The Collier’s Wife

by Chrissie Walsh

  Amy grimaced. ‘It’s no joke, let me tell you, but it’ll pass an’ come next spring you’ll be the father of a bouncing baby girl or boy.’

  ‘I can’t wait. I never thought owt that grand ’ud happen to me.’

  ‘Why not? You’ve turned into a lovely man since our Thomas…’ Amy’s hand flew to her lips, her expression contrite.

  Samuel gave a sad smile. ‘I know what you mean, an’ you’re right.’ He gazed off into the distance and added, ‘It’s a bugger that summat as bad as that had to happen to make me see sense.’

  Words escaping her, Amy hugged him tight and said, ‘You get back to Freda, love, and thanks again for all you do for us.’

  By now, Jude had unpacked several boxes, carefully categorising the books as he laid them out on the stall: westerns, crime, romance, thrillers and classics. Professor Marchant’s eclectic taste should appeal to a wide audience.

  ‘Don’t they look grand?’ said Jude, standing back to admire his handiwork. ‘We’ll not have any bother selling these.’

  He spoke with such enthusiasm that Amy was reluctant to dishearten him, although the titles in the box she was unpacking made her wonder who on earth would want to read such dry tomes. Essays on the Principles of Population by someone called Thomas Maltheus sounded particularly dreary. Maybe History of the Conquest of Peru by William Prescott might be more exciting.

  ‘They’re absolutely marvellous and so are you,’ she said, shoving Maltheus, Prescott and their companions under the stall and then filling the rest of it with women’s magazines and comics.

  All around them traders were setting up their stalls, a lovely feeling of camaraderie in the air as they called out to one another. ‘I see you took my advice an’ got more stock,’ Jeb called out. ‘I told you you’d be daft to let it go.’

  Amy gave Jeb a cheery wave and Jude saluted him, his grin the widest she had seen it in a long time. She glanced up at the clear blue sky and threw a silent prayer of thanks to some unseen deity. Even the late autumn day, more like one in summer, was in their favour. Good weather always brought customers flocking to the market and the alleyways were already teeming with people.

  A tired-looking woman, three children at her heels, paused by the stall to adjust her loaded bags. Taking the initiative, Amy picked up a copy of Women at Home and proffered it to the woman. ‘Have you read this one?’ The woman set down her bags.

  ‘It’s full of wonderful ideas for homemaking and saving money,’ Amy gushed, ‘and there’s a free comic for the children with every copy.’ The woman accepted it, flicked the pages, smiled and reached for her purse.

  This exchange attracted the attention of a gaggle of housewives on the fringes of the crowd gathering at Jeb’s stall. They inched closer, Amy pouncing and handing out copies of The Gentlewoman, Annie Swains Magazine and Weldons Quilting.

  The women made their purchases and were about to depart when Jude found his tongue. ‘What about books for your husbands, ladies?’ The women faltered and one, more curious than the others said, ‘He doesn’t read much but I’ve a lad whose head’s never out of a book.’

  ‘What does he read?’ Jude asked.

  ‘Oh, anything that’s exciting and full of adventure.’

  Jude handed her a copy of Saki’s short stories. ‘Then he’ll enjoy this,’ he said, giving her an abbreviated version of the content, ‘an’ if he’s a reader tell him to call next time he’s in town.’

  For the rest of the day Jude approached anyone who lingered at the stall with a raft of questions: ‘Do you like a good mystery?’ ‘What about tales of adventure at sea?’ and so on, his brief resumes so intriguing, sale after sale was made.

  *

  Throughout the autumn and approaching Christmas trade was brisk. Almost all of the more popular titles had sold, and whilst they had been to a few house clearances they had yet to investigate a more reliable source of supply.

  ‘We might as well put some of these out,’ said Jude, lifting one of the boxes containing books of the sort Amy consigned to under the stall. He began emptying the box. ‘They’ll make the stall look full if nothing else.’

  It was a bitterly cold day in December and Amy shivered and felt a sinking feeling as she looked over their depleted stock. ‘I can’t see us selling many of these,’ she said, jabbing a finger at books on philosophy, politics and religion. ‘I could have sold two copies of Howard’s End had we had any and I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been asked for Zuleika Dobson, Clayhanger and Peter Pan.’

