Читать книгу The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl - Nancy Carson - Страница 15

‘I’d like us to concentrate on double vowel sounds tonight, Poppy,’ Robert Crawford said.

They were sitting in his office, on the first floor of an old house in Abberley Street, off Vicar Street, which the contractors had acquired because it was near the workings. It suited Robert’s purpose admirably. Poppy could learn undisturbed, and Robert would not be compromised by being seen in public with a low-class navvy girl. There was seldom anybody who used the offices after about six o’clock of an evening. And he was privy to a key.

The evening rays of an early July sun streamed through the deep sash window, which was open an inch or two at the top, and fell obliquely onto his huge desk, that was covered in drawings and maps. Poppy sat next to Robert at the desk. They were so close that he was aware of Poppy’s soft warmth as his thigh gently nudged hers as if by accident in the desk’s kneehole.

Robert was hopelessly torn. For two weeks he had contrived to meet Poppy there to give her lessons in reading and writing and, in that respect, both were experiencing singular success. Poppy could already recognise scores of simple words, and write them down in an awkward scrawl. But he had not yet mustered the audacity to suggest anything more than being merely her teacher. He was certain that he had fallen in love with her. If it was not love, it was some other destructive yet utterly overwhelming attraction that he seemed powerless to resist. Whatever it was, he was painfully aware that it could do neither him, nor anybody else, one iota of good. Still, he could not help wanting to touch her, to feel her girlish softness and gentleness. He ached to run his fingers through that tangle of fair curls and feel her delicious-looking lips on his. He was forever trying to glean information as to her likely relationship with that savage they called Jericho, and whether any relationship was flourishing. Always, however, she dismissed it as something trivial. Well, he hoped with all his heart and soul that it was trivial and would remain so.

‘If we have two “o”s together,’ he began to explain, ‘they make the sound you get in the word look.’ He wrote the string of letters down.

‘Look,’ she repeated, forming the word deliberately, and with a delectable pursing of her lips, which gave Robert the renewed and urgent desire to kiss her.

‘And this word – book.’ He wrote that down quickly as well.

‘Book.’

‘Tooth …’

‘Tooth,’ she repeated seriously, oblivious to the effect she was having on him.

Next, he wrote down the word hook. ‘So what do you think this word says?’

She studied the word for no more than a second. ‘’Ook.’

He smiled, acknowledging her ability to work it out quickly. ‘Hook,’ he corrected. ‘You must sound the “h” …’

‘Hook,’ she said exaggeratedly.

‘That’s better. So do you understand the sound a double o makes?’

‘Yes,’ she said, with a certainty that was unassailable. ‘It’s easy.’

‘Good … Ah! You see there’s another … the word good … You’re doing well, Poppy. Extremely well. Now, let’s look at the vowels o and u together … as in house …’

‘’Ouse.’

‘Pronounce the h, Poppy.’

‘Sorry, Robert. House.’

‘Now … mouse.’

‘Mouse,’ she said, looking very serious.

‘Mouth …’ He looked at her lips again. He was fascinated by the way they moved so deliciously as she pronounced the words.

‘Your mouth, Poppy …’

She looked up at him and saw the flame of ardour in his eyes. ‘What about my mouth?’

‘You have such a lovely mouth. I’m sorry, but I want to kiss you. Would you be terribly offended?’

‘No, why should I be?’ she answered with neither hesitation nor inhibition, and felt her heart instantly beating faster at the unexpected enticement.

She leaned towards him and pursed her lips and he could have kicked himself for not having asked before. Her lips were cool and slightly moist, like petals unfurling from the bud. He was all at once aware of her chastity and her sexuality, existing together symbiotically.

‘That was nice,’ she said with wide-eyed sincerity. ‘Hey, you don’t half kiss nice.’

‘Then I’ll kiss you again … But why not close your eyes this time?’

‘I will, if you’ll close yours as well. You didn’t then, so it’s no good telling me to, if you don’t.’

‘I was merely looking to see if you had closed your eyes.’

‘I’ll close ’em then.’

Their lips met again. Poppy peeped to see whether he had closed his eyes and found him peeping at her once more.

‘See?’ she complained, breaking off with a girlish giggle. ‘You’re watching me.’

He laughed self-consciously. ‘I was just checking.’

‘No checking, Robert. If you want me to kiss you and keep my eyes closed, you have to trust me. Don’t keep peeping.’

‘I won’t peep again. On my honour.’

