Читать книгу The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl - Nancy Carson - Страница 13

After an hour or so of trying to make sense of this latest disturbing conundrum, Poppy ambled dejectedly back to the conglomeration of miserable huts that were a blight, even on the ravaged, slag-heaped, chimney-bestrewn landscape around Blowers Green. The sun was hiding behind a bank of grey clouds, depriving the scene even of the joy of colour. As she entered the compound, hungry, for she had not felt like eating after what had occurred, she caught sight of Robert Crawford’s boneshaker leaning against the side of the hut that the foremen used as an office. She turned away, disappointed with Robert over his failure to seek her out after their dinner-time ride, which seemed ages ago. He must be avoiding her, so why give him the satisfaction of thinking that she wanted to see him?

But as she was about to enter her own hut, he came out of the foremen’s and espied her. He called her name and she lost her resolve. His smile, to her delight, did not give the impression that he was sorry to see her – rather that he was decidedly pleased to. They walked towards each other, her smiling eyes glued on his, and they met in the open space at the centre of the encampment.

‘Poppy, how grand to see you,’ Robert greeted. He was wearing his usual top hat and frock coat, and his watch chain hung impressively across his waistcoat. ‘Have you heard from your father yet?’

Poppy shook her head, saddened to be reminded. ‘No, Robert, and I’ve got the feeling he ain’t coming back.’

‘Oh? Why on earth would you think that?’

‘Well, ’cause he ain’t shown up yet. He’s had plenty time now.’

‘But I’m certain he will, Poppy,’ he said, trying intently to reassure her. ‘Any number of things might have conspired to delay him. Maybe he’s found lucrative employment and wants to make the most of it.’

‘Lucrative?’ she queried wearily. ‘You don’t half use some funny words, Robert.’

He smiled his apology, feeling mildly chastised for using words that he should have realised were beyond her knowledge. ‘It means well-paid, gainful.’

‘Gainful or not, he ain’t come back.’

‘Maybe he’ll send for you soon.’

‘Well, it won’t be soon enough,’ Poppy said wistfully. ‘He’s too late already.’

‘Too late? What do you mean?’

Poppy shook her head and averted her eyes. ‘Oh, nothing …’ She felt too ashamed to tell him what had transpired between her mother and Tweedle Beak and the certain consequences of it.

‘You must miss him, Poppy,’ Robert said kindly.

She nodded and tried to push back tears that were welling up in her eyes. ‘Yes, I miss him, Robert. I love him.’

‘There, there …’ He took her hand in consolation but held it discreetly at her side, so that such intimate contact was hidden from view by the folds of her skirt. ‘Please don’t cry, Poppy. I have such a vivid recollection of you laughing and being so happy that I can’t bear to see you crying with sadness.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She sighed and wiped an errant tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. She forced a smile and Robert gazed into her watery eyes.

‘You have such a lovely smile,’ he said sincerely. He squeezed her hand before he let go of it. ‘Your smile is your fortune, believe me. I remember how you flashed me a smile the very first time I saw you. I asked myself then, why was I so rewarded with such a lovely smile when I was accompanying such an unpleasant policeman on such a thoroughly unpleasant task?’

‘Oh, I could tell you wasn’t like the bobby,’ Poppy said. ‘Besides, you had the good manners to take your hat off when you came in our hut. Even I know it’s good manners for a man to doff his hat in somebody’s house.’

‘I’m happy that it pleased you … that you even noticed.’

‘There’s not much I miss, Robert …’

He laughed at that. ‘And I believe you. But I’m glad I’ve seen you, Poppy. I’ve been meaning to seek you out. There’s something I wanted to suggest …’

‘What?’ she asked, and felt her heart beating faster.

‘Well … Last time we met, you told me that you regret not having had the opportunity of an education …’

‘It’s true,’ she agreed, puzzled.

‘Well … Poppy …’ He fidgeted uneasily, not sure how to word what he wanted to say without her reading into it more than he meant. And then he found the simple words. ‘How would you react, if I offered to give you lessons in reading and writing?’

‘In reading and writing?’ she repeated incredulously, surprise manifest in her face.

‘Yes. I think I could easily teach you to read and write. If you wanted to, that is.’

