by Nancy Carson
‘I do hope you are right, Aunt. I must confess, I’ve had my doubts about the veracity of Ginnie’s interpretation of—’
‘And have you considered Virginia’s motives?’
‘Her motives?’ Robert looked puzzled.
‘Oh, Robert … Men! You are so naive when it comes to the wiles of women. Virginia was afraid of losing you to Poppy, was she not?’
Robert nodded. ‘She believed she had already lost me.’
‘So … to get you to change your mind she had to vilify Poppy. She had to make sure the girl was seen as socially unacceptable to you, but even more so to your family, who would do everything possible to restrain you. What better way than to claim she was a woman of the streets? She has succeeded.’
‘I never regarded it in that light, Aunt Phoebe.’
‘Then maybe you should. But the greater damage has been done. Virginia knows that even if she is wrong, Poppy’s reputation is already ruined. She could always argue that there is no smoke without fire. Besides, the girl is the daughter of a common navvy with no breeding whatsoever. Virginia was very quick to reveal that as well, a revelation that in itself is enough to render the poor girl totally unacceptable socially, despite her acquired finesse.’
Aunt Phoebe was tempted to tell Robert that Poppy was carrying his child, but remembered and respected her wish that he should not know. It would complicate things too drastically when they were already complicated enough. No, let him live in ignorance of his unborn child. As Poppy had said, it was simpler, and cleaner. He would have enough to contend with, without that knowledge.
‘So you honestly feel I should have a quiet chat with Minnie, do you, Aunt?’
‘Yes, if you still feel the need to be convinced. Go on. Ask her outright. Was Poppy Silk ever a prostitute? I predict she will laugh in your face.’
‘You are already convinced, Aunt.’
‘Robert, I have lived with Poppy a long time now. I know her every feeling, every emotion. I am familiar with her innermost secrets … Oh, yes … And don’t look so doubtful about that.’ Aunt Phoebe looked at him reproachfully. ‘She even told me how close you two had become …’ Robert blushed to his roots. ‘A girl who openly divulges something as intimate as that would certainly have no qualms about divulging whether she had been a prostitute or not. Don’t you agree?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, the only thing she ever declared to me about such things is that she might eventually have been forced into it through circumstances, had she not escaped the malign influence of Minnie Catchpole. But she had the sense to get out. Of course, we acknowledge that Minnie has since reformed and is socially acceptable as the wife of Captain Tyler. Or, rather, she was, before silly Virginia let the cat out of the bag.’
‘I think Virginia has a lot to answer for,’ Robert said.
‘That is for you to sort out, Robert. It must be on your conscience as well as on hers now.’
‘I shall be happy just to clear Poppy’s name and reputation. I am resigned to the fact that as the daughter of a navvy, my parents would never accept her as their daughter-in-law anyway.’
‘Well, now it’s of no consequence either way. You are to be married on Wednesday to the girl they adore.’
‘Yes,’ said Robert, very quietly. ‘I know it only too well.’
Chapter 34
Work on Christmas Eve came to a close at the usual time, with no concession for the fact that tomorrow was Christmas Day, and a holiday. Nobody minded the end of the working day. The earth was hard and unyielding to pick and shovel, and the icy cold air foretold of snow. Jericho and Buttercup joined their workmates in a celebration drink or two at The Red Lion, which had become the navvies’ favourite public house. Since word had got around that it was the main drinking annex to the new encampment, it was becoming a target for hawkers. That night, being Christmas Eve, there were even more hawkers than usual, selling everything from poultry to jewellery.
‘A bit o’ goose wouldn’t be amiss for our Christmas dinners, eh, Jericho?’ Buttercup commented as he saw one hawker touting a late example. He took a swig from his pewter tankard then placed it on the table before him, seriously pondering the prospect. ‘I fancy a bit o’ goose wi’ some taters roasted in the juices.’
‘The thought’s makin’ my mouth water an’ all, Buttercup,’ Jericho replied, wiping froth off his big moustache with the back of his hand. ‘Will Sheba be able to roast summat as big as a goose?’