‘Right …’

They kissed once more, and neither dared to open their eyes any more to see if the other’s were shut. The kiss lingered, each savouring the sensation, and she felt his arm come around her and give her an attentive, affectionate hug, which she enjoyed a great deal.

‘I like it when you do that,’ she said.

‘Then why don’t you sit on my lap?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll be able to kiss you more easily and hold you properly, rather than us stretching over.’

Compliantly, she got off her chair and slid into his lap with an appealing saucy smile. She curled up in his arms like a kitten and submitted willingly to his kisses, which she found mesmerising. She stayed like that for half an hour, though it seemed significantly less, enjoying his warm affection, wringing as much innocent pleasure out of it as she was able. Poppy felt herself tingling in the most surprising places. She was peeved at being robbed of the intensifying pleasure when he stopped and said that maybe they should get on with more work.

‘Oh, sod the work,’ she carped.

‘No, Poppy.’ It was the most difficult thing in the world to say no right then, to deny himself, let alone Poppy, this intimacy he’d secretly yearned for. ‘Lord knows what might happen if we lose control of ourselves.’

‘What can happen that neither of us don’t want to happen?’ she asked, baffled at this shattering and unaccountable self-denial of his. ‘Don’t you want me?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said and there was no mistaking the truth of it. ‘I want you.’

‘So, am I your girl now?’

He laughed ruefully. ‘Just a few short weeks ago you told me you weren’t prepared to devote yourself to anybody.’

‘But you never asked me to be your girl, Robert. I would have been, gladly … If you’d asked.’

He emitted a profound sigh. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as cut and dried as that.’

‘But you like me, don’t you? You must do. You asked to kiss me.’

‘Poppy …’ He looked down into the folds of her skirt as she sat in his lap, her warm weight a pleasure. ‘I do like you. I like you much more than I care to admit. But there are other considerations. I don’t just want to take advantage of you.’

‘You wouldn’t be.’

‘Yes, I would, and it wouldn’t be fair … Oh, Poppy … I could so easily—’

‘So easily what?’ she interrupted emotionally, tears filling her eyes. ‘Take advantage of me, you mean?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not take advantage. Didn’t I just say that’s the last thing I want to do? No – I mean, I could so easily fall in love with you.’

‘Then why don’t you?’ she answered with her young girl’s logic. ‘I’d fall in love with you, then you could take advantage of me all you liked. I’d want you to.’

He groaned inwardly. Here, unexpectedly before him, was the promise of heavenly bliss with this girl, and he must surrender it, ignore it as if it wasn’t there. ‘I don’t think you understand, Poppy.’

‘Oh, I think I do,’ said she, as the light of realisation hit her. She got up from his lap and slumped down in the chair she had occupied before. ‘You’re a clever engineer, a real swell, and invited out to slap-up dinners, you say, whereas I’m just a common navvy’s daughter who could never be anything but that.’

‘No, Poppy.’

‘Oh, yes, Robert,’ she sighed. ‘I admit I’ve harboured feelings for you ever since I met you, but I’m daft, aren’t I, to have thought I could ever be anything other than a navvy’s wench?’

‘You can be whatever you want to be, Poppy,’ he said sincerely.

‘But not your girl …’

He did not answer.

She took a rag out of the pocket of her skirt and wiped her tears. ‘Unless I suddenly become a lady, eh? I stand no chance unless I suddenly become a lady with airs and graces, and can look down my nose at everybody beneath me. Well, I’ll never be like that, Robert. I could never be. It ain’t in me. You have to take me as I am or not at all.’

‘I would rather take you as you are, Poppy, believe me …’ He hated to see tears in her eyes. She was hurt and he was responsible. He was sorry and all he wanted right then was to hold her, to comfort her.

She stood up, agitated. ‘No, there’s too much of a gap between you and me. Everywhere you went you’d be ashamed of me. Oh, I understand your difficulty, Robert, but I could never be content neither, thinking I was never good enough for you.’

‘You must never belittle yourself, Poppy.’ He stood up and moved towards her, compelled to put his hands to her slender waist. ‘I think you’re the kindest, most sensitive, prettiest soul I’ve ever met.’ His tone was a taut thread of emotion. ‘I can’t get you out of my mind. That’s the trouble. And it’s driving me mad, Poppy. What am I to do?’

