Poppy's Dilemma

by Nancy Carson

  No. It could not be. Poppy was too plausible. She was too sincere in her love. She was so much in love that she gave herself gladly and whole-heartedly … Perhaps she had given herself too easily … as if she were used to it … And if she could give herself so easily to him, she could just as easily have given herself to others. Perhaps her love for him was a sham after all. Perhaps she saw him merely as a meal ticket, an entrance to a fine house with servants and silver cutlery, as a means to a pampered life. Lying on her back, wriggling beneath him, would indeed have paid such dividends … had she not been found out.

  He dried his tears and cast his mind back inevitably to that first delicious encounter, that first time they made love, naked on the floor of Aunt Phoebe’s summer house. Poppy had been totally uninhibited about undressing, about showing herself. Virginia, by contrast, would never be that brazen. He tried to recall the actual moment he entered her the first time, whether she winced, gasped, let out a little shriek of pain as you would expect from a young virgin of seventeen. His emotions were etched in his memory, as was the absolute elation of experiencing the ultimate commitment of their love for each other. As for the actual mechanics … It had not been that easy to penetrate her, but with her coaxing and a little bit of gentle pushing he accomplished it. It all seemed convincing enough …

  Then something clicked in his mind … something she’d said … something frighteningly ominous now he recalled it … that if she ever married Bellamy she would be able to fake her virginity … His heart lurched at what it implied. How had she phrased it? They were lying on the cushions in the summer house at the time … Concentrate … Yes … it was coming back … something like ‘I’m sure that on our wedding night I could make him believe I was still a virgin.’ That was it. He remembered his response to it as well: ‘I’m sure that would be an excellent ploy if you could contrive it.’ Well, she must be a dab hand at contriving it. She must have contrived it on the occasion of their own first dabble together. He wondered how many other times she had contrived it. Perhaps even with that blackguard Jericho, the handsome buck navvy.

  More detestable things entered his mind to hurt him. He imagined Poppy had endowed Bellamy with her sexual favours, despite her denials. He visualised them making love, she with as much apparent commitment and pleasure as she demonstrated with himself.

  Thus was Robert tortured. The more he thought about these things, the more plausible they seemed in this new narrow, distorted view, and he convinced himself that it was so, making himself utterly miserable.

  The case against Poppy was beginning to look bad, not only among his family but in his own mind too. Wouldn’t he look a fool if he persisted with the affair in the face of the evidence that Virginia had presented? He’d wasted a whole year on some puerile notion that he couldn’t make his mind up between two women. One of them, a whore, had already taken him for a fool; the other, utterly devoted, was wholesome and good in the old-fashioned sense, even if she did not excite him. The two women could not be more different. And to think he was prepared to bring the family name into disrepute and the firm into financial ruin, or at the very least embarrassment … because of a whore. Well, it was all over now. It had to be over. What if he married her and the man with whom she had had that assignation which Virginia had witnessed was ever in their company? If he owned a carriage he must be a man of some substance, so it was likely he might even know him. How would he cope with such a situation? Could he really afford to risk Poppy’s former clients whispering behind cupped hands, boasting that they had had his beautiful young wife when she used to work the streets? God forbid. No, he could not risk embarrassing himself or his family by persisting with a love affair with a whore. Thank God it had all gone on very discreetly.

  Next morning, as she had said she would, Clarissa Crawford made her way on foot to Cawneybank House like a frigate in full sail. She was not aware that Poppy would be out, helping at Baylies’s Charity School. Indeed, she had never given it a thought, so little did this girl and her feelings matter, who had fooled them all. She pulled on the front door bell and waited, huffing herself up under her mantle in self-righteous readiness for the unpleasant assignment with which she had invested herself. Esther opened the door and let her in.

  Clarissa was annoyed at being left to wait, standing on the cold tiles of the hall while the maid announced her and admitted her to the small sitting room that Aunt Phoebe preferred to use in the wintertime.

  ‘My dear Clarissa,’ Aunt Phoebe greeted cordially. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘A surprise it might be, dear Phoebe, but pleasant it is not.’

