1

Grisedale, Yorkshire Dales, 1872

The sun shone through the chapel window, the shimmering rays dancing and playing around the young couple who were taking their vows of marriage, quietly and with reverence.

Daisy Fraser watched with damp eyes as her older sister, Kitty, let her new husband tenderly slip the ring onto her finger and then kiss her gently on the cheek. She was torn between jealousy, regret and anger at herself. She should have told her sister who she was marrying: what a rat Clifford was, and that he was only after their father’s money. Clifford Middleton – there he stood, the dark-haired and handsome heir to Grouse Hall, Grisedale, marrying the baker’s oldest daughter, who came into the marriage with a handsome dowry. But it was young Daisy who knew what he was really like. She quickly swept away an escaping tear that was falling down her cheek. Her mother noticed, squeezed her hand and whispered, ‘Never mind, dear, your day will come,’ not realizing that her daughter wasn’t crying out of regret.

Daisy gave a false smile. She had tossed and turned for nights, wondering whether to tell her sister, but the wedding plans had been well under way. And how could she spoil Kitty’s wedding day with the most disastrous news you could hear coming from the lips of your sweet younger sister? Daisy had always lusted after Clifford. She knew he was a good-for-nothing, but his father was wealthy, he dressed in the sharpest suits and he always had a twinkle in his eye and a smile for the ladies – everything that young Daisy, at sixteen, had admired. But it had been Kitty’s hand he’d asked for in marriage this spring, and Daisy had been broken-hearted at the fact that Clifford had never given her a second glance.

That was until Kitty and their mother had gone to Sedbergh for some supplies for the wedding breakfast. Daisy had been in the house alone; her father had been delivering bread over in the nearby valley of Uldale, and she’d been left to tidy up and prepare the spare room for the guests who would soon be arriving. She’d turned round quickly, sensing someone in the room with her, to find Clifford leaning against the doorway smiling at her. She could still hear his soothing, dark voice and see the way he looked commandingly at her. She could remember how he said that he was being a fool and was marrying the wrong sister, and that he would rather have Daisy’s brains than Kitty’s beauty. She could remember how he’d wooed her and made her feel special, saying that at sixteen she was nearly a woman – and would she like to know what it felt like to be a true woman?

Colour rose in her cheeks as she thought of the moment when he carried her into her mother and father’s bedroom, pulling up her skirts and kissing her tenderly, making her feel like a grown woman, and secretly satisfied that Clifford was showing her the lover she could be. He unbuttoned his trousers, but it was then that she’d come to her senses and pleaded with him not to go any further – to no avail. She’d pounded her fists on his chest and screamed in his ear, as he grinned wickedly at her while unbuttoning his trousers. Daisy winced aloud as he entered her, frightened but too scared to shout any more, as he roughly covered her mouth with his foul-smelling hands. He kissed her roughly, biting and scratching her, as each thrust became harder and deeper. Never had she been touched and used like that before. It was painful, and her legs and body ached. Finally he’d rolled off her, exhausted, and Daisy had lain next to him nearly in tears, realizing what she had done, overcome with pain and shame after the agony and heat of the moment had passed. She had allowed her future brother-in-law to go where no honourable gent would even mention, let alone touch – losing her virginity to a cad, someone who had no respect for her or her sister.

She’d watched as Clifford had buttoned up his trousers and grinned before saying, ‘Two sisters in one day – one with money and the other without. Still, you were a good ride, Miss Fraser.’ And she remembered sobbing into her mother’s bedding as she pulled her skirts down, feeling used and filthy. She’d stayed in her parents’ room until she heard him go down the stairs and slam the front door, and then she’d stood, with his seed running down her legs. She remembered the rush she had made to the kitchen, to wash him away; how she’d trembled with the jug full of cold water and the cloth, washing her private parts and getting rid of the smell that he’d left behind, before her parents returned.

‘Daisy, are you all right, you look quite flushed? Don’t they make such a beautiful couple? Kitty has done so well for herself. To think my daughter is going to be the mistress of Grouse Hall – I just can’t believe it.’ Martha Fraser was pink with excitement, but at the same time concerned about her younger daughter’s reaction to the wedding. ‘Now, we must find you a young man, perhaps a farmer’s son. Or Luke Allen has a good-looking lad – perhaps you should go into Hawes one day. Two bakeries together, now that would be something!’

