caroline Square and, at the sight of
the drawn curtains, William’s heart broke. He pushed the garden gate open and turned the brass door handle as he entered the home of his grieving sister-in-law.

‘William, my darling William, you are too late! Our angel, James, was taken from us this morning. The doctor could not save him; he could not fight the pneumonia that racked his little
body.’ Angelina sobbed and cried as William held her close to him.

‘My love, I’m sorry. I tried to come earlier, but things got in the way. I’m sorry you have had to bear this grief without me by your side. Where is my little man? Let me see
him.’

‘He’s in the front room, looking just as if he is asleep on the sofa. We’ve left him there until the undertaker comes later this afternoon. I nursed him there until his dying
breaths. Oh, William, it was terrible – my firstborn, my James.’

‘Hush, my dear. Come, we will look at him together, and will say our farewells before he is touched by the hands of the undertaker.’

The heartbroken couple kissed the cold, white skin of their first child and sobbed together. The loss of a child was the greatest loss of all. Angelina’s sister watched the couple as she
nursed the month-old baby that Angelina had been so proud to show her, along with her two-year-old, the previous week. She shook her head in disbelief at the terrible death that had happened in her
house. Smiling, she placed her finger in baby Charles’s hand, and his fingers clutched tightly to hers as he gurgled contently, undeterred by the surrounding grief. ‘God protect you, my
little one. He has another angel this day.’

‘Now there’s a fine sight on a cold, wet day.’

Daisy turned round quickly as the man’s voice startled her from cleaning up the ashes from the coal fire.

‘A prettier ankle I’ve never seen.’ The tall, well-dressed man grinned at her as she straightened her skirts and brushed her hands clean of the fire’s dust, rising to her
feet.

‘If you are looking for Mr Mattinson, I’m afraid he’s not here. And I’d like for you to note that I’m in mourning, and your comments are not becoming.’ Daisy
was both startled and annoyed that someone had walked into her new home without knocking on the door.

‘That I know, my dear. I’m his brother, Jim. He’s sent me round to make sure that you are holding the fort and haven’t robbed him of the family silver, after his hasty
departure yesterday.’ Jim pulled up a chair next to the table and studied the slim-figured Daisy, before placing his bowler hat on the table. ‘I’m afraid his son died yesterday,
and he will be staying in Skipton for the next few days. The boy’s to be buried at the church there. So you will be on your own for a while. That is, unless you want me for
company?’

‘I’ve not a problem with being on my own, sir. And I’m sorry to hear of the family’s loss – it will be a hard one to bear.’ Daisy stood and looked at Jim
Mattinson. His face was round and his cheeks were red, and he had a playful glint in his eye as he stroked his sleek hair back into place.

‘Aye, it’s a sad do. He was a grand little lad, and Angelina must be heartbroken. Still, she’s got the new baby to concentrate on – that must help a bit. You don’t
have to call me “sir”. We don’t stand on ceremony in this family. It’s Jim, especially if you’ll be cooking for our new venture. What do they call you anyway? Our lad
never said, and I can’t remember from the letter he showed me prior to your arrival.’

Daisy looked at Jim, who had started glancing through the pile of papers that she had carefully stacked earlier on. ‘I’m Daisy. You mentioned a new venture that I’m to cook
for, but I’ve never been told anything about that. I thought I was here for the family.’

‘Daisy, eh! Has our William not told you anything, the scatterbrain? But then again, forgive me; he did have other priorities yesterday. Well, let me tell you. He’s bought himself a
grocery shop – the one around the corner – which he’s left me with for the next few days, as I’m his business partner. He intends to fill it with home-made delights. And
you, my dear, are his secret weapon. From what his friend Bert has told him, you are a top cook – just what he has been looking for. A Dales lass who knows good food, and how to make it. Just
like our dear aunt, who runs The Bull at Broughton, if you know it? A finer dining place you’ll not find that side of Skipton.’

‘I’d no idea – I’ve not been told. What does he expect of me?’ Daisy didn’t know what to think. ‘I’m nobbut a straightforward cook, nothing
fancy.’

‘Well, that’s just what he’s wanting. Somebody who can make something from nothing. In fact the less, the better – after he’s spent all his money on fancy
surroundings and playing the perfect father. He can make fun of my lifestyle, but at least I take pleasure in life. You see, my dear, we are like chalk and cheese. He’ll tell you I’m
the black sheep of the family and to stay away from me, so before he dirties my name, I’ll tell you myself.’ Jim picked up his bowler hat and fumbled with it, balancing it on his knee
and then looking up at Daisy.

‘I don’t think I need to know family matters, sir. I just came here to work.’ Daisy felt uncomfortable with his admission of guilt. Besides, she would take as she found, and
make up her own mind about things.

‘I’ve told you before, Daisy – it’s Jim. Now, how about you light that fire and put the kettle on? I’m fair parched.’ Jim stood up and walked to the window.
‘Just look at that bloody weather; it’s always bloody raining in Leeds, and it’s so grey. God, I wish I was back home in Skipton, just to look out on those open fells and breathe
in the air. All you get here is a lungful of coal dust and smoke. Still, there are more attractions here, and I suppose you can’t have everything. I suppose I’d better look through
these papers while you get the kettle to boil. Someone’s got to keep an eye on the coffers.’