by Nancy Carson
When the dignitary and his wife had gone inside the town hall, Augustus got back in the motorcar. Millie realised that as a chauffeur he would most likely have to remain where he was at his master’s leisure, so she resumed walking with little Elizabeth.
As she drew close she could see a coat of arms painted on one door of the vehicle; it was that of the Earl of Dudley. Why had she not noticed it on Friday or Sunday night? Well, because it was dark, she supposed. The Earl and Countess were clearly attending some council business in which he was involved. She saw that Augustus was sitting in the driver’s seat, the peak of his cap shielding his eyes, intent on taking a nap. She boldly tapped on the window.
He opened his eyes, adjusted his cap and, as soon as he saw Millie, he winced and opened the door, grinning inanely.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Johnson,’ Millie greeted pleasantly. ‘You seem to have a spare time job apart from running your factory. What a busy life you must lead.’
His only response was a shrug.
‘And such a lovely motorcar to go with it. You must be delighted to have the use of it when his lordship doesn’t need it.’
‘Yes, it can be very useful,’ he agreed.
‘Or, maybe his lordship doesn’t even know you borrow it. Anyway, Augustus – if that is your real name – this is my daughter, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, say hello to Mr Johnson.’
‘Hello Mr Johnson,’ Elizabeth tweeted in her little girl’s voice.
‘I didn’t realise you have a daughter, Millie.’
‘Well, you never asked. Anyway, about tomorrow evening…Shall we consider it cancelled? Goodbye, Augustus.’
Millie felt his eyes burning into her back as she went on her way with Elizabeth, but she walked on with dignity, delighted yet disappointed that she had accidentally, and by good fortune, uncovered the truth about Augustus Johnson. What if she had not? The consequences might not bear thinking about.
Soon they reached the street where George Harrington lived. She quickly found the house and knocked on the door. George opened it and beamed when he saw Millie and the daughter he’d hitherto known nothing about.
‘Come in, you two,’ he said cheerfully, clearly excited.
They entered, and he led them through his front room and into a small parlour at the back of the house. A fire was burning brightly in the blackleaded grate and the kettle was sighing over the coals as it hung from its gale hook.
‘I’ll have a pot of tea brewed when the kettle’s boiled. I bet you fancy a cup of tea after your walk.’
‘Oh, you can’t imagine, George,’ she answered truthfully. ‘So where’s Lauren?’
‘Upstairs, having her afternoon sleep. I’ll fetch her down in a bit. So this is Elizabeth?’
‘The one and only,’ Millie said.
He reached down and ran his forefinger gently down the side of the child’s cheek. ‘She’s the image of you, Millie.’
‘D’you think so? I always think she’s like you. So have you had to take the day off work, so as to be here?’ Millie enquired.
‘Yesterday and today,’ he said. ‘They were all right about it. Not been too busy the last week or two.’
‘So where do you work these days?’
‘The Revo Electric Company in Tividale. I design switch control gear.’
‘And it’s a good job?’
‘Not bad at all. I was lucky.’
He certainly seemed brighter than when she saw him the day before. He seemed more pleasant, less preoccupied, more like his old self. He was clean shaven and his hair was tidy. Perhaps the knowledge that he was the father of a child he knew nothing about, by the only woman he truly loved, had perked him up.
‘Would Elizabeth take to me, d’you think?’ he asked.
‘Eventually, I daresay.’
‘Would you, Millie?’
Millie smiled at that. ‘What a question!’ she remarked. ‘It would depend…on a lot of things.’
He grinned. Then they heard Lauren grizzling upstairs, and George shot to his feet, opened the stairs’ door and rushed to fetch her. Millie heard him cooing softly to the child, then his footsteps as he trod carefully down the stairs, carrying her in his arms.
‘Here she is – the light of my life…’ He was holding Lauren in his arms, her head was on his shoulder and she was sucking her thumb, her blue eyes still wet with tears. ‘Say hello to Aunty Millie, eh? She’s come all the way from Caroline Street to see you.’
The child looked at Millie then at Elizabeth, the sight of whom perked up her interest.
