CHAPTER THREE
"A Handsome Offer"
"What are you telling me, Dot?" Charity paced the floor of the humble 'Jacob's Fold' cottage that Dotty claimed as home, "that someone stole the carriage and now we stand at the risk of being thrown into debt, all for the sake of the loss of one single carriage? Have you consulted anyone about this?"
"Yes," Dotty clasped her head with one hand, "I've done everything, I spoke to a solicitor in Hotten. I travelled back to Leeds."
"Not to see Mr Waterhouse?" It had been a few days since the loss of the carriage had been reported.
"No, not to see Mr Waterhouse. I doubt I'll hear from him again. Oh, Mam, this is a mess."
"We've lost everything. How can you be so calm? Have you no idea what I have been through to secure that carriage for us?"
"Mam, please. I've done everything I can."
Charity sighed impatiently.
"Sorry to…" a tall lanky man, another of the clan, entered the kitchen with a rag in his hands. He was the cook for the public house and his creations were famous for miles. He had made the homely village pub the place to see and now that it provided lunches it had become the place to eat. It was as fashionable as any grand restaurant in Leeds.
"What is it?" Charity snapped.
"Ey, don't take it out on him. What do you want?"
"Sorry, but there's a delivery outside. Not a parcel, like."
"Stop speaking in riddles!" Charity stood up, "just tell us,"
"It's a carriage. They want to know where to leave t'horses."
"A carriage?" Charity and Dotty looked at each other.
"Yea, you'd best come see."
They hurriedly joined the cook at the front of the cottage, where a fine carriage awaited. It was a Hansom, just as the previous one had been and Forster stood at the door.
"It looks like ours." Charity remarked, "heck, it smells like ours."
"What is this about?" Dotty directed her question at Forster.
"With Mr Waterhouse's compliments." He nodded.
"A Hansom?" Charity stared at it and grabbed her daughter's shoulders. "This could be the answer."
"Your master…?" Dotty began, looking at Forster, "why would he do this?"
"I am merely carrying out his wishes." Forster replied. "Good day, Miss Dingle."
He turned and walked to another cart which had been parked nearby.
Charity ran her fingers across the door of the Hansom appreciatively.
"Well, whoever your Mr Waterhouse may be, he en't afraid of sparing his fortune on the poor and unfortunate." She laughed.
Dotty was delighted, she couldn't deny it, but she was also intrigued. A carriage was a hefty expense, she knew, so why would Mr Waterhouse choose to gift one to her when he had sworn not to do business with her?
For the moment, however, she was content.
The Hansom was the first of many gifts that arrived in the village in the days that followed. A set of reference books arrived, horses from a fine breeder in Berkshire and then Mr Waterhouse himself. They formed an attachment and began their courtship with a passion that was unrivalled. From the stern, arrogant young gentleman came a man who was determined to get what he wanted and his sights, the villagers decided, were set on Dotty Dingle.
"I wonder what he's expectin' for all this?" Sneered Ross Barton, as he stood at the bar of the village pub. Dotty was sitting nearby at one of the round tables that were scattered around, warmed by the heat of the large open fireplace that blazed a roaring fire. She had spent much of the afternoon in quiet reflection, considering the situation with Mr Waterhouse.
It seemed rather eccentric that a gentleman of his calibre would even consider making such an expense on a lowly working class country girl. Not that Dotty was really a girl, of course. Of her thirty summers that she had lived, she had managed to produce two children and was considered to be reckless at the best of times.
"If you must know, Ross," she piped up, "he wants to invest in the carriage business."
"You hope."
"Just stop it, Ross." Warned Dotty, defensively, her hand clasping the back of the chair.
"I'm trying to look out for you, Dotty." Ross answered, lifting a tankard to her.
"I can look after myself, thanks." Dotty snapped.
"I'm sure you can. What's next, the oyster bar? Dinner with his Lordship up at the big house?"
"Eh, Ross Barton, you can stop it now." Charity interrupted, rapping the bar with her hand.
"Was that your Hansom I saw outside?" Pete, Ross' brother asked as he entered the bar.
"Might be." Dotty pursed her lips, "what would it matter if so? I don't recall you or Ross being that concerned when it were missing in Leeds? I had to find out from Tabby!"
The brothers looked uncomfortable. It had been too much of an opportunity to waste. The chance to see the city, to indulge in the thrills of cosmopolitan life; they hadn't even considered the safety of the carriage when they'd abandoned it outside Mr Waterhouse's building.
"Eh, well, we're sorry an' that." Ross murmured.
"Sorry? You lost the carriage, Ross. I trusted you and him to take it to Leeds."
