Читать книгу A Family Affair - Nancy Carson - Страница 8

On 10th June, a Monday, Clover and Ned walked back to Kates Hill together from the Coneygree. Whichever route they took they had a steep uphill climb at some point. Today, they decided to take the Bunns Lane route.

‘Did you read about that attempt in France yesterday to fly?’ Ned asked as they ambled past the Bunns Lane brick works on their left.

‘No, tell me about it.’

‘Some chap called Alberto Santos-Dumont. Yesterday, on its first test flight he wrecked some weird concoction of aeroplane and airship he’d put together.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Clover commented. ‘Just think of all the work he must’ve put into it, if what you do is anything to go by.’

‘Well I don’t feel sorry for him, Clover,’ Ned said trenchantly and slung his knapsack onto his other shoulder to underline his point. ‘Serves him right for not sticking to one configuration. He tried his luck first with a biplane he’d built in March and that didn’t work. So he cobbles together this latest daft combination and that don’t work either. Well, I ain’t surprised. Now he’s said he’s going to try and fly with a monoplane arrangement. Why don’t he make his mind up?’

‘You mean he should try and master one thing at a time?’

‘It’s obvious. We know biplanes’ll fly ’cause the Wright Brothers have flown ’em. Why didn’t he just stick with his biplane and try to master that shape? That’s the trouble with the Continentals. They keep hiving off in different directions. I bet any money I’ll fly sooner than they do – and further.’

The exertion of brisk uphill walking in the warm muggy evening air made them both hot and they were at the point in Watson’s Green Road, by the wooden cowsheds of Roseland Farm that reeked of farm animals, where the climb started to get steep.

‘If the weather stays fine this weekend I want to try and fly the Gull.’ The Gull was the name he had given to this, his new biplane. ‘It’s as good as ready, Clover, and Amos can borrow the horse and cart again so we can transport it.’

‘Are you going over Rough Hill again?’ she asked.

‘It’s the best hill facing south-west. And not much in the way of trees if I come down a bit sudden. Shall you come?’

‘’Course I’ll come. You don’t think I’m going to miss it after all the hours I’ve put in, do you?’ She laughed and pushed her hair away from her forehead that was bearing a sheen of perspiration.

‘I’m ever so confident it’ll fly, Clover, I’m thinking of inviting the Dudley Herald to send a reporter. I want local factory owners to take an interest. I want the world to know about my efforts.’

‘Good idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘You deserve some recognition for all the work you’ve put in.’

‘That’s what I thought. Even the French get loads of publicity and they generally fall on their arses. What are you doing tonight, Clover?’

‘I’m going to stay in tonight. I’ve got some ironing to do.’

‘I just wondered if you fancied going out with me…If you’re going to be busy though, it don’t matter.’

They reached the Junction Inn with its rounded façade, said cheerio and parted. Holding her coat by the loop with which she hung it up, she flung it over her shoulder and walked briskly down Cromwell Street. She was hungry and wanted her tea. She hoped it would be ready when she arrived home. As she reached the bottom of Cromwell Street, she could see the rotund figure of Zillah Bache in her long skirt ambling towards her in George Street. She waved and smiled and Clover crossed the road at Brown Street to intercept her.

‘I’m just on me way home,’ Zillah announced. ‘It’s warm, int it?’

‘It is warm,’ Clover agreed. ‘Too warm. What’s for my tea, Zillah? I’m famished.’

‘I’n done yer a nice meat-and-tater pie, my babby.’

‘Ooh, lovely.’

‘It’ll be in the oven at the side of the grate. The others’n had theirs.’

As she made to continue her journey, Clover noticed a solitary bottle of beer frothing in Zillah’s basket; her daily reward for not helping herself. ‘I’d better go, Zillah. I don’t want anybody else pinching my pie. See you tomorrow.’

‘I er…heard your mother and that Jake talkin’ today, Clover…’

‘Oh?’ Clover checked herself.

‘He was on about ’em needing more money to finish what they’m a-doing in the brewery.’

