This story was inspired by the current storyline between Joseph Tate and Debbie Dingle, in particular the scene at Joe's Gatsby style party where he invited the Dingles to share in his wealth only to destroy their home. This is an interpretation of what would have happened had the story taken place 100 or so years ago.
Names of characters have been changed to suit the era and original scenes have been added.
Welcome to Emmerdale Village, home of Dotty (Debbie) Dingle, her family and once upon a time...a young Master Joseph Tate...
CHAPTER ONE
"The Lost Soul"
His name was Mr Waterhouse. That was what they called him in the village, at least. He had arrived some weeks ago on the arm of Miss Dorothy "Dotty" Dingle, whose family rented a small cottage on the outskirts of the village and ploughed the land around it.
They had met in very strange circumstances. She and her mother, Charity, a woman who had shocked the village on several occasions with her questionable morals and behaviour, had decided that in the wake of the shocking antics of her previous attachment, that they should establish themselves a company, headed by their cousin as they were unable to claim the business as their own and leased carriages to wealthy customers in cases of emergency.
The business had been fairly successful, they agreed. They had received a request to organise a carriage from a Mr Foster, working on behalf of Mr Waterhouse and had eagerly accepted.
"Do you think it wise to lease a carriage to such a wealthy man? What do we know of this Mr Waterhouse?" Asked her mother.
"We don't know much, I agree, but I suppose we just have to trust in him." replied Dotty, ignoring her mother's suspicions.
"If you say we must, then we must. I suppose we can't earn anything without trust."
"Thank you, mother." Dotty forced a smile. She was not unattractive to look at, by any means. She had the stature that was commonplace for her class, tall and slim. Her waist was cinched with a boned corset yet it was unremarkable, she had the balanced features of her parents; striking, fiery eyes, sharp cheekbones and a thin mouth, with lips that she dressed, rebelliously, with rouge.
Her clothes were as pretty as she could afford them to be. Dotty favoured checks, usually large squares and a simple ribbon thread through the bodice. She may have been a mother to two children but had no care to wear a matron's cap, instead sweeping her wild wavy locks into a roll at the back of her head in the continental fashion.
Her mother, by comparison, was forced by the confines of her age to wear a matron's cap and as much as she detested it, it would have caused an uproar if she had worn anything else of her own choosing. Charity, who had spent some months in Paris during one of her marriages, had invested in a wardrobe of French couture that was far too extravagant for daily wear. A frill here, a trim there, just to confirm her status, yet it had all been for nothing as far as Charity was concerned. The clothes reminded her of a time she would rather have forgotten, to keep it locked away in a trunk like the one that stood in the corner of her room. Every time she approached it, it sent images of terror racing through her mind.
Yet she could hardly bear to share such confidences with anyone, least of all Dotty. She was unsure whether her daughter would even have the ability to recall her husband, once lord of the manor at Home Farm. If she could, she had never mentioned him. It had led her to distrust strangers, in particular wealthy bachelors. Yet, how could they refuse a request such as Mr Waterhouse's when their very business depended upon it?
With the request received and the arrangement confirmed, Dorothy set to work on the carriage. She had employed a few of the local farm boys, the Barton brothers, to drive the carriage, as despite her own abilities in driving competently, she was certain that Mr Waterhouse would expect the carriage to arrive in the correct manner, with the footmen and driver aboard.
"You're doing a fine job, there." She remarked to Ross, as they prepared the carriage for departure.
"You can speak for yourself, Dotty." Ross wiped his brow, "'Ow much more are we putting on this thing, anyhow?"
"Someone's fetching the horses from the Sugden Farm." Dotty answered, " so you've no need to worry about that."
"I should 'ope not. What are me and Pete doing here, anyhow? You're not expecting us to pick up your Mr Waterhouse and drive him round half of Yorkshire?"
"That's what he's paying us for, so that's what you'll do." Dotty swept back to the yard and collected the message from Mr Waterhouse's representative.
"It says here, you're to pick him up at T.C Waterhouse Holdings, in Hotten and deliver him to Leeds."
"Leeds?" Spluttered Pete, "no, no, Dotty. We en't got time to do that. En't you seen whats goin on up at t'farm?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me, Pete." Dotty twisted her mouth impatiently. Sometimes it was like herding cattle on the family farm.
"Well…we've got the sheep and the cows and we need to make sure we peer in on Mrs Dingle, not your mam, obviously."
"I'm paying you for this, Pete, remember that." Dotty pointed out.
Ross snatched it from his brother's hand.
"Leave it to us, Dotty, we'll see your Mr Waterhouse right."
Pete shook his head and jumped on the back of the carriage. Another young farmhand appeared, leading the horses to the front and chained them up.
"Looks like we're ready, Dotty. Unless you're wanting to come along for t'ride?"
"That's not a good idea." Dorothy told them, "thanks for the offer, though."
"See you back at the Woolly afterward!" Ross called from the front as he flicked the reins and the horses set off with the carriage toward the Hotten road. The 'Woolly' as Ross had termed it, was the affectionate name for the village pub, "The Woolpack" and was run by Dotty's own aunt Chastity, with the proviso that she kept the drayman happy by offering her services every so often. The brewery, it seemed, had turned a blind eye to the whole affair.
Dotty watched as the carriage shrank into nothing more than a dot on the horizon and returned to the office to consult her books. She was determined to show everyone that she was far more than what they thought of her. It was only as she was sipping her way through a mug of coffee that she realised the time.
They had been away hours now and it didn't take that long to get to Leeds.
"Miss Dingle! Miss Dingle!" A blonde woman with flyaway hair and a happy, cheerful face came bounding toward the office bearing a piece of paper in her hand.
"What is it, Tabby?" Dotty had very little time for whatever gossip Tabby was surely about to share. She and her husband, the rather attractive David ran the village stores together and accepted letters through their makeshift post office. She knew that Tabby had a tendency to spin yarns, the bigger the better, suggested some, but this was different. There was a sense of panic in the woman's face.
"Please, Dotty!" Tabby urged, brandishing the paper, "this came at once for you!"
Dotty took the paper in her shaking hands and read the telegram.
"What is it, Dotty?"
"The carriage. A Mr Waterhouse asked for it. It's…" she could hardly get the words out, "its been stolen."