The plate juggler tossed a pile of plates to his assistant and, crunching over broken crockery, he edged round the audience into the empty space in front of the bookstall. ‘You’re not packing up already, are you?’ Smiling broadly he stuck out his hand. ‘Jeb Moxon,’ he said. Jude returned the greeting.
‘We might as well. We’ve hardly sold anything.’ Amy’s crestfallen expression spoke a thousand words and asked as many questions.
Jeb smiled sympathetically. ‘Nay, you haven’t given it a chance. You might not sell much at first but then, all of a sudden it’ll take off and you’ll be rushed off your feet.’ He settled his bulk on the edge of the stall and leaned forward in a confidential way.
‘You see, customers are funny creatures. Today they weren’t expectin’ you, so when they set out this morning they’d no notion of buyin’ books or magazines. They came for meat and veg, a few pots and maybe a pair of boots. Now they’ve seen you they’ll go away and think about it and next week they’ll buy summat. You have to give ’em time to get used to you, and you have to attract ’em. If you sell ’em a book give a free magazine, or a comic if they have kiddies with ’em. That way you’ll build up confidence and improve your takings.’
Amy listened avidly. Even Jude appeared to be listening, nodding his head now and then in recognition of the sound advice. Jeb smiled appreciatively.
‘Another thing,’ he said, sliding off the stall, preparing to return to his own and the swelling crowd, ‘don’t just stand there looking miserable. There’s nowt they like better than a bit o’ banter, so shout out to ’em, tell ’em what you’ve got and why they should be buying it. Convince ’em they need it.’
Clapping his hands, Jeb strutted back to his stall to demonstrate his philosophy: a steady stream of raucous patter, a breathtaking display of juggling wizardry and passive onlookers became eager customers. Over at the bookstall Amy, Jude and Raffy, awed by Jeb’s prowess gave each other meaningful looks.
‘I wouldn’t know what to shout,’ Jude said, glaring at the other two. ‘I can’t juggle books, and I can’t read exciting bits out of ’em – nobody would listen.’
No, they wouldn’t, thought Amy, but at least you’re showing an interest. A frisson of excitement had her clasping Jude’s hand and saying, ‘I think we can make a go of this, love. It was lousy today but we’ve still covered the rent on the stall and made a few bob. Let’s give it another go. We’re not beaten yet.’
Jude gave a glimmer of a smile, and then, returning the pressure of her hand and looking deeply into her eyes he winked lazily, that same old slow wink that had captured her heart when first they met. Amy’s spirits soared. He hadn’t done that since returning home from the war. She squeezed his hand all the tighter, her joy bubbling over as he said, ‘Aye, maybe next time we’ll sell ’em all.’ But he said it without enthusiasm.
*
On their second outing, Jude instructed the girls to set the books out in categories, not just at random. ‘Start by putting all the crime here,’ he said pointing to the edge of the table, ‘then the westerns, the romances, and so on. People often like one kind of book more than another, and they’ll be able to see at a glance all the titles we’ve got in that category.’
‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ said Amy. ‘After all, I was a librarian.’ Jude gave her a warm smile. Under his and Amy’s guidance the girls arranged the books, Amy glowing inside at Jude’s perspicacity and thrilled to see him taking an interest. The strategy worked, and they sold twice as many books that day.
Over the next few weeks of setting up the stall on Tuesdays and Saturdays, trade did improve. Furthermore, to Amy’s delight and relief so did Jude, market days working wonders on his temperament. If prospective customers were deliberating over making a purchase, he gave them the gist of the contents of several books, helping them to make a choice. The customers liked this and came back for more. He also talked with the other traders, some who like him had fought in the war, and at the end of each day he was always more like his former self: a man with a purpose who had done something worthwhile.
Therefore, Amy was bitterly disappointed when, on a Saturday morning, he refused to accompany her. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Is it because we’ve only a few books left to sell?’ It was true that their stock was depleted, all the popular titles sold and the few they had left unappealing to their regular clientele.