‘God knows where they’ll get it. You know what Mother’s like about the banks.’

‘Well that Jake was saying as how they’ve got to the point where they can’t turn back. They’ve got to go forwards, he says. So he’s asked his brother Elijah to come in with ’em. He ain’t short of a copper or two by all accounts.’

‘Well, if that solves the problem, Zillah, all well and good.’

‘Yes, but you ain’t heard the best of it,’ Zillah gloated, bursting with this opportunity to impart even more astounding information. ‘He’s taking up lodgings with you. He’s moving into the spare bedroom. From next Sunday. I gorra spruce it all up and air the bed.’

‘You mean he’s coming to live at the Jolly Collier?’

‘That’s about the size of it, Clover, my wench.’ She pressed her lips together tightly and nodded once, her expression suitably grave.

‘Thanks for letting me know. I don’t suppose Mother will tell me till the last minute. She never tells me anything. I sometimes wonder if she knows I exist.’

‘Well, she seems a bit took with your stepfather Jake, and no two ways. I ’spect she can’t keep her mind on nothing else yet awhile.’

‘As long as she’s happy…I’ll go, Zillah. See you tomorrow.’

‘Yes, see you tomorrow, Clover. Keep out the hoss road.’

Clover carried on, smiling and acknowledging people who were walking in the opposite direction. As she reached the Jolly Collier, Tom Doubleday rushed out and almost knocked her over.

‘Oops!…God, I’m so sorry, Clover,’ he said full of remorse.

‘Oh, hello, Tom. Fancy bumping into you.’ Standing on one leg, Clover tried, hidden by the length of her skirt, to secretly rub her shin with the upper of her shoe at the spot where his foot had caught her.

‘I hope I haven’t hurt you, Clover.’ He placed his hand on her arm in a gesture of concern and the sensation of his hand, warm upon her, set her pulse racing. ‘I ought to start looking where I’m going before I wreak too much damage. I’m such a clumsy clot.’

‘It’s all right, Tom, I’m fine,’ she assured him.

He took his hand away. ‘Did I hurt your leg?’

‘Just my shin,’ she admitted and raised the hem of her skirt to reveal a well-turned ankle. ‘It’s nothing. Are you just leaving?’

He smiled with a warmth that churned her insides. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

‘Oh…Is Ramona all right?’ she asked awkwardly.

He turned his head momentarily as if to check inside the pub. ‘Yes, she seems all right. Why? Is something the matter? Are you worried about her?’

‘No, no…’ She shook her head, tongue-tied, and hoped he would be able to think of some comment to make, for she could think of none.

‘How’s your friend?’ he blurted, almost as dumbstruck as she was. ‘Isn’t his name Ned? I think that’s what Ramona told me.’

‘Oh, Ned…’ She nodded, flustered. There was no sense in denying Ned if Ramona had made it her business to mention him. ‘Ned’s all right…thanks.’

‘He’s building a flying machine, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, that’s his real passion.’ She smiled then looked abashed at her shoes that were poking out daintily under her skirt, silently cursing herself for blushing so vividly. ‘I help him. I help him build it. He’s going to fly it on Sunday morning over Rough Hill. ‘Tis to be hoped the weather stays fair.’ She looked up into the sky as if it would yield some clue.

‘Let’s hope so.’ He found it difficult to avert his eyes from her face. ‘Are you helping him tonight?’

‘Oh, no, not tonight. I’m having a night in tonight. Ironing.’ She uttered a little laugh of embarrassment and rolled her eyes.

He nodded. ‘Well, it’s nice to see you Clover. I seldom get the chance to talk to you…which is a shame. Still…I’ll see you again soon, I hope.’

She smiled demurely and nodded again. ‘Yes…I hope so.’

‘See you then, Clover. Sorry about your shin.’

‘It’s all right, Tom. I can’t feel a thing.’

And she couldn’t.

