by Nancy Carson
Now Robert was lost forever because of Virginia’s meddling. Well, her scheming would do her no good and serve her right. Robert would never be happy or content married to her. But even that was no source of satisfaction to Poppy as she wiped fresh tears from her eyes with a corner of her bed sheet. She wanted him. She should be lying with him tonight, and to hell with Virginia. It was she who was carrying his child, not Virginia. And Jericho had either stupidly, or with unwitting wisdom, let him know in his uncontrollable frenzy …
Sheba roused herself and slid out of bed.
Poppy put her head over the blankets to see. ‘Are you getting up already, Mother?’ she whispered.
‘There’s a lot to do. It’s Christmas Day and it’s white over outside. Aren’t you going to have a look? You’m a-crying again, our Poppy.’
‘I know and I can’t help it. He’s getting married today … to her.’
‘Your eyes’ll be all puffy and red. I told you, you have to forget him. Believe me, there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’
‘I’m so grateful for your sympathy, Mother,’ she answered sarcastically. ‘A merry Christmas to you as well.’ She smothered herself with the bedclothes again and turned over, feeling desperately sorry for herself.
Sheba felt a surge of pity for her daughter, but knew she dare not show it for fear of making her worse. So she moved round to Poppy’s bed and good-humouredly pulled the bedclothes off her.
‘Stop it, it’s cold!’ Poppy complained, and sullenly snatched back the blankets.
The disturbance woke Buttercup. ‘Noisy pair o’ buggers,’ he grumbled, then broke wind and belched simultaneously.
‘Hark who’s makin’ all the noise,’ Sheba remarked.
The couple dressed and left Poppy to her sorrowing. Very soon, she could smell bacon frying, which almost tempted her to waive her anguish and get dressed as well, but she stubbornly stayed in bed, determined to grieve, and Sheba took in her breakfast on a plate. After it, Poppy lay down again, still declining to get up, still refusing to relinquish thoughts of Robert Crawford, his wedding, and how she’d had the grossest misfortune to lose him. She knew she should be helping her mother work, but let Lottie come in from playing in the snow and do it. She was old enough.
Poppy fell asleep again and dreamed about Robert’s wedding. In her dream it was springtime and she was a guest, dressed in a primrose yellow dress and bonnet. Aunt Phoebe, to her surprise, got up from her pew and vindictively shoved Virginia out of the way, beckoning Poppy to take her place, while the vicar, Reverend Browne from St Thomas’s, smiled with benign endorsement. The boys from Baylies’s Charity School were the choir, and Minnie Catchpole irreverently lifted her skirt above her waist revealing everything she had, applauded by Captain Tyler. Next, Bellamy was trying to slip a ring onto her finger, since Robert and he had switched places.
She woke up in a state of anguish and confusion.
Sheba was standing over her with a mug of steaming tea. ‘Your Christmas dinner’ll be ready in half an hour. It’s time you got up. Never mind mithering over his wedding.’
Poppy frowned at the daylight, her fair hair bedraggled and tangled. ‘What time is it?’
‘About one o’clock.’
‘Oh … He’ll be married by now. It was to be at twelve.’
‘Then it’s all over and there’s nothing to be done, so get up. Any road, if he could see you now with your red eyes and your fuzzy hair he’d very likely run a mile. Come on, get yourself up. I need some help.’
After her Christmas dinner, Poppy decided to go for a walk. If she could not have the company of Robert Crawford, she craved only her own. In any case, it would be good to wander in the snow alone. It had stopped snowing by then, the sky was clear and the sun was shining, and she was amazed at the mighty breadth of glistening snow all around her. For as far as she could see, everything was shrouded in pure white. Around the encampment, the footprints of the children where they had played were the only evidence of human activity. Elsewhere, the earth, its normal colour black, was dazzling white and pristine. Where the wind had chased the snow, drifts filled hollows, smoothing them out as if a sheet had been draped across them. Gentle white curves transformed the shapes of blocks and bricks, of stumps and jagged rocks. Even the slag heaps had become beautiful, shimmering like snow-capped Alpine peaks as they caught the sunlight. The huts, including the one she had just left, were encrusted with icicles that dripped liquid jewels, and trees creaked under the weight of their resplendent white coats. Red-brick houses, their windows square eyes that stared at her across the icy waste, were the faces of old men, the snow-clad roofs their caps.
It was hard going, walking through snow more than two feet deep everywhere. Her hems and shoes were becoming saturated, her feet were like ice. But it was good to see nature’s work, how it could alter a depressingly ugly landscape and turn it into something wondrous. Even the horse gins in the distance looked pretty, bejewelled like the crowns of queens. Poppy made her way towards the new cutting and realised there would be no work for the navvies until the thaw came, and it would take days to melt all this, especially if it all froze over tonight.
She sat down on a snow-covered pile of bricks and looked around her, strangely uplifted by the transformation she beheld. Everywhere was silent, all sounds deadened by the thick blanket of snow. Nobody stirred. Everybody was either resting or too tipsy to venture out after their Christmas dinners. She was all alone in the landscape …
Except for one other lonely figure.
