The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

  They crossed the Stourbridge Road at Scott’s Green near the Hope Ironworks, then ambled over an area of rough ground before crossing the busy mineral railway that operated between the Himley Colliery and the wharf at Springs Mire in Dudley. From that point they found themselves in undulating open fields at an area known as Old Park. Algie rested his bike on the grass, then they sat down in a hollow behind a grassy hillock. Marigold inched herself close beside him.

  ‘Did you tell Harriet about me?’

  ‘She knows I’m stepping out with you,’ he replied ambiguously.

  Marigold smiled with satisfaction while Algie remained quiet for a few seconds, looking out onto the distant headgear of the pits that lay towards Gornal.

  ‘I think our Kate’s a trollop,’ he remarked. ‘Don’t you think so, Marigold?’

  ‘Depends.’ She teased some stray strands of dark hair from over her eye. ‘With him, yes, ’cause he’s horrible.’

  ‘Would you do such a thing?’

  ‘Lord, no,’ she protested. ‘Not with him at any rate.’

  ‘And not without being married either, I expect, eh?’ he suggested experimentally, trying to glean whether she felt the same as Harriet about such things.

  ‘Some o’ the couples that live on the narrowboats ain’t proper wed,’ Marigold said guilelessly. ‘But they share a bed all the same, and I know zackly what goes on between ’em when they’m abed, ’cause I often used to hear me mom and dad at it when we was all abed in the Sultan. They’m proper wed at least, though, me mom and dad,’ she added, to set the matter straight. ‘But the way I see it, you don’t have to be proper wed to do such things. It ain’t as if marriage is some sort of key what opens a lock to that sort of thing.’

  ‘You don’t go to church, I suppose, Marigold?’ he asked, somewhat astonished by the candidness of her response and yet encouraged by it. ‘I mean, it’s obvious you don’t follow the Church’s teaching.’

  ‘Me? Go to church?’ She laughed at the notion. ‘When do I get the chance? The only time I ever went to church was when I was christened, me mom said. What would I know about what the Church learns you? Anyroad, what do I care?’ She paused, pondering Algie’s question before she spoke again. ‘Am you religious, then, Algie?’

  ‘Me?’ he guffawed with exaggerated scorn. ‘I ain’t religious.’

  ‘But you’ve been going to church regular with that Harriet.’

  ‘And never listened to much of it.’

  ‘Too busy whispering sweet nothings into her ear, eh?’ she fished.

  ‘No. I preferred the singing, to tell you the truth … Are you sure you don’t fancy kissing me, Marigold, with my bad lip?’

  Their spooning was seriously impaired by Algie’s poorly lip, but that did not prevent him from endeavouring to see how far Marigold would let him go. Yet he began to feel guilty that perhaps it was too soon in their courtship to expect her to be submissive. She rebuffed his advances repeatedly, but without rebuke, which only served to enhance his esteem of her nature.

  ‘No, Algie,’ she replied firmly, after he’d attempted several times to fondle her breasts. ‘I ain’t a girl like that, to give in to a chap when I ain’t known him that long.’

  ‘But you’ve known me years.’

  ‘Not like that, I ain’t.’

  ‘So how much longer d’you need to know me?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘A week?… Two?… A month?’

  ‘I don’t know, Algie …’

  ‘Don’t you like me enough?’

  ‘Yes, I do … That’s the trouble.’

  He was heartened by her candid admission. ‘But I want you, Marigold.’

  ‘What if I let you go all the way and you put me in the family way—?’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘I just did. And I’ll say it again. I wouldn’t put you in the family way.’

  ‘I was about to say, what if you put me in the family way and then scarpered?’ She looked into his eyes, her sincerity and emotion shining through like beacons. ‘I ain’t sure of you yet, Algie. You might still go back to Harriet, for all I know.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘My dad says you should never say “never”.’

  ‘But I mean it.’

  ‘Well … maybe when I’m sure of you …’

  ‘You can be sure of me now, Marigold.’

  ‘Not yet I can’t.’

