For a Father's Pride (2 page)

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

‘Now, little sister, when were you thinking of joining us? Kitty is asking for you.’ Clifford’s grip was like a vice on her shoulder.

She shrugged her shoulder from him to loosen his grip, and walked down the path to the porch and entrance to the hall, but he caught her just as she was about to enter.

‘Don’t you ever say a word about what happened the other day, or I’ll make life hell for your sister and ruin your father, do you hear me? After all, you were nearly begging me
for it,’ Clifford snarled, holding Daisy’s wrist tightly, before releasing it as one of the wedding guests strolled by the doorway.

‘I’ll not say anything, but you be kind to our Kitty, for she loves you.’ Daisy turned her back on Clifford and entered the low, beamed home of the Middletons.

She stared at the shape of Tobias Middleton, sitting in his chair watching the wedding-party visitors come and go around him, grunting his greetings to them. She couldn’t help but feel a
little sorry for him, as his son completely ignored him, choosing to flirt and chat with his new in-laws and relations. She watched Tobias for a while as he tried to converse with people and then
looked lost, as people gave up being polite once they couldn’t understand him. She felt a bit like old Tobias herself – out of place and an outcast – and decided to sit next to
him. He grunted his greeting as she introduced herself. He smiled a slow smile and took a chalk board and some chalk from next to him, before starting to write a few words very shakily. Daisy
picked up the board and scrutinized it as he pushed her arm, urging her to read what was written on it. The writing was hardly legible, due to his shaky hand, but she could just make out the word
‘BASTARD’ written in the centre. Her face must have given her thoughts away, as the old man nudged her and pointed at his only son. She didn’t reply, but Tobias Middleton nodded
his head in agreement as if he knew her thoughts.

On seeing the old man laughing with Daisy, Clifford raced across the room. ‘Now, Father, what are you up to? Time for your midday nap, I think. I’ll call Violet, to take you into the
other room.’ But the old man was too fast for him, and his written thoughts about his son were quickly erased by a wipe of his jacket sleeve. Tobias grunted his objections and flayed his arms
in protest. ‘Now, Father, stop it, or else I’ll have to tie you in your bed. You will go in the other room, for you are disturbing the guests. Violet, take him away.’ Clifford
raised his voice, shouting at the small dark-haired maid who cowered as she wheeled the old man out of the room. ‘Sorry, everyone, my father gets a bit excited if he sees too many people.
Time for him to have a nap.’ Clifford calmed his agitated audience and gave a long, dark stare at Daisy.

‘Poor Clifford, it must be an awful strain on him, looking after his father in such a state. He must be a saint. The dirty old man – did you see him dribbling? I couldn’t
believe it when you sat next to him, Daisy. Surely you have more pride?’ Martha Fraser lifted her teacup to her lips, curling her small finger like royalty, as she sat next to her
daughter.

Daisy looked at her. Why did her mother put on airs and graces, and think that she was better than Tobias? They were bakers, for God’s sake, in the middle of the Dales – nothing
special, just ordinary folk like the Middletons.

The wedding breakfast seemed to go on for an age, but at last the sun was disappearing over Baugh Fell, and with that came the announcement from Tom Fraser that tomorrow was
another working day and that a baker rose early to make his money. Daisy was thankful, but held Kitty tight as she bade her farewell at the ramshackle garden gate.

‘You take care; you know where home is, and that I love you.’ Daisy squeezed her radiant sister tightly, tears filling her eyes as she held her hand. They weren’t the closest
of sisters, but she did love Kitty, and the guilt that Daisy was feeling was beginning to gnaw away at her as she bade her sister farewell.

‘Don’t be silly, little sis. Clifford will take care of me now, but I will miss you all.’ Kitty grabbed the arm of her new husband and blew her younger sister a kiss, as Daisy
climbed into the carriage that trundled down the rough path back up to the head of Grisedale.

Daisy sat quietly in the carriage, listening to her mother making plans for Kitty’s future family and hoping that she’d soon be a grandmother. Daisy could think of nothing worse than
her sister giving birth to children by the bastard she now knew Clifford to be, and prayed that her sister would be safe with the letch.

