The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

‘I surprise myself, Kate. He wrote to me, you know, apologising for not being straight with me sooner.’

  ‘He wrote?’ Kate queried. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘As I say, it was just an apology. I ought to reply soon.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Priss said. ‘After the deceitful way he treated you.’

  ‘But there’s no reason why we shouldn’t still be friends, Priss. I like Algie. He’s basically very decent …’ She turned to Kate. ‘So what’s he been doing lately? Seeing his new lady friend, I imagine.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s seen her for weeks. She hasn’t been our way at all lately, as I know to.’

  ‘Maybe it’s all over with her then?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say. He don’t tell me his secrets. But I wouldn’t trouble myself over him, if I was you. He ain’t worth it. I told you … And the best way to get over one love affair is to get started with another. It’s better than any poultice, you know.’

  Harriet smiled demurely.

  They arrived at the Drill Hall and entered. The Little Theatre group was a mix of all the social classes, people with a shared interest in being involved, in however small a way, for the satisfaction it gave them. Seats had been set in a circle in the middle of the room, and several were occupied already by an assortment of women, some not so fashionably dressed, others in tight-bodiced costumes and the latest in toques and bonnets. Harriet, Priss and Kate sat down and said good evening to those already seated. Murdoch Osborne was standing by the stove, talking to the assembled males of the group and Katie Richards. Presently, Clarence Froggatt, well-dressed in a smart jacket and a necktie, arrived and made his way at once to the three girls.

  ‘Good evening, Pocahontas,’ he greeted, beaming with abundant good humour. ‘Good evening, Miss Alice. Good evening, Miss Anne.’

  ‘Good evening, Mr Rolfe,’ Kate answered for all three, likewise using his character name, while Harriet blushed decorously and averted her eyes.

  ‘Learned our lines yet, have we?’ He looked from one to the other expectantly.

  ‘I’ve been working hard learning mine,’ said Kate.

  ‘Splendid. Maybe we should attempt a first run through without the script, you and I at any rate, Miss Stokes.’

  ‘If you like, Mr Froggatt.’ She smiled at him, more coquettishly than previously, after hearing Harriet’s observations of his apparent regard for her. ‘But I would’ve thought that was up to Mr Osborne.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be delighted that we’re both being so conscientious, I’m sure.’

  More of the players arrived and eventually Murdoch Osborne called them all to order. Accordingly, the men drifted towards the vacant seats within the circle.

  ‘Miss Stokes says she’d like to go through the play without the aid of her script, Mr Osborne,’ Froggatt announced, glancing at Kate for her approval. ‘Is that all right by you? I’ll endeavour to do likewise.’

  ‘Learnt your parts already, ha?’ said Murdoch. ‘Well, let’s hear it then. Let’s see if you can get through it without referring to the scripts. I’ll be pleased as Punch if you can.’

  So they began running through the play. Some received coaching from Mr Osborne as to how they should express their lines, including Kate and Clarence Froggatt. Kate felt herself blush as Clarence harkened to Murdoch Osborne and gave greater expression to Rolfe’s admission of love for Pocahontas.

  ‘You’ve just got rid of your comrades and you’re thinking aloud about her, as you’ve been left to keep watch over that part of the forest,’ Murdoch directed, interrupting Rolfe’s flow. ‘But you ain’t seen Pocahontas yet, remember. All you know about her is what you’ve been told, and that she saved the life of Captain Smith. Try it again.’

  Clarence Froggatt cleared his throat. ‘How I wish I could catch sight of her. Such a gentle maid would be much pleasanter acquaintance in these wilds than yon rough comrades. I am already half in love with this forest maid for saving my friend Smith … ’ He glanced at Kate hoping for some unfeigned reaction, watched closely by Harriet. But Kate’s eyes were in her lap.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Murdoch said with approval. ‘Now … you see a panther stalking his prey and you follow it. Suddenly, you spot a Red Indian girl reclining under a tree and you realise the panther is about to attack her. You begin to tremble at the responsibility that befalls you … Carry on …’

  ‘Beneath the shade of yon tree a Red Indian girl reclines. I’ll nearer steal … Is she the panther’s prey? Yes, there he is, crouching low, unseen.’ He pretends he is levelling a gun. ‘Heaven nerve my arm!… Well shot! The brute is down, the maid unhurt … She comes this way.’

