The Cobweb Cage

by Marina Oliver

  Poppy missed school, something she'd never thought to do. It had been her ambition to leave as soon as possible and for that she'd worked hard to pass her leaving certificate. But then she'd anticipated having a job as her friends did, never expecting to become the drudge she now regarded herself.

  She had a little pocket money but it wasn't enough to pay for the clothes she wanted, and without them she felt ashamed before her erstwhile friends. She wanted brightly coloured clothes instead of the drab grey ones Mom insisted on, saying they didn't show the dirt.

  'I can't go out with them in this shabby old thing,' she'd complained to Marigold one Sunday. 'I'd love a button-through skirt and a bolero coatee in pale green like that one I saw in The Lady magazine Mrs Andrews gave Mom.'

  'Things will get better soon,' Marigold consoled. 'Without Johnny and me they don't need so much money, even now Pa's getting lower wages.'

  'It was difficult during the Pit Strike, and Mom had to pay for all your underclothes. They still owe money.'

  'Things will get better soon. I'll be able to pay Mom back some more when I get my next quarter's wages, and Pa isn't ill so often.'

  'He gets his headaches more often, and then he can't go to work,' Poppy put in. 'He just lies in bed all day, not speaking to anyone, even Mom.'

  'Mom didn't say! Is he bad, Poppy?'

  'I don't know. Mom says he'll soon get better.'

  Marigold thrust this new anxiety from her mind. Mom would tell her if Pa was really worse. It was probably just Poppy feeling hard done by.

  'Johnny still sends quite a bit home. Perhaps Mom can afford to stop work in a few months, then you could go and get a job. What would you like to do? Work in a shop?'

  The trouble was, Poppy didn't know. She enjoyed cooking but hated the thought of domestic service. It didn't seem to her much better to slave away for long hours in a shop, being polite to overbearing customers. Nebulous dreams of glamour and comfort such as she'd never known hovered at the edge of her consciousness, but she knew better than to breathe a word of this to Marigold, who'd have told her sharply not to be a fool.

  'When I get the chance'll be the time to think of that.'

  *

  Marigold had little time for brooding over her sisters. It was almost Christmas and Professor Roberts was planning to entertain many of his colleagues during the University vacation. She would be expected to help in the dining room, and was nervous of not knowing what to do.

  'Don't worry,' Jim Dangerfield said comfortably. 'If I can pretend to be a butler you can act parlourmaid.'

  In the nursery there was an air of excitement. Marigold was busy sewing new velvet dresses for little Eleanor, one in red and one in green.

  'I had lots of presents last Christmas,' Eleanor said importantly to her brother. 'You were too little, but I 'spect you'll be able to see the Christmas tree this year.'

  'Saw it.'

  'No you didn't, you were too little. It had candles on it.'

  'Want Cissmas tree,' Peter insisted, and his face puckered threateningly.

  Marigold hastened to distract him. 'Shall we get ready? It's time for our walk. Let's go down and feed the ducks on the river.'

  He brightened instantly. He adored all animals, and beside the ducks they had to pass a field where some ponies always stood looking over the gate.

  Marigold, used only to the plodding carthorses pulling the delivery carts in Hednesford, and the racehorses from Mr Coulthwaite's training stables at Rawnsley, which they saw sometimes exercising on Hednesford Hills, had found herself, surprisingly, unafraid of the ponies. She enjoyed stroking their rough coats, and the feel of their lips, soft and questing, against her hand as she fed them.

  'When can I ride?' Peter demanded as they stroked the ponies.

  'I don't know. When your father says you may, I suppose,' Marigold replied.

  'I want to ride too!' Eleanor began to jump up and down. Marigold snatched her away from the ponies which had started back in alarm.

  'You'll have to learn not to frighten them first,' she said sternly, and Eleanor began to howl.

  'I want my Papa! He'd let me ride! Where's my Papa? I want to go home! I hate you, and I hate ponies!'

  Luckily Eleanor's tantrums were speedily over, and by the time Marigold had walked the children to the river and back the little girl had forgotten the incident, and was eagerly planning which of her new dresses she wanted to wear on Christmas Day.