‘I’ve something better to do,’ he replied, playfully cagey.
Amy widened her eyes. ‘What like?’ Her tone was sharper than she intended.
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ he said, gazing intently into her face.
Amy wished she understood the enigmatic expression in his deeply mysterious eyes, but when she pressed him he became sullen, his mood turning so quickly that Amy, nervous of further upsetting him, let it go. Even so, she couldn’t help thinking that his refusal to go to the market seemed like a retrograde step and she wondered if she was fooling herself into believing that his condition was improving.
Out in the street, Samuel tooted the truck’s horn to let them know he’d arrived with the books, which he stored at the farm.
‘Are you not coming, Dad?’ wheedled Kezia, tugging his hand. Although she was somewhat afraid of his sudden tempers, she hated to see him sad.
‘Not today, pet. Your dad has a bit of business to see to.’ Jude stooped to peck her cheek.
Mystified, but anxious not to keep Samuel waiting, Amy ushered the girls out. ‘I’ll go without you then,’ she said, and although she was still irritated, she placed a hand on each of his cheeks and pulled his head down so that she could kiss his lips. ‘I love you,’ she said softly.
He returned the kiss warmly, and when she broke away and turned to the door, he gave her backside a playful slap. Amy blinked her amazement. ‘My, my, Mr Leas, we are feeling perky,’ she said over her shoulder. She said it lightly, but inside her chest her heart swelled and in her stomach a thousand butterflies fluttered. How long had it been since he had done such a thing she wondered, walking out to the street? Perhaps she wasn’t fooling herself after all.
Jude watched her go. Then, feeling guilty, he went into the kitchen and at the mantelpiece he hastily emptied Amy’s savings jar before he could change his mind. A short while later, wearing his good, black suit he left the house, walking purposefully to Intake Farm. Bessie gave him a cup of tea whilst he waited for Samuel to return from the market. After a brief transaction with his brother-in-law he set off walking again, this time a mile or so into the countryside to Spring Vale House.
It was a beautiful autumn morning, the rustle of burnished leaves under Jude’s feet lending a whispering calm as he strode along the road. White clouds scudded across a blue sky, the immensity of the heavens him making him feel small and insignificant. And yet, he told himself, what he was about to do made him feel more alive than he had felt in a long time. If today’s venture proved successful, it would also prove that he was returning to the man he used to be, the man who made Amy proud to be his wife. His suffering had caused her to suffer too much and yet, day after day, she gave him her unstinting love and still had faith in him. The doctors had done their best to put his mind right but now it was up to him; he was going to repay her love. He’d take his life into his own hands and use it to overcome the damage that the war had done. It had torn them apart in more ways than one but today he resolved to change all that.
*
Spring Vale House stood back from the road, and as he walked up the driveway he felt the tic in his right eye spring into action. Perspiration moistened his upper lip, and his hands felt clammy.
He almost turned and ran.
Then steeling his nerves and willing himself to go on he mounted the steps and gave three sharp raps with the brass knocker on the imposing front door. A young girl wearing a smart white apron and cap opened it.
‘Who shall I say is callin’?’ Her breathless delivery made Jude smile.
‘Mr Jude Leas, calling
with regard to the advertisement.’
With much nodding of her head the maid committed his words to memory, mouthing them silently before blurting out, ‘What did you say your name is, mister?’
Jude chuckled. ‘Jude Leas, I’ve come about the books.’
Bobbing a curtsey, she left him in the vestibule, her dizzy reception making him feel more at ease. Perhaps she was new to the job, he thought.
The maid returned minutes later accompanied by a fashionably dressed woman of middle years. Confidently the woman extended her hand. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Leas. I’m Marion Marchant.’ They shook hands. ‘Take Mr Leas’ hat, erm, cap, Doreen and show him into the library.’
Jude would have preferred to be handing the maid a smart black bowler rather than a cloth cap, but when Marion Marchant led him into the library, all thoughts of his wardrobe faded into insignificance.