  ‘Aye, that’s passable for now,’ Murdoch claimed with a nod to Froggatt. He turned to Kate. ‘Right-ho, then, Pocahontas. What have you got to say to this pale-faced stranger who just saved your life?’

  Pocahontas looked at Rolfe with contrived coyness. ‘So thou art the stranger whom the forest maid must thank. Within yon shady nook where she a moment sat to rest, a panther lies dead. One instant more, without thy aid, and it is she who would have been the dead one. How shall the forest maid thank the stranger?’

  ‘Nay, no thanks, sweet maid. It is enough to have saved thee. Mention it no more … May I ask thy name?’

  ‘Matoka is my name. The tribes of this land, which your people call Virginia, know me as Pocahontas …’

  ‘Well spoken, both,’ Murdoch Osborne remarked with an amiable smile.

  They continued their reading. At each attempt the company’s confidence grew, the meaning they put into the words became more earnest, and the whole play more believable. At the end of it, Murdoch Osborne took Kate to one side.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift home in the gig, Kate. I should hate anything to happen to our leading lady for want of seeing her home safe. It’s a rough part of Brierley Hill you have to walk through, and there’s no lamps to speak of.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Osborne,’ Kate replied. ‘But you needn’t trouble yourself. I’ll come to no harm. I normally walk part of the way with Harriet and Priss Meese.’

  ‘Listen, it’s no trouble. I’d rather I took you than not.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Just give us the nod when you’re ready.’

  She was about to return to the company of Harriet and Priss, who had moved towards the door to make their exit, when Clarence Froggatt approached her.

  ‘Kate, would you allow me to walk you home?’

  ‘Stone me if there isn’t a sudden outbreak of gallantry hereabouts,’ she exclaimed dryly. ‘I’ve just accepted Mr Osborne’s offer to drop me off in his gig. Save my legs, it will.’

  ‘Oh,’ Clarence said, disappointment manifest in his eyes. ‘That’s very thoughtful of him. I can offer you nothing as grand as a gig. Merely Shanks’s pony. Another time, maybe?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Kate smiled sweetly. ‘In the meantime, Clarence, my friend Harriet Meese might appreciate your company if you’re going her way. She could do with an escort.’

  ‘But won’t her sister be with her?’

  ‘Two for the price of one, eh? Maybe your luck’s in, Clarence …’

  That same evening in June, Algie Stokes had returned home from work to the news that Marigold had called, and that the Binghams would be moored up in the basin at the Bottle and Glass. Before even he had his tea, he hurried to their narrowboats, full of excitement, to cast his eyes over her lovely face again and to arrange to see her later.

  He was enchanted, and it showed. Marigold, too, was suddenly on top of the world after all the nagging doubts she’d harboured; doubts which she now recognised were stupid and unreasonable. Algie still loved her, and she felt uplifted, relieved, ecstatic. It was obvious he did, else he would not be so happy and so keen to see her. She made an effort to look her best for him when he returned after he’d eaten and, when she smiled, affection oozed from her clear blue eyes.

  ‘You look nice,’ Algi
e remarked as she stepped off the gunwale of the narrowboat to be with him.

  ‘Do I?’ she said, needing his reassurance.

  ‘You look nice enough to eat.’

  ‘I want to look nice for you, Algie.’

  ‘Well, you do,’ he confirmed.

  ‘It’s lucky the weather’s been so fair, don’t you think?… And I’m glad to see your poorly lip’s mended.’

  He grinned waggishly, aware of what she meant. ‘Yes, it’s very serviceable now, I reckon.’

  They headed, with an unspoken accord, in the direction of the secluded dell close to Dadford’s Bridge. There, they might have expected to find at least one more courting couple, but again they were alone and sat down on the grass, hidden from the rest of the world in their own private little hollow, surrounded and hidden by gorse bushes and the steep, grassy knoll behind them. Algie took off his jacket, rolled it up and laid it on the ground behind them.

  ‘Rest your head on my coat, eh?’