Poppy noticed him descending the hill to her left, trudging wearily towards the encampment. His ponderous movements told of his tiredness as he struggled to keep upright in the snow. His progress was slow, for the depth of snow as well unquestionably impeded him. The way he held himself, his bearing, was unnervingly familiar, however, and Poppy’s heart lurched to her mouth as she realised who he was. She watched him, her temples suddenly throbbing, her emotions a mixture of excitement and apprehension as he got closer. She could not help but stand up and call his name.
He looked up, waved frantically in recognition, and scrambled towards her ponderously. As he got closer she could see he was out of breath, his forehead beaded in sweat from exertion. She strove to reach him as quickly as she could, the deep snow clawing at her feet, conspiring to impede her when she urgently needed to get to him. His arms were open, waiting to receive her. She reached him at last, fell into his embrace, and they both slumped to the ground in an ecstasy of relief and longing. They ended up rolling in the snow, clutching each other frenetically, as if to let go would be to lose each other again. Once again her eyes were swimming in tears as she clung desperately to him, silent, unspeaking for long, uncertain seconds.
‘How come you’re here?’ she asked at length, almost dreading his answer.
‘I didn’t get married.’ He half released her, and looked directly into her moist blue eyes. ‘Poppy, I didn’t get married …’
‘You didn’t?’ she queried, uncomprehending.
He smiled at her, love unmistakable and unconcealed in his earnest facial expression. ‘How could I?’
‘Was it what Jericho told you that changed your mind?’
‘Jericho?’ He looked puzzled. ‘No, the snow prevented me … We couldn’t even get the brougham out, it was so deep. The horses would have been sliding all over the place. We’d never have got to Harborne.’
‘Then thank God for the snow,’ she breathed, her face a delightful picture of uncertainty.
‘But don’t you see? It was nature’s way of allowing me to escape a marriage I truly did not want, a marriage that would have suited nobody, not even Virginia. So I decided to grasp the opportunity, and I ran. I ran as fast as I could to escape, to the only girl in the world I’m interested in marrying.’
‘So does this mean no more Virginia?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Poppy, I’m yours, if you’ll still have me. I’ve been a complete and utter fool, listening to others and no
t listening to my own heart. I have put you through so much heartache … myself as well. I love you absolutely, Poppy. Unconditionally. I want nobody else. I’d be happy with nobody else. Only you. I beg the privilege of spending the rest of my life with you … Please say you’ll have me …’
They were still on the ground, sitting in the snow. She flung her arms around him and wept, unable to say yea or nay for sobbing. But they were tears of happiness, of sweet, sweet relief, and of grateful thanks. Perhaps there really was a God after all, a God who had answered the doubtful, sceptical prayers she’d offered, asking Him to deliver Robert back to her arms, back into her life. Perhaps, after all, there was an unprejudiced God, who even listened to unbelievers as well as those devoted worshippers like Virginia. Robert held her close, his own eyes filling with tears as his emotions intensified, as he realised just how fortunate he was to have the love of this exceptional, unique young woman. He had almost lost her … but for the snow.
‘Did it make a difference, knowing about the baby?’ she asked between sobs and snivels.
‘Baby?’ he repeated with a curious frown. ‘What baby?’
‘The baby I’m carrying, Robert … Your baby.’
‘I didn’t know you were carrying my baby, my love. I came because I wanted to, because I love you. Not because I thought it was my duty.’
‘But Jericho told you last night. When you had stumbled onto the floor, he taunted you and told you I was carrying your child.’
‘Did he, begad? Was I on the floor? Where?’ He looked aghast.
‘In The Old Crown. Don’t you remember, Robert?’
‘I know I went in The Old Crown … I have a vague recollection of seeing you … Nothing else. I realise, of course, that I was as drunk as a lord. I had a hell of a headache this morning.’
‘I’m surprised you managed to get home. I saw you on your way.’
‘I honestly have no recollection of it, Poppy. As a matter of fact, I don’t feel very grand even now, especially after trudging through all this snow half the morning. I’m absolutely starving hungry, and so thirsty …’
‘You’ve had no Christmas dinner?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Oh, we’ll feed you, Robert,’ she promised. ‘There’s some goose left. But first you must understand …’ She looked at him earnestly through wet, soulful eyes. ‘I am having your child. If it’s not what you want, if it’s not what you want for yourself after all, then now is the time to say so. I’ll understand. I won’t hold you to anything. They’ll look after me here—’
‘If you’re carrying my child, Poppy,’ he said, interrupting her flow, ‘I couldn’t be happier. And don’t imagine for a minute that I would leave a child of mine fatherless … Good God!’ He started to laugh, picked himself up off the ground and jumped up and down, frantically waving his arms about, fired with a renewed energy. ‘This is the best news I could ever have had. You’ll have to marry me now. I’ll have to make an honest woman of you anyway.’ He twirled round and round like an excited child, then fell over, giddy, exhausted. ‘Say you’ll marry me, pretty Poppy,’ he pleaded, his head swimming. ‘Say you’ll marry me and we’ll do it by special licence just as soon as we can. Tomorrow if it’s possible. In the next day or two anyway.’