Her tears were quickly forgotten and she chuckled with delight at the thought. ‘Robert, I don’t know what to say, honest I don’t … D’you really mean it? I mean, d’you know what you’re letting yourself in for? I mean, what if I’m too stupid?’

He laughed dismissively at that, partly because he was amused that she should harbour such an absurd notion, partly because he wished to disguise this illogical lack of poise he sometimes felt when he was with her, even though she was way below his station. ‘Oh, you’re very bright, Poppy,’ he reassured her. ‘You’d learn very quickly. So what do you say? Do you agree?’

‘Oh, yes, I agree, Robert. And thank you. There’s nothing I’d like more. But when would we start?’

‘Well, why don’t we start tomorrow?’

‘That soon?’

‘Yes, why not? Can you meet me tomorrow?’

‘When I’m through with me work. But where would we go?’

‘Ah! I haven’t quite worked that out yet. But if you could meet me somewhere, we could find a quiet spot where I could first teach you your alphabet.’

Poppy looked up at the sky unsurely. ‘Even if it’s raining?’

‘Yes. Even if it’s raining.’

‘So where should I meet you?’

‘Perhaps as far away from this encampment as possible,’ he suggested. ‘To protect your reputation, of course.’

‘My reputation?’ she scoffed. ‘Yours, more like.’

He was not surprised by the astuteness of her remark, but he let it go. ‘Do you know the ruins of the Old Priory?’

Poppy shook her head.

‘Do you know St Edmund’s church at the far end of the town, past the town hall and the market?’

She nodded.

‘Meet me there.’

‘All right. Will three o’clock be all right?’

‘Three o’clock will be fine.’

Poppy smiled excitedly. ‘I’ll bring a writing pad and a blacklead.’

That encounter, and the prospect of another meeting tomorrow, lifted Poppy from her depression. She felt honoured that Robert Crawford was prepared to spend time with her, teaching her to become literate. Did it mean he was interested in her, that he wanted to woo her? The possibility excited her. He must like her, anyway. That much was obvious. Else he wouldn’t have offered to do it. Now, she had to scrounge some money from her mother again, to enable her to go into Dudley to buy a writing pad and her own blacklead.

Some of the black spoil that had been excavated from the Dudley Tunnel at the northern end had been deposited over an area known as Porter’s Field. The sloping elevation that ensued, having been duly compacted, was considered a suitable site for a fair. That Saturday evening in June, Minnie Catchpole decided that the fair that was being held there might provide her and Poppy Silk with some interesting diversions while Dog Meat and his new friend Jericho proceeded to get drunk.

The two girls entered the fair, looked about them excitedly and drank in the lively atmosphere. Traders had set out their stalls on both sides of the broad corridor of the entrance, and misspelled notices advertised their wares. Everything was available, from the finest leather saddlery and boots, through chamber pots, to sealing wax. An apothecary was telling a crowd around him about the benefits of using his balsam of horehound and aniseed for the treatment of coughs and colds, and of Atkinson’s Infants’ Preservative, recommended for those children liable to diarrhoea or looseness of the bowels, flatulence and wind. A herbalist was evidently doing good business in blood mixtures, sarsaparilla compound, piles ointments, healing salve, toothache cure, pills for gout and diuretic pills. A little further on, if you were hungry, you could enjoy a bowl of groaty pudding for tuppence, made from kiln-dried oats, shin of beef and leeks. If that didn’t suit, liver faggots and grey peas were a tasty alternative, as was the bread pudding known as ‘fill-bally’, made from stale bread, suet and eggs, and sweetened with brown sugar and dried fruit.

Poppy’s curiosity inclined her to spend a halfpenny to see a woman who was supposed to be the fattest woman on earth, until a miner emerged from the tent and declared, ‘There’s one a sight fatter ’n ’er up Kates Hill.’ Elsewhere, a man was grinding a barrel organ; his monkey, on a long lead, was jumping from one person to another collecting small change in a tin mug. A crowd had gathered around a stall where they were invited to part with money to ‘find the lady’. Poppy was astounded that she herself never got it right, confident that she had followed the card diligently as it was switched from one place to another in an effort to confound.

In a large tent a company of actors was performing, and not far from that stood a beer booth around which men were gathered in various states of inebriation. A couple of young men in rough clothing called to Poppy and Minnie to join them and, predictably, Minnie couldn’t help but be drawn. Poppy had little alternative but to follow. These lads were the worse for drink, but Minnie played up to them and they plied both girls with a mug of beer each. Poppy, to Minnie’s eternal frustration, was reticent about getting too involved, but Minnie showed no such inhibitions as she willingly accepted another mug of beer and giggled at their lewdness.