  Before then, however, Marigold had to face the first dinner party at Gordon Villa. It was customary for Professor Roberts to entertain some of his final year students at the end of each term, and there were to be five of them at the first such party, along with five young daughters of neighbours and fellow academics.

  Mrs Roberts gave her instructions on how to lay the table during the morning. She and Ethel spread the newly washed and ironed damask cloth on the long mahogany table, and set out the cutlery and glasses. Marigold had never seen such a quantity of silverware and crystal, and wondered how anyone could ever afford so much.

  'Lucky the Professor's got his own fortune,' Jim explained when she said it to him. 'He'd not be able to live in this style if all he had was his University salary. Now this is how you serve the vegetables. Show me.'

  Though she was nervous, all went well until she was handing round a second helping of roast beef. As she offered the platter to one of the young men the girl beside him turned sharply and her shoulder caught the platter. Marigold gasped and clutched it in desperation, but if the young man had not reacted extremely fast the meat would have landed in his lap.

  He seized the other side of the platter, and as Marigold fought to hold it steady his hand closed over hers.

  'Oh, I'm sorry!' she gasped, and closed her eyes briefly in relief, then cast an anxious glance towards Mrs Roberts.

  'No harm done,' the young man said quietly. 'No-one's noticed, they're all talking too much.'

  It wasn't quite true. The young man opposite, tall and thin with narrow blue eyes and a languid air, was watching with a faint smile on his lips. Marigold looked away, again discomfited.

  Her hand was suddenly released, and Marigold stepped back, weak with a sudden trembling that attacked her legs. Jim, who had seen the incident, came across and took the platter from her.

  'Go and see if there's more gravy,' he said quietly, and as she escaped bent to proffer the meat once more. Marigold, her face already flushed at the near accident, blushed even more when she realised she had been about to deprive her saviour of his second helping, and turned to flee.

  Later she handed round cups of tea in the drawing room. Her rescuer gave her a fleeting smile and winked at her before turning to the girl beside him to reply to some question.

  Marigold watched him unobtrusively. He was tall, with dark brown hair which flopped in unruly locks over his forehead. His eyes, so dark as to appear black, were deep-set in a bronzed face, which was unusual in the students she had seen about the town. Normally they looked pale. His mouth was wide, seemed always smiling in amusement or approval, with a full lower lip.

  He had strong, prominent bones, and long, tapering fingers. As she recalled the feel of those fingers over hers, Marigold blushed and turned hurriedly away. When is was time for her to leave the drawing room she escaped gladly. She was uncomfortable in the presence of such lively, handsome young men and beautiful, vivacious girls.

  She had her dinner in the kitchen with Ethel and the Dangerfields. Normally she and Miss Baker ate upstairs, with the children or, in the evenings, together, but with this evening's duties it seemed silly to carry a tray up to the empty nursery. Miss Baker had eaten long ago and would be engrossed in the book she was reading.

  Afterwards, Jim's words of praise for her help ringing pleasantly in her ears, she left the kitchen to go to bed.

  'Put this jug of water in the master's study on your way up,' Mrs Dangerfield asked as she said goodnight. 'He always feels thirsty after a party.'

  Marigold
took the jug, found the study glowing with a bright fire, and by its light set the jug of water on a small table near the window. She turned to go, and found her way blocked.

  'Aha, the pretty little maid!' a rather slurred male voice said. 'How about a kiss for me?'

  He was standing in the doorway and she could not get past. She shook her head, wordlessly. From his rather tall, slender silhouette she thought he was the man who had watched her near disaster in the dining room.

  'Please let me pass, sir,' she said quietly.

  'Not without a forfeit. Come, what harm will a kiss do? It's Christmas, time of goodwill to all. Show your goodwill to me.'

  'I'd rather you showed yours to me by allowing me to pass,' Marigold retorted, suddenly bold, angry at being placed in such a ludicrous situation.

  'Spirited! I like that!'

  He moved forward and Marigold, suddenly afraid, stepped hurriedly backwards. It was a mistake, for as he came further into the room he pushed the door to behind him.

