The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Don’t be coarse, Harriet. I think the curate is too superior a person to fall in love with anybody anyway,’ Priss surmised sadly. ‘Like Algie Stokes in a way, except that Algie Stokes is not superior at all.’

  ‘I know Algie’s only a brass worker, Priss, but so what? I’ve known him ages and he’s a dear, gentle soul. Just remember, our father came from nothing. If he hadn’t had a bit of luck in the early days, he might have ended up a brass worker or an iron worker.’

  ‘Yes, and look where we’d be …’

  ‘It is honest employment after all, though, Priss.’

  ‘Anyway, from what I hear, it was not luck that brought Father his prosperity, but sheer hard work, determination and a belief in himself.’

  ‘And who’s to say Algie won’t develop along the same lines?’

  ‘Of course, he might,’ Priss conceded. ‘But he shows no sign of it. He’s far too immature.’

  They waited the whole ten minutes, but Algie did not materialise. So the two sisters hurried to church in the warm evening air without him, curious as to what had become of him.

  ‘Where you taking me tonight?’ Marigold asked when Algie called for her again that evening.

  ‘We could go for a drink.’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d had enough to drink for one day.’

  ‘I feel all right now. Sober as a judge in fact. I had a nap after my tea. Tell you what, why don’t we go and have one drink, then go back to that spot down by Dadford’s Bridge again? It was nice and peaceful down there.’

  ‘If you like,’ she said, content to go along with it. It would mean that they could lie in the grass and kiss to their hearts’ content. The experience earlier had set her heart pounding and she’d enjoyed the exhilaration.

  To avoid Seth Bingham, who had installed himself at the Bottle and Glass, they stopped first at the Samson and Lion, which backed onto the canal a little further along. Algie fetched the drinks and took them outside where Marigold waited.

  ‘Does your mother go on to your dad about him drinking of a Sunday?’ Algie enquired as they stood outside the public house overlooking the towpath, drinking glasses in hand, enjoying the warm summer evening.

  ‘No, never. Why should she? She reckons he deserves his day of rest in the public bar, if that’s what he enjoys. He works hard every other day, never stops. Up at the crack o’ dawn, he is, to see to Victoria and get him ready for when the locks open so’s we can be on our way. He don’t stop neither till dusk when we moor up for the night and he’s found a stable.’

  ‘D’you like living in a narrowboat on the cut? Wouldn’t you rather live in a house like ordinary folk?’

  ‘I don’t know nothin’ any different, do I? I see folk like you living in houses, but I’ve never lived in a house … well, not as I can remember. My mother lived in one, though. She comes from somewhere round here.’

  ‘Fancy,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know … So, how d’you manage, living in so small a space?’

  She smiled into his eyes. ‘Oh, we manage. We’ve got everythin’ we need. It’s just all in a small space. I sleep in the butty on the cross-bed with two of my sisters, and one of my brothers sleeps on the side-bed. Me mom and dad sleep in the Sultan with our Billy, the youngest.’

  ‘I often wonder how very young children get on, living on narrowboats. I mean, what do they do?’

  ‘All sorts of things,’ Marigold replied. ‘Me dad makes ’em fishing rods, and he’s taught us all to fish. They spend ages fishing. It keeps ’em busy. They know every type of bird, every fish we ever catch …’

  ‘What about schooling?’ he asked.

  ‘Never had much schooling.’ She sighed with regret. ‘Oh, I’d have dearly loved to have had some proper schooling, all of us would, but we’m never in one place long enough. The inspectors came once or twice asking to see our attendance books, but even they know what it’s like travelling ’tween towns all the while, pressed for time and money. It must be nice to have had some schooling, so’s you could see words wrote down and be able to read ’em proper, instead o’ mismuddling ’em, like I do.’

  He smiled with admiration for this slip of a girl. ‘Finish your beer and we’ll go, eh?’

  Soon, they left the Samson and Lion.

  ‘Give me your hand,’ he said.

