by Nancy Carson
‘I reckon Harriet Meese would suit him better,’ Kate continued. ‘She’s more of a lady than me. More up his street.’
‘Oh, she’s a decent young woman is Harriet, and no mistake. I reckon your Algie will live to regret passing her over, ha?’
‘How long you been a widower, Mr Osborne?’ Kate enquired, changing tack.
‘Nigh on three years now.’
‘D’you think you’ll ever get wed again?’
‘Me? I doubt it. Who in their right mind would have me?’
‘I reckon you’d be a good catch,’ she said brightly, deliberately to flatter him.
He grinned. ‘You reckon so, ha?’
‘Well, you can’t be short of a shilling or two.’
‘Nor am I,’ he said with a deep belly laugh at Kate’s forthrightness, which he found a refreshing change from the constricting piety of some women from his own generation. ‘But I wouldn’t get hitched to a woman just ’cause she took a fancy to me, ha? I’d have to tek a fancy to her as well.’
‘Ain’t there nobody you fancy?’
‘Oh, one or two … but none o’ the grim-faced harridans from hereabouts. Women mostly a sight younger than me. Too young to have any truck with me, at any rate.’
‘You never know your luck, Mr Osborne,’ Kate advised. ‘Like I said, you’d be a good catch for somebody.’
‘Mebbe so, mebbe not. Anyroad, I’m content to let things be. I got a maid to do me housework and a cook to feed me. Why should I want to tie meself to somebody else – unless I really took a fancy to her – ha?’
‘How old are you?’ she asked. ‘You can’t be that old.’
‘I’m forty-five.’ He glanced at her in the dimness.
‘About the same age as me dad.’
‘Aye, about the same age as your dad. I used to envy your dad, you know, when he was courting your mother.’
Kate smiled to herself at the candid admission. ‘How many children you got, Mr Osborne?’
‘Two daughters. Both wed. Not that I see much of ’em since their mother died. If I did, they’d only be after money, I daresay. As it happens, they both married well, so that problem don’t arise, ha?’
‘It must be grand to have a dad with plenty money,’ Kate mused. ‘My dad ain’t got two ha’pennies to scratch his backside with.’
Murdoch roared. ‘I shouldn’t think he needs any for a wily daughter like you. If anybody’s capable o’ getting on in life without help from her father, I reckon it’s you, Kate Stokes, ha?’
They soon arrived at the bridge over the canal. Murdoch stayed the horse while Kate alighted and, with a cheery wave, she disappeared with a patter of dainty footsteps into the darkness.
Marigold lay in the cross-bed of the butty that night with her younger sister Rose, her mind full of Algie Stokes and what they had shared so tenderly. She was finding it difficult to sleep, reliving over and over in her mind the dreamy hours they’d spent together that evening. She was entirely content that she had given herself to Algie. In return, he had loved her considerately, gently, and she had felt closer to him afterwards than she had ever felt towards anybody in her whole life before. Well, now the deed was done. She was no longer a virgin, no longer a young girl, but a woman. And she was not sorry. Virginity mattered not one jot to Marigold.
Besides, she had to exude much more appeal than that Harriet Meese, whom she still considered her deadly rival. And what better way? Sex had to be the surest magnet. Marigold was certain that she had gone far beyond what Harriet would have allowed, and she was right. She had given Algie what he wanted. With the promise of more, he was less likely to drift back to Harriet’s stricter, meaner embraces.
She was, however, a little disappointed with the physical aspect of love-making. If that’s all there was to it, then she failed to see what all the fuss was about. It had been over before she had really got into the swing of things, but it had been pleasant enough once the initial sting had subsided to show some promise; pleasant enough at any rate for her to fancy a repeat. And that would be tomorrow night, provided they could get offloaded at Kidderminster in time to moor up at the Bottle and Glass again.
Chapter 8
Dear Algie,
Thank you very much for your letter. I was so glad to receive it, and to read your version of events at first hand. Yes, it is a pity that I heard about your dallying with this girl called Marigold from a source I am honour bound not to reveal. I can understand how the alacrity of gossip beat you into second place when it came to appearing in person to tell me, and the frustration it might have caused. I am sure I do not have to tell you how hurt and shocked I was. I do know, of course, that you called to see me, and I am sorry that my father did not allow me to speak with you.
