Poppy's Dilemma

by Nancy Carson

  She hesitated before she said, ‘Oh, Bellamy, what can I say? I don’t know how else to answer you.’

  ‘Answer me in the positive.’

  ‘But I wasn’t expecting this. I had no intention of inviting it.’

  ‘But you’ll think on what I’ve said? You’ll consider it?’

  ‘I shall think of it,’ she answered. ‘In the sense that it will be on my mind … But I don’t think I can be what you want me to be.’

  ‘What do you think I want you to be, Poppy?’

  She shrugged, uncomfortable with this insistent line of questioning. ‘It’s obvious. You want me to be your woman.’ It was a phrase, a concept from her past life. Perhaps she should not have uttered it. It implied too many things, most of them considered improper in the society she now graced.

  ‘My woman?’ He hooted with laughter. ‘I’m not sure how to interpret that. I would like you and me to be a courting couple. I would like you to be my regular companion in private and in public, at social events, to be accepted by all and recognised as such. If, after a decent time, we proved to be compatible, we could even contemplate taking it a step further. That, I don’t think, is unreasonable. But let’s not take anything for granted yet. Such happenings would be a long way off.’

  ‘Have you ever been in love before, Bellamy?’

  ‘God, yes. I’m not totally without experience where women are concerned. I’ve been blooded, too, if that’s not too impolite an expression. I’ve had affairs. I know what it is to feel desire, to feel tenderness. Even to feel protective towards a girl.’

  ‘But these affairs, as you call them, never amounted to anything?’

  ‘They were not the right girls, Poppy.’

  ‘How do you know that I am?’

  ‘I feel it, I sense it. I knew it the moment I set eyes on you. I saw how you looked at me, as well …’

  ‘Oh, if I did, it was only because you reminded me of somebody else …’ She hoped he would not be astute enough to pick up any clues as to whom.

  ‘So is there somebody else, Poppy? I had the distinct impression there was not.’

  She did not answer.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That, I would never tell you …’

  He uttered a little laugh that had a ring of mockery in it. ‘Even if there is somebody else, that won’t put me off. And if there is, he certainly ain’t with you here, is he? Therefore, as long as he ain’t here, I’ve got a chance. And I won’t give up, Poppy … I’ll win in the end. I always get what I want …’ He smiled broadly. ‘So be warned.’

  The following day, Poppy received a letter from the Reverend James Caulfield Browne confirming her appointment as assistant to Mr Timothy Tromans, the schoolmaster of Baylies’s Charity School, working mornings only at seven guineas a year. She was to report for duty on the following Monday, the twenty-ninth of April.

  Poppy duly sat down and wrote back, joyously accepting the offer, and looking forward to her new situation. After all, she would be following in the footsteps of Aunt Phoebe to some extent, and that realisation elicited pride. It was evidence of her personal achievements, achievements she would have regarded as impossible much less than a year ago, gigantic achievements for a girl who was navvy-born and navvy-bred. But they were achievements that were only made possible in the first place because of Robert Crawford and his interest in her. Because of his love and his compassion. How could she ever turn her back on him? She was eternally in his debt, but it was a debt she welcomed and relished. With or without Bellamy’s confession and his promised further attentions.

  She put the pen down and folded the letter to Reverend Browne. As she tucked it into the envelope a powerful wave of sentiment gushed over her. The justified pride in her achievement, the gratitude she bore to Robert and Aunt Phoebe for the transmuting of her thoroughly base life into something infinitely more precious, and the confusing revelation by Bellamy, all combined to produce a white-hot alloy of heightened emotion. She gazed out of the library window as she sat at the oak desk and thought her heart would burst. Clay was out in the garden tending the lawn. Tears welled in her eyes till he was indistinct in her vision, and the grass, the trees and the sky melded into one hazy blur of blue and green. She clenched her fists in an involuntary fervour of passion that was manifesting itself not in her success, but in her failure. That singular failure was losing Robert, however temporarily. If only she could have clung on to him when she had him. If only she had refused to leave his side when his emotions were running high, when he confessed his love for her. She closed her eyes tight, squeezing out the tears, which ran unchecked down her gently rounded cheeks, and she cried bitter tears for him.