  ‘Do sit down,’ Aunt Phoebe said fussily. ‘I’ll send for a pot of tea. Or would you prefer coffee?’

  ‘I’ll take tea, if I may.’

  Aunt Phoebe rang for Esther to return. ‘So to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘An unpleasant task, I fear.’

  ‘Then out with it.’

  ‘It concerns your young companion, Poppy Silk, and my son.’

  ‘Do you mean Bellamy or Robert? They are both visitors here from time to time.’

  Esther entered the room and Phoebe Newton ordered tea.

  ‘I am mostly concerned with the welfare of Robert and his engagement to Virginia Lord.’

  ‘So how can I be of help, Clarissa?’

  ‘It appears that Robert has been foolishly conducting a clandestine affair with your Miss Silk over the past months, to the detriment of his betrothal to Miss Lord. As a result, he has asked Miss Lord to release him from his promise to marry.’

  ‘Which he is perfectly entitled to do, as I see it,’ Aunt Phoebe said defensively. ‘I am aware that he and Miss Silk are inordinately fond of each other and he is, after all, a grown man, capable of making his own decisions.’

  ‘You would think so, dear Phoebe. However, Robert has made a rather serious blunder in getting mixed up with a girl like Poppy Silk. A mistake that could have had very serious financial and social consequences for all of us Crawfords … However, I will not go into that right now—’

  ‘You say “a girl like Poppy Silk” as if she is dirt,’ Aunt Phoebe interrupted, and her irritation at Clarissa’s disdain was obvious. ‘I am well aware that she was raised on navvy encampments up and down the country, but she has risen above all that by her own efforts. To my mind that is eminently commendable.’

  ‘But are you altogether aware of the rest of her past?’

  ‘I fail to see what you’re implying, Clarissa.’

  ‘Then allow me to enlighten you. It has come to our attention that before Poppy Silk came to you she was a prostitute, working the streets of Dudley. That being so, you will therefore appreciate—’

  ‘Poppy? A prostitute?’ Aunt Phoebe laughed with contempt at the accusation. ‘I have no notion who you have been talking to, Clarissa, but Poppy Silk is no more a prostitute than you or me. Nor ever was.’

  ‘My information is rock solid, Phoebe, I can assure you.’

  ‘Your information, Clarissa, wherever it has come from, could not be further from the truth. Wherever or whoever its source, it reeks of spite and vengeance … which rather points the finger at Virginia herself.’

  ‘She was seen—’

  ‘Oh, appearances can be so deceptive … Let me just enlighten you a little about Poppy Silk, just to set the record straight. She sits in my house night after night, improving herself. She studies literature after your son Robert recognised her intelligence and gave her her first lessons in reading when she was indeed the daughter of a mere navvy, living on a navvy encampment. The girl is sensitive, affectionate, eloquent, and extremely considerate. She studies music, is learning to play the piano, is now adept at needlework and drawing. She studies geography, elocution and religion, and attends church regularly on a Sunday. She is particular about what she wears, that she is clean, that she makes no social gaffe that might embarrass me. Most edifying of all, she tries to make sure that I am content. She worries about me. J
ust a little while ago she came home all excited that her poor dear mother and her brothers and sisters were in the area again, none of whom she had seen for fifteen or sixteen months. She cares, you see, Clarissa. Such qualities are not consistent with the hardness and insensitivity of a common whore, and I demand that you retract your allegations and apologise to me for their gross offensiveness.’

  ‘That I cannot do, Phoebe.’ Clarissa puffed herself up like a ruffled pigeon. ‘I know what I know, and I cannot allow my son to be associated with such a strumpet. If she nurtures ideas above her station, ideas about marrying Robert, as seems the case, then she can forget them.’

  ‘I suspect that Robert is old enough and wise enough to take his own counsel on matters that affect him directly. I feel certain that he would not have approved of your coming here this morning bearing such vile poison.’

  Esther tapped on the door and entered with a tray.