As the week wore on Clover thought more and more about Tom Doubleday. Meeting him so unexpectedly and talking to him had triggered dreamy thoughts again which, because of Ramona, she dared not foster. The week also brought a steady dribble of cardboard boxes and a couple of suitcases; Elijah’s belongings that were in the course of being transferred from the Dudley Arms to the Jolly Collier. And still nobody mentioned to Clover that his permanent arrival was imminent.

‘Do I take it that somebody is coming to lodge with us, Mother, seeing how somebody’s trankelments are cluttering up the passage and the stairs?’ she asked, pretending she did not know, peeved that nobody other than Zillah had mentioned it.

‘Elijah Tandy,’ Mary Anne responded economically. ‘Sunday.’

‘Why has nobody mentioned it?’

‘Oh? I would’ve thought that Jacob or Ramona might’ve said.’

‘Nobody’s said. I would’ve thought you might have said, Mother. So how come he’s moving in here?’

‘He’s investing some money in the brewing venture and coming to work with us. Jacob said that if he did, he might as well live here.’

‘Why doesn’t he go and live in Jake’s house till it’s sold?’

Mary Ann laughed scornfully. ‘I imagine he’s afeared that if he does, young Dorcas will take it as a sign to go and live with him. That’ll mean him getting wed and he don’t want to get wed. You’d think she’d have the gumption to take the hint. He’s only been engaged to the wench three years.’

‘Will he be paying rent here?’

‘Lord, no. He’s Jacob’s brother, our Clover. Besides, you could hardly ask him to pay rent when he’s coughing up a load of money.’

‘I suppose not. How did he make his money, Mother?’

‘I shouldn’t ask.’ Mary Ann lowered her voice. ‘Gambling, if you want the truth,’ she muttered distastefully. ‘Cards. Not as I hold with it, as you know. But if it can do Jacob some good…’

Clover finished her ironing by eight o’ clock that night and, looking neat and tidy in a white blouse and navy skirt with her hair done up, went into the taproom to help Ramona. The number of young men that were patrons these days suddenly struck her, young men she had not seen before, many more than there ever used to be. They all had eyes for Ramona but, when Clover herself appeared, many of them fastened their eyes onto her too. Ramona spoke familiarly to those who addressed her. She giggled at their flirting and her repartee was equal to the wittiest.

‘You seem to have quite a few admirers, Ramona,’ Clover commented ungrudgingly.

Ramona grinned. ‘Well, they’ll all be disappointed when Sammy comes.’

‘Sammy?’ she queried, thinking of Tom and how it might affect him. ‘Is he coming?’

‘I ain’t seen him for ages. But I had a letter from him yesterday. He says he wants to see me again, so I wrote back and asked him to come tonight.’

Clover was tempted to ask her about Tom Doubleday. She felt inclined to comment that it seemed hardly fair on him, especially if she intended resuming her shenanigans with this Sammy. But she thought better of it. It was none of her business. It was best to keep well out of it.

‘When he comes, Clover, would you mind covering for me while I go out with him, seeing as you’re down here?’

‘I don’t mind,’ Clover replied. ‘Just as long as Pop doesn’t mind you going out.’

‘Oh, he won’t mind.’

‘Is Tom coming tonight?’

‘He’s already been and gone, Clover.’

A group of young men on one table called Ramona’s attention. They wanted their glasses replenished. She made a show of provocatively swinging her narrow hips as she approached them and it seemed to Clover that her stepsister was deliberately flaunting herself. She seemed to enjoy it when they gawped at her. She revelled in their looking her up and down wantonly, making lewd signs to each other. She played up to them, laughing at their ribald comments while she collected their glasses ready for refilling.

‘You seem to enjoy egging those men on,’ Clover remarked with disapproval, helping her fill a couple of the glasses from another beer pump. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘Wise?’ Ramona queried, as if such wisdom was irrelevant. ‘It’s good for business, Clover.’

‘You mean…?’

‘I mean, I couldn’t give a sod for any of them, but as long as they think they’ve got a chance with me they’ll keep coming in here and spending money.’