There were books everywhere: in serried rows on the shelves lining the walls, and in neat piles on several small side tables and on a magnificent desk by a window. More haphazard piles filled the brass studded, high-backed leather chairs and a long, green velvet couch in front of the hearth. Marvelling, Jude turned full circle.
‘Yes, Mr Leas, quite overwhelming, isn’t it?’ Marion Marchant gave him an amused smile. ‘Now! Down to business,’ she said briskly. ‘The books on the shelves are going to my late father’s old university, the rest are for sale. They all have to go before the new owner moves in. I’ve selected and removed those I’m taking with me but, sadly, my apartment in London wasn’t built to house the entire collection.’ She paused. ‘Pops never could resist books,’ she said reflectively, a soft chuckle indicating her fondness for him.
Jude hardly knew where to start. He coughed, nervously. ‘I couldn’t afford to buy them all,’ he muttered, perusing the books in the nearest pile, his touch almost reverent. Even the thirty shillings Samuel had loaned him and the money from Amy’s savings jar wouldn’t buy many books of this quality.
Marion saw the longing in his eyes and noted the way he handled the volumes. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. You’re the first enquiry I’ve had and I can’t afford to be away from London much longer. I’ll leave you to it,’ she said brightly, and swept from the room.
Jude pored over the books, many whose titles and authors he had never heard of.
Two hours later, in which the maid brought him a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake, Jude’s selected piles sat to the right of the door; ten times as many remained on chairs and tables. He ached to take more but was too afraid. Could he even afford those he had chosen, he wondered? If not, he’d haggle.
‘Well, how are we doing?’ Marion breezed back into the room, wearing a warm smile. ‘I hope you found plenty to interest you. I don’t want to be left with them.’
Jude indicated the piles of books by the door. ‘I’ll take these if the price is right.’
Her smile faded. ‘Is that all?’ she exclaimed.
‘It’s all I think I’ll be able to afford. You see…’ Before he could prevent himself Jude’s hopes and dreams took flight. He talked about his love for books, the market stall and the library he had organised in his war years.
‘So you served your country in more ways than one,’ said Marion impishly. ‘On one hand the fighting soldier and on the other a purveyor of pleasure.’
Jude grinned. ‘Something like that,’ he replied, the grin slipping as his eyes darkened and his mouth twisted bitterly.
‘Was it truly awful?’ Marion sounded genuinely concerned.
‘It was for me,’ Jude said, his tone hollow. Then he surprised himself by admitting that he had suffered from shell shock and dreaded the thought of returning to the pit, his only option if he was to give Amy and Kezia the kind of lives they deserved.
Words running dry and embarrassment shrouding him like an iron suit, he ended up mumbling, ‘So I can’t take—’
‘Nonsense! You obviously love books as much as my father did and he would have gladly helped you get your life back together.’ Marion flourished her hand. ‘Look, take these and those over there, take as many as you like. Just get on with it.’
‘But what about the money?’ Jude stuttered. She named a ridiculously low figure and he stared at her in amazement, prepared to argue. Marion was having none of it.
‘Look, I’ve already made my decision. You need books. I don’t. So let’s call it a deal.’
They celebrated with another cup of tea. ‘How will you transport them? Doreen says you arrived on foot.’
Chagrin dampening his pleasure, Jude said, ‘I don’t own a car, but if I go now I can get my brother-in-law to collect them in his truck this afternoon.’
‘Splendid, this afternoon it is then.’ Marion stood and held out her hand. ‘I’m pleased we met and I wish you the very best of luck in your new venture. I’m pleased to be part of it in some small way.’
Jude walked back to Intake Farm in a trance.
*
‘By, bloody hell, I’ve never seen so many books in my life,’ Samuel said, as they made a final trip down the steps of Spring Vale House, Marion and Doreen waving them goodbye. Jude laughed as he stashed the last pile into the truck, a rush of blood singing in his ears. He felt as though his whole body was waking from a deep sleep. It was as though a dam had burst and that from now on, he would only go forward.
