The Castlefield Collector

by The Castlefield Collector (Watch for the Talleyman) (retail) (epub)

  Her father, when he’d got home from work that night, had taken her to task for running out on the job. ‘If you do that again, you’ll be sacked, same as anyone else would be.’

  ‘Good!’

  ‘You won’t think so when you’ve no money left in your pocket. No work, no allowance. It’s as simple as that.’ And he’d stalked back to his study, without even giving her the opportunity to flounce off upstairs in a huff.

  If she’d managed to save any money of her own, or found a place to go, she’d have left long before this. But she was trapped, for the moment at least. And then one morning, just a few days later, something happened which was to change everything. She bumped into an old acquaintance.

  ‘Why, Sam Clayton, fancy seeing you again.’

  ‘I work here.’

  ‘Well, of course you do. I’d quite forgotten.’

  ‘I must say I was surprised to hear you’d joined the work force, Evie. No doubt it’s only temporary, and you’ll be off on your travels again soon.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Evie lied, offering her most bewitching smile. ‘I intend to learn the ropes from Pops, as is only right and proper, from the factory floor right up to the gaffer’s office. Isn’t that what you call it? The mill will be mine one day, after all, so I need to understand everything about it. No doubt we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other in the future, wouldn’t you say, Sam?’

  Things could be looking up, Evie thought. Leaning against the wall she folded her arms, nicely lifting her breasts as she did so, and smiled up at Sam. ‘I was thinking of calling in Dot’s cafe for a cuppa before I went home. Care to join me?’

  Sam was trying not to stare at her cleavage, easily visible as several buttons of her blouse were open at the neck. Unlike the other girls, Evie always took off her work overall before leaving the premises and he could see the slender line of her throat and the ripe fullness of her pert breasts. Her lovely face seemed to glow, her fair hair in its chic bob enticingly ruffled by a playful breeze, and those pale, blue eyes seemed to contrive an innocent fragility, somehow imploring protection and promising unexplored pleasures, all at the same time.

  ‘You’re looking tired,’ she told him, as later they sipped their tea in the cafe. ‘Married life not agreeing with you then, or are you not sleeping much?’ She chuckled, and took great pleasure in seeing him flinch.

  ‘Dolly and me are having a few problems at the moment. Nothing we can’t sort out though.’ His mind turned to their latest row the previous night. He’d wanted to make love and she had refused because he stank of beer and had woken her mother up when he’d stumbled upstairs.

  ‘How will we ever get a place of our own if you waste good money on booze,’ she’d flung the accusation at him and he’d flung one back. ‘It might help if we weren’t saddled with your bloody mother’s debts.’

  That had done it. Despite the two women hardly exchanging a civil word between them, Dolly wouldn’t hear a word against Maisie from anyone, not even Aggie. She’d spent the night curled up on the clippy rug in front of the fire and had been even more furious with him this morning because he’d let her.

  ‘Why didn’t you come downstairs and ask me to come back to bed?’

  ‘Because you’d left it of your own free will, and I assumed you would return under your own steam.’

  ‘Why won’t men ever apologise?’

  ‘Because we’re never wrong,’ he’d laughed, and she’d thrown something at him as he went out the door, something that smashed against the cracked wood, but he’d made good his escape, not even pausing to find out what it was.

  But the argument had upset him. Some of his misery must have been evident in his face now for Evie put out a hand and gave his a little squeeze. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that. Well, if there’s anything I can do, you’ve only to say the word.’

  ‘Aye, thanks.’ He stared down at her hand, one finger rubbing gently against his thumb. He couldn’t remember the last time Dolly had caressed him so softly.

  Evie cast him a sultry glance from beneath her lashes but Sam didn’t notice as he was staring gloomily into his tea, which he’d quite forgotten to drink. ‘I can’t invite you home, I’m afraid, as I’m currently living with Papa and Mumsie, although that is a situation which might change, in time. I mean to get a place of my own soon.’ She allowed a moment’s pause; sufficient to be sure that she had his full attention. ‘But I still have my little car, of course.’