Clover laughed as the realisation struck her. ‘Yes, I suppose…’

‘You could help the cause as well, you know, Clover. You can fetch the ducks off the water. I’ve seen how men look at you.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I know so. You’re different to me but that don’t mean they like you any less. What one bloke likes, another won’t. What one bloke don’t like, another will. One man’s meat, Clover.’

Clover smiled to herself. They were different, she and Ramona. Ramona was so much more worldly than her years suggested. But then, she had always had the freedom to do as she pleased. She was canny and uninhibited. Clover was neither. Ramona understood love, life and how to manipulate. Clover did not. Ramona’s big brown eyes, her curly, flaxen hair and her dimpled grin she could use to gain ascendancy over anybody she wished and she was not reticent about doing it. A couple of inches taller, with dark hair and blue eyes, and with an innocence Ramona lacked, Clover certainly was different. But she was no less appealing. Each had something the other did not possess.

Clover oozed innocence. Although she was two years older, compared to Ramona she was a novice, never allowed to go out alone at night before Jake and Ramona came along. She had led a sheltered life and she was beginning to realise just how sheltered it had been. Clover had never been loved by a man – not truly loved. How could she be a complete woman when she was lacking such experience? How could she truly know what men appreciated in a woman when she had never been allowed to mix freely with attractive, eligible young men who might teach her? She had obediently succumbed to her mother’s will in all things, seldom challenging; not that Mary Ann had been tyrannical – indeed, she had not, but she brooked no opinion contrary to her own. Sometimes Clover wondered whether Mary Ann’s decisions were derived for Mary Ann’s own benefit and the daughter’s considerations were secondary. Well, times were changing. Things were going to be different.

The front door latch clattered and a youth walked in with an expectant look on his fresh face. He was about nineteen, Clover estimated, with short-cropped dark hair and a cheeky grin. He had a pretty face for a boy, features that many a young girl would have been glad of. With an indisputable cockiness he stepped up to Ramona, who had her back towards him.

‘Ramona?’

At once she turned around, a grin of anticipation on her face. ‘Sammy. You came. How are you?’

‘All the better for seeing your lovely face, Ramona,’ he replied. ‘Can I have a pint?’

‘Have it on me,’ she said and immediately pulled him a pint of mild. ‘When you’ve drunk it we’ll go out if you like. Clover here will cover for me, won’t you Clover?’

‘I said I would. So this is Sammy.’ She smiled politely.

‘Clover. My new stepsister,’ Ramona explained.

Sammy shook her hand and smiled broadly. ‘I bet you fetch the ducks off the water,’ he commented.

The two girls broke into a fit of giggling.

Dorcas Downing and Elijah Tandy appeared in all their finery at the Jolly Collier on the Saturday night. They drank in the snug with Jacob, Mary Ann and Ramona by turns, when customers in the taproom would allow them a few minutes from serving.

Elijah Tandy was celebrating his thirty-second birthday that very day and he bought everybody in the pub a drink. He oozed confidence and had a way with women. He was not excessively handsome, but he was fit and solid and his pleasant and polite manner, his easy way with a compliment, won him the admiration of many a girl.

Dorcas Downing, his woman, was twenty-five, dark and strikingly beautiful with enormous brown eyes. Her father, who owned a hollow-ware factory at Eve Hill in the parish of St James, was also a magistrate and highly respected. His affluence ensured Dorcas could indulge herself in expensive clothes. They lived in a fine house in Ednam Road on the rural north-west side of the town. Whether Mr Downing approved of his prospective son-in-law, nobody knew.

‘Can I interest anybody in a cheese sandwich?’ Clover was carrying a tray into the snug. She looked a picture of fresh-faced femininity with her dark hair shining, done up in loose curls on top of her head. She wore a crisp white blouse with a high neck and a long black skirt that emphasised the youthfulness of her hips and gave her bottom some attractive contours. ‘There’s some Spanish onion as well, look, if anybody wants some.’

‘Yes please, Clover, my babby,’ Elijah said amiably. He put down his pint and took a couple of sandwiches.

