Candles in the Storm (9 page)

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Authors: Rita Bradshaw

Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction

BOOK: Candles in the Storm
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Oh, dear, her granny still hadn’t forgiven Enid for being a bit short with her, thought Daisy, as she knelt down by the mattress after taking the small pot of warm ginger from the side of the range. She raised the man’s head slightly, supporting it with her arm as she trickled a tiny amount of liquid between the half-open lips.
 
Oh, but he was beautiful. The same thought that occurred every time she looked at him brought a pink tinge to her cheeks which had nothing to do with the heat from the range. She had never seen anyone so handsome. Her eyes moved to his hair, fair and silky and longer than the fishermen wore theirs, and then over his face to his throat and the wide broad expanse of his shoulders. She wished he would open his eyes and say something so she’d know he was going to be all right.
 
She dribbled a few more drops of liquid into his mouth, watching him swallow with a feeling of thankfulness. He couldn’t be that bad if he was still swallowing, could he?
 
She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight for a moment as the enormity of it all - her da, Tom and Peter missing, and the sudden appearance of this disturbing stranger who was so utterly helpless - swept over her anew. Life was suddenly all topsy-turvy and fragile, and it frightened her.
 
When she opened her eyes again the sky-coloured gaze was waiting for her, its blue light even more concentrated in the soft glow from the fire in the range. Daisy stared back mesmerised for a second or two, and then she pulled herself together enough to say gently, ‘Everythin’ is all right, you’re quite safe,’ as her heart thudded hard against her ribcage.
 
‘My . . . my head. The pain . . .’
 
‘You’ve had a nasty bang on the head but don’t worry about it, just rest now.’ His had been a cultured voice, accentless, which went with the fine clothes. He was from the gentry, no doubt about it, and people would be looking for him. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked very softly. And when he just continued to look at her, she repeated, ‘Your name? What is it?’
 
‘I . . . don’t know.’ And then the light in his eyes was extinguished when they closed again and he sank back into the deep sleep which Daisy found so alarming.
 
‘I’ve seen this afore,’ Nellie piped up from her bed where she had been watching proceedings with great interest. ‘Your granda knocked himself out once; actin’ the cuddy he was, though, not like this poor devil. Anyways, it was two full days afore he knew his arse from his elbow an’ he had a bad head for a week or more. This ’un’ll be all right, lass, now he’s talkin’ again.’
 
Daisy nodded. Maybe. ‘Granda hadn’t all but drowned though, had he?’
 
‘No, no, there is that, hinny, but you can’t do more than you’re doin’. Look, you’ve got to get some rest or you’ll be the next one flakin’ out. Have one of them blankets, he don’t need ’em all, an’ settle yerself on the saddle for a kip. I’ll give you a call if he wants anythin’.’
 
Daisy shook her head. If she gave in to the exhaustion which was dragging at her limbs she wouldn’t come to again till morning, besides which her grandmother always slept the hours away, snoring loudly and with gusto, while proclaiming the next morning she hadn’t slept a wink all night. She couldn’t risk it. ‘I’ll stay awake a bit longer, Gran. You go to sleep.’
 
‘All right, me bairn. I know it’s no use arguin’ if you’ve made up your mind, but it’ll be a long night, you mark my words.’
 
 
It
was
a long night, but by the time the inky darkness was finally stretched and broken on the rack of sunrise Daisy felt her patient’s slumber was a more natural one. She had dozed once or twice, sitting sentry duty on the hard wooden saddle, awaking every so often with a start and immediately checking that the man was still breathing.
 
With the coming of the cold, mother-of-pearl dawn she roused herself fully, beginning the normal mundane chores like stoking the range and setting the kettle to boil. Chores that spoke of normality. When her da and Tom came home they would expect everything to be ticking along as usual, and ticking along it would be.
 
Once she had seen to breakfast and made her granny and the young man comfortable, she would slip along to Mrs Hardy’s and ask Alf to make enquiries in Monkwearmouth regarding the ship which had sunk. It had been a big ship, important. Someone would know something. And likely her da and Tom would be walking through the door soon, and wouldn’t they get a gliff when they saw the visitor? Aye, they would. Pray God,
pray God
they would . . .
 