  'No!' Marigold raised her voice, and to her immense relief the door opened again. The newcomer felt for the switch and snapped on the electric light. Once more Marigold was looking into the eyes of her former rescuer.

  'Edwin, it's time to go. Your uncle is saying farewell to the others.'

  The tall thin man looked round, and gave a rueful grin.

  'You always were a damned spoilsport, Richard. I suppose you're preparing the way for yourself. Some people have more luck than they deserve. Come on, then.'

  Without a word he turned and pushed past the other. Marigold waited until they were inside the drawing room and then ran hastily up the stairs. The encounter had shaken her, and all night she dreamed of a tall dark man with entrancing, smiling eyes, who seemed fated to save her from embarrassment.

  During the next few days she had little enough time to think about it, for Miss Baker succumbed to a heavy cold and had to remain in her bed. With the extra work that gave her it was an effort, once the children were in bed, to drag out her sewing and finish the dress she was making for Ivy. But it was finished two days before Christmas, and when Miss Baker, recovered, sent her off for a rest on Christmas Eve, she was able to finish the other dress she had made for Poppy with some material Mrs Roberts had given her. Both were ready to take home on her first weekend off after Christmas.

  'Two more guests for Christmas,' Mrs Dangerfield announced the following morning. 'It usually happens. Professor Roberts discovers some of his students haven't been able to go home, and asks them here for a few days. At least it's not that sneaky nephew of his, that Edwin Silverman. Him I can't abide.'

  'Nephew? You mean the man who was here the other night?'

  'Yes, that's him. One of the guests he's asked was here too, but I forget his name, or why he's not going home. The master said something about America, but I don't think he's American. The other's German, I'm sure of that.'

  Knowing by now how easily Mrs Dangerfield became muddled with names, Marigold decided to wait and see. She fervently hoped Cook was right about Edwin, who must have been the man who tried to kiss her. And however firmly she tried to push away the thought, a portion of her mind kept wondering whether the expected guest could possibly be the other man, Richard.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Johnny sighed contentedly.

  'No-one cooks like you do, Mom.'

  'You look well-fed.' Mary smiled at him.

  He had grown several inches in height and filled out a great deal during the time he'd been away. Instead of the lanky boy who'd left Hednesford in disgrace her son was a burly man, bigger than his father but not, she decided, quite as handsome.

  He was full of confidence, too, though rather bashful about his new trilby and spotted four-in-hand tie.

  'Mr Barlow, my foreman, gives me all the tricky jobs,' he'd explained while they'd been eating the joint of beef for Christmas dinner the day before. 'And I've got two lads under me, learning. When Mr Fortescue moves out to the new place he's promised to put me in charge of one of the shops, and next year he'll send me to night school.'

  'What do you want with more book learning?' John asked.

  'Shops? Are you selling cars?' Ivy interrupted.

  'It's a workshop, silly, not a shop like Mr Todd's,' Poppy informed her with a superior air. Ivy got away with too much, and it wasn't often she had a chance to put her down and show Mom and Pa what a pain she was.

  'It's not booklearning. At least, I s'pose there will be books, but it's drawing mostly, so's I'll be able to design the engines, fit all the bits together properly, take up less space, things like that.' 'Remember when you wanted to go to night school to learn drawing here?' Mary asked with a reminiscent smile.

  Things were getting better, despite John's frequent headaches which sometimes made it impossible for him to go to work. Johnny was earning almost as much as John did, and still only seventeen. Marigold was doing well, from what Mrs Nugent told her, and perhaps when Poppy was old enough to go out to work full time she'd be able to give up her own job and stay at home looking after her family.

  The thought of Marigold made her sigh. It was the first Christmas they hadn't all been together. But at least Johnny had been able to stay two nights, and didn't have to get the train back till after tea on Boxing Day.

  'It was good of you to bring the goose,' she said now. 'We've never had one at home. It leaves the cold beef for tea, with my chutney.'

  Johnny groaned, then laughed.

  'I doubt I'll be able to eat another thing till New Year,' he said, grinning at her.

  'Tell me about your landlady. Does she feed you well?'

  'Mrs Kelly? She's fine, plenty of food, but not so good as yours.'