As I say, it was all a dreadful shock to me. I had hardly expected it, since you had given me no inkling at all that you were so discontented. I suppose there is a lesson there, that we can sometimes be complacent in our affairs and just drift along, believing all is well when patently, in your case at any rate, it was not. I personally would have been content to continue as we were, but your own sensitivity obviously deemed it necessary that I be released into the fearful marriage market, when I’m not entirely sure that I ever want marriage anyway, nor the children and the attendant responsibilities that must inevitably ensue. In that respect, maybe you jumped too rapidly to conclusions about what I wished for my future. So, if marriage and children are things that you eventually want, then it might well be for the best that our affair is ended.
Of course, I shall deem it a privilege to remain your friend, Algie. I have never harboured anything but affection and respect for you. So if we see each other out and about someday, then I shall be happy to acknowledge you and even stop to talk, if circumstances permit.
I am pleased to report that your sister Kate is doing splendidly well in the Amateur Dramatics Society’s next offering, and I believe you will be surprised and delighted once you eventually come to see her perform when The Forest Princess is staged at the end of October and beginning of November.
I remain, your friend always,
Harriet Meese
The Drill Hall was buzzing with greetings and conversation as members of the Brierley Hill Amateur Dramatics Society assembled for their weekly rehearsal. Kate, Priss and Harriet had been discussing men in general and Algie Stokes in particular, as they ambled to join the rest of the cast. Marriage had cropped up in their conversation and differing points of view inevitably followed about the duties of a wife, which caused some laughter and some controversy between them. The discussion continued, amid the increasingly voluble chatter of the others.
‘But why should a wife have a duty to adapt to her husband rather than a husband adapt to his wife?’ Priss asked truculently.
‘Maybe it’s ’cause us women are more adaptable,’ Kate suggested.
‘And less important,’ Harriet added. ‘Somebody has to give way in an argument, Priss, and that somebody is nearly always the wife.’
‘I fail to see why.’
‘So do I,’ said Kate, changing her allegiance.
‘I merely perceive it as the rule,’ Harriet explained. ‘As far as I can see, exceptions to the rule don’t make for happiness on either side. I merely try to see things as they are, and order my life accordingly.’
‘Which is why you allowed Algie Stokes to walk all over you,’ Priss scoffed.
‘He didn’t walk all over me,’ Harriet replied indignantly, glancing at the subject’s sister Kate. ‘I merely adapted myself to him.’
‘I’d like to meet the man who could make me adapt myself to him,’ proclaimed Priss.
‘So should I,’ Harriet countered. ‘He might make you a happier woman … But whether you would make him a happier man is another matter.’
Priss chuckled at that, prepared to willingly suffer a joke at her own expense, and Kate laughed too. Kate had some sympathy with both points of view.
Clarence Froggatt sidled up
to them, placing himself between Priss and Kate. He offered a jovial good evening to each and asked if it was possible to share the joke.
‘I don’t think you would appreciate it, Mr Froggatt,’ Priss declared, still laughing.
‘But rest assured, you are not the butt of it,’ Harriet was careful to explain, to spare him any embarrassment.
‘I’m glad to hear it … So, are we all prepared for a faultless rehearsal?’
‘A faultless stage performance would be a first, let alone a preliminary rehearsal,’ said Priss. ‘I believe you expect too much too soon, Mr Froggatt.’
‘Better to live in hope, I always say.’ He leaned towards Kate, and spoke quietly into her ear. ‘May I have a word?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘What about?’
Clarence addressed the Meese sisters. ‘Would you excuse us a moment, ladies?’ he said apologetically, and detached Kate from the trio. ‘I just wonder if you will allow me to drive you home afterwards, Miss Stokes.’