‘Roast it? Aye. She’d draw it an’ feather it an’ all.’ Buttercup tapped his nose with the side of his forefinger. ‘Sheba’s a bostin’ little cook.’
‘Then let’s have one, if you can afford it.’
‘Aye, no trouble.’ He hailed the hawker who was offering the goose to other men.
The man approached. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ he asked deferentially.
‘How much is the goose?’
‘Six shillings I’ll take.’
‘Six shillings?’ Buttercup scoffed. ‘Nay, that’s more than the price of a half a gallon o’ whisky. Nay, lad, thee’ll have to do better’n that.’
‘It’s a big bird. See?’ He held it up. ‘Just feel the weight … There’s many a square meal to be had off that.’
Buttercup felt the weight and was impressed. It would feed the whole hut, lodgers and all. Why not treat them all to a decent Christmas dinner?
‘I’ll give four shillings for it.’
‘Four bob? Nay, my mon.’ The packman made to walk away with his goose.
‘Won’t thee at least barter with me?’
‘Five and six,’ the seller said, staying.
Buttercup shook his head. ‘Four and six.’
The other hesitated a second or two. ‘Five bob and it’s your’n.’
Buttercup winked at Jericho, but presented a serious face to the packman. ‘Th’ bist a robbing bleeder … but go on then, I’ll gi’ thee five bob …’ He felt in his pocket for the money and handed it over.
‘A merry Christmas to yer, sir, and thank you.’ He took the money and handed over the goose, which Buttercup laid on the floor at his feet. Then he finished his beer.
Jericho went to the bar to buy two more tankards of beer. When he returned, he nodded in the direction of another hawker. ‘There’s a bloke over there selling trinkets. I’ve a good mind to get Poppy a Christmas box.’
‘Aye, it’s sure to stand thee in good stead,’ Buttercup said wryly, but the sarcasm was too subtle for Jericho.
Over the hubbub and the tobacco smoke he hailed the man, who acknowledged his call. When he had finished the transaction that was keeping him, he made his way over.
‘Let’s see what you’ve got,’ Jericho said. ‘I want summat for a nice pretty wench. Summat with a bit o’ quality.’
‘Summat plain then,’ the hawker suggested, wishing to be helpful. ‘Pretty madams want summat less pretty than they am … A locket, eh? Worn on a chain?’
‘Got anything heart-shaped in silver?’
‘Aye.’ The packman picked out a silver locket and chain. ‘Hallmarked, it is. See?’
Jericho looked, but in the dim light could make out nothing. ‘How much?’
‘Half a guinea.’
‘I’ll give you eight shillings,’ Jericho said, trying to emulate his father and mentor.
‘Ten bob,’ the man replied. ‘It’s the best I can do.’
‘Will yer settle on nine bob?’ Jericho asked.
They agreed on nine shillings and sixpence. The exchange took place and both men were happy.
Jericho grinned proudly at Buttercup as he put it in his pocket. ‘See, I can barter an’ all. And Poppy’ll be pleased with the trinket.’
‘Th’art as saft as a ballyache shit,’ Buttercup said with a grin.
‘Nay, I’ll be thought plenty of for this. It might even do the trick.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. Not the way Poppy’s mind is set. But mebbe we ought to get a few other things. A few oranges w
ouldn’t come amiss for them poor kids. A few nuts an’ all, mebbe. Canst th’ see anybody selling oranges or nuts?’
‘There was somebody outside,’ Jericho proclaimed.
‘Come on, let’s finish our drinks an’ have a piddle.’ He picked up the goose by the neck and stuck it under his arm. ‘We can buy some oranges and stuff on the way.’
Outside in the darkness they navigated their way to the privy. Buttercup tried to relieve himself while still clutching the goose under his arm but found the combination of activities too complicated and too restricting. So he let it fall to the floor where it landed with a squish on the wet, evil smelling flags. When he had finished and returned his nether parts into the warm, nestling comfort of his long johns, he reached down for the goose and wiped the wet away with the sleeve of his jacket.