She rested her head against his shoulder as if all the troubles of the world had come to roost on hers. Her eyes were still watery at this unexpected admission of love that had exploded between them all of a sudden, like gelignite going off.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘But why should there be such a big to-do about it? I don’t get it. If two people like each other enough …’

‘Dear God …’ he said quietly, his heart heavy. ‘The problem is, you see, Poppy, it’s not that there is a social divide between us. I’m sure that would be bridgeable, for the will to either bridge it or ignore it would indeed be there. It’s just that …’ He hesitated, unsure as to whether to confess his predicament … but, hang it all, he had to, otherwise he was being dishonest … ‘It’s just that I’m already engaged to be married. Yet how I wish I weren’t …’

‘You’re engaged already?’ The possibility had never crossed her mind before. ‘Who to? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know who she is.’

‘She’s a very respectable girl. I imagine you’d like her.’

‘I’m sure I wouldn’t.’

‘No, maybe you wouldn’t.’

‘I know I wouldn’t. I’d like to punch her nose.’

‘Oh, Poppy, please don’t talk like a navvy.’

‘Well, if you’re engaged, you shouldn’t see me again,’ she said resignedly. ‘Maybe it’d be best to stop my lessons.’

‘Do you want to stop your lessons?’ He was sorry that he had put her unorthodox education in jeopardy by his amorous behaviour.

‘No, why should I?’ she answered defiantly. ‘You’re teaching me to read and write and I’m learning well. I know I am. Why should I stop now just because you’re engaged, just because there’s another girl you’re fond of? I’ll just have to stop liking you like that. Did you know all along how much I liked you?’

He could have hugged her for her kittenish simplicity, her lack of guile, her direct use of simple words. ‘From the outset I hoped you did. I hoped with all my heart that you did.’

‘So why don’t you just give up this girl you’re engaged to, if you’d rather have me? It’s seems the best thing to do.’

‘But I’m promised, Poppy. I knew her long before I met you. Her family and mine are close friends. We are due to be married next year. A man can’t renege on a promise to marry. It’s a question of honour. The girl has to release him from his promise. Otherwise the consequences for him could be very serious.’

‘But if you told her about me … Maybe she would release you.’

He shook his head. The thought of confessing to his bride-to-be and her family that he was in love with the daughter of a navvy filled him with dread. Neither they – nor his own family either, for that matter – would regard him as stable. He would be a laughing stock. They might even try to have him certified to protect the integrity of his fiancée. The difficulties were not too hard to foresee.

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he said.

‘I’d better stop having me lessons then,’ Poppy said flatly. ‘I’d only want us to start kissing again. And if I can’t have you in the end, I don’t want to start anything in the beginning.’

‘Poppy,’ he sighed. ‘You must continue with your lessons. You said so yourself. It’s vitally important for you that you do. I’ll be on my honour. I promise not to take advantage.’

‘No,’ she said assertively. ‘It’s best we don’t see each other. There’s no point. I don’t want to get worked up into a lather when I’m with you, knowing that you’ll never be mine. No, I might as well start seeing Jericho serious.’

‘Oh, Poppy,’ he groaned. ‘Must you?’

Poppy returned to Rose Cottage in a state of bewilderment. She was so exhilarated at kissing Robert Crawford for so long and his confession that she was always on his mind. Yet she was also deeply frustrated that nothing could come of it. It was as she had always suspected; he liked her, but he was not about to lower himself and become involved with her, especially since he was already engaged to some girl whose family might be wealthy and important. It was hardly worth competing for him because, in her position, she could never have him. Why was life so unfair? Why was it tilted so much in favour of the swells who already had everything?

She entered the hut carrying her writing pad and blacklead and flopped them on the table among the dirty crockery that still littered it. Her mother was sewing patches and buttons onto shirts.

‘It’s quiet in here for once,’ Poppy commented.

‘Well, the babby’s asleep in his crib,’ Sheba replied, pulling a needle on a length of thread. ‘Lottie and Rose am playing in the cutting and Jenkin’s out somewhere with his mates, up to no good, I daresay.’

‘So where’s Tweedle?’ There was a hint of scorn in Poppy’s tone, but Sheba could not be sure of it.

‘Out drinking, with the rest o’ the lodgers … Where’ve you been?’

‘Having a lesson. I’ve been learning words like look, and tooth, and mouth and house.’ She had sounded her h.

‘Hark at you. Sounding all swank. ’Tis to be hoped it gets you somewhere.’

‘I was learning quick. Robert said so.’

‘Was?’ Sheba queried.

‘Yes … was. I’m having no more lessons. I don’t see the point. I can read now.’ She was grossly overstating her ability, but had no wish to enlighten Sheba as to the real reason.

‘That chap Jericho called round after you.’

‘What for?’

‘How the hell should I know? But I can guess. He’s a handsome buck, and no mistake.’