‘Mother, I don’t aim to marry. Besides, who’d have me? Compared to Kitty, I’m plain and ordinary: too short, too plump, with mousy brown hair. We are like chalk and cheese.’ Daisy came back from her thoughts quickly.

‘Nonsense, you’ll grow into a fine woman. You are still young, my dear. Plenty of time to look around and find the right man – at least another five years. You don’t want to be sitting on the shelf when you are over twenty, though, my dear.’ Martha giggled and rushed out into the aisle as the young couple made their way down the steps, stopping at the pews of their parents.

‘Mrs Fraser, you look beautiful. Why, I know now where Kitty gets her looks from – they always say “Like mother, like daughter”.’ Clifford Middleton kissed his mother-in-law’s hand, making her go a darker shade of pink with his comments.

‘Now, Clifford, words are a fine thing, but you’d better look after my daughter. She’s precious to me; both of them are.’ Tom Fraser pulled Kitty close to him and shook Clifford’s hand, little knowing that he was shaking the hand of the man who had taken advantage of his younger daughter.

‘Of course I will, Mr Fraser. I love your Kitty and hope to make her a good husband, and I’ll treat Daisy like the sister I never had.’ Clifford smiled like a wily fox, nearly snarling at the sight of Daisy.

‘Good man – you’re welcome to our family. As long as you do right by us, we’ll be right by you.’ Tom slapped Clifford on the back and walked up the aisle, past the few guests and relations that had been invited.

Daisy dallied at the back of the group. She didn’t want to go near her new brother-in-law; in fact, she would have done anything not to have been at the wedding. But now she knew that worse was to come, as the wedding breakfast was to be held at Grouse Hall. How dare Clifford say he would treat her like a sister? You definitely didn’t take your sister to bed.

‘Come on, everybody, the carriages await. My father will make everyone welcome at our home. Please don’t be alarmed by the way he looks – he can understand every word you say. I’m afraid that his stroke has left him unable to speak, and his face is slightly lopsided, but behind the mask is a brain that still works.’ Clifford ushered everyone into the carriages, including his blushing bride, who hung on his every word and smiled as her loving husband held out his hand to assist her.

Everyone knew that old Middleton was on his way out. He’d had a stroke a few years ago, losing his speech, but had managed to retain control by writing everything down for people to read. He’d lost his wife in childbirth, when she had tried to give him another heir; both mother and baby had died, leaving a distraught ten-year-old Clifford and a grieving husband. Since then Clifford had been brought up by a housekeeper, and his father had slowly slipped into becoming the old man he now was. Soon Grouse Hall would be Clifford’s, along with the four hundred acres of land and two farm cottages that were tenanted. Clifford Middleton was a good catch for anyone who could put up with his wild ways.

‘What’s up, Daisy, you’ve got a face on you that could turn milk sour?’ Tom Fraser looked at his younger daughter. ‘It’s a wedding, not a funeral, we’ve been to, and you’re about to fill your belly at someone else’s expense, so make the most of it.’ Her father scowled at Daisy. She was his favourite, a clever lass, but far too sombre and deep-thinking sometimes. He worried that her thoughts were sometimes too deep for her own good.

‘I don’t like Clifford. I don’t want to go and see his home, or his old father.’ Daisy could have cried, but she had to keep her secret.

‘Well, you were all over him the other day – tha changes with the wind, lass. I thought you liked him. Or is it, happen, a bit of jealousy creeping in?’ Tom made light of her mood.

‘I don’t think he’s right for our Kitty.’ Daisy had to say it.

‘Hush, child. Course he’s right for Kitty – she loves him.’ Martha Fraser urged her outspoken daughter to be quiet.

‘Too bloody right. He’s right for our Kitty. He has plenty of brass and plenty of land, which is what a father likes to hear, so you’ll keep your mouth shut and make best of it.’ Tom Fraser’s mood changed quickly. He’d worked hard to find his daughter a good man, and it had cost him a pretty penny. He’d made sure Kitty had been seen in all the right places and in all the society papers, just for her to catch the eye of Clifford Middleton: the catch of the Dales. He wasn’t going to hear any different. ‘It’ll be finding somebody for you that we’ll have bother with now, and you don’t have the looks of your sister.’