  Sam looked up then and met the open invitation in her eyes. ‘Aye,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I remember.’

  He felt so randy after she’d gone that when he saw Myra Johnson swinging along the road with her undulating walk, plainly aware of his gaze following her, he fell into step beside her. ‘How are you then, Myra?’

  ‘All the better for seeing you, Sam boy.’ She batted her eyelashes up at him. ‘Fancy a swift half in the Navigation?’

  ‘Why not?’ They followed this with several chasers and afterwards she was more than willing to satisfy the craving that Evie had ignited, and if Myra Johnson wasn’t quite in Evie Barker’s league, well, thought Sam, all cats are grey in the dark, are they not?

  * * *

  How to deal with the talleyman and stop that crippling debt from utterly ruining their lives occupied Dolly’s every waking thought. She’d failed to get the job in the raincoat factory, despite wearing her sister’s boots, and came home to find her mother in tears. ‘What is it? What’s wrong now?’

  ‘Nifty Jack came round. He says you’ve one week left to get the rest of the money or he’ll throw us out of the house. He says he’ll take me to court and see us both in jail for debt.’

  ‘Huh, don’t listen to his threats. People don’t get incarcerated for debt, not these days. At least I hope not. I’ve certainly no intention of pandering to his nasty little perversions, even if you do. Not while I live and breathe.’

  ‘Oh, our Dolly, we have to talk, you and me. I’m sorry about all of this, but it isn’t what you think. Let me try to explain.’

  ‘Will you tell me who my father is?’

  ‘No, love, I can’t do that. But I want to explain that I’m not what you think I am, not a – a loose woman as Nifty claims.’

  Dolly shook her head. ‘If you won’t tell me who my father is then I don’t want to hear. There have been too many lies told already. You should have come up with some explanations before this. You should have told me the whole truth!’

  Dolly managed to hold him off by paying him every brass farthing she possessed, even the bit of money she’d saved up in the post office for her and Sam to put down on a place of their own. She strived to eat less, living on starvation rations, tried to appeal to his better nature but he didn’t have one, and the debt continued to grow. Time and again Nifty would offer her an alternative way to wipe the slate clean.

  ‘Yer husband’ll never know. I’ll not tell him.’

  ‘Leave me alone, you dirty old man.’

  Willy finally left home, getting himself wed to a lovely girl called Joan, every bit as quiet as himself. They’d got to know each other at the mill, since he never went out anywhere. They’d not a penny between them but he happily moved in with Joan and her widowed mother. This meant that there was even less money coming in to Tully Court, which put more of a strain on Sam.

  Dolly knew that he was reaching the end of his tether. He worked every hour God sent and was exhausted by the worry of it all, as was she. They’d spend hours talking over the problem, desperately seeking a way out. Sadly, it was true what the old wives said: ‘When money goes out the door, love flies out the window.’ The old intimacy they’d once enjoyed, now seemed to be a thing of the past. There were too many nights when Sam simply turned his back on her, claiming he was too tired. Or he’d stop off at the pub and not come home till she was fast asleep, or at least pretending to be.

  When one evening she begged him not to go out, he turned on her, his face dark with anger. ‘What am I supposed to do,
spend my life cooped up in this bedroom, or sitting listening to the silence between you and your mam? No thank you. I never imagined I was taking on such a burden when I wed you, Dolly Tomkins,’

  ‘I know, love, and we must try to find some way to be rid of it, to get that flipping talleyman off our backs.’

  ‘It isn’t even your problem, not really. It’s your mam’s, left over from Calvin, who wasn’t even your proper dad. It doesn’t seem fair.’

  ‘Are you saying I should leave her to pay it off? Because despite our differences, I’m not prepared to simply walk away and leave her at the mercy of Nifty Jack. She’s still my mam, after all.’

  The difficult situation with Sam didn’t help relations between herself and Maisie either, which remained cool and distant. It broke Dolly’s heart that they should have come to this. She still loved her mother, with all her heart, even if she couldn’t quite bring herself to forgive her for this pickle they were in.