*
Meanwhile, as Jude and Samuel filled the parlour in 2 Wentworth Street with books, in the marketplace Amy wearily began to pack up the few books left on the stall.
‘It appears that demand has outstripped supply, girls,’ she said.
Kezia screwed up her face. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means we won’t be coming again. We don’t have enough books to attract any more customers,’ said Amy, smiling sympathetically when she saw Maggie and Kezia’s crestfallen expressions. They loved coming to the Saturday market, helping out on the stall or wandering between the alleyways looking at what else was on offer.
‘But that means we won’t be here for Fred to give us apples and Jeb to buy us a bag of sweets,’ protested Kezia. She had grown used to the kindly stallholders who, at the end of a day often gave the girls left over fruit or, like Jeb, bought them a treat.
Maggie sighed. ‘I’ll miss Gertie most.’ The friendly young haberdasher had given her odd bits of ribbon and a glittery purse minus some of its sequins and Maggie, about to start work as a trainee receptionist in Dr Hargreaves’ surgery, had become fashion conscious. Amy had bought her two new outfits from Clara who ran the clothes stall but there was never enough money for all the frippery bits and pieces a teenage girl desired.
Amy sighed. ‘They’re such a friendly lot, I’ll miss them all,’ she said, sadly watching the nearby stallholders packing up their wares and at the same time keeping an eye out for Samuel’s truck. He was late.
‘See you next Tuesday, Amy.’ Jeb slammed the doors of his van.
‘I doubt it. We’ve run out of books.’
Jeb glanced over at Amy, wearing a bemused smile. ‘Then go to t’wholesalers an’ buy some more. You’ve built up a steady little business here. You can’t just let it go.’ He walked to the front of the van and climbed into the driving seat.
Had he stayed to listen, Amy would have told him they had no idea how to go about dealing with a wholesaler, and neither did they have enough money to open an account with one. Whatever profit they had made in the past few months had gone towards the rent and new coats and dresses and shoes for the girls. She might also have told him that she thought Jude had lost interest in the bookstall.
Samuel arrived at last, his beaming face making Amy wonder what he had to be so happy about. Riding homeward, she felt crushed by the sheer weight of responsibility as though she would snap under the strain. Yet, her family needed her to stay strong if they were to remain solvent so that’s what she must do she told herself sharply.
‘Cheer up,’ s
aid Samuel. ‘There’s a cloud with a silver lining coming your way.’
Amy harrumphed. ‘If there is, it’s taking its bloody time,’ she replied heatedly.
They arrived at Amy’s door. An elusive smile curved the corners of Samuel’s mouth as he said, ‘I’ll not come in. I’ll take these two up to see the lads an’ bring ’em back afore bedtime.’ Kezia and Maggie cheered.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Amy, too despondent to be persuasive. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
Puzzled as to why Sammy was behaving so mysteriously, she climbed out of the truck and walked into the house.
Jude was sitting in the only available chair in the parlour, its matching partner and the couch, and the little table and part of the floor piled high with books – hundreds of books, some with green, brown and maroon leather spines, others clothbound in blue, grey and red. Boxes on the hearthrug held flimsy gazettes and women’s magazines.
Amy gaped.
‘We were running low on books so I went out and got us some more,’ Jude said.
Amy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Later, Jude made love to Amy for the first time since his return from the war. It was truly, deeply, fantastically wonderful; more wonderful than anything she had ever known before. Afterwards, as he lay sleeping, she lay awake cocooned in happiness and awash with intense, deep and perfect love.
30
‘Thanks, Sammy,’ Amy said warmly, as Jude unloaded the last of the boxes and carried it to the stall. ‘We couldn’t do this without you. You’re more than good.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
‘But I do. We can’t keep dragging you away from the farm just for us to make a living.’ Amy’s voice was full of concern.
‘Course you can! We’re family. Anyway, it gets me away from Freda for an hour. This morning sickness has her proper tetchy.’ Samuel’s proud smile at prospective fatherhood belied his complaint.
The Collier’s Wife Page 25