  She did as she was bid and smiled up at him adoringly. He lay beside her, his head propped up on his arm, looking at her lovely face.

  ‘I’ve missed you such a lot, Algie,’ she whispered softly. ‘I was thinking about you nearly all the time I was away.’

  Touched by her openness, he bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I missed you as well, my little flower.’

  ‘We kept getting loads up to Cheshire and back. It seemed as if I was never going to see you again.’

  ‘Well, you’re here now.’

  ‘Have you really missed me?’ she asked earnestly, delaying receipt of another kiss.

  ‘Yes … I really have.’

  ‘And you ain’t snuck off to see Harriet?’

  ‘No, never,’ he protested sincerely. ‘I promised I wouldn’t, and I haven’t. She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. She doesn’t interest me. I thought you understood that.’

  She lifted her face to his and her kiss was an apology for making the suggestion. ‘I just have to be sure, Algie. You must’ve guessed by now that I can be a bit jealous … Besides,’ she added wistfully, ‘I was away so long …’

  ‘You don’t have to be jealous, Marigold,’ he said with evident concern for her feelings. ‘There’s nothing to be jealous about. I told you I’d wait for you. And I have. I’ll always wait for you. I promise.’

  She smiled, her anxiety dispelled. ‘Kiss me again, Algie. Long and gentle this time. A butterfly kiss. I always think of your gentle kisses as “butterfly kisses”.’

  He obliged her, lingering, tenderly savouring her sweet lips.

  ‘I’ve been dying to come down here with you again, Algie.’

  ‘Honest?’

  ‘Honest.’ She snuggled up to him contentedly, her head resting on his shoulder, relishing his arms around her.

  A certain rigidity inside his trousers, unruly as ever, was insisting on more adequate accommodation, and he shifted his position to relieve the discomfort. He thrust his knee tentatively between hers, and she allowed it. Her long skirt was a frustrating barrier between them, but still he could feel the tantalising warmth of her thighs caressing his. He kissed her again, more ardently this time. His tongue probed her mouth while he held her small backside and pressed himself against her.

  ‘I want you, Marigold,’ he sighed heavily. ‘I want to go all the way with you.’

  ‘So it seems, by the feel of that thing against me belly,’ she replied, feigning disregard, even though she enjoyed the sensation and her heart was pounding like a drum because of it.

  ‘I suppose you don’t want to?’

  ‘Why do we have to talk about it, Algie? It spoils it all, talking about it.’

  ‘Would it spoil it if I were to tell you I love you?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s easy to say as much just to get your way,’ she said challengingly. ‘You have to mean it.’

  ‘I do mean it. I missed you like hell while you was away. I was thinking about you all the time.’ She melted in his arms at this admission, and he hugged her. ‘If only I’d known where to find you …’ He lifted her chin and planted another kiss on her lips. ‘I’d have been there, believe me. Like a shot from a gun.’

  ‘I think I’ll always love you, you know, Algie,’ she said dreamily. ‘I thought about it a lot while we was up and down the cut.’

  He took that as an invitation to undo the buttons of her blouse.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said, feigning surprise, but with no indignation.

  ‘Undoing your buttons.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘’Cause I want to feel your titties.’

  ‘Well, you won’t feel them proper through my chemise … Let me loosen it first.’ She undid the buttons at the side of her skirt, slackening it, then pulled her chemise up above her waist. ‘There …’

  His breathing came heavier. He placed his hand on her bare stomach and the smoothness and tautness of her skin astonished him. Gently, he explored higher and reached one cool, silky breast. It was the first time he had ever felt a girl’s breast like this, and he gave it an experimental squeeze. To his amazement it returned immediately to its original delightful contours as soon as he relaxed his gentle grip. To make sure it was not a unique phenomenon, he repeated the experiment with the other.

  ‘They’re so smooth,’ he whispered, his voice a tight thread of emotion. ‘They’re ever so nice to feel, even though they ain’t that big.’

  ‘I think they’re plenty big enough, Algie,’ she replied, smiling to herself at his candidness. Then, feeling the need to be rewarded with a show of affection for allowing him unfettered access to her breasts, said, ‘Kiss me, Algie. Another butterfly kiss.’