‘If only looks was everything.’

Sheba smiled to herself. ‘Oh, and what would you know about that?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say as Tweedle Beak was handsome,’ Poppy replied, with a shrug. ‘Would you?’

‘It might help if he was …’

Poppy laughed. There was a pause in their conversation while she put her writing pad in her drawer to save getting it mucked up. ‘What yer gunna do about Tweedle when me father comes home?’

‘Tweedle will just be one o’ the lodgers again.’

‘Providing me dad can get his old job back, you mean.’

‘Even if he can’t, it wouldn’t make any difference. We’d just go on tramp till he found another.’

‘So it is me father you love, and not Tweedle?’ She regarded her mother earnestly. ‘Oh, tell me it is, Mother.’

‘Aye, it’s your father I love.’

‘But what about if he comes back and finds you already pregnant wi’ Tweedle’s brat?’

Sheba bit the thread she was sewing with, severing it, and rested the crumpled shirt in her lap. ‘Oh, well,’ she said, looking intently into Poppy’s eyes, ‘I’m already pregnant. But it’s with your dad’s child. I knew I was carrying afore he went away.’

Poppy smiled happily. It was the best news she’d had in ages. ‘Does Tweedle know?’

Sheba shook her head. ‘Neither does your father.’

‘But you let Tweedle Beak into your bed just the same?’

‘To save us going on tramp and missing your father. As well as all the other reasons. It was the only thing I could do.’

‘But that makes you no better than a whore, Mother,’ Poppy said, more with concern than with any disrespect.

‘All women are whores, our Poppy. We sell that soft place we’ve got between our legs for whatever we want back in return, be it money, protection or just pleasure. It’s a ticket for whatever we want, whatever we need.’

‘What about love?’

Sheba smiled knowingly. ‘Aye, it’s a ticket for love as well. But there’s a difference. You don’t sell it for love, our Poppy. You give it away free. But always be aware of the likely consequences.’

Poppy went to bed that night before her mother and Tweedle, with a great deal on her mind. She was relieved to hear her mother’s confession that it was Lightning Jack she loved, and not Tweedle Beak. Poppy could forgive Sheba her horizontal exploits now that she knew that it was merely an expedient device to protect them all. She was pleased also to learn that she was carrying a child, especially that there was no question but that it was her own father’s child. It was a sort of insurance that when Lightning Jack returned – which, pray God, would be soon – Tweedle would simply fade into the background of navvies from whence he came, and things would revert to normal. No doubt Lightning Jack would thank Tweedle Beak for looking after his woman while he had been away. It was the way of the navvies.

Inevitably, Poppy’s thoughts turned to Robert Crawford and she relived that delectable half-hour in his arms, feeling his lips upon hers. She compared his gentleness and consideration to Jericho’s ill-bred roughness, recalling the time when Jericho had been fighting naked and, naked, took her in his arms afterwards, rubbed himself lustfully against her and expected her to go willingly behind the hut with him. Did she really want Jericho’s violent, slobbering kisses, his clumsy fondling, now she had tasted Robert’s succulent lips?

Poppy recalled how wet she had felt between her legs while she and Robert were in each other’s arms. She was wet now thinking about him. She pulled up her nightgown carefully so as not to disturb her sisters asleep in the same bed, and stroked herself to actually feel it on her fingers. It was wickedly pleasant to rub yourself there. Gently she continued, lying with her eyes shut, her mouth open receiving Robert’s luscious kisses. With the other hand she fondled her breasts, arousing her small pink nipples, and imagined him to be doing it. She hugged herself, making believe it was Robert’s warm, affectionate embrace that was making her hot, before rotating her thoughts to imagine she was actually feeling his smooth, firm flesh. ‘Oh, I love you, Robert,’ she mouthed silently. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ As the pleasurable sensations intensified in her groin, she turned her face into the pillow, sure that her insides were melting, disintegrating, but with such toe-curling intensity. The urge to cry out was strong, but she merely took a gasp of air and sighed with disbelief at the extraordinary wild sensation that had come to overwhelm her.

The door opened. Tweedle Beak and her mother appeared, silhouetted against the light of an oil lamp, with Little Lightning hovering in the background holding it. Little Lightning spoke and his mother told him to hush and dowt the flame, lest he wake the others. In the darkness, they all undressed and clambered into bed as silently as they could. It was not long before Poppy heard the faint rustle of sheets yielding to movement and the gentle creak of the iron bedstead, as Tweedle settled with unaccustomed restraint into what had become his regular nightly exercise.

Poppy smiled to herself.