She fell on him, smothering him with kisses, smearing his face with the cold remnants of her tears. ‘Oh, Robert … Of course I’ll marry you. Of course I will. But what about your family? What will they have to say about it?’
‘To hell with them. I don’t care a fig what they say or what they think. You are the only person in the world that means anything to me.’ He beamed. ‘You and my child. If they don’t accept it, if they don’t accept you, then it’s their loss. I’m not prepared to let you go again. Ever.’
‘Then that’s settled …’ She grinned with pleasure at this new-found salvation. ‘Come on, we’ll go and tell my mother and Buttercup, and find you something to eat …’ She started to laugh.
‘What’s so amusing?’
‘Well … Marriage by special licence might be for the better, you know. Just you, me and a couple of witnesses. It just occurred to me what a strange do it would be with my family and yours together in the same church, afraid to mix one with the other because of their class differences, scowling suspiciously at each other across the aisle …’
‘Oh, to hell with a church wedding as well,’ Robert said.
‘Aunt Phoebe will be glad about us, you know.’
‘I know. Aunt Phoebe will be delighted. She can be a witness to our marriage.’
‘She’d love that … So where shall we live?’
Robert grinned, fascinated by Poppy’s lovely face, her exquisitely animated expressions that alternated between doubt and triumph in a twinkle. ‘Oh, I shall buy a fine house. I have enough money.’
‘In the meantime, I’m sure Aunt Phoebe would let us lodge with her … till we have a house of our own.’
‘I’m sure she would.’
‘At least after we’re married, and until the baby’s born.’
‘I’m sure she would, yes.’
Poppy stood up and offered her hand to Robert to help him up. ‘Come on, let’s break the news.’
He grinned with new-found contentment as he stood up.
‘Poor Virginia,’ she said quietly.
Robert looked at her curiously, unable to acknowledge that she would have any sympathy for Virginia after the agony the girl had put her through. ‘The words poor and Virginia do not sit comfortably together, Poppy.’
She smiled into his eyes as they started walking hand in hand towards the encampment. ‘In one sense, yes. But I still can’t help feeling sorry for her. She’s lost you at the last. I know just how she feels … and it’s not pleasant.’
‘It’ll come as no surprise. As soon as she saw how deep the snow was this morning, she would’ve realised that travelling to Harborne was impossible, and that her chance was gone. I’m sure of it. She finally realised how grossly unhappy I’ve been. I don’t really think she’ll begrudge me my happiness. Nor you yours. Especially when she knows you’re having our child.’
The winter sun was dipping, red and swollen, yet lacking any heat. The snow, taking on a golden hue, was beginning to freeze, sparkling and crunching underfoot already. Icicles that had dripped water an hour ago were quiescent. Chimneys atop the terraced houses nearby emitted curling smoke as the hearths beneath burned bright, warming the inhabitants within. To their right, Poppy and Robert could just see the canal, winding like a black serpent between the factories.
‘I want to sleep with you tonight,’ she said. ‘I’ve waited long enough.’
He laughed, once again shocked, but at the same time delighted by her frankness. ‘In your hut, you mean?’
‘No. Not there. We all sleep in one room there. Imagine what it would be like. Us lying together but not being able to have each other. No, we can go to an inn. My mother will find me a brass ring or something to put on my wedding finger. Folk won’t know we aren’t married yet.’
‘Your mother would do that?’ he queried, surprised.
‘Yes. And why not? It’s the navvies’ way. But if you’re worried about impropriety we could always jump the broomstick first.’
‘Too pagan even for my taste, Poppy. Oh, I was never squeamish about impropriety. I’ll be quite at ease with a brass ring from your mother. It will do admirably until I can buy you a gold one. So long as your finger doesn’t turn green in the meantime.’
‘If it does, it will shock nobody but an old lady or two. I don’t think it would shock Aunt Phoebe, though. She knows me too well.’
Be swept away by
THE BLACK COUNTRY CHRONICLES
Gutsy heroines, epic love affairs and page-turning intrigue…
Coming in April 2015
Romantic dreams, snatched by war…
1906. Lizzie Bishop’s humble beginnings as a dressmaker’s daughter see her hope for nothing more than a simple offer
of marriage. Love, passion and romance are reserved for daydreams.
But then into Lizzie’s quiet world comes two men – one reliable and kind-hearted, the other heartbreakingly handsome. Just as Lizzie’s made her choice, the ominous call of war sounds, and her life changes again.
Will Lizzie get her chance at happiness, or has it gone forever?
Pre-order now
About the Author
Nancy Carson lives in Staffordshire and is a keen student of local history. All her novels are based around real events, and focus on the lives and loves of the people of the Black Country.
By the Same Author
Poppy’s Dilemma
The Dressmaker’s Daughter
The Factory Girl
Rags to Riches
A Family Affair
Wealth and Innocence
The Railway Girl
The Lock-Keeper’s Son
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