Poppy's Dilemma

by Nancy Carson

  Poppy’s thoughts ran on, inevitably, to Robert Crawford. Maybe this was a good time to say a silent prayer for him, to ask for God’s protection for him as he lived and worked at the mercy of Brazil’s undoubted and unfamiliar terrors. So she said her prayer and asked that he might be returned to her soon in good health, in good spirits and in love with her still. It was appropriate to say a prayer too for Bellamy, whose attentions were still insistent, despite a continued lack of positive response. She said a prayer for Aunt Phoebe, for Esther, and for Dolly who was to be wed in a month. Then Minnie. Yes, she had to say a prayer for Minnie, wherever she was. Minnie was becoming quite a worry now. Poppy had heard nothing from her for more than a week.

  But how long could you make the most articulate, all-encompassing silent prayers last? Certainly not long enough to fill the time she was sitting here in this uncomfortable, hushed stillness …

  Indeed, nobody at the meeting that day was moved to speak, which was quite usual although Poppy did not know as much, and it abruptly ended. She rose to her feet with all the others and stretched her legs as she watched men putting their hats back on and everybody shaking hands. Several folk shook her hand – and Virginia’s – and she smiled politely at those who were endeavouring to welcome two fresh faces, although she felt out of place and much too colourful in those austere surroundings in a bright blue dress. Poppy was glad when, in murmured conversation, everybody made their way to the door.

  Outside the sun was shining.

  ‘Did you feel the power and reaching energy of the Lord, Poppy?’

  ‘I can’t say that I did.’ She’d said a few personal prayers and hoped they would be answered, like the time she prayed for new boots and Robert bought her a pair.

  ‘Oh, but I did. I felt the pureness and innocence and righteousness of God being renewed in me through Jesus Christ. I think I can truly say that I saw the Inner Light, which inspires all Friends. One day I hope to join them.’

  Poppy most certainly had not seen any such Inner Light. ‘Why not join them now if you’re so suited to them?’ she suggested. ‘Why wait?’

  ‘Well … because it’s not yet the appropriate time …’ For a fleeting second Poppy thought she detected some sadness in Virginia’s eyes, but if so it was short-lived. Suddenly her face lit up again as another thought struck her. ‘I told my mother and father all about you, Poppy. They are very curious to meet you.’

  ‘Then I hope they won’t be too disappointed if they do,’ she answered uneasily.

  Virginia looked expectantly at her new friend with all the wide-eyed admiration that new friendship engenders. ‘Oh, I don’t think so at all. They’ll adore you.’

  St Thomas’s church clock struck the hour.

  ‘If I go now, Virginia, I’ll be able to meet my aunt coming out of church.’

  ‘Yes, you must, Poppy. She would welcome that.’

  Poppy hesitated to go. She said, ‘Virginia, I don’t think I’ll ever get any particular – I think you would call it “spiritual joy” – from going to church. Especially to a Quaker Meeting Hall.’

  ‘House, Poppy. Strictly, it’s Friends’ Meeting House.’

  ‘Friends’ Meeting House then, if it’s so important to call it that. I’m not like you. I’ve never been brought up to be religious. I can live quite happily without religion.’

  Virginia smiled her kind, patient smile. ‘Oh, I understand. But it doesn’t matter greatly about that. Don’t you see? It’s our differences that make us so complementary to each other. I said to my mother, “I’m not sure that she will enjoy the Friends’ Meeting, or even understand what’s going on, but she’s agreed to come”.’

  ‘And what did your mother say to that?’

  ‘That we cannot all be the same. I think she’s rather happy for me that I’ve found a new friend with such stimulating ideas, although she forbids me to go against my father’s wishes where teaching is concerned. I told her what you said about that too.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Poppy remarked, sorry now that she’d said any such thing. ‘Oh, listen … I know what I was meaning to ask you … Have you seen anything of Minnie since last time we saw her together?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. I intend to visit her tomorrow, in fact.’