‘Dorcas?’

Dorcas sighed heavily as if the world and all its problems had suddenly come to roost on her shoulders. ‘Well if Elijah’s having cheese and onion, I suppose I’d better.’

‘I should,’ Clover urged with a friendly wink.

‘You’d better,’ Elijah agreed and there was a twinkle in his eye, ‘else you won’t want to kiss me after.’

‘Who would not want to kiss you, Elijah?’ Clover said flippantly. ‘Onion or no onion.’ At once she realised she had been tactless. She was not that familiar with Elijah, yet his easy-going nature had allowed her to believe she could get away with such innocent innuendo.

Elijah chuckled but Dorcas’s face was like cold marble. She was evidently not so easy-going. ‘Does that mean that when my back’s turned others will be trying to usurp me?’ she asked Clover, her eyebrows raised in pique.

‘Not at all,’ Clover apologised earnestly. ‘I was just being frivolous, Dorcas. I didn’t mean anything by it. You shouldn’t read anything into it.’

‘It’s all right, Clover,’ Elijah said, and others had cottoned on to the chill atmosphere that was suddenly pervasive. ‘Dorcas can be a bit touchy, can’t you Dorcas? Time of the month, I reckon.’

Dorcas looked at him with scorn. ‘Don’t be so coarse, Elijah. But how do you expect me to feel now you’re coming to live in the same house as two frivolous young fillies who can’t keep their eyes off you?’

‘I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration, Dorcas,’ Clover said and left to fetch another tray of sandwiches for the taproom.

Ned and Amos had already loaded the flying machine onto the borrowed cart by the time Clover arrived at Springfield House. Mr Mantle appeared in his dressing-gown and night-cap and wished Ned the very best of luck, to which Ned replied that he was getting nervous about the whole thing. But at least the weather remained warm and sunny.

‘I hope there’s a bit more wind up on Rough Hill,’ Ned commented apprehensively as they walked alongside the cart down Tansley Hill Road. ‘I’ll need a bit o’ wind to keep me aloft.’

‘The wind’s kept me aloft all sodding night,’ Amos said sombrely and Clover giggled. ‘That Millard’s bloody mild up at the Gypsy’s Tent serves me barbarous. And what with having to run up the yard when I was took short…’

‘It’s all right for you to mock, Amos,’ Ned complained, ‘but what about if I fail today? I’ve asked the Dudley Herald to come and report on this attempt.’

‘Well I don’t suppose he’ll mind, the Dudley herald, specially if you crash, our Ned. It’ll give him summat to shout about…Who is he, anyroad, this Dudley herald?’ Amos winked conspiratorially at Clover.

‘Who is he!’ Ned scoffed. ‘The Dudley Herald is the newspaper, you fool…’ Then it dawned on him that Amos was pulling his leg. He laughed, embarrassed. ‘Swine!’

All three laughed and it relieved some of the tension they all felt. This was going to be a day of great significance. If Ned and his machine covered any distance and it responded to his new control mechanisms, he could be on his way to more important things. Powered flight would inevitably be next, and the search for a suitable engine. If he failed…No. Failing was not to be contemplated. Even though he had to scrimp and save so he could afford to buy the materials to build his machines, it really was a labour of love.

Folk on their way to church stopped and gawped at the strange contraption that was strapped in sections onto the cart. One or two of the more enlightened men guessed that it might have been a flying machine but, for all some of them knew, it could have been a giant bedstead.

Eventually they trundled past Oakham Farm and, on a lane known as Turner’s Hill, they arrived at the broken gate that led into the high field that crowned Rough Hill. To Ned’s relief the wind was blowing significantly harder up here than it had been in Tansley Hill Road, which lay in the lee of Cawney Hill. They off-loaded the flying machine and Ned began by bolting the undercarriage – a pair of bicycle wheels attached to a wooden frame – to the fuselage. While Clover held the assembly steady, Ned bolted the wings to the fuselage and began the complicated routine of fastening the bracing and the rigging between the top and bottom wings that afforded some stability and tension to the structure. By this time, the reporter from the Dudley Herald had shown up and began asking Ned all sorts of questions. Ned answered them patiently while he worked, but he would not stop what he was doing. He fastened the stiff wires that joined the wing flaps to the levers by his seat and within an hour, the Gull was ready to fly.