Two months had passed since the wedding and now life was back to the everyday running of the small but busy business at Mill Race. Daisy stood at the back door of the bakery.
Both ovens were filled with loaves of bread, and she was about to start on the pastries and cakes. Her father had baked the first batch of bread and had long since left the small, hot bakehouse,
striding out across the fell and walking up the so-called ‘Coal Road’ to the open-cast mine set between Garsdale and Dentdale. There he traded his freshly baked bread, cheese and ham
from his own butchered pigs. The money was good, and an extra income for the family, which made the hard slog of the walk worthwhile.

This was Daisy’s only chance to take a few minutes out from her day, and from helping her family. Her mother was milking in the dairy, and the house and bakery were empty apart from her.
It was still only 6 a.m., but she felt as if she had been up for an age. She’d tossed and turned all night in her bed, while a silent niggle played on her mind. She’d missed her
monthly, for the first time since she’d started being a woman, and now she was beginning to worry. She might only be sixteen but, having been brought up in the country, she knew all too well
what happened when opposite sexes were put together. She prayed that the one fateful time, eight long weeks ago now, when Clifford Middleton had raped her he’d not left her with child. The
consequences would be devastating to her family, especially for Kitty. She had heard Clifford and Kitty talk of the family they planned, and for Daisy to be bearing his child would ruin their plans
and cast dark shadows over both families.

Fighting back welling tears, she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. There was no need to cry yet – she might just be late. After all she’d been helping her father
a lot more than usual, and she was probably just tired. With brighter thoughts in her head now, she smiled as she watched a mother blue-tit bring her new family to the back door of the bakehouse to
look for crumbs. The little chicks were not yet showing their full colour, with the odd fluffy feather looking out of place.

‘There you go, Mum: a few crumbs for your brood; you’ve got a right handful there.’ Daisy threw a handful of bread from the pine kitchen table and stood back as the mother bird
and her brood tiptoed nearer, pecking delicately at the crumbs and then flying into a nearby honeysuckle bush.

‘Talking to yourself, Daisy? Is that second batch of bread out yet, and have you started those apple pies, ready for the market in the morning?’ Martha Fraser shouted out the orders
as she quietly entered the room and poured the day’s milk through muslin, to catch any dirt that might be in it, then stood at the sink of the bakery.

‘They need another minute or two.’ Daisy turned and started to rub the fats for the pastry into the flour, without thinking; she’d been baking since she was barely able to
talk, and it was second nature to her. She looked at her mother. Dare she say anything to her, while they were alone? Dare she speak of things that were private and usually went undiscussed in the
Fraser household?

‘I’m not going to the market with you tomorrow. Kitty has sent word she wants to see me, so perhaps it’s good news.’ Martha scrubbed the bread board, before sighing and
looking longingly out of the kitchen window. ‘You never know, there may be a baby on the way, but it’s early days yet. Still, I live in hope.’ She carried on cleaning her dairy
utensils without turning to look at Daisy. ‘You’ll have to go with your father tomorrow. You can drop me off on the way down to Sedbergh with the horse and cart.’

Daisy patted the pastry dough hard, the flour rising into a fine cloud as she let it fall from the huge earthenware bowl. It was no good – she couldn’t keep her worries to herself
any longer. She let out a sob as the pastry hit the pine table, her hands caked with sticky pastry.

‘Daisy, what on earth is wrong with you? You’ve been acting strange since Kitty’s wedding. You shouldn’t be so jealous of your sister – someone will come along for
you.’ Martha stopped her scouring and looked across at her daughter, who was clearly upset. ‘Now come on, let’s get this bread out of the ovens, before your father gets
back.’ She looked at her younger daughter. She found it hard to talk to Daisy, for she wasn’t as open-hearted as her firstborn, and showing emotion towards her was difficult.

‘Mam, I need to talk. I need to talk now, before my father comes back.’ Daisy pleaded with her eyes.

‘Well, I’m listening. Get on with it!’ Martha opened the big oven doors and pulled the first few loaves of bread out, nearly burning her fingers as she placed them on the
shelves to cool.

‘I’m late, Mam. You know – it’s what we don’t talk about.’ Daisy sobbed, not daring to look at her mother.

‘Aye, lass, you’re young; you’ll just be settling down into your stride. That’ll be nothing to worry about – you’ve not been with a fella, so you’ll be
fine.’ Martha sighed and pulled the last batch of bread out of the oven, patting the bottom of it to test it, not bothering even to look at Daisy’s face. ‘I was all over the place
when I was your age.’ She placed the bread on the shelf, then turned to look at her daughter, whose fretful face told her everything.