  He was entirely content to kiss her again, and did so more passionately. While he was working her lips he wondered what it might be like kissing these delightful breasts, and pulled up her chemise a little further before nuzzling each in turn. To his astonishment, her small pink nipples hardened in response to his moist caresses.

  ‘Oh, that’s ever so nice, Algie,’ Marigold sighed.

  He was encouraged and, deeming it his bounden duty to venture south in the interests of seeking even greater mutual pleasure, took a handful of skirt and pulled the hem up above her knees. When his fingers ventured through the elasticated leg hole of her long drawers and found the soft, warm flesh of her thighs there, he thought his chest would burst with the intensifying pounding of his heart.

  He returned to her mouth, plying her lips with gentle little bites and kisses, while he located the slit in her drawers and thereby gained access to the warm mound of hair secreted within.

  ‘Oh, Algie …’ Her whimper was a mix of anxious resignation and pleasant expectation, but not discouragement. Certainly not discouragement.

  He caressed the soft, moist place between her legs with the greatest care and devotion. This was a moment he had only ever tried to imagine before; to be allowed such extreme liberties by a girl he really loved and admired. But the reality far exceeded the capability of his imagination. He was actually touching, feeling a girl … there … in this, the most mystical, the most privileged, the most private of places. It was a landmark in his life. It would be a landmark in the life of any young man – the first such extraordinary intimacy … Surely, it could only lead to that ultimate familiarity which he had always feared was going to elude him. Without doubt, this was a red letter day. He found it difficult to control his trembling at the electrifying prospect.

  To add to his private elation, he encountered no resistance from Marigold, only complicity. After all her teasing last time they met, she seemed as anxious as him after all to fulfil what must have since become a mutual wish.

  She in turn, was convinced of Algie’s love. With this wondrous shared experience of total commitment to draw on, further doubts would not plague her next time they were apart.

  Algie reluctantly removed his hand from the split in her drawers. But it was necessary in order to progress to the nex
t stage and unfasten his fly. His trapped and aching manhood sprung free, like a jack-in-the-box released, while she virtuously avoided sight of it. Breathing heavily again, and feeling as nervous as he’d ever felt in his life, he rolled on top of her and guided himself back to the place he had just vacated. She parted her legs a little wider in anticipation, closing her eyes as she felt him press against her for entry.

  ‘Oh, Algie …’ The girlish tremor in her voice betrayed her nervousness, but she resigned herself to the inevitable outcome, welcoming it.

  After an abortive series of gentle pushes, he confessed with frustrated inadequacy, ‘I can’t get him in, Marigold.’

  ‘You ain’t lined up right, I s’pose,’ she whispered tenderly.

  ‘Help me then. Guide him in.’

  ‘It’s like steering a narrowboat into a lock, ain’t it?’ She gave a little giggle to hide her embarrassment. ‘It only just fits and you’ve only got a little opening to aim at.’ She held him, and he felt her cool fingers gently embrace him as she carefully guided him into her, raising her knees and her backside to make his entry easier. ‘There,’ she breathed, suppressing a little cry of pain; pain she had expected, pain which she was prepared to endure in her willing submission to this man she loved with all her heart.

  ‘Well, Kate, this’ll save your shoe leather and no mistake, ha?’ Murdoch Osborne said, as they rode in his gig down Moor Lane’s incline towards Buckpool.

  ‘I said something of the sort to Mr Froggatt when he asked if he could walk me home,’ Kate replied.

  ‘He asked to walk you home, did he? He must have his eye on you, Kate. Still, who can blame him, ha?’

  ‘I said he should go with Harriet Meese and her sister instead.’

  Murdoch guffawed. ‘Any wench would be glad to be took home by Clarence Froggatt, I would’ve thought. He’s a smart enough young chap. I got a feeling that Miss Katie Richards was keen on him an’ all at one time.’

  ‘Katie Richards might still be, Mr Osborne, and she can have him for all I care. I better like chaps a bit older. He’s only about the same age as our Algie, and he’s as green as a cabbage.’

  Murdoch laughed again. ‘You’re a canny wench, and no two ways, young Kate.’ He flicked the reins and the horse broke into a steady trot.