  ‘I’m off to the pub, where at least the company is more cheerful.’

  And off he went, leaving Dolly to worry over the disastrous affect the debt was having upon her marriage. When would they ever be able to afford a home of their own, let alone children?

  The minute Sam stormed off Dolly went straight downstairs and accused Maisie of driving them apart. ‘He’s gone off to the pub again, so this is another man you’ve driven to drink, as you did Calvin.’ Tears were spurting, running down her face.

  ‘Nay lass, don’t say such things. I never did anything of the sort.’

  ‘I don’t know what to believe any more, or who to trust.’ Dolly longed to throw herself in her mother’s arms and be comforted, as she had as a child. But she wasn’t a child any more, and Maisie wasn’t the mother she’d imagined her to be.

  ‘If you want to think badly of me and believe Nifty Jack’s lies, that I’ve slept with half of Castlefield, there’s no way I can stop you.’

  ‘All you have to do is tell me who my father is. That’s not too much to ask, surely?’

  ‘You deserve an answer, love, and I’m sorry that I can’t give you one. I promised I’d never tell, and I’ve kept me word.’

  ‘And keeping your word to this man, whoever he is, is more important than your own daughter’s needs, is it?’

  ‘It’s not like that. He’s not an easy man to cross.’

  Dolly began to feel sick. Oh, God, then it must be Nifty Jack, after all. If the talleyman was her father and yet he’d tried to… Why would he do such a thing with his own daughter? Unless he knew and didn’t care, being more corrupt than she had appreciated! Lord she was going to throw up.

  ‘Can’t we at least be friends?’ Maisie sobbed.

  But Dolly had fled upstairs.

  Later, after she’d allowed herself a quiet sob into her pillow, had washed her face in cold water and was calmer, she remembered that Nifty had once said that Maisie had actually refused him. Now why would he say such a thing if it weren’t true? There was nothing Nifty Jack loved better than to brag about his conquests. He wanted Dolly because Maisie had refused him. It was his way of taking revenge. A tide of relief flooded through her. If that was true, then she was getting herself into a state over nothing. She’d been fretting unnecessarily. It wasn’t him. She was safe. But if Nifty Jack wasn’t her father, then who was? And why wouldn’t her mother tell?

  * * *

  That night Maisie sat up in bed scribbling a note and, despite it being short, it took her hours to work out just what to say, then even longer to rewrite it in the kind of careful, round letters a child might write. When she was finally done, she suffered a sleepless night trying to decide whether she had the courage to deliver it. She certainly dare not risk entrusting it to the post. But how could she ignore her own child’s suffering? Maisie had never expected Dolly to even find out. She’d never forgive Aggie for that piece of mischief. But something had to be done. Her entire life seemed to be unravelling before her eyes.

  She slid the envelope through the letterbox in the green painted front door just as the factory hooter sounded, calling the operatives to a new day’s work.

  Clara spotted the envelope on the mat as she came down to breakfast early that morning and placed it on the silver tray kept on the hall table where Nathan would look for his letters when he came down later.

  But something about the round childish handwriting arrested her attention. Could it be from one of those young, uneducated mill girls? She was in no way ignorant of her husband’s philandering over the years, for all she’d studiously turned a blind eye in order to avoid humiliation. But a letter from one of those flighty little madams being delivered to her house was rather too much to bear. Quite outrageous! What would he ask of her next?

  She was still staring at the envelope in her hand, wondering who it was from and what she should do when she heard his step upon the stair. Without making any conscious decision to do so, Clara slid the missive into her pocket and turned to greet her husband, her face a wreath of smiles.

  ‘Shall I pour you a cup of coffee darling? Kippers this morning, your favourite.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  A day or two later, Dolly arrived home following yet another fruitless day pounding the pavements seeking work, to find her mam standing on the pavement weeping. Their goods and chattels were all being carried out and put on a handcart by two disreputable looking men.

  ‘Here, what’s going on? What’s all this?’

  ‘Nothing to do with us, ask Nifty Jack.’ They went back inside and brought out the big bed, hers and Sam’s, the one thing they possessed in the entire world and which had taken them months to save up for.