Daisy’s face was red with tears and betrayed her anxiety.

‘You’ve not, have you, Daisy – you’ve not been with a man? Your father will kill you, and me, if you have. He’ll make our lives hell, you know that?’ Martha
felt sick. She knew the answer already. She’d had a sulky daughter for the last eight weeks, now that she thought about it. It made sense, what with Daisy’s moods and the odd comment
when she’d mentioned wanting to be a grandmother. Martha felt herself flush from head to toe with fear at how her husband would react. She knew Tom Fraser would never handle the shame of his
youngest, most precious daughter being with child. Daisy was his favourite, and the apple of his eye. He boasted about her to friends, saying that Kitty was bonny, but Daisy had the brains. Martha
knew he’d never be able to handle it. Sex outside marriage was not even thought about, let alone practised. In fact anything in that department was simply not talked about, full stop.

‘I’m sorry, Mam, I couldn’t stop him. He’d done it before I knew, and besides, I couldn’t say no to Clifford.’ Daisy thought her heart was going to burst; the
sobs filled her throat, and she felt sick as she tried to explain. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry. I know he’s Kitty’s . . . I couldn’t stop him.’ The words
tumbled out of her mouth between breaths.

‘Clifford! You mean, Kitty’s Clifford? Bloody hell, lass. This gets worse by the second. Oh my God, the shame! Your father will go mad, and Kitty’s trying for a bairn and
having no luck. And there you are, pregnant by him. It couldn’t get much worse! We’re ruined, that’s what we are.’ Martha sat down at the table and watched her bawling
daughter. ‘Shut your mouth, girl! You fluttered your eyelashes at him all the time he was courting Kitty – well, you’ve certainly got what you deserved.’

Martha’s face was flushed with anger and embarrassment, and with fear at having to tell her husband. She quickly gave a glance out of the window as she heard the noise of the garden
gate.

‘Get yourself out of here. Your father’s coming up the path – I’ll have to choose my moment to tell him.’ Martha knocked Daisy out of the way and started to roll
the pastry. Daisy ran out of the back door. It was one thing telling her mother, but quite another telling her father. He loved her dearly, but he ruled the family with a rod of iron.

She ran up through the yard. The family’s goose gave its alarm call as she sped through the yard and up the outside steps that led to the tack room and the storage room for flour and
seasonal fruit. There she threw herself onto a pile of hessian sacks and sobbed to herself. She wanted to die. Even worse, she wished the baby inside her would die. She curled up and rocked her
body. What was she to do? She had nowhere to go. Nobody would give a pregnant lass house-room; not even the workhouse would want her. The cat that had been asleep in the window stretched its back
and yawned, showing all its discoloured teeth, before walking casually across to her and winding its body round her arms, nudging its head against hers. Daisy pulled it towards her and held the
furry, purring body close, stroking the cat’s chin, as it appreciated being loved.

‘Smoky, what am I going to do? I wish I could die.’ Tears poured down on the grey fur of the cat as it purred its sympathy. ‘I wish I’d never set eyes on Clifford
Middleton. Look what he’s done to me!’

‘Have you made sure we have everything?’ Tom Fraser looked at his youngest lass as he checked that the harness was tight. ‘You look pasty this morning –
what’s wrong with you?’ He stood tall and proud at the side of his horse, watching his daughter as she finished loading the cart for Sedbergh. He was a tall man of six foot or more,
clean-shaven, with wisps of white hair showing from below his chequered cap. He talked as straight as a clean-living man should, and his clear blue eyes never missed a thing.

‘I’m all right, Father.’ Daisy couldn’t look at him. She knew the shame he was going to feel and was dreading the consequences. She knew that Tom was usually a calm man,
but she’d also seen him in a rage, when he’d taken on the world and won.

‘Tell your mother we’re ready. I don’t know what’s wrong with you womenfolk this morning. I can’t make head nor tail of her, either. I swear she never slept a wink
last night.’

The journey down to Sedbergh was silent. Martha Fraser sat nervously next to her husband, her head spinning with the knowledge that Daisy’s predicament could not be kept hidden forever and
that she would have to tell him sooner or later. The big question was whether she would tell Tom who the father was? It would mean shame for Kitty, and she dreaded to think what her husband would
do to Clifford Middleton. Soon they were at the end of the lane leading to Grouse Hall. Tom pulled on the horse’s reins and brought them to a halt.