  ‘Save yourself the trouble, Virginia. She’s gone. I don’t know where she’s gone, but she’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ Virginia repeated incredulous.

  ‘She’s left the house she was living in. It’s why she didn’t turn up when we’d arranged to meet last Monday. I’m worried about her, Virginia. I don’t know what’s happened to her.’

  ‘My goodness! Do you think she’s been abducted? Goodness, in the world she inhabits, she might have been murdered. Maybe she’s lying in some ditch with a knife in her back.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t say such things, Virginia … No, she wouldn’t have bothered taking her curtains down if she’d thought she was going to get murdered. I reckon she’s found somewhere else to live, or has taken to sharing with somebody.’

  ‘But this is very worrying, Poppy.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the not knowing.’

  ‘I shall pray hard for her.’

  ‘I already did, Virginia.’

  ‘You see … You do find some comfort in prayer.’

  ‘Who said I found comfort in it? It’s all I can do till I know where to find her.’

  ‘God will guide us to her. Of that I’m convinced.’

  ‘I wish I had your conviction, Virginia.’

  ‘Promise to let me know just as soon as you know where she is.’

  ‘Course I will.’

  The rattle of a carriage’s wheels over the cobbles of High Street made them turn their heads. ‘Look, here’s Homer come to collect me … You would be very welcome to join me and my family for Sunday dinner, you know, Poppy.’

  ‘That’s very kind, but my aunt will be expecting me, Virginia,’ Poppy said, with a mixture of disappointment and relief.

  ‘Of course, I understand. Perhaps another Sunday?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Poppy said unsurely. She did not relish the thought of sitting through another Quaker Meeting. So she said, ‘Why don’t we meet one weekday?’

  Virginia’s face lit up at the prospect. ‘Yes. I could meet you almost any afternoon. But not for a few weeks, unfortunately. Tomorrow my mother, my sister and I are going to Leicestershire to stay with her sister.’

  ‘When you come back then,’ Poppy said.

  ‘Yes, when I come back … In the meantime, we could write to each other …’ She looked at Poppy expectantly.

  ‘If you like. Do you want to write down my address?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ She searched in her reticule and pulled out a small notepad with a blacklead attached, then wrote it down as Poppy dictated.

  ‘Of course, I’ll write. When I return we could arrange to meet and eat somewhere, Poppy …’

  ‘If you like,’ she answered pleasantly.

  Virginia grinned broadly. ‘Well, then … That’s settled.’

  Poppy smiled back affably. Despite the girl’s assertive attitude, she liked Virginia. She was all enthusiasm, all energy, all commitment, not satisfied with half measures.

  The brougham pulled up at the kerb, Homer got down from the driving seat and helped her up, while Virginia turned and waved.

  ‘Have a lovely time in Leicestershire, Virginia.’

  The following day, Aunt Phoebe received a note in the post from Captain Cecil Tyler to say that his ailing mother had passed away the previous week and the funeral was being held that very day.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to go even if I wanted to,’ she complained when Poppy returned home from the school. ‘Not at such short notice. Why Captain Tyler couldn’t have let me know before this I’ll never know.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s been too busy, Aunt,’ Poppy suggested, untying the ribbons of her bonnet.

  ‘Busy? I would have thought he’d have let me know. I would have thought he m
ight have graced me with a visit and told me himself, rather than sent a note. I would have loved to have seen the old lady before she died. We got on very well. I do hope Cecil has provided an appropriate burial. Lord knows he’ll be able to afford it now.’

  It was while Virginia was in Leicestershire that somebody else met Poppy as she came out of school. Minnie Catchpole was waiting for her. At first Poppy did not recognise her. She looked so different, fresh and ladylike in a beautiful summer dress in blue checked taffeta and a matching bonnet.

  ‘Minnie! Oh, Minnie … What a surprise. I’ve been worried sick about you. Where’ve you been, where’ve you been? You look so well.’

  ‘I thought I’d best come and explain,’ Minnie replied. ‘D’you wanna walk with me to Johnson’s coffee house?’