Alf did not have to make the visit to Monkwearmouth. Before Daisy had even finished mashing the tea the first cottages in the village were astir, buzzing with the news that a search party was making enquiries regarding the ship which had sunk the day before. Of course they had been directed to George Appleby’s place; it was his bit lass who had been foolhardy enough to risk life and limb rescuing a lad from the water, a toff by his clothes according to Ethel McCabe. As if any of the gentry would lift a finger to help a fisherman in similar circumstances! Less than the muck under their boots to the gentry, fishermen were. She’d get no thanks for her trouble would Daisy, sure as eggs were eggs.
 
Daisy wasn’t thinking of thanks as she faced the four men standing outside her cottage door. She had answered the impatient knocking as quickly as she could, considering she had taken the opportunity to nip into the scullery to wash her hands and face there while the tea was brewing, but it clearly had not been quick enough for the sour-faced individual who seemed to be in charge. He snapped at her the minute the door swung open, asking her name and then demanding entrance into the cottage in a manner which was offensive but brooked no argument.
 
Daisy’s face was resolute and her voice low as she said, ‘I’m sorry, but I shall need to know your business first.’
 
‘Know my business?’ Josiah Kirby had been valet to the master of Greyfriar Hall, situated south of Felling, the largest and best-run country estate in Durham - according to the army of servants who worked there - for thirty-five years, and considered this position superior to any other, even that of Middleton the butler. He had his master’s ear in a way none of the other servants did and was the recipient of his confidences. All the staff were aware of this and treated him accordingly. He demanded and received the utmost respect, and now this little chit of a fishergirl dared speak to him in this fashion? His thin mouth became even thinner as he said icily, ‘I am here as envoy for Sir Augustus Fraser. Let me pass, girl.’
 
‘When I know your name an’ your business.’
 
He would have slapped any of the Hall’s maids had they dared to look at him as this baggage was doing, and seen to it they were sent packing without a reference. Daisy watched him straighten his slight shoulders and adjust the collar of the thick greatcoat he was wearing before he said, slowly and very deliberately, ‘My name is Mr Josiah Kirby and I am making enquiries into the whereabouts of Sir Augustus’s son, Mr William Fraser. I understand you are keeping a young man here, one who was travelling on the
Aquitania
which left France for England the day before yesterday.’
 
He made it sound as though she was keeping the young man a prisoner against his will. Daisy’s answer was prompt and once again without undue ceremony. ‘A ship sank out yonder yesterday mornin” - she pointed to the wide expanse of ocean which was now shimmering calm and placid under a brightening sky - ‘an’ a young man was saved from the water, but he’s in a poor way.’
 
She stood aside to let the men pass as she spoke but only Josiah Kirby moved into the cottage. After waiting a moment Daisy closed the door on the other three and turned to find their visitor kneeling by the mattress, saying, ‘Thank God! Oh, thank God, sir. You’re safe,’ to the young man who had his eyes open. And then the older man swung round to glare at Daisy as he barked, ‘What is the meaning of keeping Mr Fraser here like this? Why did you not contact the authorities? Sir Augustus and the family have been out of their minds with worry.’
 
She stared at the nasty little man, and resentment and indignation made her voice sharp as she cut across the protests Nellie was making from her bed and said, ‘I wasn’t in a fit state to go anywhere yesterday an’ he couldn’t have been left anyway. I was goin’ to get someone to go into Monkwearmouth today.’
 
‘Really?’ It was said in a tone of disbelief. ‘And where are Mr William’s belongings and his clothes? What have you done with those?’
 
Was he calling her a thief? Daisy couldn’t remember when she had been so angry. ‘He didn’t have no belongings an’ his clothes are dryin’.’
 
‘No belongings?’
 