  ‘We need fairy stories and Christmas books for people like me,’ Kezia piped up. She regularly helped out on the stall and had developed her own strategy for making a sale. ‘Have you read this?’ she would ask whenever children approached the stall. ‘It’s ever so good. You should ask your mam to buy it for you.’ She rarely met with a refusal.

  ‘She right,’ said Jude. ‘It’s close on Christmas, and seeing as we have enough money to go to a wholesaler, we’ll go to that one in Wakefield on Monday.’

  ‘And maybe buy Christmas cards and calendars,’ Amy suggested. They smiled at one another, smiles that said ‘see, we’re winning, we’ve broken through the barriers that were driving us apart and put the past behind us.’

  Amy watched as Jude arranged books on the stall, thinking how handsome he was and thanking God for returning him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jude looked at Amy. Her hair had flared rebelliously out of its chignon and her eyes sparkled determinedly. He thought how beautiful and strong she was, and that it was she who had brought him back from the brink of hell.

  Taking advantage of a lull in trade, Amy said, ‘Seeing as how we’re not busy me and Kezia will take a walk and buy Christmas presents.’

  ‘Yippee!’ Kezia cried, raring to go. She never tired of roaming the walkways, fascinated by the sounds and smells and the variety of commodities on the stalls, and then returning with scraps of information and gossip. Eager to spend her weekend penny wisely she took hold of Amy’s hand. Amy gave a friendly nod to the elderly gentleman peering at the titles of the weighty tomes Jude had put on display. Jude hovered, hopeful.

  ‘You have some very fine books here, young man. It’s unusual to see such volumes on a secondhand market stall.’

  Flattered by the compliment and pleased to engage in conversation with someone who recognised the books’ worth, Jude gave him his full attention. After lengthy discussion the gentleman purchased six books and departed, Jude elated by the experience and the lucrative sale.

  When Amy and Kezia returned, he gleefully waved three one-pound notes under Amy’s nose. ‘That old chap, the one with the wispy beard and the Homburg hat bought six of Prof Marchant’s books,’ he said, handing the money to Amy. ‘They call him Noah Wiseman, and it suits him because he knew their true value. He dictated the price he wanted to pay and it was three times more than I would have charged.’

  Amy tucked the money in the leather pouch at her waist, her heart thumping at the unexpected turn of fortune. ‘Oh, Jude,’ she gasped, too astounded to say more.

  *

  The Christmas books and cards were selling well, the market crowded with eager shoppers getting ready for Christmas. Having made their first wholesale purchases the Leas family felt as though they really were in business.

  ‘They’ve started celebrating early,’ Amy commented, as two rowdy young men swaggered past, beer bottles in hands.

  Jude was just completing the sale of a box of cards and a calendar when Noah Wiseman arrived at the stall. He had called regularly since his first visit, Jude always making time to talk with him and discuss the books Noah showed an interest in. ‘Happy Hanukkah,’ Jude said by way of a greeting, Noah’s smile letting him know that the acknowledgement of his religion pleased him. Jude lifted a box containing books on philosophy and history from under the stall. ‘You might be interested in some of these,’ he said, sure that none of his other customers would find them appealing. He went back to serving. Loud jeering over at J
eb’s crockery stall caught Amy’s attention. Two young men were mocking Jeb. She recognised them as the men who had passed by earlier. Then, customers waiting, she attended to their needs.

  Noah delved into the box. He was inspecting a copy of John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty when a violent shove sent him reeling and the book flying from his hands.

  ‘Dirty old Jewboy,’ his attacker shouted. He shoved Noah again, sending his Homburg spinning, and was about to deliver another blow when Jude, his face livid, leapt from behind the stall and grabbed him. He twisted the assailant’s arm up behind his back with one hand, and with the other he delivered a punch to his gut.

  ‘Hey, what are you defending a filthy old Jew for?’ shouted the thug’s companion, moving in to assist his winded pal. Jude’s eyes glittered blackly as he gave him a threatening glare. The lad backed down. Amy rescued Noah’s hat and hurried to comfort him. By now they had attracted a crowd of onlookers.