  ‘Johnson’s coffee house?’ Well, for Minnie it was a change from a tavern. ‘If you like. So what’ve you been doing?’

  ‘I’ve been spending time with Captain Tyler,’ Minnie replied and, for the first time in her life, looked bashful.

  ‘Captain Tyler?’

  ‘Yes. We hit it off pretty grand, me and Captain Tyler.’

  ‘Go on …’

  ‘Well, we’m a-courting,’ Minnie said, laughing at the absurdity of it. ‘He don’t know as I’ve bin on the game, though. I never took him back to Gatehouse Fold. I always met him somewhere.’

  ‘But he’s a lot older than you, Minnie. He’s an old man.’

  ‘He ain’t old, Poppy, although he is gettin’ on a bit, I grant yer. But he’s kind … And he’s got plenty life in him an’ all between the sheets, I can tell yer.’ She giggled at her impropriety. ‘His old mother was as rich as a nabob, you know. He’s due to inherit a fortune.’

  ‘So have you given up being on the game now?’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Virginia will be pleased.’

  ‘Virginia!’ Minnie said scornfully. ‘It’s nothing to do with Virginia. I’ve given it up for as long as this courtin’ lark lasts. I have to play the part o’ the good girl now. He thinks I’m innocent … Or leastwise, he thought I was …’

  ‘Virginia will be able to count you as one of her saved souls. Wait till she knows …’

  ‘Oh, sod Virginia. She’s a pestilence. Have you seen her lately?’

  Poppy said she had and explained, by which time they had reached Johnson’s coffee house. They found a table, sat down and ordered coffee for two, with a slice of apple pie each.

  ‘So tell me, Minnie,’ Poppy said, pulling her chair up and resting her face in her hands attentively, ‘what happened between you and Captain Tyler …’

  Minnie Catchpole was exactly how Captain Cecil Tyler liked his women – young and irresistibly, buxomly, handsome. In his army days he had met many women of all nationalities and creeds, even titled ladies, so he was under no illusions as to Minnie’s social standing, or rather, her lack of it. But there was something forthright and decent about the girl, something that appealed, other than just her physical attributes. Besides, he’d had particularly bad luck throughout his career where women were concerned. He was not excessively handsome, nor did he crow about the fortune he would one day inherit, which could have secured him any woman. His confidence had taken a battering in consequence. Some women tired of him, some fell for the charms of others more instantly appealing, and those who actually loved him he invariably had to abandon because his regiment was on the move once again. Thus was the life of an unwed soldier who did not possess striking looks. Here, now, back in England, was this gloriously appealing wench who was showing more than a little interest in him, and he found her impossible to resist. So what if she was from the lower orders and uneducated? The world was changing anyway.

  For Minnie, it had been obvious from the moment they met that Captain Cecil Tyler was captivated by her. On the night they had left Phoebe Newton’s house together, they had talked for ages in his gig at the end of the street where she lived – or, rather, where she told him she lived. He evidently had no inkling of her chosen profession, and Minnie was inclined to believe it would be an interesting experiment to pretend she was the naive daughter of some insignificant glass blower. Having stepped down from his gig, she then made her way to Gatehouse Fold alone, on foot, across the town that was as usual noisy with drunks. To her surprise she was not accosted on the way, and she felt strangely, sublimely virginal as she entered the seedy little house alone for once. She wanted no other male company that night. Captain Tyler was still very much on her mind.

  Neither could she get him off her mind as she lay in bed. She played over and over their conversation, relived the banter they’d shared. He was so much older, so much more mature than most of the men she’d been associated with, and sensible despite having consumed several whiskies at Phoebe Newton’s house. A man of the world. He treated her with an inbred courtesy she had never experienced before, and she rather liked his attention.