  Algie and Marigold did not see each other after that night for several weeks. The Bingham’s haulage work took them serially up and down the Shropshire Union Canal between Cheshire and Wolverhampton and Algie did not know where he would be able to find her. He could have ridden fruitlessly for miles. He would have written her a letter, but even if Marigold could have read it, he would have no idea to where he should address it. So they had parted tenderly with the promise that she would leave a message with his mother again when they next returned to Buckpool.

  Algie’s thoughts were usually with Marigold while she was away. He was well and truly taken, and she a mere boatman’s daughter. Hardly a minute would pass when he did not think longingly about her, aching for the time when she would be in his arms again.

  Meanwhile, he kept himself occupied at night. Sometimes he would meet the chum whom he worked with, Harry Whitehouse, and they would tour the local public houses and assembly rooms. With a bravado that was entirely assumed they would laddishly ogle and talk to any likely females they encountered, but none measured up to Marigold. Other times, he would stay at home designing bicycles, dreaming vainly of the day when he could start his own business manufacturing them. Of course, it was a pipe dream. He did not have the finances, and he knew nothing about the ins and outs of embarking on such a venture. It was the sort of undertaking that should sensibly be shared with a solvent partner who was prepared to stump up some cash and take the attendant financial risk, but finding somebody like that was another matter. So there was little hope of ever accomplishing it.

  One evening, for want of something better to do, he even forced himself to write to Harriet:

  Dear Harriet,

  I thought it was about time I wrote to you to say what I called round your house to say when your father wouldn’t let me see you. I hope that by now the dust has settled and that you don’t think too badly of me, and that you are keeping well, your sisters included.

  The truth is, Harriet, my heart had not been in our courtship for some time, and I believe you sensed it. Priss seemed to, at any rate. It would have been unfair of me to keep you tagging along believing that at some time there would be something at the end of it. You are too decent a person and too loyal to be treated like that and I wanted to talk to you about it even before I met Marigold, my new sweetheart. Somehow I always seemed to lack the courage to get round to saying it.

  I suppose that, because I wasn’t committed enough to you, it was easy to be captivated by another girl. The trouble is, I wanted to tell you all this myself. I didn’t want you to hear it first from somebody else. However you found out, you knew almost as soon as I knew about Marigold myself. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know who told you, but gossip can be a wicked thing. The benefit for you, Harriet, is that you are now well rid of me and free to do as you please. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. So if another young man pops up who you like, well, you’ll be able to go out with him with a clear conscience if he asks you.

  I am only sorry that your father has forbidden us to meet ever again. Despite everything, I would still like to consider you my friend, and I suppose I always will. If ever I see you about, I hope that you will not ignore me because of my actions, which I realise must appear very unseemly to you.

  I remain, therefore, your friend,

  Algernon Stokes.

  During those long weeks, Marigold pondered deeply this unanticipated love affair which had so radically changed her outlook and expectations of life. She seemed to have grown up, almost overnight. She was
no longer the frivolous adolescent girl who ran ahead to the locks as she’d done, even as a child, to help her father, but a woman, with a woman’s feelings. Her love for Algie was earnest, and growing more intense the longer she was away from him. She did not want to lose him, but was fearful that he might lose patience waiting so long, and so seek Harriet’s company again. Harriet was a perpetual concern, somebody Marigold worried about constantly. What if Harriet, eager to welcome Algie back, felt obliged to give in to any sexual demands he might make, just to make sure she held on to him? Such thoughts plagued her incessantly, especially when she went to bed at night. They kept her awake, rousing her jealousy and her anxiety to intolerable heights. It was an unremitting fear, a fear that made her all the more anxious to be with Algie and beat Harriet to it. Consummation of their love was the one factor that she believed had the potential to bind them together irrevocably, totally, both mentally and physically. It was the one single factor which would make sure Harriet Meese was forever shut out of Algie’s thoughts and Algie’s life. And although Algie had implied that that one single factor would at some time be expected in his relationship with Marigold, he had never actually pressed her too hard into feeling that it must happen immediately and at all costs. Whenever she had gently rebuffed his amorous advances, he had never shown any resentment, merely good-humoured resignation.