  Oh, Robert, where are you now? Do you think of me as often as I think of you? Do you ache inside like I do, longing just to be with you, to feel your arms around me, dying to taste your kisses, even after all this time? Do you lie alone in your bed and wish I was with you, like I wish you were with me? Does your heart thump hard when you think of me, like mine does when I think of you? Do you weep for me at night like I weep for you? Do you wonder what I am doing like I wonder about you? I am afraid for you in Brazil, Robert. I worry about you always, hoping, praying that you are safe, that you are well. I miss you more than I could ever have imagined. I miss you more even than I miss my own family. You would be so proud of me now if you could see me. I am not quite the same Poppy I was, but much more to your liking, I believe. I don’t think you would be shy of being seen out with me anymore, either. When are you going to come back? How soon before I can feel the warmth of your body again, pressed against me? I know you will choose me rather than the girl you are engaged to. I feel it, as a certainty. If you have already made up your mind, please come back now and claim me and let us be happy together for the rest of our lives, never to be apart again. I love you so much, Robert. Please, never forget it. Let the memory of our love stay with you and strengthen you and give you wings to fly back to me at once.

  Chapter 22

  Poppy worried privately about whether she would fail Aunt Phoebe, Mrs Green and herself at Baylies’s Charity School. She worried too whether she would be accepted, about the work, and about what would be expected of her. Aunt Phoebe had said she would be regarded as a sort of pupil teacher, but since she had never been a pupil at a school, more especially a pupil at a boys’ school, she was concerned that she would be entirely out of her depth and out of place. What if some boy wanted help on a problem of arithmetic or grammar that she was unable to answer? What if she was asked a question about geography? Goodness … Geography … The only places she knew anything about, apart from Dudley, were Brazil, which she had seen on the globe, Edinburgh because of Robert’s university days, and Mickleton where her father had met his death.

  All these things and more were going through her mind as she walked to the school for the first time on the cool morning of the last Monday in April. She arrived five minutes early and was greeted cordially and put at ease by Mr Tromans, the schoolmaster. After a brief conversation she followed him outside into the yard that was chilly, lying as it was in the grey shadow of the glassworks and its huge cone. He blew his whistle and the boys, of varying ages, rushed about keenly to form lines straight enough to put a smile on the face of an army general. They stood erect, their heads held high, as they waited for Mr Tromans to call the register.

  ‘Quickly and quietly, file into the classroom,’ Mr Tromans ordered when the job was done.

  By the time they had all filed quickly and quietly inside, Reverend Browne had appeared. He led them in prayers and they sang a hymn to Mr Tromans’s faltering harmonium accompaniment. Reverend Browne then addressed the school, introducing Mr Tromans’s new assistant, Miss Silk, whose services they were fortunate to have secured. Every boy would treat her with the respect and courtesy afforded any young lady of standing, under pain of death. Reverend Browne then went on, indoctrinating the pupils sufficiently early in their lives he hoped, to talk about the evils of
drink and the virtues of abstinence, before they sang another hymn.

  It was a bit of a novelty for the lads at Baylies’s Charity School to find they were blessed with the pretty young woman they’d seen a week or so before, now helping Mr Tromans in their classroom. The older boys were inclined to flash optimistic grins at her, designed to outshine their rivals. Others remained expressionless but could not take their eyes off her, while some of the younger ones were too shy to hold any eye contact at all. Mr Tromans realised early the effects Poppy was having and was all the stricter for it, inhibiting any notions of inappropriate behaviour any of them might have been nurturing.

  At first she found herself handing out chalk sticks, cleaning the blackboard when requested. The older boys were allowed to use pen and ink and she was asked to top up inkwells, even when it was obvious they did not need topping up. When Mr Tromans was engaged with one pupil, others would attract her attention and ask for help with their work. Some did not actually need her help but they requested it just to gain proximity.

  ‘Are you married, miss?’ one whispered.

  ‘No, I’m not married.’

  ‘Will you marry me then?’

  ‘Perhaps when you grow up,’ she deftly answered, which immediately earned her the respect of those within earshot.

