For a Father's Pride (25 page)

‘He’s delivering some groceries. How did you think we were going to live, on what was in the pantry?’ Daisy wiped her hands on her skirts. ‘I went and ordered some
yesterday and paid, so it hasn’t gone on your account. You’ve no credit anyway.’

She walked to the door, leaving Clifford watching Samuel Allen delivering goods from the back of his cart.

‘I’ve put your order in the pantry. Your sister showed me where to put it.’ Sam Allen looked at the woman who had stood her ground so well the previous day.

‘Thank you. I’m grateful that you let me place an order and delivered it – you could have done neither, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.’ Daisy was going to be
honest.

‘Nay, I looked at that lad that was with you, and I couldn’t have let him go hungry – he’s like a whippet anyway. That reminds me: I took the liberty of picking these up
from the cobbler’s – I thought I’d save you the trip into Hawes. There was enough gossiping yesterday for one week.’ Sam took a little pair of wooden and black-leather clogs
from behind his back. ‘I thought his feet would be frozen without them.’ He smiled as he passed them across to Daisy.

She blushed as she took them from Sam. ‘Thank you, that was kind of you. Can I make you a cup of tea and a sandwich for your bother?’ She wanted him to stay. It was the first decent
company she had met since she had come to Grouse Hall.

They heard a loud knocking on the floor rafters above, as Sam thought of a reply.

Kitty appeared in the doorway. ‘That’s Clifford with his walking stick – I’ll go and see what he wants.’ She decided to make herself scarce and to shut her
impatient husband up, for she could see the looks that Sam Allen was giving her sister and decided to let nature take its course.

‘I’ll stop for a drink. Don’t worry with the sandwich – I’ll be fed down in Sedbergh.’ Sam watched as Daisy lifted the kettle and poured the scalding water
into the teapot. She was an attractive woman, but she’d got a wedding ring on her finger.

‘Milk?’ Daisy smiled and pulled up a chair across from Sam, who had made himself at home, sitting down at the table.

Sam nodded. ‘Where’s the lad at then? Don’t put his new shoes on the table – it’ll give you bad luck.’ He moved the tiny pair of clogs off the table onto the
floor.

‘He’s out in the barn. The cat’s just had kittens and he’s playing with them.’

Sam sipped his tea. ‘Are you stopping here, or are you returning to your husband before long? Tell me to mind my own business, but I couldn’t help but notice the ring . .
.’

‘Oh, this! I sometimes I forget I have it on. My husband’s been dead nearly five months now. We were only just married and he died on our wedding night. I don’t know why I wear
it – habit, I suppose.’ Daisy sipped her tea slowly. ‘And you – are you married, have any family?’

‘No, my father keeps playing hell with me, says he’ll have no one to leave the shop to, if I’m not careful.’ Sam gulped his tea back. He’d found out what he wanted
to know. Daisy at Grouse Hall was free of a husband. He’d deliver the groceries any time, to see the blush on those cheeks.

‘Families – you can’t do owt about them. Look at me here.’ Daisy’s heart fluttered as Sam rose from the table.

‘Well, you know where I’m at, and I’ll call in on my way down to Sedbergh. I go there every Wednesday. My father sells his bread there, and I go and pick him up.’

Daisy’s eyes clouded over and her throat choked with tears. ‘I used to go to Sedbergh market with my father – we used to go early on a morning and come back by dinnertime. It
seems an age ago.’

‘I remember him. My father took over his place in the market when he became ill. Is he still in the Moor?’ Sam looked serious. He didn’t know how to approach the fact that Tom
Fraser was in the lunatic asylum at Lancaster Moor. ‘I’d forgotten you were his daughter. I’d better make sure our bread’s all right, if you buy some.’

‘Yes, he’s still there. I don’t think they’ll ever let him out. I’ve not been to see him – we lost contact a long time ago. Don’t worry about the bread.
I make my own.’ Daisy smiled.

‘Well, we’ll have to compare recipes.’ Sam lingered next to the open door. ‘See you shortly, Daisy.’

‘Yes, see you soon.’