‘Hast finished?’ he enquired of Jericho.
‘Aye. Just about,’ Jericho replied to the diminishing music of his concluding trickles.
‘Then let’s find that chap selling oranges.’
At about the same time that Jericho and Buttercup were leaving The Red Lion, full of festive spirit, laden with sodden goose, fruit and other oddments, Robert Crawford was harnessing his horse to his gig. He was being joined by surveyors and the resident engineer in The Old Crown for a drink to celebrate both Christmas and his last night of bachelorhood, before making his way home for a late dinner with his family. It had begun to snow and Robert eyed the dark sky warily; his breath was steam in the cold, damp air.
‘Who wants a lift?’ he asked.
‘We’ll walk, Robert,’ answered Slingsby Shafto. ‘We’ll not be far behind if you’re the one paying.’
Robert threw himself into the gig, flicked the reins, and drove off.
Close by were glassworks, bottle works, brickworks, iron works, coal mines and fireclay pits. Other workers had had the same idea and stopped by on their way home for seasonal drinks with their mates, so already the public house was busy. The room was noisy, thick with smoke and the sweet, dark smell of beer. The well-stacked coal fire at the far end of the room was burning with bright blue flames.
Robert ordered four tankards of beer and guarded them assiduously while he waited for his three colleagues. This cold, grizzly night was to be his last night of freedom before taking on a whole new host of marital responsibilities. By this time tomorrow it would be all over. Virginia would be his wife, the Lords would be his in-laws, and he would be well and truly manacled. He had capitulated as regards the house Ishmael Lord was having built for them, although doing so had gone against his inclination. The implication was that he would be unable to provide anything as fine, unable to maintain Ishmael Lord’s daughter in the manner to which she had always been accustomed. Well, in good time he would show them. For Virginia’s sake he had not taken issue with them. To have done so would have been churlish in the extreme. Instead, reluctantly, but with forced affability, he’d offered his thanks for their unbounded generosity and consideration. Ishmael Lord had made no bones either about his intention to groom somebody to take over Tyler’s and Lord’s Bank. He had not pointed his finger directly at Robert, but it was obvious he considered Robert a prime candidate. After all, in the absence of a son of his own, who better to make extremely rich than a decent and honest son-in-law, the husband of his elder daughter?
Robert supped his ale as he stood at the bar waiting, steeped in thoughts of this imminent marriage. Men unwittingly jostled him as they crowded against the bar waiting to be served by landlord, wife, or barmaid. He moved aside as best he could to allow them more room, and pondered more. His family had had their way as regards his ideal bride. Of course, there could never have been any doubt. He always knew there would have been a bloody battle to get his family to recognise Poppy Silk as a worthy bride, but never had he supposed their strength of feeling would have run so deep. But their total hypocrisy staggered him. At first they evidently liked the girl … until they realised she was the daughter of a common navvy, born and reared in one of those beastly shanty towns. As soon as they knew it, she was not to be touched, as if she were contaminated, escaped from some leper colony. They were still labouring under the misguided belief that she was a prostitute, but Robert himself had dispensed with such vile notions after his visit to Aunt Phoebe. Aunt Phoebe was right; Poppy was too sensitive and far too sensible.
He sighed to himself, a profound sigh, as he pondered Poppy again. Theirs was truly an affair of the heart. He would never love and be loved like that again. Marriage to Virginia could never be as satisfying as marriage to Poppy would have been. At best it would be superficial, at worst farcical. Already, he had contemplated that for sexual satisfaction he would be driven to the arms of other women. Already, it was in his mind that he could never remain faithful to his spotless bride; not after he had tasted love of the quality and intensity of Poppy Silk’s.