‘Father, watch what you say.’ Martha scowled at him as the carriage turned up the driveway of Grouse Hall.

The long, low house of Grouse Hall stood in front of them. The limestone from which it was built looked grey and dark in the dimming light, and Daisy couldn’t help but notice that the windows and doors could do with a lick of paint. It was set high on the fellside of Grisedale and had wild rushes and rough fell-grass growing around it. What had been garden walls was now rubble, and nature had taken over, making its own display of wild brambles and ragged robin, which gently bobbed its frayed petals in the breeze.

Martha Fraser held her husband’s hand as he helped her out of the carriage, not quite believing this was the place where her daughter was going to live. She had understood, by the way Clifford dressed and spoke, that it was a grand hall he lived in, as the name had suggested. But this was nothing more than a rambling, neglected farmhouse. She scowled at her husband. He’d known all along what the house looked like, so why hadn’t he said?

Tom whispered to her, noting her disappointment, ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover, Martha; he’s got brass in the bank.’ She held his hand and smiled at the two rather grubby servants who were standing at the gate, waiting to greet their new mistress and her family.

Daisy, left to her own devices, climbed out of the carriage unaided and stood and watched as the servants bobbed and curtsied. Then she watched as they scrambled back into the house while Clifford urged them to go about their work. With tears nearly welling up in her eyes yet again, she watched as Clifford swept Kitty off her feet and carried her over the threshold of Grouse Hall, laughing and screaming, with her family and guests cheering them on. The marriage was a farce. Were they all blind, and could they not see that Clifford’s twinkling eyes and easy charm were just a pretence and that he would never be faithful to her sister? She stood for a second by the rundown garden wall, admiring the view of the dale and trying to block her ill feelings from spoiling her sister’s wedding day. She watched as a nesting curlew circled overhead, crying its familiar call, before landing down in the valley bottom below. She wished she could join it and not have to attend the wedding breakfast; anything was better than having to look into the dark eyes of her brother-in-law.

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.

 

 

2

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, Mam: 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, Mam, 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.

‘I can take you all the way up, if you want. We are in good time.’ Tom lifted his wife down from the buckboard.

‘No, get on your way. The earlier you are, the more trade you’ll get. Besides, it’ll do me good to stretch my legs.’ Martha gave Daisy a nervous glance as she picked her skirts up and made her way along the dusty path.

Daisy felt her stomach churn. She was alone with her father, and all morning she’d felt sick with worry: had her mother said anything? She couldn’t have done, for he was acting too normal.

‘Tha’s quiet, lass, what’s up?’ Tom looked at his youngest. She was dark and plain, but her heart was true. Not as flighty as her sister, and a better baker he’d never known; his business would be in good hands, if it were left to her. With a bit of luck he could do that. Clifford Middleton had enough brass for Kitty and any family that she might have with him. He patted Daisy’s hand and smiled at her. She looked worried and had made herself scarce all day yesterday, for some reason. Perhaps she’d fallen out with her mother. ‘Never mind, keep it to yourself. I don’t want to know what you women get up to.’ He grinned and pushed his team into a trot.

Daisy kept silent on her trip down the dale. It was a beautiful late-spring day, without a cloud in the sky. The rolling fells of the Howgills looked like velvet, as the valley opened out to reveal the small village of Sedbergh. She wished her mind was as calm as the day; it was a-swim with worry at the thought of her predicament. They entered the village to the usual greetings and pulled up in the historic marketplace, her father quickly setting out their wares, leaving Daisy to sell them while he stabled the horses and talked to his fellow traders and friends. Business went well. The Frasers had a good reputation for tasty bread and satisfying food, and by lunchtime their stall was nearly empty. Daisy enjoyed the banter; trading was all about making friends and hearing the gossip – and how much your skills were valued. It had helped settle her nerves for a few hours, and she smiled as her father praised her way with the customers. She loved him dearly; she felt closer to her father than her mother. He was quiet and steady, unlike her mother, who continually wanted a better life and was never satisfied.