‘Steady as you go,’ Ned urged as they trundled it towards the launch point, holding it back so that it shouldn’t run on its own down the hill and fly off unmanned; that would be the ultimate embarrassment with a reporter there to witness it. Amos was chocking the wheels with a large piece of wood when they heard a man’s voice calling from behind them, its sound almost carried away from them by the stiff breeze.

‘Clover! Clover!’

She turned around. Tom Doubleday was rushing towards them carrying his camera, a case and a tripod. Her heart leapt into her mouth but she waved at him, blushed and grinned. Guiltily, she looked at Ned.

‘Ned, there’s a photographer here to take your picture,’ she said. ‘Don’t climb aboard yet.’

Tom was panting when he reached them. ‘I’m glad I caught you…Didn’t think I’d get here in time…Which one’s Ned, Clover?’

Clover introduced them.

‘You’re just in time, mate,’ Amos informed him. ‘Two more minutes and you’d have missed all the fun.’

‘Do you mind if I take a photograph of you and your machine, Ned?’ Tom asked. ‘It’s for my own interest really.’

‘I’ve got no objection,’ Ned replied.

‘Maybe the Dudley Herald would like a copy?’ Clover suggested to the reporter. ‘It could illustrate your article.’

The reporter nodded. ‘That’d be perfect. We could make a proper feature of it.’

‘What’s your name, by the way?’ Ned asked.

‘Julian Oakley.’ Julian smiled. ‘At your service.’

‘Welcome to this little gathering. Let’s hope you get something worth reporting.’

‘I have every confidence, Mr Brisco,’ Julian replied diplomatically. ‘And a picture will certainly help, if it comes out.’

‘Great,’ Tom said. ‘It’ll come out all right, have no fear. Now, if you can just bear with me a minute while I set up my camera and put in a plate…’ When Tom had found a suitable place to stand that showed the biplane off to best advantage, he adjusted the legs of his tripod to compensate for the uneven ground. ‘If you like, I’ll take one of you, Ned, standing at the side of the machine, then another with you sitting in it.’ He hid his head under the black cloth that enabled him to see an inverted image on the ground glass screen. He focused it, then inserted a photographic plate into the back of the camera and pulled out the dark slide that protected it from unwanted light. He screwed a shutter release bulb into the body of the lens. ‘Smile, please.’

‘Can I have one with Clover and Amos on?’ Ned asked. ‘Have you brought enough plates?’

‘No trouble, Ned,’ Tom said obligingly.

So Amos took his place by Ned and Clover self-consciously shuffled into the frame. Ned suggested she stand between them. Tom took out the exposed plate and inserted a new one.

‘Right…Look into the lens and smile, please.’

The shutter clicked, the group dispersed, Ned clambered up onto his machine and posed for another photograph.

‘If I can get one of you in flight as well…Give me one minute to swap plates…’ Tom rushed to finish his task then thanked Ned for waiting.

‘I think we’re ready now,’ Ned called. ‘Amos, shift the chock…Wish me luck, you lot.’

‘Good luck,’ Clover called, echoed by the rest of them.

Amos removed the chock and the biplane rolled downhill, rapidly picking up speed. Clover saw Ned gently pull the levers that worked the flaps on the trailing edges of the wings and tail and, magically, the glider lifted into the air. She watched, mesmerised, unable to speak as its trajectory levelled out. Momentarily the wings dipped from side to side as Ned played with the controls and Clover was reminded of a heron she’d once seen floating with absolute grace and composure over a field not unlike the one she could see now below her. The biplane seemed to climb a little, but from these heights it was difficult to tell how much. It turned slightly to the right, then to the left and Clover knew that Ned was testing his controls for response. Smiling, her eyes sparkling with tears of admiration at Ned’s achievement, she turned briefly to Tom. Her only fear now was that Ned was going to run out of terrain. He was rapidly approaching the New Rowley Road and the Springfield Colliery.