  She found his hand, and turned to look at him with tenderness in her eyes. They walked on, hardly speaking but companionable enough, till they reached Dadford’s Shed and the bridge. In the distance, the bells of Wordsley Church were pealing melodically, as they would be at St Michael’s in Brierley Hill.

  ‘You’d be with Harriet now if you wasn’t with me,’ she remarked, prompted by the sound of the church bells, as they crossed the road into Water Lane.

  ‘I reckon so,’ he replied frankly. ‘But not anymore I won’t, if you say you’ll be my girl.’

  ‘Did you send word as you wouldn’t be able to see her tonight?’

  ‘How could I? There was no time.’

  ‘P’raps you should’ve gone to see her instead then. She’d have been waiting.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now. Anyway, she’s got sisters to go to church with. She won’t miss me … You know, I don’t think her dad likes me that much. They never say so, but I can tell by the way he is towards me – a bit offish.’

  Marigold offered no reply other than a sympathetic smile.

  They reached the dell where they had been earlier. It was all in shadow since the sun, now low in the west, had traversed the sky. As before, he sat down on the ground and beckoned her to join him, which she did. He put his arm around her and drew her to him, hugging her.

  ‘Have you thought anymore about what I said?’ he asked her.

  ‘What was it you said?’ she replied, not quite sure what he meant.

  ‘About being my girl …’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’

  ‘What is there to think about?’ he said. ‘I told you I’d give up Harriet. By not going to see her tonight, I already have done.’

  ‘I know,’ she said seriously. ‘And I believe you …’

  ‘So why dilly-dally? Tomorrow night I’ll ride to Kidderminster on my bike and we can be together again …’

  ‘I couldn’t meet you till after I’d told him.’

  He grinned, impressed by her obvious integrity, but had no wish to appear too triumphant. Not yet at any rate. ‘So you’ll tell him then, that you don’t want him anymore?’

  She nodded. She had made up her mind. ‘I might get to talk to him while they’m offloading the boats. I want to be straight with him, Algie.’

  Algie beamed. ‘Course you must. It’s the only way. So you’ll be my girl?’

  ‘I will,’ she said, as solemnly as if she were taking her wedding vows.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  She nodded again and smiled. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  He hugged her and planted a kiss on her lips, hardly able to believe his good fortune.

  Chapter 5

  A high-flying, three-quarter moon afforded ample light by which Algie and Marigold retraced their steps to Buckpool. The occasional drunken shouts from some inebriate or other, lurching in the streets nearby, interrupted the evening’s stillness, but could hardly intrude on the euphoria and tenderness they both felt at their newly established accord. It was nearing ten o’ clock when they returned hand-in-hand to the brace of narrowboats tied up in the canal basin. Marigold had promised her mother she would be back by that time, for there was still work to be done, preparing for tomorrow’s early departure. When they reached the narrowboats, the stove pipe of the Sultan was exhausting a near vertical column of smoke that rose up in the moonlight like some spectral genie just released from a tall lamp.

  ‘So what time shall I see you at Kidderminster tomorrow night?’ Algie asked, taking her hands as they stood facing each other, in readiness for parting.

  ‘Let’s say half past seven.’

  ‘But what if you don’t moor up
there?’

  ‘Then we’ll be back this way in the afternoon.’

  ‘Come and knock on our door and let my mother know then, eh? When I get back from work she’ll tell me where you’ll be. Then I’ll just ride till I find you. If you don’t show up, I’ll know you’re between here and Kidderminster, and I’ll find you.’

  Her eyes crinkled into an appealing smile. ‘Just mind you don’t take another look in the cut …’ She turned around to see if her mother was there waiting, having heard them return. ‘I’d better go, Algie,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow … all being well.’ She stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his lips, lingering a couple of seconds, then let go of his hands and went.

  Algie stood watching her as she skipped lightly into the cabin of the Sultan and disappeared. He sighed, smiling contentedly to himself. He had won the affection of Marigold Bingham, and she was a treasure. He exulted in the thought without conceit, merely content that a girl as pretty as she could be the least bit interested in him. It had been a wonderfully eventful day, but he’d had no inkling at all that it would turn out this way when he’d woken up that morning.