‘Are you barmy, man?’ Nellie’s voice was deceptively soft as she entered the fray. ‘The lass has just told you, the lad was fished out of the water when the boat went down - an’ you’ve her to thank for that an’ all. Without Daisy here riskin’ her own life to save his, your master’s precious son would be with the rest of the passengers an’ their belongings an’ such, at the bottom of the sea keepin’ company with Davey Jones’ locker. Look at him.’ She pointed a bony finger at the figure on the mattress. ‘He’s still in cloud cuckooland an’ likely will be for days, but he’s a darn’ sight better than he was yesterday, an’ that’s due to me lass.’
 
Josiah Kirby glared at the old woman before looking down at his master’s son again, and when he saw the young man’s eyes were shut and he appeared to be asleep the truth of Nellie’s statement was borne out. ‘He’s sick.’ His hand reached out and touched William’s brow. ‘You should have got a doctor to him at once.’
 
‘He’s had a blow to the head an’ he was chilled to the bone from the water,’ Daisy stated grimly. ‘The most important thing was to make him warm inside an’ out, an’ that’s what I did. No doctor could have done more. Besides which there was no one to go for a doctor as I’ve already said. All the boats were out an’ they didn’t come home till last night. He’s best where he is for the present.’
 
‘Where he is?’ Josiah curled his upper lip. The smell of fish was overpowering, and although he had to admit this hovel was clean it was no fit place for Mr William. The very idea! The old hag in the bed was clearly useless, and the girl had already admitted she was the only one taking care of his master’s son. ‘I think not.’
 
‘You prepared to answer for movin’ him, eh, me fine feller?’ Nellie put in slyly. ‘Won’t go down well with your master if his son croaks afore you get him home, will it?’
 
These people! Common as clarts and as cunning as a cartload of monkeys. What were they up to? But the warning in Nellie’s words had hit home. Mr William was bad, no doubt about it, and they only had the open carriage and the morning was bitter. Josiah stood up abruptly, his mind made up. ‘You had better make sure you attend to Mr William properly,’ he said curtly, ‘or you will pay for it, make no mistake. I shall inform Sir Augustus of the situation at once.’
 
‘Aye, you do that, lad.’ Nellie was openly enjoying herself now but Daisy was so angry she didn’t trust herself to speak. She stood in silence, her cheeks burning and eyes hot, watching as the valet got to his feet and straightened his coat before tapping his bowler hat more firmly on to his head with a disdainful glance round the room again.
 
How dare he speak to them like that? He might be dressed up to the nines but he hadn’t corrected her granny when she had referred to Sir Augustus as being his master so he was obviously just a servant, albeit a powerful one. Her granny had told Daisy tales about life in the big houses, passed on to her from Alf’s mam who had heard them first hand from her aunt. The servants far outnumbered the family in many cases, sometimes as many as forty being employed indoors for a large country estate, her granny had said, and the aunt had maintained the upper servants lorded it over the lower ones to a point where they were more uppity than their masters and mistresses. Daisy could believe that now.
 
‘I shall return shortly with instructions from Sir Augustus.’ The valet spoke without looking at Daisy or Nellie, making for the door as though Daisy was invisible.
 
‘Aye, I don’t doubt that, lad,’ said Nellie conversationally from her corner of the room. ‘Gives you instructions on how clean to wipe your backside too, I’ll be bound.’
 
The stiff little figure paused for a fraction of a moment, back bristling, before flinging open the door. He turned on the threshold, his hard black eyes going first to Daisy and then to Nellie, and it wasn’t until he was looking at Daisy again that he said, quietly but venomously, ‘Fishing scum! There’s more than fish sold down at the docks an’ the back alleys by the likes of you. I dunno what you thought you’d gain by keepin’ the master’s son hidden away but you’ve bin rumbled, girl, so think on.’
 
The door was slammed with enough force to cause the man on the mattress to stir and mumble, and then there followed a moment of dead silence which was broken by Nellie saying, ‘By, lass, it didn’t take him long to lose his cut-glass accent, did it? Prick his balloon an’ he’s as common as the rest of us, even if his linings might be of the finest linen an’ changed daily.’

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