Inevitably, Poppy was showing little interest in the attention and bawdy suggestions from the lad with whom she seemed to be stuck. She was not impressed with anybody who did not recognise the folly of getting too drunk and, besides, her earlier meeting with Robert Crawford was still fresh in her mind. Compared to Robert Crawford, this buffoon, who remained doggedly at her side as she was trying to make her escape, was as nothing.

‘Come with me over the fields,’ he slurred, unwilling to concede defeat.

‘I don’t want to,’ Poppy replied earnestly, looking behind to check whether Minnie was following.

‘But I bought yer a mug o’ beer.’

‘It don’t mean you bought me.’

‘Oh? Come more expensive than that, do yer?’

Poppy remained sullenly silent, wishing fervently that the young man would go away.

‘Got a bob on yerself, ain’t yer, for a navvy’s wench?’ he said scornfully.

‘What makes you think you’re any better than me?’ she asked, indignant at his insinuation.

‘What’s up wi’ yer?’ he goaded. ‘Yer mate’s game. Come on, let’s goo over the fields an’ have some fun.’

Thinking that intimate bodily contact might render him irresistible, he put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. When Poppy wriggled in an effort to get away, he held on to her tightly, causing her to wriggle more.

‘Leave me be,’ she said angrily.

‘Poppy! Is this chap bothering you?’ To Poppy’s utter surprise, it was Jericho who spoke.

‘Jericho! Where did you spring from?’

‘Me and Dog Meat just got here. I watched you walking down here. Is this chap bothering you?’

‘Why do chaps always think you’re keen to go off with them?’ she complained.

Even as she spoke, Jericho had the young man by the lapels of his jacket and flung him to the floor. He dived on him, hurling abuse, fists flying, while the poor victim tried in vain to protect his face from Jericho’s vicious blows. Soon, a crowd gathered round and their vocal encouragement added fuel to Jericho’s ardour. There was nothing better than a fight to inflame the passions of a crowd, especially when most had been drinking. To his credit, Dog Meat could see which way this fight was going and, fearing a murder, he grabbed hold of Jericho and managed to pull him away.

‘You’ll kill the little bastard.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do,’ Jericho rasped, resisting Dog Meat’s restraining hold.

‘No! You’ve hurt him enough. Use your brains. Leave him be. Leave him be.’

Jericho calmed down and the youth, with a swollen eye and his face smeared with blood, struggled to his feet and slipped into the crowd, out of reach. ‘Next time, I’ll marmalise yer,’ Jericho yelled, shaking his fists. He turned to Poppy, who had turned pale with apprehension. ‘Are you all right, my pet?’

‘You didn’t have to hurt the poor chap like that,’ Poppy responded. ‘I could’ve handled him all right.’

‘Jesus! Is that all the thanks I get? I could see you was trying to get away from him. I could see he was being a bloody pest. Who knows what might have happened? You should be grateful I was there.’

Poppy smiled reservedly, unsure how to react to Jericho’s violent gallantry.

Minnie appeared, having seen the wisdom in breaking free of the lad she had been promising so much to. She smiled at Dog Meat and took his arm. ‘I’m glad you come, Dog Meat,’ she cooed. ‘We was just going to the Grin and Bear It to find you, till that chap tried to get Poppy. But you can buy us a drink here, if you’ve a mind.’

‘Nah,’ Dog Meat replied. ‘If that chap fetches a bobby we could be in trouble. Let’s clear off and have a drink somewhere else. There’s plenty places.’

So the foursome left the fair. Dog Meat and Minnie walked arm-in-arm, with Poppy and Jericho behind. They stopped at a public house called The Woolpack in the town and drank outside in the warm summer evening air till closing time. Jericho was successful in occupying Poppy entirely and she told him of her father and how he had been forced by circumstances to leave the encampment. Jericho listened attentively and uttered sympathetic comments.

‘And now if he comes back Lord knows what will happen,’ Poppy said.

‘Oh?’ Jericho queried. ‘What makes you say so?’