  It all came to a head one evening when Minnie had been collected from the end of the street where her fictitious home was located, and whisked away in Captain Tyler’s gig to a remote place that was unfamiliar. As they sat, cosseted by the gig’s comfortable leather seat and taking it in turns to swig whisky from a hip flask, they could see the dark hump of the Wrekin in the distance, edged with a rim of amber. The sun, swollen with the myriad colours it had sucked from the land, transmuted them to gold, and gilded the sky. Minnie enjoyed talking with Captain Tyler as this vivid spectacle developed over Shropshire, and wondered how she ought to respond if he made a pass at her.

  ‘Tell me about your family, Minnie.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about ’em,’ she replied flatly. ‘I can’t stand ’em. I want to shift out o’ that house just as soon as I can.’ It was her way of priming him. Soon she could tell him that in desperation she had found a little house in Gatehouse Fold. She could hardly keep up the pretence for long, and already she felt that there could be more to this relationship than merely drinking whisky together or watching a sunset. ‘So why don’t you tell me about your family and your life in the army?’

  ‘Well … as for my family, it consists of just my ailing mother,’ he said, lighting his clay pipe. He exhaled smoke in a controlled breath. ‘Unfortunately, she’s dying. The doctors give her no more than a few weeks.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Cecil,’ Minnie said sincerely. ‘Is there somebody looking after her?’

  ‘Twenty-four hours a day.’

  ‘So what’s up with her?’

  ‘A stroke. Her third. She’s a poor, poor soul. It will be a blessed release when she passes on.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather be with her now then, rather than sitting here with me?’

  He turned and smiled at her, then drew again on his pipe. ‘There’s no need,’ he said resignedly. ‘As I said, she’s being looked after. She doesn’t know me anyhow. Not anymore. Besides, you’re a breath of fresh air, Minnie. I’ve done enough sitting in that stinking room holding her hand, pondering our lives, recalling my youth. I came to realise I was a bit of a handful for her when I was a lad, you know. I’ve made my apologies for being an errant son and hiving off into William the Fourth’s army. I neglected her for years as a result.’

  ‘Well, you’ve had your own life to lead, eh, Cecil?’

  The horse shuffled forward as he spied a tasty tuft of grass a little out of reach, rocking the gig a little.

  ‘As you say, Minnie … But she was not easy to live with. Even my father, I’m sure, found that out too late.’

  ‘What happened to your father?’

  ‘My father? A pompous man, as I recall. He died when I was a youth, a wealthy man. He inherited a thriving bank from his father, merged it with another and promptly sold his banking interests, with the intention of living off the proceeds and the interest he gained from them. Unfortunately for him, he expired having had no opportunity to enjoy it.’

  ‘But the money kept you and your mother?’ Minnie fished.

  ‘I k
ept myself. I was no burden on my mother. No financial burden, at any rate.’

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters, Cecil?’

  ‘There’s only me.’

  ‘So you’ll come in for a tidy inheritance then, when your mother dies?’

  ‘Oh, a tidy inheritance …’ He looked at her again and smiled. ‘You can be sure.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘Does that make me any more attractive?’ he asked.

  ‘It don’t make no difference to me one way or th’other,’ she said. ‘It’s no nearer me. I’m well able to make me own way in life. I wouldn’t ask for, nor expect, any favours from you, nor nobody else.’

  He laughed, in admiration of her professed independence. It suggested she was not interested in him for his money.

  ‘I ain’t never had no money in me life to talk of, but I manage well enough,’ she said. ‘Me father never brought much home after he’d spent his wages in the bousing-ken getting fuddled. You learn to live without money.’

  ‘You talk of your father in the past tense, Minnie.’

  ‘’Cause that’s how I see him,’ she replied astutely. ‘In the past.’

  He drew on his pipe again, and she thought how pensive he looked gazing at the distant hills silhouetted against fleeces of cloud now dyed crimson and purple and green.

  ‘Do you see me in your future, Minnie?’ He turned and looked into her eyes earnestly, eyes that reflected back the sunset’s rhetoric.

  With a coyness that was strange to her but entirely unassumed, she lowered her eyes. ‘How do I know who or what’s in me future, Cecil? You’m here with me now and you ain’t heard me complain, have yer?’