  Marigold …

  Lovely little Marigold Bingham.

  She was a cut above the other narrowboat girls he’d seen, the most divine incarnation of delectability, worth giving up Harriet Meese for. He’d admired her from a distance for so long. Now she’d promised to be his girl and he could scarcely believe it. And he had to wait unending hours before he could see her again tomorrow.

  He turned to go, back to the lock-keeper’s cottage under the road bridge. First, though, he would go to the garden shed by way of the back gate, to check that his bicycle was all right and locked away from thieves. There would be sufficient light from the moon to see if there were any globules of water still clinging or dripping from it after its ducking, which he ought to wipe dry and so save the machine rusting before he went to bed.

  As he approached, he heard what sounded to him like the muffled sobs of a girl – it might even be a child – evidently in some distress. He halted in his tracks to listen more intently, his heart pounding at the sudden discovery and the anticipation of just what he might have stumbled across. The whimpers were coming from behind the shed. If it was somebody hurting a child, or even a woman, he’d kill the culprit. He looked about him for a stick or suitable implement with which to thrash him, but could see none in the darkness.

  Stealthily he crept towards the shed, praying that no twig would crack underfoot to give away his presence and rob him of the element of surprise. Then, as he reached the corner he peered around it circumspectly. A man was pressing a young woman against the shed. By the pale reflected moonlight he could see that her skirts were up, her pale, slim thighs a visible contrast to the dark material of her skirt and her black stockings. The man’s hands were grasping her backside, and he was thrusting into her energetically. Her arms were around his neck, but she could have been endeavouring to push him away; a subtle difference in attitude that Algie could not discern in the dimness. To his horror, he could just make out that his sister Kate was on the receiving end of all this physical endeavour.

  Algie was not sure how he should react as he watched incredulously. Was Kate a willing party to this, or had she been forced? Her anguished cries suggested she was not enjoying the experience, that the rogue was hurting her. Then, he realised the rogue was none other than Reggie Hodgetts, that vile son of a rodney boatman whom he knew she had been seeing. Well, Algie did not like Reggie Hodgetts anyway. He and his family were the scum of the canal network. Best to assume Kate was a victim here.

  He rushed at the man, knocking him over. ‘You vile bastard!’ he rasped. ‘What d’you think you’re doing to my sister? I’ll kill you, you bloody turd.’

  At such a savage and unexpected interruption, Reggie was too shocked to know what had hit him. One second he was ecstatically coupled to his worthy companion, whom he saw whenever his work brought him her way, the next he was on the ground beneath an unexpected, mad assailant.

  ‘Algie!’ Kate hissed indignantly, trying to pull her brother off poor Reggie, and desperate that they should not wake her mother and father who were sure to be wrapped up in bed by this time, though not necessarily asleep yet. ‘Leave him be, leave him be. What’s got into you, you stupid fool?’

  ‘I’ll kill the sod.’ Algie took a swipe at Reggie and caught him high on the cheekbone with a resounding crack.

  ‘Leave him be, Algie, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Why should I? He deserves all he’s getting, treating you like that. I won’t have you treated like an animal, Kate. You’re my sister.’

  By this time, Reggie had oriented himself to this unanticipated situation and wriggled his arms free while his adversary was discussing him with the girl. He traded an equivalent punch to Algie’s mouth, which sent him reeling.

  ‘Who does he think he is, your mad brother?’ Reggie fizzed as he got up from the ground, his manhood suddenly deflated, dangling limp in the cool night air, his anger all at once frothing over like a bottle of ginger beer violently shaken. ‘I’ll teach him not to part a man from his pleasure.’ He lurched after Algie and grabbed him by the lapels.

  ‘Stop it, you two!’ Kate urged in a hoarse whisper, but desperate to be heeded.

  Reggie was just about to throw another punch at Algie, when Kate grabbed his arm. ‘Stop it, the pair of you!’

  ‘He attacked me, the bastard,’ Reggie protested vehemently.

  ‘I’ll kill him,’ Algie rasped, his indignation overwhelming his apprehension. ‘Just—’

  ‘Stop it!’ Kate placed herself between them, stumbling over a line of potato shoots.