Suddenly, Clover was anxious. ‘What’s he going to do now, Amos?’

‘Practise landing a bit sharp, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Amos replied sardonically.

Clover realised that of course, Ned had never been able to practise a landing, for he’d never got that far before. Last time he’d crash-landed.

‘Think he can do it, Amos?’

‘He’s gunna have to try. The ground’s a bit rough down there though, all them great tufts of grass and gorse bushes and pit shafts…And that bloody stupid hoss, look…’

Clover held her breath. The next seconds seemed like hours. The aircraft looked small in the distance now but she discerned it descending, lower and lower. From where Clover stood it looked as if the tail end touched down first and she realised his wisdom and foresight in fitting a tail wheel. Then the narrow bicycle wheels made contact with the ground and the whole assembly seemed to shake and flop about as it came to a halt over the rough field.

She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘He’s done it!’ she yelled, ecstatic at Ned’s success. She turned to Tom Doubleday and Julian, jumping up and down with excitement. ‘He’s done it. Did you see that? He’s done it.’

‘That was pretty impressive,’ Julian declared. ‘Wait till our readers hear about this. Ned Brisco will be a hero. He was in the air about fifteen seconds by my reckoning.’

‘What d’you reckon that is in terms of distance?’ Tom asked.

‘Gettin’ on for two hundred yards,’ Amos estimated. ‘At least. We can easy pace it out. Come on, Clover, we should be getting down there to him. We’ll have to congratulate him.’

‘Yes, we’d better.’ She turned to Tom Doubleday as Amos went back to fetch the horse and cart. ‘I’d best get down there,’ she said apologetically.

‘Do you mind if I come with you?’ he suggested. ‘Maybe we could walk down together.’

Clover smiled happily. ‘All right.’ Her elation all at once took on a new perspective. ‘Would you like me to carry something for you? Your case, maybe?’

‘Thanks.’ He handed her the case that contained his plates. ‘It’s not too heavy, is it?’

‘Not at all,’ she said and they began the steep descent down Rough Hill.

‘That was quite a spectacle,’ Tom said, ‘seeing man and machine fly. Quite a spectacle. Something I’ll never forget. Something to tell my grandchildren about.’

‘Quite a spectacle,’ Clover agreed. ‘I’m so pleased he succeeded. He’s worked ever so hard for it, you wouldn’t believe. He lives and breathes this aviation lark.’

‘But you obviously share some of his enthusiasm?’

‘Oh, I do. Because he would never allow it to beat him. He’s read everything about what the Wright Brothers have done and wanted to prove to himself that he could do it as well. He knew he could. You have to admire such determination, such faith. I suppose his enthusiasm has rubbed off on me a little bit.’

‘So how long have you been courting, Clover?’

‘Oh, we’re not courting, Tom.’ She looked at him earnestly and almost tripped over a tuft of grass.

‘You’re not? But I got the impression from your stepsister that you were.’

Clover shook her head and, with her fingers, brushed aside her hair that was blowing about her face. ‘I don’t know what Ramona’s told you about me and Ned, but we’re definitely not courting. We’re only friends. Good friends, but only friends.’

She could see Ned scrambling out of his glider that looked like a small toy from here. He walked round to the rear of the craft, fiddled with the tail and checked the tail wheel.

‘Well she seems to think you’re courting, Clover.’

‘No, she doesn’t, Tom,’ she answered decisively. ‘She knows very well that Ned is only a friend. She knows very well we’re not courting.’

‘So why would she…?’

Clover looked at him and saw a flicker of realisation in his eyes.

He caught her look and smiled dismissively. ‘So, what’s the next step for Ned as regards aviation?’

‘For Ned? Oh, powered flight, he reckons. Obviously, he’s going to need an engine.’

‘Well there are plenty of firms locally who make engines. He could use a motor car engine, I daresay.’