  Any reluctance had been on her part. Yet it was not a reluctance in the sense that she was unwilling. Oh, she would have been willing enough already. Her uncertainty about Algie had precluded her so far, and she’d told him so honestly. If, when next they met, he was still as keen on her as he had been last time, she would feel much more at ease, much more inclined. They had talked about it, and he had asked her views on whether she felt it was right before marriage. Since then, she had considered everything there was to consider on the subject, and with some preoccupation, including the risks, the shame on her family if she became pregnant, the subsequent worry it would most certainly cause her mother, who had worries of her own without adding to them. She’d anticipated the guilt she might feel doing something which would only collect her mother’s and father’s total disapproval. She’d also pondered the life she could expect if Algie was dishonourable and left her with a child, to a life on the narrowboats with all that it entailed. It was not an arrangement she would wish for. Rather she looked forward already to a life on dry land in a nice warm house with a cosy fireplace … with Algie.

  Yet she had to trust him. For her own peace of mind there was no alternative. She could hardly go through life mistrusting this man she loved so much. It was not that he did not inspire her trust, more that she lacked confidence in her ability to keep him interested, and she was increasingly apprehensive about Harriet in consequence. If she submitted to Algie, she would be doing it out of sheer love and respect for him; to better their relationship; to add a deeper, more understanding dimension to it, to render it more secure.

  Naturally enough, she had no idea of what physical sensations to expect from full-blown lovemaking, but its promise was tantalising. She’d heard other women talk about it from time to time – usually married women – and their comments, whether sincere or boasting, whether guileless or bravado, led her to believe that it must bring some sort of pleasure as yet unimaginable, but intense enough for them to ignore the risks, whatever some might claim.

  She was not too young for that sort of thing, either, especially when she considered that her mother must have been already carrying her at the same age. She was big enough and old enough to bear children, old enough to be married, so certainly old enough to conceive a child. She even knew of girls who’d had babies at sixteen.

  She thought about talking it all over with Algie first, but dismissed the idea. She knew his opinion already. It would be like inviting a hungry man to share a meal with her. In any case, there was nothing he could say that might significantly alter her position. The more she considered it, the clearer it became: it was time to break any hold that Harriet might still have, and achieve it by allowing Algie to make love to her, body and soul. She had already discerned his susceptibility. Besides, the prospect of it thrilled her; she was sure she would enjoy it at least as much as him …

  Chapter 7

  Kate Stokes had quickly fallen into the habit of calling for Harriet and Priss Meese on Wednesday nights so they could arrive together at the Drill Hall for rehearsals. This particular Wednesday towards the end of June was no exception, and Kate tapped on the side door at the top of the entry that led to the Meeses’ house. She was not invited in, however, nor was she likely to be as the sister of that bluebeard Algie, yet neither did Harriet and Priss keep her waiting out of deference to her; after all, she was not Algie, but his sister who had no control, no dominion over him. As they all walked down the entry together, the clickety-tap of their dainty boots echoed off the blue-brick floor.

  They dispensed with the small talk within the first fifty yards and got down to the more serious business of discussing The Forest Princess.

  ‘How are you getting on with your lines, Kate?’ Priss asked.

  ‘Pretty well, I reckon,’ she replied brightly. ‘It’s a big part, but I’m determined to learn the words by heart till I’m sick to death of ’em. I don’t want nobody moaning to Mr Osborne that he should’ve picked somebody with more experience to play Pocahontas.’

  ‘All that archaic language,’ Harriet remarked. ‘All those thees and thous.’

  ‘I know … Still, that’s how they used to talk in the olden days.’

  ‘Even the Redskins, according to whoever wrote the play … What do you think of Mr Osborne as Powhatan?’

  ‘As Pocahontas’s father? I reckon he’ll be all right, ’specially when he’s wearing that feather headdress, and he’s got some o’ that grease paint on to make his fizzog brown.’

