For a Father's Pride (5 page)

With renewed determination, she kept walking past the working navvies with horses and carts laden with tunnel waste, the loose women shouting at the men, some with babies on their arms, trying
to vie for their attentions. All of them were standing out in the wild, unforgiving weather, desperate to make a living. Daisy shook her head. This was certainly not the place for her. She trudged
on up the road to Ingleton, past one stone-built building called the Welcome Inn. The candles were already lit and she could see a young woman with long auburn hair serving behind the bar. She
peered in through the window, looking at the navvies drinking and smoking, playing cards and joking with the woman. It was all alien to her; she’d never been in a place like this, and it made
her feel vulnerable and uncomfortable when she heard the rowdy laughter of the residents.

‘Now then, little woman, what you doing, looking through my windows? Are you wanting a bed for the night?’

A sandy-haired man looked kindly at Daisy, as she glanced fearfully at him.

‘It’s all right. I don’t bite, not like some of ’em around here.’ He grinned. ‘It’s getting a bit late in the day for somebody your age to be wandering
this road.’

‘I’m on my way to Ingleton, after work. I was only looking in to see what the inside was like.’ Daisy hesitated to provide any information about herself. She was vulnerable,
and she knew it.

‘Our lad’s looking for help. You look a likely lass – are you any good at cooking?’

The man looked Daisy up and down, noticing her shivering and shaking in the fine drizzle that had been falling all day.

‘It’ll save you walking further, and he’s only just up the road. I’ll take you in the trap. He and Jenny will look after you well – he’s good-natured, is our
Mike.’

‘Aye, I can cook. My father was a baker, and I’m not too proud to clean and do other jobs.’ Daisy blushed. Perhaps she needn’t walk any further. Rest would be a godsend,
as she was sure her legs were getting weaker by the second.

‘Right, wait here then, and I’ll get Bess and the trap.’ And with that her rescuer disappeared, only to return a few minutes later with a horse and trap pointing in the
direction from which she had just walked.

Daisy felt so weary that she could feel tears bubbling beneath the surface, as she babbled to John on the journey down the rough track. He kept flicking the reins, listening to
her talking and encouraging information out of her, while he urged his horse forward to where they were bound.

After fifteen minutes the horse and cart pulled up outside Gearstones Lodge, the place she had passed, where she had nearly been molested by the unruly navvies. Daisy let out a gasp of
horror.

‘Right, here we are. I’ll just give our Mike a shout. He’s a good lad, and he and his wife, Jenny, will look after you.’

The light from the alehouse wasn’t strong enough to show the horror on Daisy’s face, but John read her thoughts.

‘Don’t worry, lass. I’ll not leave you with the navvies. I’ll make sure they have a room for you in their house. That drinking hole’s not fit for a young
lass’s ears.’

Daisy sat, shivering, on the buckboard as John talked to what she took to be his brother, Mike. The golden haze of an oil lamp silhouetted both brothers while they discussed her.

‘Get yourself down, then. Our lad says you can willingly have the job. They are run off their feet and need another pair of hands desperately. Besides, I’ve told him you look no more
than a sparrow and will cause him no bother.’ John held his hand out, as Daisy shook with cold and hunger.

She took hold of John’s hand, alighted from the cart in as ladylike a fashion as she could, and thanked her rescuer as she followed his brother across the yard and into the grand house
that was obviously his home. As she did so, her heart thumped: what was she letting herself in for? She didn’t know this family; they could do anything with her, and nobody would know of her
plight. She’d heard of women being used by men and then being found dead in a dark place. Overcome with fear and fatigue, she felt her legs folding under her as she entered the huge
Gearstones house.

‘Sit down here, lass, you look shattered.’ Mike, the owner, looked at the frail form before him. ‘I’ll get Jenny, my wife, to bring you something to eat, and then I think
the best thing for you this night is to get you to bed.’

He left Daisy sitting in the hallway, shivering and looking anxiously around her.

‘Now then, lady, our Mike tells me you’re after a job, but not until you’ve had a good night’s sleep and something in your belly.’ Jenny Pratt eyed the shivering
young lass in front of her. ‘Come on up these stairs. We’ve a spare bed you can have tonight, and I’ll come up with some supper once you’ve got out of those sodden
clothes.’

Daisy looked at the woman who was giving her orders. She’d never know how grateful Daisy was to have a roof over her head and some food in her belly. She dutifully followed her up the
stairs, to safety and warmth.