"Got somethin' out of it though, didn't yer, Dot?" Pete added viciously.
"What?"
"Your Mr Waterhouse. Taken quite a fancy, I hear."
"I don't know what you've heard, Ross Barton, but you're wrong."
"I wouldn't say that, Dot." Dotty's mother interjected with a sympathetic gaze toward her daughter, "why don't you tell 'em of your Mr Waterhouse. Catch of Yorkshire, it seems!"
Dotty sighed.
"I have nothin' to say. Its no one's concern what I do. You two," she added to Pete and Ross, "don't expect you're getting anythin' for losing the carriage, you en't."
"Dot, we need the money. You can't just…"
"I run the firm. I make the decisions." Dotty told them, "I know what you all think of me, but I weren't the one that lost a carriage. Mr Waterhouse has kindly replaced it, so no charity is required."
"En't we all la-di-da all of a sudden?" Remarked her aunt from the bar.
"That'll be Mr Waterhouse." Her sister agreed, "dangerous influence if you ask me. Then again, could be advantageous for the business."
"Mam, we're not involving Mr Waterhouse. It was kind enough of him to replace the carriage, but we can't just accept his charity and not give him somethin' in return."
"I've got a pretty good idea what he'll want in return. Look after your garters, Dotty." Warned Pete.
"You'll want to look after somethin' else if you say another word, Pete Barton!" Warned Chastity, her face within inches of Pete's.
Fortunately, the young man conceded defeat in his taunts and Dotty returned to the cottage, where she found a telegram from Mr Waterhouse, requesting her attendance. She sat down in the armchair next to the fire and read over the faint scrawl of text. He had been so unbearable to begin with, but how could she dismiss him now when he had saved her from debt? The Hansom had not been a gift to be sneered at.
She placed a new sheet of paper on the table before her and headed it 'Mr Waterhouse' before adding her reply. Naturally, she would accept.
However what came next surprised her even more so than the Hansom. Mr Waterhouse, upon her arrival at his office, had declared that in the interests of her company, she should engage a beneficiary to manage all monetary matters. Dotty was confused at first but allowed Mr Waterhouse to explain. He had then sent Foster from the room only to return with a draft for the payment of £5000. Dotty had stared at it for a moment, before glancing up at her benefactor's kind eyes.
"For your business, Miss Dingle." He advised.
"This is a heck of a lot of money. I can't...it wouldn't be right." She refused him as gently as she could.
Mr Waterhouse was disappointed but did not allow her refusal to taint his companionship with her. It appeared, he thought, that she was better than he was led to believe.
"What do you mean, you refused it?" Demanded Charity, stalking the floor of the cottage with anger, "that could have been a chance for us, Dot!"
Dotty had returned the night before, having spent the evening fighting with her conscience. Had she made the right decision for herself or for the good of her family? She had not accepted the draft and she was confident in her morals, at least on this occasion.
"Its not our money, Mam. It belongs to Mr Waterhouse and its most kind of him to offer it, but I just think we should keep t'business out of our attachment." Dotty explained. It could never be said that Dotty was sensible, nor did she possess any great ability in anything. Her education had been that of any other country girl; limited to the basics and signed off at fourteen.
"Attachment? Dot? Have you an attachment with Mr Waterhouse?" her mother demanded. Her blue eyes were at once alert and interested.
Dotty pulled up a chair and leant her arm on the table, which sunk on one leg.
"Mam, any attachment I have with Mr Waterhouse is the concern of myself and him. You don't need to involve yourself."
"Dotty, you're my daughter, what am I supposed to do? Just look at your past form…one lunatic…well, part drunk, at least…" Charity dragged a chair out and sat opposite. There was quite a difference in height. The table served as a balance, or mediation between them.
"Mam, I can make decisions for myself." Dotty attempted to stuff a ball of brown paper under the offending table leg.
"I know, but this Mr Waterhouse, what do you really know about him? I thought he was insolent to you when you visited him?"
Dotty harrumphed as she forced the paper into a flatter ball. That was just like her mother to question everything, yet she never made a decision based on reason as Dotty did. Poor Dotty was torn between her loyalty and her growing fascination with the young gentleman she had to come to know rather intimately as Mr Waterhouse.
Once again she found herself on the doorstep of his office. Charity had not yet come to terms with her daughter's rejection of Mr Waterhouse's offer, but she had agreed that it would be correct and proper to see him again, if only to tell him that she had 'hopefully' changed her mind.
"Mr Waterhouse asked to see me," she explained to an astonished Foster who opened the door to her.