  ‘Get out of my sight,’ Jude growled, releasing his hold on the thug and then forcibly pushing him into his companion. ‘The only thing filthy round here is you two cowards. Now bugger off and don’t let me see you by my stall again.’ Jeb, and most of the onlookers, added their condemnation. To a chorus of catcalling and boos the thugs slunk off.

  Amy had sent Kezia to the tea stall for a cup of hot, sweet tea, and now, as Noah held the mug in his trembling hands, he offered profuse thanks to Jude. ‘I suppose by now I should be used to it,’ he said, ‘but each time hurts just as painfully as the time before.’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘Thank you so much for rescuing me.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have to,’ Jude said bitterly, ‘but scum like them know nothing but their own ignorance.’ He stooped to retrieve the copy of On Liberty that had flown from Noah’s hands. Grinning wryly, he handed it to him. ‘We should have punished the pair of them by forcing ’em to read this before we let ’em go,’ he said.

  *

  Two days later, snow threatening a full day’s trading and business slack, Noah returned to the stall. Again, he offered his thanks, and after making his purchases he surprised them by requesting that they visit his home the following evening; he had something to discuss with them.

  Amy glanced at Jude and he at her, seeing her expression flit from surprise to wariness. Knowing that his own expression mirrored hers, he waited and when she slowly nodded her head, he accepted the invitation.

  *

  The following evening, leaving Kezia with Maggie, Jude and Amy walked across town to Noah Wiseman’s house, neither of them engaging in conversation for they were both deep in thought: why had Noah suggested this meeting? Amy presumed he was lonely and, based on their shared interest in good literature, had proffered the invitation so he and Jude could talk books. Jude suspected the instigators of this invitation were Marion Marchant’s books but why exactly, he wasn’t sure.

  As they approached Noah’s home in Bankside Street, Amy was reminded of the walks she and Jude had taken when first they met because the house was in the row whose backs overlooked the river. She recalled the hours they had shared in this same place and wondered if their meeting with Noah would bring about something equally wonderful – although she couldn’t imagine what.

  The house was three storeys high, the lower storey below street level and accessed by a shallow flight of steps. Another flight led up from the street to the front door, black iron railings guarding both. Light shone from a window directly above the basement. Lifting the brass knocker on the smartly painted black door, Jude rapped twice and turned to face Amy on the step below, his expression letting her know he was impressed by his surroundings. Whilst they waited Amy indulged in imagining how it would be to live in such a spacious dwelling.

  ‘Good evening, I’m glad you came.’ Noah Wiseman pulled back the door into a well-furnished hallway, a large, seven-branched candleholder on a table catching Amy’s eye. Silently, she admired its elegance.

  ‘Let me take your coats before we go through.’ Noah took Jude’s old black overcoat that had once belonged to Hadley, and as Amy handed him her worn navy blue coat she was glad that she had chosen to wear her best pale blue linen two-piece under it. Noah hung the coats on a huge hallstand and then led the way into a sitting room crowded with overstuffed chairs, a settee and a table below the window. Several large bookcases lined the walls. Scattered on and in the spaces between the furniture were piles of books.

  ‘Ignore the clutter,’ Noah said, negotiating a path to chairs at the fireside. ‘Only the most basic necessities of housekeeping are important to a man who lives alone.’

  When they were seated, he poured three glasses of sherry from a decanter on a side table next to his own chair, handing one to Amy and another to Jude. Ill at ease, Amy clutched her glass in both hands, but she left the drink untried. As for Jude, he held the diminutive glass in fingers that felt more like sausages and sipped the amber liquid warily. Sensing their discomfort, Noah wasted no time on pleasantries.

  ‘As you see, I live by books,’ he said, gesturing expansively about the room, ‘and, in a manner of speaking, so do you’ – his gaze rested first on Amy and then on Jude – ‘but the difference between us is I know the true value of books, you don’t.’

  Affronted, Jude straightened and opened his mouth to rebut the accusation. Noah waved him into silence.

  ‘I don’t mean to be offensive. I speak only the truth, and if I were a less honest man, I could have robbed you several times over. I chose not to because I admire you, I like your determination to succeed even though it’s coupled with sublime ignorance.’