Daisy lay in the bed. It was early morning, and for once she felt warm and comfortable, lying on a feather mattress in a sparse but spotless room. Jenny Pratt had lent her a
nightgown, realizing that Daisy had no belongings with her. Daisy had been horrified when she had walked in unannounced with it, to find her naked. The scars from her father’s beatings were
still visible to her new employer, and the woman hadn’t been able to disguise the look of horror on her face.

Daisy looked around the bedroom now. There were heavy drapes at the windows, but they were not drawn and she could make out the misty shape of the great fell of Whernside in the distance. The
walls were bare and whitewashed and, besides the bed and chair, there was a marble washstand in the room and a matching mahogany wardrobe. Outside she could hear the noise of people shouting and
wagons rolling, and curiosity overcame her as her senses returned. She slowly raised herself to the edge of the bed. Her legs shook, but she was determined to look out of the window and see what
was happening outside.

She raised herself up, holding onto the brass bedstead, before walking the few steps to the window. She held onto the sides of the window for support as she looked out upon the sight. Directly
below her was a cobbled yard, with barrels stacked in one corner and a horse eating contentedly at its feed. But it was the sight further afield that caught Daisy’s breath: a mass of
raggle-taggle huts that surrounded the massive construction being built across the boggy valley bottom. She remembered passing it yesterday. It was the place that the old woman had told her was
Batty Green. Then she remembered: she was in Gearstones Lodge, the place she’d vowed to stay clear of.

She had to leave; she couldn’t stay here, not in this godforsaken place. She’d thank the Pratts, pay them part of her florin and then be on her way. Tears filled her eyes as she
thought of the last few months – of her baby dead in the orchard; of her parents acting so heartlessly; and of the life she had, prior to the day she was raped by Clifford Middleton. She was
ashamed of herself and felt worthless, and now she was in a strange bed in what seemed to be the roughest part of the district that she could have found. She muffled her tears and then the warmth
of the bed and her exhaustion won again, and she found herself dozing back to sleep.

It was a restless sleep, full of bad memories, but her strength was returning and she awoke to the smell of fresh bread and a noise from the rooms below. She reached over to her clothes and
looked into her apron’s pocket for the florin that her mother had given her. She’d pay and thank these good people for her night’s sleep, and then be on her way. Panic overcame
her as her hand searched fervently for the florin, which was no longer in her pocket. She must have dropped it when she nearly fell – she couldn’t remember. Perhaps the people who owned
Gearstones had robbed her in the night. But that couldn’t be, for they had all seemed so kind. Daisy felt sick as she grabbed the handrail at the top of the grand stairs and heard voices
rising from the hallway below.

‘Is your new help not up yet? Poor Ivy, she’s moaning a bucketful. She thought she could have some time off today.’

‘The poor lass – she’s been belted to within an inch of her life, Mike. Wherever she was going, she’s made the right decision.’ The soft voice of Jenny Pratt filled
the room.

Daisy stood for a while listening to the couple talking about her.

‘Didn’t John know where she came from? Poor bugger. If someone had treated me like that, I’d have left home and all.’ Jenny stood in the hallway with her hands on her
hips.

‘He said she babbled on, but he couldn’t make out half of what she said. He thought it had been her father who had belted her. It’s a funny carry-on. Anyway, I’ll have to
go – our lad’s waiting for me.’

Daisy watched as Mike kissed his wife on the cheek before leaving, Jenny shaking her head as he slammed the door. Suddenly catching a glimpse of Daisy’s shadow, Jenny looked up towards
her.

‘Aye, pet, I didn’t see you there. Now come down and through to the kitchen, and get some porridge. You look as if you could do with something in you.’ Jenny cast an eye over
the scrawny shape cowering on the stairs.

Daisy climbed slowly downstairs, following Jenny through the hallway to the kitchen. There she pulled up a kitchen chair, with tears welling in her eyes, while Jenny instructed her cook to
rewarm the porridge pan for her guest. Daisy looked at Jenny, noting that she was a good-looking woman, but she’d never heard a woman talk like that before. She couldn’t help think that
her mother would have had nothing to do with Jenny – ‘common as muck’ would have been Martha’s opinion. The cook, with a mob-cap on her head, smiled shyly as she spooned
warm porridge into a dish and quickly put it in front of Daisy, before bobbing her curtsy and knowingly leaving her mistress and Daisy alone.

Jenny watched silently as she ate the porridge, her fingers playing with her wedding ring on her thin white finger.