"I have no knowledge of this, however you may come in." Foster agreed, leading Dotty across the hall to the office that Mr Waterhouse used for his excursions to Hotten. She clutched at her bag, suddenly nervous. Why should she feel so confused around him? He was no different than any other man, any other gentleman, she corrected herself.
"You may enter, Miss Dingle." Foster announced, startling her. Dotty swirled her skirts to give them a fresher look and swept forward into the confines of young Mr Waterhouse's office.
He was seated as usual in his oak chair, adorned in velvet and silk garments that confirmed his position in society. Dotty's on the other hand, did nothing to enhance her appearance. He stood up immediately upon seeing Dotty and smiled at her.
"You may leave us, Foster. Unless you would care for some refreshment?" he added to Dotty, who blushed. It was such a childish thing to do, she thought, for she was not a schoolgirl and had no reason to feel so shy.
"I don't need anything." Dotty replied softly.
"Go and check on the apprentices, will you, Foster? I can't be doing with attending upon them at every interval."
"Very good, sir." Foster bowed and closed the door, leaving Dotty alone with Mr Waterhouse.
"So," Mr Waterhouse began in his educated manner, "I sent for you and so you came. How loyal of you?"
"I was interested, Mr Waterhouse, nothing more than that."
"Yet still you came. I should imagine that you consider yourself privileged to receive such attention. A mere country girl…" he looked her over, "not what one would consider to be an appropriate visitor to a gentleman's office."
"You consider yourself a gentleman, do you, Mr Waterhouse?"
Mr Waterhouse laughed again, yet in an almost teasing manner, as though anticipating the remark.
"Should I have reason not to, Miss Dingle? I suppose I could ask, do you consider yourself a lady?" He responded with ease, "that is, despite your obvious lack of breeding and attention to deportment?"
He ran his circular eyes over Dotty's bad posture, skinny ankles and rough nails.
"You think of yourself as a gentleman, Mr Waterhouse, but you are all of a pretence."
"A pretence, Miss Dingle? You wound me so carelessly."
"Do I?" she edged closer, "I thought you considered me a failure? You said yourself that you could never trust me."
The smile returned to his lips. He seemed amused by the situation in which he found himself. His hand reached out to Dotty, who stared in awe at it, avoiding his eyes.
"What do you mean by this?" She asked.
"Consider it an invitation." Mr Waterhouse advised courteously.
"An invitation to what? I don't care for the theatre, its too high brow for me.
"The theatre? Goodness, no." Mr Waterhouse shook his head. His eyes fell on the volume that poked from Dotty's satchel, "well, I didn't have you pegged as a thief."
Dotty slid her hand down to the book. Her palm felt sweaty. Why had she done it? She had no cause to steal from him. It was a book, indeed, but it was still the property of Mr Waterhouse.
"If I am not mistaken, that is one of mine." He declared. "Come, give me the book."
He held out his hand expectantly.
Dotty twisted her mouth. She had not meant to be caught, nor
did she want to be condemned as a thief. It was Mr Waterhouse's property, after all
"It appears I was right not to trust you," Mr Waterhouse gently plucked the book from her hands, "very useful, I should think." He pointed at the title, which confirmed the book to be a business manual, of sorts.
"I shouldn't have taken it."
"No, but perhaps the thrill of the chase excites you. Perhaps you consider me to be a worthy target for your folly?"
Dotty could barely understand his well spoken language, but she knew enough to know how to respond.
"No. I don't."
"Good, because I don't hire thieves. Nor harlots for that matter." He spat the words without his usual grace.
"I want to learn, I do. But accepting your offer...its too much. I want my carriages to succeed on their own terms."
"Naturally. I expect the same of my own investments." He agreed. "But what does a book teach? How does that compare to true experience?"
"It doesn't."
"Of course, little women like yourself have no need for books. You can make do without brains." He taunted, but his voice had deepened and there was a longing in his eyes. Dotty's hand trembled and she pulled up her arm, ready to strike, but Mr Waterhouse caught it and pulled her into a sudden embrace.
"A foolish thing to do, Miss Dingle."
"I don't think so."
"I gifted you a Hansom." He whispered, "would you not consider that to be a token of affection? Of my esteem?"
"Is that what this is about?" Dotty retorted, pulling sharply away, "you have so little respect for me, don't you? Simple country girl, simple mind, eh? Think you can treat me as your puppet, to amuse you?" She scoffed, "how on earth could you even be considered a gentleman?"
"Because, like it or not, I get what I want." Mr Waterhouse pulled her back and she relaxed her stance, lost in his eyes. His kiss was not a gentle one, nor was it forceful, but it confirmed that the barriers of class did not matter to Mr Waterhouse, that he was willing to forgo the rules and accept Dotty for what she was.