  'You're fishing for compliments, Mary,' John said with a chuckle. 'My Mom was the same, when I first came to Hednesford and moved into digs. And remember how you always spent the whole day cooking before she came to see us? Scared she'd think you weren't feeding me proper.'

  'It was different, her living Brockton way and only coming here occasionally,' Mary defended herself. 'Not like most folks, having their families round the corner.'

  'Is she Irish?' Poppy put in.

  'Mrs Kelly? No, her husband was, or at least his pa was. She was born in Birmingham, but his pa came over here when he was a nipper, sixty or seventy years back.'

  'They're not Romans, are they?' John said suddenly. 'Being Irish, I mean.'

  'No, chapel folk. You needn't worry, Pa, I'm not being turned into a Papist.'

  'Have you got a girl, Johnny?'

  Ivy considered she'd been left out of the conversation long enough.

  'That's enough, Ivy. You can come and help me wash up. Bring the plates out while you, Poppy, can put the left-over potatoes away in the pantry. Stir yourselves, now.'

  Mary had seen the dull flush creeping up Johnny's neck at Ivy's question, and acted instinctively to give him an excuse not to answer. Afterwards, when he'd gone back to Longbridge and the girls were in bed, she sat with her sewing beside the fire and wondered whether she'd done so to protect him or herself most.

  The thought of her firstborn, her only son, with a girl, was curiously painful. She chided herself. It was only natural, and as he lived away from home she ought to be glad he had someone. But he was still so young. And she didn't know the girl, as she would have done if it had been someone local.

  She rubbed her eyes, they were often sore now when she was doing fine sewing and had to squint to see properly. Not knowing the girl was the main reason for her concern. A lad cut off from his family apart from a few visits home each year was bound to be lonely. He would be prey to any harpy on the lookout for a strong, handsome lad earning good money.

  'I hope Johnny doesn't want to get wed too soon,' she said suddenly, and John, who had been dozing in the other chair, his pipe gone out, yawned and looked across at her.

  'Lad's got more sense than to wed, until he finds someone as good as his Mom. It'll be Poppy wanting
to get spliced first, mark my words.'

  'Poppy? But she's not thirteen for another month!'

  'And going to be the beauty of the family, when she takes that sulky look off her face.'

  'Is she? With her freckles? I'd have thought Marigold was prettier.'

  'And has a sweeter nature, but Poppy's face is rounder, softer. And I'll bet she's going to be plumper too, when she's a bit older. Haven't you noticed some of the lads hanging round lately, on the watch for her when she goes to the shops? That Sam Bannister and some of his crowd?'

  'Sam Bannister? He's years older than Poppy!'

  'Only a couple. And he's got a good job, working for the apothecary.'

  'What should I do?' Mary asked worriedly.

  'Nothing. She'll come to no harm, and a bit of admiration might make her feel better. It's hard on her, though not as hard as it was on Marigold, to be tied to the house. If only – '

  Swiftly Mary put down her sewing and crossed to him. She stood behind his chair and cradled his head against her breasts.

  'Stop it, John. Stop blaming yourself. It was an accident, no-one could help it. And I'd rather have you safe at the pit head than down there in those tunnels, liable to be crushed by falls of rock any day.'

  'Not much longer, eh? As soon as Poppy's fourteen she can get a job and you can give up yours. Perhaps we could manage now if she got a few hours?'

  'Perhaps. But it's work tomorrow for both of us, so go on up while I bank up the fire.'

  Mary let him hope. She'd done the calculations endlessly, but she knew they couldn't manage, and stay in this good house, without her wages. It was pointless saying so, however.

  As she bustled round tidying up the kitchen, heaping slack on the fire and pulling the pegged rug back so that a stray spark shouldn't set it alight, she began to worry about Poppy. She made sure the doors were locked and bolted, lit her candle, and turned down the gas light. Sometimes Poppy was reckless, rebellious, but surely she wouldn't –

  Mary suppressed the thought, it was too horrible. They'd brought the children up properly, she and John, sending them to Sunday School, making them read the Bible. That hadn't saved Johnny from becoming a thief, a small inner voice reminded her.