Poppy remained a total enigma. When he returned from Brazil and saw her transformed into the essence of femininity, elegance and breeding, his love for her blazed anew, but with an even more intense heat. Her navvy breeding still showed through – to him if to nobody else – in her consummate lack of inhibition. What ordinary girl would admit to the erotic dreams and fancies she’d harboured? What well-bred girl of seventeen would throw off all her clothes without a second thought and stand before him naked, unabashed, willing and anxious for him to take her, never constrained by the likely consequences? But these things only ever excited him. Her candour, her openness, her sauciness, her honesty, her directness, her simplicity, all were part of her delicious character, the very qualities that fomented his love and his desire for her. To him it mattered not at all that she was the daughter of a navvy. As well as being more of a challenge than any other woman he had known, she had more to offer, mentally, spiritually, and physically.
He was not proud of himself for having surrendered under pressure from his family and from Virginia. His feelings had not changed; only his obligations had been pointed out more assertively. He still loved Poppy Silk with a fervour that he knew would never leave him. He knew that when he grew old and grey and cantankerous, he would sit in his chair and still his heart would be aching and his mind would be full of Poppy Silk. He knew that even in those far off days he would be wondering where she was and what she was doing. He would be regretting having never done what his heart was begging him, as a young man, to do right now … He would regret bitterly having never followed his heart, for the sake of his so-called obligations to his family, to Virginia, and to Ishmael Lord.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around. It was William Round, one of his colleagues, the friend he had asked to be his best man in preference to Bellamy, with whom relations were now strained.
Robert smiled, leaving behind his thoughts. ‘Here …’ He reached over and lifted one of the tankards from the bar.
‘I wager it’s gone flat,’ William said with a grin and sipped the beer tentatively.
‘Not at all. It’s a decent drink,’ said Robert.
The other two joined them almost immediately and, after some friendly banter, they got to talking about work. William ordered four more drinks and they discussed the relative advantages of Brunel’s broad gauge over narrow gauge. It ended up as a heated discussion with Slingsby Shafto, as usual, doing his best to needle Robert over his views. And so it went on … until the four had sunk several more tankards of ale, and talk was about women in general, with references to Robert’s marriage tomorrow.
‘She’s a fine girl, is Virginia,’ Slingsby Shafto said, slurring his words. ‘Far too good for you, Crawford. You’re a very lucky man, you know.’ He turned to the others unsteadily, spilling some of his beer. ‘I’ve met Virginia, you know. Lovely girl … Her family owns Tyler’s and Lord’s, you know. Lord knows what she sees in this reprobate, though.’ He laughed at his own weak pun.
‘As if owning a bank had anything to do with it,’ Robert protested, also inebriated by this time. ‘I couldn’t g
ive a toss about their money, or their damned bank.’
‘It’s funny,’ said Slingsby, with a wink at the other two, ‘but it’s always those who have money who are the first to assert its unimportance.’
‘I don’t shee that,’ slurred Robert. ‘It’s important to have money in this day and age. It’s what we all work for.’
‘But those that have it in abundance reckon it’s unimportant,’ Slingsby argued. ‘Such folk should feel destitution for a while. It’s only when you have no money that money becomes important … And I should know.’
Robert remembered that he was supposed to be dining with his family that evening and took his watch from his fob to check the time. ‘Lord, I’d best be off, else my Christmas Eve dinner will be as black as the grate. Let me get you another drink apiece before I go.’
‘Let me,’ Slingsby Shafto insisted.
Robert scoffed. ‘Can you afford it?’
‘Yes, I can afford it,’ Slingsby retorted with a sudden seething resentment that was triggered by the alcohol.
‘But you were the one pleading poverty a minute ago.’
‘Oh, it’s all right for you, Crawford. Marrying your rich girl tomorrow, aren’t you?’ He looked hard at Edward Lister. ‘Why did you have him back after he’d buggered off to Brazil?’
‘Because he’s a good engineer, Slingsby. And the experience won’t have done him any harm.’
‘Left that poor sweet girl for a whole year, didn’t you Crawford?’ William Round taunted, more to rile Slingsby than Robert.