‘Oh, because Tweedle Beak has wormed his way into my mother’s bed.’ She saw no harm in mentioning it. He would know tomorrow anyhow, when the wheels of encampment gossip began turning. And besides, she felt the need to talk to somebody, to get it off her chest and gain another opinion.

‘’Tis nothing out o’ the ordinary,’ Jericho said consolingly. ‘’Tis likely anyhow that Lightning Jack has bunked up with some woman, wherever ’tis he’s got to.’

‘But he’s my dad,’ Poppy argued. ‘And I don’t like the thought of him being done the dirty on. Oh, I know me mother was worried about being turned out and having to go on tramp, but I would’ve rather gone on tramp if I’d been her. I wouldn’t have sold meself for the price of a few weeks’ rent, ’specially to the likes of hook-nosed Tweedle Beak. I don’t admire what she’s done, Jericho.’

‘Well, like as not, they ain’t been to bed yet, eh? Like as not, Tweedle Beak’s still swilling beer down his throat.’

‘Like as not,’ Poppy agreed. ‘But when he gets back, my mother’s gunna be lying with him.’ She shuddered at the thought.

‘Jesus, you’re a sensitive soul, Poppy,’ Jericho said. ‘I ain’t never knowed anybody like you afore.’

She smiled up at him. ‘I told you that already. I told you I ain’t like the others.’

‘Nor you ain’t. But what does it matter? Life’s life. Men are men and women are women, and they’ll never be no different.’

‘I don’t know what it is.’ She shrugged and sipped her beer. ‘Maybe it’s ’cause I see too many women giving themselves to men who ain’t worthy to lick their boots. And what do they get for their trouble? A belly full of babby that they’ve got no alternative but to rear. And do the men care? No. The more babbies, the better. “Keep the women babbied,” they say. It keeps ’em out of harm’s way, and shows their mates how fertile they are. Men are like kids, Jericho. I never met one yet who’s grown up … Save for one, maybe …’

‘You mean me?’ he said.

She smiled but didn’t answer him.

‘Oh, you mean that engineer chap who you’m took with?’

‘I never said as I’m took with him … Any road, he ain’t ever likely to be took with me, is he? A navvy’s daughter?’

‘But you like him …’

She shrugged. ‘What girl wouldn’t? He’s a gentleman, good and proper. He’s got good manners and he’s polite. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘What’s polite? In this world you gotta take what you want while it’s going, and never mind being polite. When folks are polite to me, I might start being polite to them. But there ain’t much fear on’t.’

‘I hope you’ll always be polite to me, Jericho,’ she said earnestly.

Jericho guffawed. ‘Oh, you don’t half fancy yourself as the lady … I’ll treat you like a woman, Poppy, and no different. Either way, I’ll bed you. And when I do, you won’t be putting on airs and graces …’

Minnie was only half listening to what Dog Meat was saying. She was standing a couple of yards from Poppy and Jericho and she had an ear cocked towards them, trying to catch their conversation. She was feeling peeved that Jericho seemed absorbed in Poppy. Minnie’s face, to anybody who could read it, manifested her jealousy.

After they had left The Woolpack, the four made their way back to the encampment. Jericho continued to monopolise Poppy and walked with his arm around her waist, to Minnie’s annoyance. Drink had made him talkative and Poppy even found him amusing.

‘Am yer comin’ in with us now, Jericho?’ Minnie asked as they stopped close to Rose Cottage, anxious to part him and Poppy before it was too late. They had been far too friendly for her liking.

‘In a bit,’ Jericho replied. ‘When I’ve said goodnight to Poppy.’

‘We’ll wait, if you like.’

‘He don’t want us to wait,’ Dog Meat scoffed. ‘He wants his ten minutes wi’ Poppy. Come on, let’s have you in bed.’

Minnie turned away sullenly and went with Dog Meat.

‘I ’spect you don’t wanna go in yet,’ Jericho suggested. ‘On account o’ Tweedle Beak and your mother, I mean.’

Poppy sighed. ‘What if I do and they’re … you know?’

‘Then don’t go in. Come and sleep with me at Hawthorn Villa.’

‘I’m not sleeping with you.’

‘You will sooner or later. Why not now? The offer’s there … Come a little walk wi’ me then, eh? To pass the time.’