She watched him trundle down the track from Grouse Hall and wave as he reached the main road.

‘He seems like a good match. Happen our mother was right about one thing,’ whispered Kitty in her sister’s ear.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Daisy gazed after Sam. She wouldn’t admit it, but perhaps Kitty was right.

‘So, are you going to tell me about this lass?’ Luke Allen looked at his son as he stacked the highest shelf in the grocery shop. It was Sunday morning and the shop
was closed, so Luke thought it was as good a time as any to ask his son about the lass he’d been visiting.

‘Why, who’s been talking about me, and what’s it got to do with them?’ Sam blew the dust off the top of a tin of Lyle’s Golden Syrup, placing it carefully back on
the shelf, before climbing down the ladder. He wiped his hands on the cream shop apron and looked at his father.

‘Well, let’s just say the whole of Hawes has been telling me about my lad wandering down the road to Grouse Hall on a Wednesday, when I’m away at Sedbergh. And now you’ve
taken to disappearing of a night, so it must be serious business.’ Luke looked at his son. He wanted the best for him – not some woman without a penny to her name. He had a business to
inherit, so he’d need a worker and someone with a business head.

‘Well, you know damn well know who she is – she’s Tom Fraser’s lass. And yes, I know Tom is in the lunatic asylum; and yes, I know Clifford Middleton is the bastard from
hell and owes us money. But Daisy is different.’ Sam had known this was coming. Folk had been whispering behind his back for weeks. He was surprised that his father hadn’t tackled him
earlier.

‘Aye, I ken her. She buggered off when she was only just old enough – broke her mother’s heart and sent her father crackers. Not a good report, lad. And now, like you say,
she’s living with that bugger and her sister. You could do better than that.’ Luke stamped down in front of him the paperweight that until then had been holding the weekly invoices in
place on the counter, and looked at his son.

‘She was thrown out by her father,’ snapped Sam. He never argued with his father as a rule, but for Daisy he would.

‘Aye, and why? That’s what I want to know. She was the apple of his eye on market days. He’d come in here with her and she could do no wrong. And then all of a sudden, as soon
as she got to a decent age, she was gone.’

‘Well, I tell you what, Father – this will please you . . . You know those new brands of lemon cheese and onion relish that you are stocking? The ones from Mattinson Brothers of
Leeds? Well, those are her recipes – she taught the brothers all they know. That’s where she’s been: cooking for Mattinson’s in Leeds. She told me that the other night. Now
think on that; she’d be an asset to the firm if I wed her.’ The words were out before Sam could stop them. He’d no intention as yet of marrying anyone, but he was angry at being
dictated to.

‘Wed her? You’ll do no such thing – over my dead body will you wed that lass. She’s spinning you a yarn, my lad. She knows you are worth a bob or two, and she’s
plotting. Her father married her sister off to Middleton, thinking he’d money, but he soon found out different.’ Luke slammed the glass paperweight down hard again, with the palm of his
hand, nearly making it shatter.

‘I’ll do what I want, Father. I’m a grown man now, and I’ll prove to you that she’s not who you think she is.’ Sam untied his apron and threw it down on the
counter. ‘You can stack your own bloody shelves. I’ve better things to do with my time.’

With that he made for the shop door, slamming it behind him. Luke stood for a moment, trying to calm his temper down, before going over to the shelf where the Mattinson’s preserves had
just been freshly stacked. He picked up a jar of lemon cheese. He’d got it in only last week. The firm was a fairly new one – Daisy couldn’t have known that. He glanced at the
label, looking carefully at the address, before unscrewing the lid and dipping his finger in the rich, yellow preserve. He licked it quickly as it spilt down his chin. By, it was good. If she could
make him that, he could cut out the middle man: more profit for him. Perhaps he’d been hasty. He’d see what the lad did, and perhaps Daisy could make him a pot of lemon cheese, to prove
she gave these Mattinson Brothers the recipe. Aye, that’s what he’d do. Perhaps the lad was not that daft after all; he’d get Sam to ask for a pot.

‘Kitty, Kitty, whatever’s the matter?’ Daisy rushed to her sister’s side. She’d heard the knock on the door, but hadn’t bothered to come
downstairs.