‘Away, lass, let’s get back home.’ Tom folded up the wooden stall onto the back of the cart and turned to look at his daughter. ‘Tha looks white, are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m fine, just a little tired. We were up early this morning.’ In truth, Daisy felt sick. She could feel a wave of nausea coming over her, and her head was light and her body wanted to give in. She heard her father’s voice getting fainter as she tried to pull herself up onto the cart’s seat; the blood rushed to her head, making her feel dizzy, before she collapsed and fainted in front of the market crowd.

‘Out the way – make way, my lass is ill.’ Tom parted the concerned crowd and lifted his daughter’s head. ‘Aye, Daisy, what’s wrong? You’ve looked bad for weeks.’ He held her tight, while someone passed him a drink of water from the nearby fountain to revive her. Daisy spluttered as he forced the water into her mouth. ‘There, lass, don’t move. I’ll lie you down in the back of the cart and then I’ll take you up to the doctor.’ Tom put his strong arm around his daughter in an attempt to pick her up.

‘No, no.’ Daisy, her head spinning, struggled to come to her senses. ‘I’m just tired, I’m fine.’ She grabbed her father’s arm and eased herself up onto her legs, still feeling queasy. ‘See, I’m grand.’

‘Tha doesn’t look too grand to me.’ Tom helped his daughter to the cart, assuring the gathering crowd they were all right and that they could all go about their own business. He didn’t like folk knowing their business.

‘I’m fine.’ Daisy sat next to her father, feeling shaky and guilty. She knew he was going to have to be told shortly, because this was just the start of her pregnancy and she couldn’t fain being tired forever.

Tom looked at his pale daughter and whipped his horses into action. He’d have words with Martha when he got home; she’d happen get to the bottom of it. Perhaps they’d been working her too hard since Kitty left.

Daisy lay in her bed cocooned by the warm feather mattress. Her heart was beating fast as she listened to her father going through his nightly ritual: the back door bolt being slammed, the grandfather clock’s chain being wound slowly and carefully until the weight was at the top of the mechanism, the door of the case being carefully closed afterwards. The things she heard every night of her life, but never feeling the way she did tonight. She counted his steps in her mind. The third step always creaked and then she watched for the candlelight to pass her closed doorway. She listened through the age-old walls, too thick to hear normal conversation, but too thin to keep out the raised voices tonight. Daisy screwed her eyes tightly shut, hating the noises from her parents’ room. She knew her mother was telling her father about her. Her father’s voice rose with anger, and her mother was screaming at him. Daisy had broken his heart, and she knew it. The rumble of angry voices went on for hours and she cried lonely tears as she tried to sleep, eventually pulling her pillow over her head to cut out the noise. She hated the baby she was carrying; she hated Clifford Middleton; and most of all she hated herself for being so shallow with her affections.

When the early morning light broke through Daisy’s bedroom window she shook herself from sleep, but immediately the despair of the previous evening swamped her again as soon as her senses awoke. Did she dare enter the bakery and act normally, or should she stay in her room? She walked across the bare floorboards and poured cold water from the wash jug into the matching bowl, freshening her face. She felt drained as she pulled on her skirts while sitting on the edge of her bed, lingering there, not wanting to confront her parents.

‘You needn’t bother coming down today. Your father doesn’t want to see you. I’ve to lock you in your room, because he’ll not be responsible for his actions.’ Martha Fraser stood in the doorway. She was quiet – too quiet for her nature.

Daisy hid her head in her hands, before raising her tear-filled eyes to look at her mother. ‘What’s he like, Mam? He’s not going to cause bother for our Kitty, is he?’

‘Nay, he’ll not be bothering them. I didn’t tell him who’d fathered your bastard bairn, and it’s enough that we’ve one daughter in disgrace, without having two in bother. You’ll not say a word to him about Clifford either, else by God I’ll kill you and the baby myself.’ Martha looked dark and forbidding. ‘I’ll fetch you something to eat later, when I’ve time. I’m doing two folks’ work this morning, thanks to you.’

With that she slammed the bedroom door shut, turning the heavy iron key in the lock and leaving a heartbroken Daisy sobbing on her bed.