‘Drive, did you say?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled nervously. ‘I borrowed my father’s dogcart so as to get here more quickly … I would’ve been late otherwise, you see.’ He smiled pleasantly. ‘I thought I would make the most of it and ask you before Mr Osborne had the chance. Unless, of course—’
‘Thank you. That would be very nice.’ Kate was smiling sweetly. ‘But didn’t you escort the Meese girls home last week?’
‘Oh, indeed I did. But that surely doesn’t mean, does it, that I’ve set a precedent which I have to abide by for eternity?’
She smiled radiantly. ‘No, I reckon not. Although they might be disappointed. Or one of them at any rate.’
‘They are both charming girls, and good company …’
‘And you might get yourself a reputation as a Romeo.’ She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. ‘I understand that even Miss Katie Richards used to be sweet on you.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Never mind. Anyway, I’m not trying to push you away, Mr Froggatt,’ Kate asserted with a warm smile. ‘Nor push the Meese girls’ interests either. I’m very happy to accept your offer of a lift.’
‘I’m happy to hear you say so, Miss Stokes. My only hope is that Mr Osborne will not think me a Romeo in usurping his position as the conveyor home of the company’s precious forest princess.’
‘Why should he? He has no prior claim.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so either, but I’m glad to hear it confirmed, all the same.’
Kate smiled demurely as Murdoch Osborne then called the gathering to order.
‘I hope we’ve all memorised our lines by now,’ he declared, ‘’Cause I’d like us to stand and begin to act our parts. If anybody isn’t sure of their lines, then Miss Bennett will prompt.’ He smiled patronisingly at Miss Bennett, a squarely built, middle-aged woman with an enormous mouth, who nodded her acknowledgement. ‘Let’s begin at page eighty where I, Powhatan, have given a belt to Dale, who has handed me the peace treaty in return.’ The actors all began turning over pages hurriedly. ‘We’ll take it from the “Flourish of trumpets” … Doo-doo-to-doo,’ he sang, trying to imitate a fanfare, to everybody’s amusement. ‘Mr Casey … you are Hunt, are you not?’ Casey replied that he was. ‘Then speak … He evidently needs a prompt, Miss Bennett. Would you?’
Miss Bennett looked at Mr Casey and prompted, ‘Now hear me … ’
‘Now hear me,’ Casey responded with a grateful nod to his prompter. ‘If this peace ye cherish, there is a way to make it endure. This youthful pair, thrown together by Providence, have looked into each other’s heart and seen the same fond characters in each …’ Clarence glanced at Kate, their eyes met, and exchanged a very private smile. ‘Let Powhatan wed his forest princess unto young Master Rolfe, and in that marriage strife will breathe its final breath.’
‘This gives me happiness I dared not hope for,’ quoted Clarence. ‘What does Virginia’s king reply?’
Murdoch spoke, as Powhatan: ‘The pale-face is brave and young. He saved my daughter’s life when the panther was about to strike. But he will take my daughter away, to his wigwam across the sea … Pocahontas clings fondly to Powhatan,’ Murdoch Osborne added, looking at Kate expectantly. ‘It’s a stage direction, Kate … Cling fondly to me …’
Kate stepped forward and put her arms around Murdoch and he reciprocated by holding her around the waist, rather tightly, she thought. He continued his lines, still attached to Pocahontas. As Powhatan he gave his consent that Pocahontas could wed the pale-face, so Clarence, as the character Rolfe, duly advanced to Kate, who freed herself from Murdoch’s enthusiastic embrace.
Kate looked into Clarence’s eyes kittenishly and he was uncertain whether she was acting or not. If it was pure acting, it was very convincing. ‘Stranger, Pocahontas will be thy wife.’ She laid her hand on Clarence’s.
‘I don’t quite know what to make of Kate Stokes,’ Harriet remarked in a half whisper, as she and Priss left the Drill Hall. ‘She gave me the impression that she wasn’t at all keen on Clarence Froggatt. I even believed that she might step aside for me if I’d wanted her to, but after their little performance tonight she was quick enough to clamber onto his dogcart as soon as they stepped outside.’