Rather than go into Rose Cottage too soon, Poppy felt it was better to take advantage of Jericho’s company and let him keep her out late. She did not want to be faced with the awful truth of her mother and Tweedle Beak cavorting in bed. It was inevitable, of course it was, but she wanted to delay for as long as possible the dreadful, disgusting moment when she would have to witness it. If luck was with her, she would be able to keep Jericho at bay and return home between Sheba’s and Tweedle’s unspeakable love sessions … and fall asleep before they recommenced. As they started walking again, Jericho reached for her hand and she gave it compliantly.

A three-quarter moon emerged from behind clouds of smoke that issued out of the clutter of chimney stacks, and lent an eerie silver glow to the unnatural landscape. Then all at once the sky glowed red and angry, reflecting the blaze and searing heat from furnaces spewing out white-hot iron, and from cupolas vomiting flame. Set against this bloodshot firmament, those same chimney stacks stood out stark and black, like sentries guarding the headgear of the adjacent coal pits, whose turning cranks and wheels rumbled and clanked, while the steam engines that powered them hissed and sighed in their endless toil. The air was filled too with the penetrating roar of blast furnaces, a sound which was constant, however distant.

Jericho led Poppy down the path towards Cinder Bank, the same path she had ridden along as a passenger on Robert Crawford’s two-wheeled bone-judderer. Poppy thought about Robert, and wondered what he was doing at that very minute. She had no idea of the time; perhaps he was asleep in bed, perhaps he was reading a book on engineering.

Reading … Oh, soon, she would be able to read … but not soon enough.

They stopped walking when they reached the bridge under the railway, and Jericho pressed her against the wall.

‘I don’t half fancy you, Poppy,’ he whispered. ‘I want you to be my wench.’

‘I don’t want to be anybody’s wench, Jericho.’

‘I’ll make you change your mind,’ he murmured. ‘Just give us a kiss.’

She felt obliged to let him, since he had saved her from that overbearing lad at the fair and had seemed sympathetic to her anxiety over her mother. She tilted her head back and tentatively offered her lips. Jericho was upon her like a hog at a sweetmeat and Poppy did not particularly enjoy the experience. His kiss was too wet, his lips slack and slavering through too much alcohol, and his rough tongue, which she imagined as some unutterable, eyeless water vole crazy for entry, invaded her mouth. Without wanting to seem too ungrateful, she tolerated it for a second or two, then had to break off, turning her face away.

‘Don’t you like the way I kiss?’ Jericho asked.

‘It’s not that …’

‘What then?’

‘It’s as if you’re trying to rush me into something, Jericho. I don’t want to rush into anything,’ she said beseechingly. ‘Not with anybody. You’ll just have to give me time …’

‘Time?’ he scoffed. ‘I ain’t got time. I might be dead tomorrow. You know how many men get killed digging cuttings and blowing tunnels. What about if some bastard knocks the legs too soon from under an overhang and a hundred ton of earth and rocks come tumbling down on me and bury me? What then? No, I ain’t got time, Poppy. Don’t ask for time. I want you now.’

He bent his head to kiss her again and she allowed it. Certain that she had submitted, he put his hands to her backside and began hitching up her skirt. At once, she pulled away from him.

‘No, Jericho! Please have some respect for me. You have to respect my feelings.’

‘Respect you?’ he gibed. ‘Bugger me, Poppy, anybody’d think you was that Lady Ward, whose husband owns the Pensnett Railway back there – him as has got the ironworks and the collieries all over the place …’

‘I need time, Jericho,’ she pleaded. ‘Let me get used to the idea first.’ Thoughts of Robert Crawford and her meeting with him tomorrow were more important. What if he wanted her to be his girl? She had to stall Jericho, even though she knew that he was stronger than her and could easily take her by force if he felt so inclined. ‘I need to know you better before I can do what you want.’ She took his hand gently, gambling that she could ensure her safe conduct by seeming helpless; humouring him and promising him all in the future, but delivering nothing. ‘It could be worth the wait, Jericho,’ she whispered tantalisingly, as she led him away. ‘I just ain’t ready yet …’

‘Ain’t you ever been with anybody afore?’

‘No. Never.’

‘Bloody hell … You’re a virgin …’

‘Course I am. Come on, Jericho. Take me back to the encampment.’

‘But what about your mother and Tweedle Beak?’

‘I think I can cope with that now,’ she said, with an assurance she certainly did not feel.