  Both men seemed to calm down. Reggie surreptitiously checked his flies to ascertain if any material damage had been occasioned to his courting tackle during the scuffle.

  ‘You’ll waken the dead, you pair,’ Kate added, perceiving that the worst of the incident was passed. ‘Algie, do us all a favour and clear off, and in future don’t be such a damn fool. Next time mind your own business.’

  ‘But he—’

  ‘Yes, I know …’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘But me what?’

  ‘He was hurting you.’

  ‘Clear off, Algie,’ she repeated impatiently. ‘And go and wipe your mouth. Your lip’s bleeding, by the looks of it.’

  ‘My lip?’ He put his fingers gingerly to his mouth, then inspected the ends in the moonlight for signs of blood. ‘You’ve split my lip, you swine,’ he complained to Reggie, his indignation surfacing again.

  ‘Serves you right. Come near me again and I’ll knock seven bells out o’ yer.’

  It was all about to flare up again. Kate placed herself between her brother and her clandestine lover once more.

  ‘Go, Algie … clear off. I’ll see you inside.’

  Algie turned to go, his shoulders hunched in humiliation at having perceived the situation between Kate and Reggie so wrongly. ‘If I catch you here again, Reggie bloody Hodgetts, I’ll do the same,’ he said as a parting shot, trying to salvage some credibility.

  ‘Balls!’ rasped Reggie, determined to have the last, meaningful word.

  Once inside, Algie stood on the hearth looking into the mirror by the light of an oil lamp at his bleeding lip. He didn’t like the look of the cut and tried to stem the bleeding by dabbing it with a rag moistened with cold water. If it hadn’t healed sufficiently by tomorrow night his ability to engage Marigold in some earnest spooning would be seriously impaired.

  Kate eventually returned, shutting the door behind her grumpily.

  ‘You article!’ she scoffed in an angry, grating whisper, trying to keep her voice down so as not to arouse her mother and father. ‘In future, if you ever see me with a man, whoever it is, just don’t poke your nose.’

  ‘I thought he was hurting you,’ Algie muttered defensively. ‘I thought you didn’t want his … his … attentions. I thought he was rap
ing you.’

  ‘Raping me!’ she gibed. ‘You idiot.’

  ‘I was trying to protect you.’

  ‘I don’t need your damned protection. A fat lot you know about women …’

  Algie turned round to face her. ‘I always had the feeling you might be a bit loose, our Kate, but I never reckoned you were that much of a slut. Couldn’t you find somebody with a bit more about him than Reggie Hodgetts? He’s the scum of the earth. He stinks. I swear I could smell him.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Kate replied sulkily.

  ‘Can’t you see it? What if he’s put you in the family way and you have to marry him? Would you like to spend the rest of your days living on his filthy narrowboat with no room to swing a cat?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Algie,’ she protested, but calming down. ‘I’d never marry him. I ain’t in love with him, am I?’

  ‘Then what’s the big attraction?’

  She turned away, reluctant to answer that it was sexual pleasure, for fear of debasing herself further in her brother’s estimation. Instead, she lifted the kettle off the hob, checked to see if there was water in it, and then lifted it onto a gale hook over the dying fire so it could boil.

  ‘Tell me, our Kate, what’s the big attraction?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes. It does matter. He’s a nothing. He’s lower than slime in a duck pond.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Algie, ’cause I shan’t be seeing him no more.’

  He welcomed this unexpected nugget of information. ‘That’s a bit sudden, eh? Are you sure?’

  ‘I ought to know.’

  ‘So it’s done some good, my parting you? Was it your decision or his?’

  Kate made no reply.

  ‘At first I thought I’d have to fetch a crowbar and prise you apart,’ Algie continued derisively. ‘Aren’t there no decent chaps at the Amateur Dramatics Society you could take up with, if you’re that desperate? Don’t nobody decent ever come into the bakery shop?’

  Kate didn’t answer and they remained silent for some minutes. She went to the brewhouse to swill out the teapot.