  Amy’s sharp intake of breath caused Noah to smile and Jude to glance anxiously at her. ‘What exactly are you trying to say, Mr Wiseman?’ he asked, his expression a mixture of irritation, confusion and curiosity.

  Noah leaned back in his chair, hands folded across his chest. ‘I know from our many conversations that you both have a genuine appreciation for the books you sell but your knowledge of the trade is abysmal. Several times I was tempted to purchase books from you and pay the piddling amount you asked of me but my conscience wouldn’t let me. Maybe it was my God telling me that the Talmud does not teach us how to dupe an innocent man. No matter, I brought you here to proposition you, so bear with me whilst I explain.’

  Dropping his defences, Jude settled back in the chair. Amy took a small sip of sherry and, finding it pleasant tried to relax, resigned to hearing the older man out. Noah leaned forward, his eyes on Jude. Relieved that Jude had calmed down, Amy looked from one man to the other. Whatever Noah Wiseman had to say involved her too so she coughed discreetly to remind him of her presence. He reached out, patting the back of her hand in acknowledgement.

  ‘I deal in books – have done for many years. I search for old or rare volumes and when I find them I sell them to collectors, men and women who have a particular desire for a certain author or subject. They pay good money to get the books they want.’ He rubbed the palms of his hands together, his eyes twinkling.

  ‘When I saw the books you had on display after you’d sold out of the most popular titles I was sorely tempted to buy the lot, pay you a pittance of their true value and keep the profit for myself.’ He smiled ruefully at Amy. ‘However, my heart wouldn’t allow it as by that time I looked on you as friends.’ His eyes twinkled as he gazed fondly from Amy to Jude. ‘Then, when you so bravely rescued me from those thugs the other day, I knew you were true friends. That got me thinking. How best could I repay your kindness, I asked myself?’

  ‘Nay, we don’t need repaying,’ Jude intervened, ‘we only did what any decent folks would do.’ Amy murmured her agreement.

  Noah held up his hand. ‘Please, hear me out,’ he said. ‘I want to make you an offer. Give up the market stall and open a bookshop in the basement of this house. It’s a good location, and you won’t have to contend with foul weather or carting the books to and from the stall. In return for the premises I will sell the rare books you still have in your possession an
d you can carry on your everyday business. In between times I’ll teach you the craft of recognising rare and valuable books.’ He sat back, smiling beatifically, waiting for an answer.

  ‘I didn’t know any of them were rare,’ Jude muttered. ‘In fact, I thought we’d never get rid of most of ’em.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Noah said. ‘You have to know your stock, and when it comes to the popular stuff, you do, but I know where the real money lies – you’ve at least two first editions and several rare volumes in the books you consider unsellable – so what do you say? Have we a deal?’

  Utterly bemused, Jude turned to Amy. She felt equally bewildered, but not too discomposed to find her voice. ‘It’s an intriguing offer, Mr Wiseman, and one we would like to consider. As I understand it, the premises will be rent-free in exchange for certain books, but once those books are disposed of, what then?’

  Noah chuckled. ‘Hopefully we’ll find more, and if not the offer still stands. The basement is unused, and I’m a lonely old man in need of like-minded company. I have nothing to lose. I’m not just doing this for the books. I could have taken them had I wanted. It’s more a shared venture I’m interested in, something to give me a reason to get up each morning.’

  ‘I don’t think I need to consider it any further,’ Jude said, glancing at Amy for support. ‘It makes damn good sense to me.’ He grinned. ‘And if you’re that honest that you haven’t robbed us yet, I can’t see you doing it in the future. If Amy agrees we’ll accept your offer and be grateful. Without you I’d be selling those books for nowt; this way we’ll all make summat out of it.’

  Her eyes gleaming, Amy nodded her assent. Noah topped up their glasses, and they toasted the success of the bookshop. As they talked, Amy’s mind conjured up enticing images of a neat, cosy shop full of customers. Eventually, Noah stood and they exchanged handshakes. ‘We’ll have a solicitor write a contract so that your tenancy will be assured,’ he said, ‘and now, let me show you the basement.’