  ‘Thank you, Esther, but Mrs Crawford will not be staying for tea.’ Aunt Phoebe got up from her seat and turned to Clarissa. ‘Thank you for calling, my dear. I shall pass on your kind regards to Miss Silk. I am sure she will be extremely interested in what you have said.’

  Chapter 32

  That fateful day when Poppy returned to Cawneybank House, she remained in the library for at least an hour, gazing vacantly out of the window where Clay had been pruning the rose trees. Aunt Phoebe had told her about Clarissa’s visit, and Poppy was numbed by what she’d heard, by the ridiculous accusations levelled against her.

  ‘You don’t believe it, do you, Aunt Phoebe?’ she had asked.

  ‘Not for a minute, my dear. Not even for a second.’

  ‘It’s why I escaped Minnie Catchpole,’ she asserted tearfully, ‘to get away from such goings-on.’

  ‘I know, my dear,’ Aunt Phoebe murmured consolingly.

  ‘But it means I have no future with Robert now. Bellamy will never speak to me again either. Their minds are poisoned against me forever.’

  ‘We don’t need the Crawfords, my dear.’ Aunt Phoebe took Poppy’s hand as she sat beside her. ‘And the truth will out, one way or another.’

  ‘But only when it’s too late,’ Poppy groaned. ‘Only when it’s too late.’

  ‘Would you rather I left you alone for a little while, Poppy? I understand if you would prefer to be by yourself awhile.’

  Poppy nodded tearfully. As she sat alone, her head was filled with little incidents that had occurred while she and Robert were together, some of which had amused her at the time, though she was unable to laugh now. She got up from the sofa and just stared blankly out of the window, her heart as cold as ice, wishing with all her might that she could turn back the clock to that summer they met. She recalled how they had contrived to meet as if by accident around the encampment, how she had enjoyed her lessons in reading and writing and kissing in his office when everybody else had finished work and gone home.

  She came out of her daydream and began weeping again as the hard reality engulfed her in another shuddering wave of sorrow. Having never felt so wretched in her life before, she dragged herself upstairs to her room and lay on her bed. She took the book he had given her before he left for Brazil, Pride and Prejudice, and gazed at it through misty eyes for a long time, realising that she was the victim of both misplaced pride and vengeful prejudice. She clutched the book to her, whispering his name to herself, wishing that she could fall asleep and never wake up to suffer more this agonising pain of emptiness and longing, this grieving for lost love.

  Aunt Phoebe tapped on the door, came in and roused her to ask if she wanted any dinner. When she saw her sorry state she put her motherly arms around her to console her, and succeeded in making her worse. A torrent of tears ensued from both. Poppy said that she would still prefer to be left alone, and Aunt Phoebe went out again, wiping her own tears, and undertook to allow neither Esther nor Dolly to disturb her.

  Next day, Poppy went conscientiously to Baylies’s Charity School, though she was unable to concentrate on anything she was doing. She was in a perpetual daze, a hazy world where things were happening all around her, but where she felt not a part of it. As she went about her work, trying to help the younger boys with theirs, her eyes would fill up with tears as she reflected on moments she and Robert had shared.

  It was obvious that Robert would not visit her to explain things. He would be carefully watched. In any case, what would be the point of him coming? Even for a man of his years and his independent nature, he would be obliged to comply with his parents’ demands on a matter as serious as her alleged whoring. She understood that. Such was the essence of respectability. Respectability was at stake, and she was perceived now as being not respectable. Respectability had spawned a method of control, a code that dictated who was considered acceptable and who was not. Respectability created its own pride, its own prejudices. However much she protested her innocence now, she could not overcome the Crawfords’ injustice. As far as they were concerned, she was a pariah.

  As the days progressed, Poppy missed Robert overwhelmingly, and the heartache became infinitely more acute with their passing. She felt no anger that he should also consider her to be what his parents and Virginia had conditioned him to believe, only sorrow that she had been given no chance to protest her innocence directly to him. And yet, on the other hand, why should she have to protest it? Robert knew her well enough. He must surely realise sooner or later that the accusations were entirely false, trumped up by Virginia with no other purpose than to secure the wearing of his wedding ring on Christmas Day. It begged the question: how much did Virginia really love Robert if she was prepared to see him trapped in a marriage where she knew she would be unloved and undesired? Surely, in the long run, it would break her heart as well as Robert’s. Or was she simply prepared to sacrifice herself for what she believed was saving him?