‘I don’t think they’re suitable,’ she replied. ‘Too heavy and not enough power – so he says. The other problem is that he pays for all this out of his own pocket. The reason he asked the newspaper to come and report it was so that he might get some factory owner interested enough to sponsor him somehow and contribute to the costs.’

‘Good idea. I hope he succeeds in that as well. It would be a crying shame if the project had to stop through lack of money.’

‘It would,’ Clover agreed. ‘Ned has a dream. He wants to develop these machines – these aeroplanes – enough to carry freight and even passengers. He wants to start his own factory building them.’

‘Well, what a dream, eh, Clover?’

She looked at him and smiled. ‘I know. What a dream. You have to admire it. But he sees such potential.’

After a few seconds pause, Tom said, ‘Can I ask you something, Clover?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Ask away.’

‘I can see you’re very attached to Ned but…well, if you’re not courting, may I ask if I could take you out tonight?’

She thought he would hear the sudden pounding of her heart and she was sure she must have coloured crimson, but she smiled delightedly, wide-eyed. ‘Oh, I’d love to. But what about Ramona?’

‘Ramona?’ he queried, a puzzled look clouding his handsome face.

‘Yes. She won’t be very pleased.’

‘I don’t understand. What’s she got to do with it?’

‘Well…’ She uttered a little laugh of embarrassment. ‘Aren’t you and Ramona supposed to be—?’

Tom laughed out loud. ‘Me and Ramona? Has she told you that?’

‘No, she’s said nothing. I just got the impression that…You always seem very close, Tom. Heads together in the taproom…you know?’

He laughed again. ‘Well, it’s an illusion, Clover. There’s nothing between Ramona and me.’

‘I’m sorry, Tom. I really was under the impression.’ She smiled, embarrassed but so relieved. She was relieved on two counts; one, that he and Ramona were not courting and two, that he was therefore not being two-timed on account of Sammy.

‘Oh, Ramona’s always very bright and friendly. I like her. And she’s a fine looking girl. I flatter myself to believe that if I asked her out she would accept. But you’re the one I’ve always set my cap at, Clover. Why else d’you think I’ve been calling so regularly at the Jolly Collier? To see you. Trouble is, you’ve been so elusive. You kept hiding yourself away.’

She laughed and her eyes lit up like bright blue crystals. ‘Only because I didn’t want you to see me all scruffy.’ Then she was stumped for words again.

‘You look good in anything, Clover.’ He paused, certain she would savour the compliment. ‘So can I call for you at, say, eight o’ clock?’

‘Yes, eight o’ clock would suit well. What shall we do, though?’

‘I don’t know yet. Go for a walk maybe? This weather seems very settled. It should be a pleasant enough evening.’

‘All right.’ She smiled and there was a skip in her step now.

Julian, the Dudley Herald reporter, had tagged along with Amos who was leading the horse and cart carefully down the steep slope. They remained a good sixty yards or so behind Clover and Tom and Amos furnished him with a few background details that he would be able to use in his story. Eventually they all reached the grinning Ned, who could scarcely contain his joy. He’d inspected the aircraft and declared it free of damage.

‘Tonight, you lot, I’m having a celebration and you’re all invited.’

Tom’s eyes met Clover’s and they both smiled with resignation that their planned evening stroll might have been thwarted.

‘Where at?’ Amos asked.

‘At the Jolly Collier. Is it all right, Clover if we all pile into the snug at your place tonight? I want my mother and father to come, and Amos’s wife.’

‘I expect it will be all right,’ she replied, catching Tom’s look again. ‘Is Tom invited?’

‘Yes and you, mate…’ He nodded at Julian. ‘Bring your wives as well.’

‘Thanks,’ said Tom, ‘Tell you what. I’ll develop and print the pictures I’ve got and bring them with me.’

‘That would be lovely,’ Clover enthused. She would see Tom after all. ‘I want to be first to see them, Tom,’ she said with a wink. ‘Can you bring them about eight?’