  ‘You can’t take that,’ Dolly cried.

  ‘Watch us.’

  Dolly ran straight round to Nifty Jack’s and hammered on his door. He took his time opening it but finally stood solid and foursquare on his doorstep, arms folded, and smiled his sickly smile at her. ‘What can I do for you, lass? Is there a problem?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a problem. You’ve put the screws on us again, haven’t you? First bumping up our debt by five whole pounds, and then giving us no time to pay the extra off. We’ve not even anything worth pinching.’

  ‘Then you’ll not miss it much, will you? I hope you haven’t come armed. I don’t care for clients setting about me with shovels or any other household goods for that matter, which you Tomkins lot seem fond of doing.’

  ‘I’d like to—’

  ‘Don’t say it lass. Don’t say anything you might regret later. I’m sure we can find some way for you to settle this loan which has become such a burden to you.’ He cocked one bushy eyebrow at her. ‘Have you given the matter any thought?’

  ‘You’re the nastiest piece of work that ever drew breath. When you were born, the midwife should’ve thrown you away with the bathwater, you evil—’

  ‘Careful, young Dolly, I’ve warned you before to watch that sharp wit of yours. It’s a dangerous weapon.’

  ‘I understand your little game but you’re wasting your time. I’ll do nothing of that sort with the likes of you, no matter what pressures you bring to bear. Besides the fact I want to vomit just at the thought of it, I’m a married woman, in case you’ve forgotten.’

  ‘There are ways and means of keeping a husband in ignorance. The housekeeper’s job is still open, for instance. Or I could call at yours when he’s at work or in the pub. What do you reckon?’

  ‘That you put your fat head in a bucket and forget to take it out.’

  ‘Dear me, that’s not very friendly, nor very constructive. I’ll give you a month to come up with a more sensible solution. All you have to do to wipe the slate clean is to be nice to me, Dolly, as I’ve been at pains to explain. In the meantime, if you want your stuff back – like I say – yer old job is still available. Take it or leave it, it’s up to you.’ Then he shut the door in her face.

  * * *

  ‘Are we supposed to sleep without a bed now?’ Dolly had never seen Sam so
angry. Gone was the placid, easy-going man that she loved. Maisie hadn’t moved from the orange box where she’d parked herself after all her furniture had been carted away. She hadn’t shed a tear either, just sat staring numbly into space. Dolly was feeling pretty numb herself and Sam ranting on at her didn’t help. ‘Why is he doing this? We’re already paying him every penny we can spare, and plenty we can’t, so why has he got it in for you?’

  ‘You know why! I wouldn’t let him play his nasty games on me and I belted him and ran away. He hates to lose but I wouldn’t let that scumbag anywhere near me.’

  ‘Aye, well, you’d better not. Things are different now,’ Sam reminded her, pacing the floor of the empty kitchen like a caged lion, his face dark as thunder. ‘He’d surely not try and make a cuckold out of me. If that’s what he’s threatening, I’ll go and sort him out right now.’ He set off for the door but Dolly grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt.

  ‘I’ve already spoken to him and he’s agreed to return all our stuff. Only there’s a condition.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Dolly swallowed then attempted a careless shrug. ‘He’s still in need of a housekeeper, so he wants me to go on working for him.’

  ‘Not bloody likely.’

  ‘It would only be for a few hours a week and I wouldn’t be living in, not like before. You’re right; things are different now that we’re wed. He’d not be so stupid as to risk trying it on again, not knowing how you’d beat him to a pulp if he did.’ She cast Sam a sideways glance, hoping it had been jealousy that had created that violent reaction, and not hurt pride. ‘It would be one way of paying off this dratted loan. What do you say?’

  ‘Every instinct tells me that I don’t want you anywhere near that nasty piece of work, only…’ They both looked across at Maisie, still seated on the orange box, arms wrapped about herself, rocking back and forth. ‘We can’t go on like this. You have to persuade him to loosen this vice-like grip he has on us, or we’ll not survive. I didn’t expect to have to deal with this.’