  She wanted to know how Robert was, what he was doing. She hadn’t seen him, or caught even the merest glimpse of him. Being without him was intolerable, and she was certain it was going to take years to get over Robert Crawford, if indeed she ever could.

  ‘I am worried about you,’ Aunt Phoebe said one day, about a week after Poppy’s break with Robert. ‘As each day passes you look paler than the day before. You pick tentatively at your meals as if they are tasteless, yet you cram down spoonfuls of honey spread thickly on bread and butter as if your life depended on it. Honey is a wonderful food, Poppy, but honey alone is no diet for a young woman. I think I am going to write to Dr Grice asking him to call and see if he can prescribe you a tonic.’

  Dr Grice received the letter and duly called a couple of days later. He examined Poppy thoroughly, asked her when she had last seen her monthly visitor and pronounced her pregnant … whereupon Aunt Phoebe fainted and had to receive the doctor’s ministrations as well.

  ‘But my dear,’ Aunt Phoebe said, after Dr Grice had brought her round and departed with his shilling fee, ‘how can you possibly be pregnant? Dr Grice must surely be wrong.’

  Poppy shook her head sorrowfully. ‘No, he’s not wrong, Aunt. Robert and I were lying together quite regularly.’

  ‘You mean you—’

  ‘We were lovers, Aunt,’ she said without shame. ‘We were passionate lovers.’

  ‘Passionate? Oh, spare me the particulars, Poppy … When did you find the time, and where on earth did it happen?’

  ‘I’ll spare you the particulars, Aunt.’

  ‘Don’t be so flippant, child. This is hardly something to be flippant about. Do you understand the seriousness of your situation? Do you understand the position in which you place me as well as yourself?’

  Poppy sighed resignedly. ‘Yes, I do, Aunt, and I’m truly sorry for that. I never wanted to embarrass you. I never wanted to ruin your respectability.’

  ‘You understand well the meaning of the word now.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I believe I understand it better than anybody.’

  ‘You realise that your condition, once it becomes
apparent, will only lend credence to the Crawfords’ belief that you were once a prostitute.’

  ‘It doesn’t follow, and I don’t see why it should. Anyway, I don’t give tuppence for what they think. I know what I’m like better than anybody. I know I’m no prostitute, and that I lay with Robert out of love for him. I’m not sorry for that. Where I come from it’s the most natural thing in the world. I’m not ashamed that I’m carrying his child. Why should I be? We are in love.’

  ‘But he should know, Poppy. He should be told.’

  ‘Why, Aunt?’ Poppy protested. ‘It’s nothing to do with him now. He’s gone. He has his own life to lead among his own kind. I am no longer any part of him. Leave him be. Let him get on with the life he’s obliged to live. I don’t want to burden him anymore. He has problems enough, I imagine … There’s only one thing I can do now. I shall go back to my mother. She and Buttercup will look after me.’

  ‘To the new navvy encampment, you mean?’

  ‘Please don’t look so shocked, Aunt. That’s where I belong, isn’t it? There’ll be no wagging tongues or pointing fingers. I’ll not be reviled there just because I’m carrying a child out of wedlock. Nobody will turn a hair. I’ll be welcomed and cared for. They might be barbaric in the eyes of society, they might be godless, but at least they look after their own. And, by going there, I shall not be an encumbrance or an embarrassment to you.’

  ‘But you are worthy of so much better, Poppy.’

  ‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I tried to better myself, with your help, Aunt, but I fell prey to the one beast that is most girls’ undoing at some time – love. The only sin, though, was falling in love with somebody who was really way out of my class. I was a fool not to have realised it at the outset. I could’ve saved myself a lot of heartache.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll have your baby and fall in love again … when you are older and wiser. You’re still very young.’