  ‘You smell nice, miss,’ another boy whispered cheekily as she collected written sheets of paper from him to hand to Mr Tromans. ‘Better than my sisters.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied courteously. ‘But I wouldn’t tell your sisters that.’

  That first morning passed quickly and with no undue trouble or embarrassment, and Poppy decided to pay a visit to Minnie Catchpole afterwards to tell her all about it, and to keep her up to date with the other events in her life. It was no more than a three-minute walk from the school, and Poppy was glad to see her friend.

  ‘I got meself respectable work, Minnie,’ Poppy declared proudly, but lapsing into her old mode of speech with which she felt comfortable when talking to her oldest friend; after all, there was no point in putting on airs and graces for Minnie. She sat down on the sofa, took off her gloves and laid them on her lap primly. She told Minnie all about her work.

  ‘Lord, how you’ve gone up in the world,’ Minnie remarked when her friend had finished. ‘You always wanted to be a lady, and now you am one.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nice being a lady. It’s nice having a clean bed in a warm room, and eating good food off bone china and silver cutlery. I love everything about it …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But there’s something else … And I don’t know what to do about it …’ Maybe Minnie could offer some sound advice. ‘You remember Robert Crawford, the engineer?’

  ‘The one you had a bit of a fling with?’

  Poppy nodded. ‘Now his younger brother’s all over me. He keeps coming to Aunt Phoebe’s. Not to see her, to see me.’

  Minnie shrugged. ‘So what’s up with that?’

  ‘He’s serious, Min. He says he loves me. He wants us to start courting.’

  ‘Is he as ’andsome as his brother?’

  Poppy tutted impatiently. ‘That’s beside the point. I like him, yes. He’s good company. But I don’t love him. I could never love him. Well … I suppose I could put up with him, but why should I put up with second best? I’d never love him like I love Robert. Anyway, what if I say yes to him and Robert comes back home for me? What happens then?’

  ‘You still clingin’ to dreams of this Robert?’

  ‘Course. Why shouldn’t I?’

  Minnie gave a mocking laugh. ‘You? Look at you. You’m like a princess. You could have your pick of any number o’ chaps now. Real gentlemen.’

  ‘Robert’s a real gentleman.’ She watched a woodlouse crawl along one of the square quarry tiles and conceal itself under the skirting board. ‘But I don’t want any number of chaps, Min. I want Robert, and I know he’ll come back for me. That’s why I have to keep putting this Bellamy off.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Any other girl would be glad of his attentions, I know that. I mean, he’s handsome. His prospects are good, coming from a wealthy family. But I can’t tell him why I don’t want to start courting him. If I do start, then I change my mind again when Robert comes back – which I would … D’you see what I mean?’

  ‘Yes …’ Minnie replied pensively. ‘But you could still have fun with this Bellamy. Maybe you should tell him your secret …’

  ‘No, I could never do that. He wouldn’t understand. He’s really serious about me. I’m sure he’d be jealous.’

  ‘Then it’s best you give him no encouragement, Poppy … not yet at any rate … But what about if this Robert comes back and he don’t want you after all? What if he comes back to marry the one he’s engaged to?’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, Minnie. I know he’ll come for me.’

  ‘Well, I hope you ain’t mistaken, and give up the chance with his brother. You would be a fool … Have you mentioned it to Aunt Phoebe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what does she say?’

  ‘Same as you. Don’t encourage him.’

  ‘There y’am then … Any road, I’ve got a sort o’ problem an’ all.’

  ‘Oh, Minnie, what?’ Poppy asked with alarm.

  ‘There’s this young woman what keeps coming to see me, trying to get me on the straight and narrer …’

  ‘So who is she?’

  ‘Says her name’s Virginia. Can you believe such a name? I reckon she is a virgin an’ all … And she’s older than me.’

  ‘I’m a virgin as well, Minnie. So don’t mock. It’s something to be proud of in this day and age.’

  ‘Proud of? It’s nothing to be proud of, keeping your virginity. Virginity’s no use to anybody. It’s only any use after you’ve lost it.’