  Priss smiled. ‘I think so too … He’s quite a character, you know, is Mr Osborne. So dedicated to the society.’

  ‘You know that Katie Richards who played the lead part in that comedy you did before?’ Kate asked.

  ‘In My First Client, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. She hasn’t spoken to me at all, but I’ve tried to smile at her and that.’

  ‘I suppose she feels a bit put out that you’ve taken the lead role from her,’ Harriet suggested. ‘Not that any of us take for granted that we’re going to get plum parts.’

  ‘Well, it ain’t my fault, is it? I mean, I didn’t ask for it. Mr Osborne asked me.’

  ‘What’s your opinion of Mr Froggatt?’ Harriet enquired falteringly.

  ‘Mr Froggatt?’ Kate looked at Harriet and perceived that she was blushing. ‘Oh, he’s a sweetheart.’

  ‘You like him, do you?’

  ‘I’m glad it’s him playing the part of John Rolfe—’

  ‘The man you marry,’ Harriet added coyly, as if there were some hidden ironical twist to it.

  Kate laughed. ‘I know … Now he’d be a fine catch for you, Harriet. Still unwed, handsome—’

  ‘And excellent prospects …’ Priss remarked typically. ‘The only son of Dr Froggatt. You could certainly do worse for yourself than Dr Froggatt’s son, our Harriet.’

  ‘But it’s foolish of you to think of Mr Froggatt and me in that way, Priss,’ Harriet protested mildly. ‘It’s like comparing us with the princess and the frog, only the other way round. I’m sure he’d be far more interested in Kate.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ queried Kate, affecting surprise.

  ‘I’m sure of it … if he thought you were available.’

  ‘Oh, I’m available.’

  ‘Oh, are you, Kate?’ Harriet sounded surprised. ‘Algie told me not so long ago that you were seeing some chap … Somebody called Hodgetts, I believe he said.’

  ‘Our Algie told you that?’ Kate became suddenly alarmed. If news of her wantonness at the back of the shed had reached Harriet after all … ‘When did he tell you that?’

  ‘Oh, before he … before he becam
e interested in that … that other girl.’

  ‘Well, our Algie was wrong, Harriet,’ Kate said emphatically. ‘And I’ll tell him as much when I get back home. I ain’t tied up with nobody. ’Specially nobody called Hodgetts. I don’t know where he got that daft idea from. Wait till I see him.’

  ‘He was quite concerned for you,’ Harriet persisted, loyally defending Algie. ‘He said he didn’t like him very much. The thing is, Kate, you could have your pick of men, if you don’t mind me saying so, a girl with your looks. It’s why I mentioned Mr Froggatt. He seems to look at you with such great interest.’

  ‘Me? I don’t think so, Harriet. I think you must be mistook.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe so. I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes. How he looks at you when he’s reading the part … And, oh, my goodness, how he held your hand so tellingly in the scene where he proposes to you in front of Powhatan. Even though you were only reading, and not yet acting.’

  ‘Oh, I think he was just trying to get into the mood of the part, Harriet,’ Kate responded dismissively. ‘Anyway, he’ll have a long wait if he thinks I’m going to be interested in him … I could always tell him that you fancy him, though, Harriet. I’d be happy to give your chances a boost.’

  ‘Oh, no, please don’t, Kate. Oh, I beg of you, don’t say anything.’

  ‘Are you sure? I could have sworn I detected some interest in him.’

  ‘Oh, I think he’s very nice, to be sure, but he’s hardly for me …’

  ‘What do you mean, hardly for you?’ pried Priss.

  ‘Well … it wouldn’t be fair on him …’

  ‘Oh? Why on earth not?’

  ‘Because I’m still smarting over Algie, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘Lord knows why,’ Priss remarked disdainfully, and rolled her eyes.

  Harriet shrugged. ‘It’s easy for you to scoff, Priss, but losing him has hurt me far more than ever I thought it could.’

  ‘Good gracious, Harriet!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘You really do surprise me.’