‘Now, by the looks of you, you’ve been through the mill, my lass. That’s why I’ve let you have a lie-in. But if you are to work for me, I expect an honest day’s
work. I can’t offer you much pay, but you can have a roof over your head and a full belly, and a bit of time off when we aren’t busy. I don’t expect you to work in the alehouse
and lodgings; they’d eat alive a bit of a thing like you.’ Jenny stopped and looked at the young lass sitting across from her.

‘I’m sorry I can’t pay for your hospitality last night, and if you are sure you’d like me to work for you, then I’ll do my best.’ Daisy’s voice caught
in her throat as she welled up with embarrassment at the sight she must have presented, and the fact that she had no alternative but to take the job that was being offered.

‘Aye, well, we’ll give it a go.’ Jenny rose from the table, yelling for the cook. She came running in, on her mistress’s beckoning. ‘Ivy, this is . . . er . . .
What did you say your name was?’ Jenny looked at Daisy, thinking just how little she knew about the young ward she had taken on.

‘It’s Daisy, Daisy Fraser.’

‘Aye, well, Daisy, this is Ivy. She’s a good lass, knows my kitchen and house like the back of her hand. She’ll keep you right.’

Ivy blushed and then smiled at Daisy.

‘Ivy, you show her all we do today. And then tomorrow, miss, I expect you to give Ivy a lie-in in the morning. She hasn’t had one of those since the day she started with us. Does
that sound all right to you?’

Daisy nodded while Ivy answered, ‘Yes, Mrs Pratt.’ She bobbed a curtsy and then waited for Daisy to join her in the doorway.

‘And, Ivy, find Daisy a change of clothes. She looks like a scarecrow.’

Daisy blushed. She knew she appeared unkempt, but hadn’t realized quite how bad she looked.

‘Go on, get yourself smartened up, and then make a start with Ivy. God knows I’ve enough on, with that baby of mine – just listen to him holler!’ Jenny stopped talking as
the baby’s wails could be heard echoing around the house. ‘He never stops, he’s always hungry.’ She sighed.

Daisy didn’t know what to say when she heard the baby crying. She hadn’t realized there was a baby in the house, and it made her want to cry; hearing his bawling reminded her of her
own lost child. But she had nowhere else to go, and now she realized there were worse places to be than Gearstones.

‘What’s wrong? Are you not happy with that arrangement?’ Jenny looked perplexed as she watched a cloud appear on Daisy’s face.

Daisy lowered her head and a teardrop fell as she nodded, too choked to answer.

‘Good. Now for God’s sake, smile, lass. You’ll be all right with us, won’t she, Ivy?’

‘Yes, Mrs Pratt. We’ll look after you.’ Ivy smiled and urged Daisy to join her.

Daisy lay on her bed later that afternoon. It had been a full day, one of eye-opening events. Her head buzzed with thoughts: had she done right, accepting a position at
Gearstones? Only time would tell, but now all she wanted was a good sleep. As she closed her eyes, she noticed the glint of her lost florin underneath the washstand. She smiled; she thought
she’d lost it on her way to Gearstones, or that someone here had stolen it from her. Now she had a roof over her head, a florin in her pocket and a new family. Who could want for more?

As Bob Lambert squeezed Daisy’s hand tightly, she couldn’t believe how the three years at Gearstones had flown. Both of them stood in awe as the steam engine blew
its whistle and chuffed its way over the huge viaduct that stood towering above them. The steam from its pistons twisted and curled down the great arches, and the coal smoke assaulted their
nostrils.

The year was 1875 and the magnificent Settle-to-Carlisle line was now officially open. It had been a fair day, a band had played, and Daisy had been run off her feet cooking and cleaning at
Gearstones. Everyone had been celebrating; the beer had flown, speeches had been made, and children had laughed and played around people’s feet as the line that had cost so many lives had
been opened. Daisy couldn’t help but remember the day when she had arrived, half-dead and completely ashamed of her young life, at Gearstones Lodge, near Batty Green. It had been three years
since that wild, wet night – three years that had changed her life and opened her eyes to the world outside her cushioned family life in Grisedale. She’d learned not to judge people by
the way they looked; that no matter how penniless they were, or what people’s worries at Batty Green and nearby Ribblehead were, they would stand by her and their own. That was until drink
sometimes got the better of them. Even then, after a night in the cells at Ingleton or a hard fist flattening them, they would shake hands and get on with it, because everyone depended on the next
person to survive. Life was tough here, and that was a fact. If you didn’t have the support of your next-door neighbour, you’d not last long in this wild desolate place.