‘And this is Elizabeth, your sister, who’s come to see you. You’ll be able to play together, eh?’
Elizabeth looked up at Lauren, then at her mother. ‘Can we play together now, Mommy?’
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ Millie answered, and George stood Lauren down on the floor close to Elizabeth.
At once the girls giggled and Lauren scampered off into the front room, with Elizabeth hard on her heels.
‘They seem to be hitting it off straight away,’ George commented.
‘I know,’ Millie replied brightly. ‘It’s nice to see.’
‘Kettle’s boiling, I’ll make that tea.’
‘Where are your cups and saucers, George, and I’ll lay them up,’ Millie said with an unwitting but housewifely desire to help.
‘In the cupboard at the side of the fireplace. Oh, and I got some cake mother made yesterday. It’s on the cold slab. I told her you were coming today to meet Lauren.’
‘Oh, and what did she say to that?’ She found the crockery and set it out on the table.
‘She said she was glad I’d come to my senses at last. She was always very fond of you, Millie.’
‘Did you tell her about Elizabeth?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘She cried.’
Millie sat down again, moved beyond her wildest imaginings. She felt her own eyes watering, tried to stem the tears and failed. She wept, allowing the tears to fall in abundance, then finally took a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed her eyes. Somehow she was overwhelmed by this domestic scene that would seem insignificant to any onlooker, but to her it held immense meaning. She saw struggles ahead, reconciliation, dependence, hopes and fears, and yet through it all she foresaw contentment. The memory of distant kisses came flooding back, warming and delicious that used to light her up like a lamp; and the stolen moments of absolute intimacy and loving kindness she and George had shared, that used to render her oblivious to all other consciousness. All at once she felt at peace, with the world and with herself, and her peace was exalted by a feeling of tenderness. This, now, is what life might have been like from the beginning, and if it was a hint of her life in the future she would not complain. At least her precious daughter would have her rightful father. What could be better than that? She had loved George devotedly before, it would not take much rekindling. Already it was stirring.
One thing was certain; George was not of the same mould as Augustus – thank God. He was straight and basically honest. All right, he had deceived her once when he was overseas and miles away, not knowing whether he would live to see the next day; but she had forgiven him. To his credit he had felt the need to be honourable to Aimée. He was not a confidence trickster like Augustus. Besides, Augustus was gone, never to grace her life or her emotions again. Romantic dreams of Augustus had already flown and were a thousand miles away. Was it not an omen that she had found out about him just in time?
‘Well, what d’you think, Millie?’ George asked.
She knew just what he meant and smiled warmly. ‘Persuade me.’
He took her in his arms with the intention of trying to persuade her in the only way he knew. He looked into her wide eyes, those pools of sherry, aware that he was about to flounder in them again, and their lips met.
For Millie his eager kiss was so familiar and yet so strange. All those tender moments they’d shared before, the yearning, the exhilaration, the c
ontentment – they all came flooding back behind her closed eyelids, and she was once again enthralled.
They broke off and she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. But she was smiling.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Just a little more persuading like that should do it…’
And it did…
Be swept away by THE BLACK COUNTRY CHRONICLES
Gutsy heroines, epic love affairs and page-turning intrigue…
Coming in March 2015
A tale of one girl’s brave escape from a world of poverty in her search for true love…
It’s the 1850s, and Poppy Silk is the daughter of a railroad worker. The world around her is violent, immoral and poverty stricken. But despite being penniless and unschooled, Poppy is determined to escape the squalor, and a future cleaning up after a husband she doesn’t love.
Robert Crawford, a handsome engineer she encounters one day, is like no one she’s ever met. As he teaches her to read, feelings blossom. But life is not kind to Poppy. Robert is promised to another and Poppy can’t afford the luxury of hope.
At a heartbreaking cross-roads, she must decide…is true love worth risking everything for?
About the Author
Nancy Carson lives in Staffordshire and is a keen student of local history. All her novels are based around real events, and focus on the lives and loves of the people of the Black Country.
About the Publisher
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