Clifford snatched the letter from his sobbing wife’s hand and read it quickly:

‘So, the old bugger’s dead.’ Clifford crinkled up the letter in his good hand. ‘Best thing really – no life in that bloody spot; couldn’t
make head nor tail of nowt there.’ He sat in the chair and poked the fire as he watched Daisy comfort Kitty between sobs. Tobias sat at the back of the room, not understanding what the
wailing was all about and keeping out of the way of the now-recovered Clifford.

‘He was my father.’ Kitty lifted her head and looked at Clifford with swollen eyes.

Daisy didn’t know what to feel. This was the man who had belted her to within an inch of her life, killing her baby and nearly making her take her own life. Yet she felt such a pain, as if
part of her life had gone forever. He was her father. She remembered his sparkling blue eyes looking at her with love, and the times he had carried her on his shoulders when she was a child. She
remembered how she had loved him; back then he had been everything to her. She hugged Kitty, but she couldn’t cry; instead mixed-up memories of good and bad times ran through her head,
playing with her feelings for the man she had once respected and loved. But she also remembered how she had felt when she had stood on the chair and contemplated ending her life. She never wanted
to feel like that again.

‘We’ll let the hospital bury him there, to save money. Besides, I don’t want to drive all the way from Lancaster with a dead man in the back of my cart – not with my bad
hand. I wonder if he’d any brass, and if he’d made a will. That mill house up Grisedale is definitely his: that’ll be worth a bob or two, lass. Your old fella might have got us
out of the mire, by dying.’ Clifford felt more like himself for the first time in weeks. ‘Bloody hell, I never thought of that. I’ll go and see his solicitor in the morning. Good
job the old bugger’s dead – he’s timed that just right.’ Clifford poked the fire with vigour, thinking about the inheritance, as Kitty and Daisy looked on in disbelief at
the cold-hearted bastard.

‘What can I do for you, Mr Middleton?’ Henry Winterskill looked Clifford Middleton up and down. He looked a mess. He’d heard that Clifford had been badly
burned in an accident at the farm, but the man who used to think he was cock o’ the midden looked a bit rough at the edges.

‘My wife’s father has died, and I wondered if he’d left a will?’ Clifford hated Henry Winterskill. As well as being the local solicitor, he was on the local bench, and
Clifford had been in front of him a time or two.

‘Have you a death certificate?’ Henry looked at him in the same way a fox looks at its kill.

‘Nay, they haven’t sent it yet. My missus wrote to say to bury him at Lancaster, and they’ll send it then.’ Clifford looked around the office: the walnut wall clock
ticked steady time, the pendulum swinging the seconds away, as he hung on the next sentence to come out of Henry’s mouth.

‘Well, I can’t do anything without it. I need proof of his death before I can do anything.’

Clifford couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘But you’ve got a will. He has made one? He has left some brass?’ He could feel the money in his pocket already.

‘Yes, I have his will. However, when you do bring the death certificate, bring your wife and her sister, as it is of their concern, not yours. I believe Daisy is back in the district and
living with you?’

‘Aye, she is, but he’ll not have left her owt.’ Clifford was annoyed. Why did he want to do business with women, especially with Daisy? Her father had hated her by the time
she’d left Grisedale in shame. But at the same time he was secretly worried that bloody old Fraser had named him as Bastard’s father in his will and had told the world that Daisy was
the mother. ‘There’s nowt to upset my wife in his will, is there?’ Clifford looked at the slimy Henry Winterskill. How he hated asking him that question.

‘Are there any other factors or points you want me to be aware of?’ Henry loved having Clifford over a barrel and watching him squirm, for he knew what a horrible person he was. It
would give him great satisfaction to read Tom Fraser’s will out, just to watch Clifford’s face.

‘No, no. I just thought, with having two daughters, he might have done something daft.’

‘Not at all, but they are both beneficiaries and, as such, should be here to hear the will together.’ Henry rose and offered Clifford his hand. ‘See you next Tuesday. You
should be in receipt of the death certificate by then.’