  ‘Well, maybe you wish you’d still got yours.’

  Minnie chuckled. ‘It makes no odds to me.’

  ‘Are you going to make a cup of tea, Minnie? I’m parched.’

  ‘Course, if you want one.’

  ‘Then you can tell me how you got on with that Captain Tyler.’

  ‘Oh, Captain Tyler …’

  Minnie got up to put the kettle over the coals, then picked up the teapot with the intention of introducing a couple of teaspoons of fresh tea leaves. Some cold tea remained inside, so she took the lid off, opened the door and hurled the contents outside into Gatehouse Fold. At once there was a mild scream of protest and Minnie put her head out to see whom she had drenched.

  It was Virginia. She stood at the door with wet tea leaves clinging to the front of her fine mantle, the brown liquid trickling off and staining the unadorned flounces of her skirt beneath.

  ‘Oh, it’s you again, miss. I’m so sorry. I dint mean to drown yer. Come in and I’ll wipe you clean. I was just talking about yer.’

  ‘Please don’t worry, Minnie,’ Virginia replied, obviously disgruntled at this violation of her dignity. ‘But might I suggest that before you throw your slops out next time, you look to make sure there’s nobody there.’

  ‘Like I say, I’m that sorry, miss—’

  ‘Virginia,’ Virginia corrected, regaining some poise.

  ‘I’m that sorry, Virginia.’

  A stone sink bled waste to the outside, and near it was a damp cloth. Minnie reached for it and began wiping Virginia’s mantle and her skirt.

  ‘By the way, miss—Virginia … this is Poppy Silk …’

  Virginia looked embarrassed when she turned and saw a well-dressed young woman already in the house with Minnie. Poppy, however, smiled openly and stood up to greet the stranger, as Aunt Phoebe had taught her. She offered her hand and said in her best voice, ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Virginia Lord, Miss Silk. How nice to meet you. I only wish I had not been showered with cold tea first.’ She smiled self-consciously. ‘It would have been a far more conventional introduction, I think.’ Virginia then laughed at her predicament, and the warmth of her demeanour, despite the suddenl
y inflicted disadvantage, appealed to Poppy. ‘I do hope I have not called at an inopportune moment.’ She looked enquiringly at Poppy with soft, brown eyes.

  ‘Not at all,’ Poppy replied. ‘I was about to go. I happened to be close by.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t leave on my account, Miss Silk.’

  ‘No, you’m all right, Virginia,’ Minnie confirmed. ‘I was about to brew a pot o’ tea. You’m welcome to a cup … Down your throat this time, not down your cloak.’

  Poppy found it difficult to hide her amusement, but she did so, adequately. ‘Minnie says you’re also trying to talk some sense into her,’ Poppy said, diverting them all from the unfortunate accident. ‘I hope you succeed where I’ve failed.’

  Virginia smiled, relieved that she had encountered what she believed to be a kindred spirit. ‘Oh, it’s so reassuring to meet another person who is doing good and much needed work among these girls. Tell me, Miss Silk, whom else do you see?’

  Poppy flashed Minnie a quizzical glance, uncertain how to respond. She saw a flicker of devilment in Minnie’s eyes as she looked up from tending to Virginia’s flounces, suggesting they let Virginia’s misreading of the situation prevail.

  ‘Not the same girls as you,’ Poppy replied, going along with the deception. ‘Except for Minnie here.’

  ‘So it would seem. I’ve asked Minnie a few times now if she is prepared to join me in worship. God alone is our saviour, you know, Miss Silk. I am convinced she will find joy in God’s sanctification, in the forgiveness that comes from Him who only can forgive.’

  ‘Oh, I’m convinced of it too,’ Poppy said mischievously, perceiving the joke could be turned to backfire on Minnie. ‘Why don’t you go along, Minnie? Miss Lord is right. You would benefit greatly from embracing God for a change.’

  Minnie stood up. She had done as much as she could to Virginia’s dress and mantle. She put down the damp cloth on the table.

  ‘Then I will, Miss Silk,’ she replied, mimicking Poppy’s reassumed superior voice and accent with a twinkle in her eye. ‘If you’ll come with me …’