‘Like a bitch on heat,’ replied Priss disdainfully. ‘She tries to put on a demure face, but deep down I wonder whether it’s all an act. Considering she’s never performed before in a drama, she does it well enough. Which makes me believe she must be a natural … Maybe a natural liar, for that’s what acting is, after all … lying.’
‘Maybe she’s one of those conceited girls who always imagines that every man they meet is in love with them,’ Harriet said, ‘and they can scorn all but the finest, knowing full well there will be one finer still just around the corner.’
‘And well she might,’ Priss answered, ‘with her looks.’
‘That would explain her devil-may-care attitude to him at first. But beauty is only skin deep, Priss.’
‘And so say all of us … all of us plain girls, that is.’ She uttered a little laugh of irony. ‘But from a man’s perspective, I rather suspect not. Girls with pretty faces and flawless skin are the be-all and end-all from a man’s point of view. That’s why I have no beau, Harriet, and it’s why Algernon Stokes has forsaken you. It’s why Clarence Froggatt has taken Kate home tonight and not walked with us as he did last week.’
‘Maybe he didn’t find us entertaining enough,’ Harriet suggested, in defence of her looks.
‘No, Harriet. It’s because you weren’t at the front of the queue when they were handing out pretty faces … And nor was I. Let’s be realistic.’
Harriet sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she conceded pensively. ‘And yet it seems a bit demeaning to write ourselves down as gargoyles when our figures are truly statuesque.’
‘I hope you don’t mind a bit of a gallop,’ Clarence Froggatt asked Kate Stokes over the clatter of wheels.
She held on to her bonnet defiantly lest the breeze take it, her ribbons flaring out behind her. With her other hand she was clinging to the handrail of the dogcart for fear of being thrown off as she was jolted about. ‘No, I don’t mind going fast,’ she replied with a grin of exhilaration. ‘It’s a change. I’d like it better, though, if we could see where we was going.’ She was referring to the darkness of the unlit street down which they were hurtling.
‘I’m sure the horse can see.’
‘’Tis to be hoped.’
‘Whoa!’ he yelled to the horse, realising he was perhaps frightening his prize passenger. The animal settled down to a steady trot.
‘I really don’t mind going fast,’ she repeated, not wishing to be considered delicate, like some girls she could think of. ‘In fact, I quite like it. My mother would die, though. She was scared by a runaway horse in the dark one night. Ever since then she’s refused to go out at night.’
‘I must remember not to offer your mother a l
ift … How far are we from your house?’
‘Not far now. I’ll tell you when to stop.’
‘So did Mr Osborne offer to drive you home?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him and grinned. ‘I told him as you’d offered though, and that I’d accepted.’
‘I bet he was put out.’
‘Why should he be? He didn’t show no signs at any rate.’
‘Well … judging by the way he was clinging to you during rehearsal.’
‘You mean before he agreed Rolfe and Pocahontas should be wed?’
‘Yes. Didn’t you notice?’
‘It did cross my mind,’ she answered modestly.
He turned to her and smiled. ‘There you are then, you see.’ Her eyes were reflecting the light of the dogcart’s lamps and he thought she looked like an angel. ‘I always knew he had a keen eye for a pretty face. Who asked you to join the Little Theatre in the first place, Kate? Him?’
‘I heard about it first from the Meese girls.’
‘The Meese girls?’
‘My brother used to court Harriet. Harriet asked him to ask me.’
‘Harriet and your brother were courting?’ He sounded inordinately interested.
She nodded.
‘I wonder if I know your brother …’
‘You might. You’re of an age, I reckon. His name’s Algernon …’
‘Oh, Algie Stokes. Of course. Yes, I know Algie. Your brother, is he? Well, I never. I should have made the connection. I haven’t seen him for years. Not since I left that school we were at when we were kids. How is he?’
‘Horrible … I hate him …’
‘With a sisterly zeal,’ Clarence remarked, amused.
‘You can stop there, Clarence.’ She pointed to the bridge just ahead and he pulled the horse to a halt before it.
‘Why don’t you call me Clarry?’
She smiled. ‘If you like … I live just beyond the bridge alongside the cut … Clarry.’
‘Handy for that public house.’