The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Sorry for her?’ He looked at her questioningly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Having had no schooling.’

  Algie laughed aloud. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for Marigold just because she can’t read a newssheet or the latest novel. What’s she missing, after all? What you have to remember, Harriet, is that she ain’t tainted or influenced by all that stuff. She’s natural and unspoilt, and she’s a delight because of it. She’s just pure Marigold. You’d like her, I know you would.’

  ‘I’m sure I would,’ she replied, knowing perfectly well that she would despise the waif, for that was how she imagined her. ‘But, on the other hand, you can’t write to her or she write to you, which would be a boon since you don’t see each other very often.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Algie admitted.

  They were walking through Round Oak by this time. On their left was the railway station, on their right the massive ironworks belonging to the renowned Earl of Dudley. Columns of smoke belched forth, accompanied by the clatter, the smells, the dross and the mullock of heavy industry and the Great Western Railway, all assaulting their senses.

  They discussed at length the forthcoming play and whether Algie and his parents would be going along to the town hall to see it. Kate, Harriet unstintingly reported, was dazzling in the role of Pocahontas, and would be the talk of Brierley Hill for months to come. This in turn switched the conversation to her liaison with Clarence Froggatt.

  They were walking less than a foot apart now along the drive of Holly Hall House, the home of the Sampsons, and their boots crunched the gravel beneath their feet. A pair of carriage lamps, set either side of the impressive front door, flared a welcome and lit their way towards the front steps. Bright lights glared from within, also spilling out onto the driveway, throwing into relief the parallel wheel tracks of a carriage.

  ‘Do you know if Kate and Clarence are seriously contemplating marriage?’ Harriet enquired conversationally.

  ‘Not if he’s got any sense.’

  ‘Oh? What makes you say that?’

  ‘Marry our Kate?’ Algie scoffed. ‘He’d want his head looking at.’

  ‘She’s not so bad as you make her out to be, Algie. She’s my friend now. I like her enormously.’

  ‘The world is full of surprises, Harriet. You’re chalk and cheese, you two.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I realise we’re quite different. But that, I think, could be the reason we are such good friends.’

  ‘Yes, they say opposites attract,’ he remarked obscurely, as he rang the door bell.

  Chapter 12

  A maid answered the door of Holly Hall House and stood back to let Algie and Harriet in. Algie seemed to quake with apprehension as he stood on the threshold. This could be the moment when his dreams became a reality. He ushered Harriet in before him. There was the sound of a piano playing gentle music. Algie was not aware what the music was, but it seemed to have a tranquillising effect on him. He looked around. The impressive square hall, gas lit, held a sweeping staircase, a dresser and an ancient grandfather clock, its long pendulum sedately, heavily measuring time.

  The servant, a girl about the same age as Harriet, bowed her head deferentially.

  ‘Shall I take your mantle and bonnet, miss?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Harriet said, unfastening both while the maid waited.

  The girl tossed Harriet’s cloak over her arm. ‘Your coat, sir?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Algie echoed self-consciously, unused to such lavish attention.

  As soon as Harriet’s mantle was off, Algie noticed her dress, how it accentuated her more refined figure, and his eyes almost popped out of his head. Her bosom looked so inviting in the flesh, a sight he’d never before had the privilege to behold.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Sampson are in the drawing room,’ the maid said. ‘If you’d like to come this way …’

  ‘I like your dress, Harriet,’ Algie felt compelled to say in an aside as they followed the maid. ‘A bit of a bobby-dazzler tonight, aren’t you?’

  She turned to him and smiled graciously, pleased to receive his compliment, and noticed the impish look in his eye. ‘I’m aware that I might have been hiding my light under a bushel, as you might say.’ Secretly she thanked Kate for advising her to wear it.

  The maid opened a door to the right and, as the sumptuous drawing room was revealed, the piano playing stopped. The room was filled with elegant furniture, and the walls were bedecked with a rich red flock wallpaper in swirling arabesques. Gilt-framed mirrors, and oil paintings of stags standing noble and proud against the Scottish Highlands, hung from a picture rail that traversed each wall. Another grandfather clock stood in one corner. Several highly decorated vases were dotted around, each overflowing with fresh blooms, and a whatnot in another corner bore an aspidistra. On the mantelpiece over the marble fireplace with its rich swags, sat an ornate marble shelf clock, flanked on either side by shining brass candelabra. Red velvet drapes hung at the windows, and an elaborate arrangement of four gas ceiling lights, fizzing softly, provided ample illumination.

  But Algie was oblivious to this domestic extravagance, for the woman he had just cast his eyes upon, about to leave the piano, was a domestic extravagance more in his appreciation. She was compellingly beautiful, and her presence before him at once shattered his contentedness and turned his world upside down. Till that moment he had believed his life to be ordered, uncomplicated; he had looked forward to a future of contentment with Marigold. This woman, however, was so heartbreakingly desirable. She was also the wife of his gaffer; legally, consummately, sovereignly unattainable. Fate was so cruel, so ruthless, so unthinking by tormenting him with such unparalleled loveliness.

  Benjamin Sampson smiled, and stood to greet them …

  And so did she.

  ‘Algie …’ Algie heard his name, spoken amiably by Benjamin as if they had been close friends for years. He was barely conscious of their handshake, heedless of anything bar the vision before him. ‘And this must be your sweetheart.’

  ‘Oh, no, I’m just Harriet Meese,’ he heard Harriet say.

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Meese. But let’s agree to use first names, shall we? I’m Benjamin, and this is Aurelia, my wife … Aurelia … Harriet Meese … and Algie Stokes.’

  Algie was blinded by Mrs Sampson’s azure gaze, held like a rabbit mesmerised by a bright light. She stood before him expectantly, a welcoming smile on her face, her eyes full upon him. Their clarity made him catch his breath, their softness staggered him, and Algie trembled in their sapphire radiance. In that one enchanting look he glimpsed heaven and hell. In that single, unforgettable moment he witnessed the height of human aspiration and the depth of despair. Beholding such beauty enraptured him, but her unattainability was a downright torment. She was way beyond him in every respect.

  Yet no other woman in the world could compare.

  ‘Thank you indeed for coming,’ Aurelia chimed, and her tone was warm and sincere. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you …’

  As they shook, the feel of her hand, so cool and soft, thrilled Algie to the core. His eyes devoured the sweet curve of her mouth as she spoke to him; a mouth so delicately moulded, so obviously formed for the pure pleasure of kissing.

  ‘I’ve been hearing something of your ideas for making bikes,’ the vision said, easily. ‘It all sounds very exciting.’

  It seemed to him that she was of another world, another time, some other plane of existence of which he was not a part, that he was seeing her remotely through some ethereal telescope which rendered her unreachable. She was so astonishingly young as well – younger than himself – and so stunning that his tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he could offer no more than an awkward smile in response.

  ‘I take it you walked here,’ she suggested to Harriet, for she seemed to be getting no response from Algie.

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s not far. I only live on Brierley Hill High Street, and Algie lives at Buckpool.’

  �
��Oh, Buckpool?’

  ‘Yes, Buckpool,’ he answered inadequately.

  ‘You know, Algie,’ Benjamin said matily, ‘you might think about building a bicycle made for two, eh?’ and laughed at his own little joke. ‘Don’t you think that would be a good idea? Get the woman to help with the pedalling? A problem shared is a problem halved, you know … Think about it, eh?… What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Do you have lemonade?’ Harriet said.

  ‘Of course. And you, Algie?’

  Algie was just then beginning to notice what Aurelia was wearing. She had on a plain, blue chiffon dress that matched her eyes superbly, and seemed to complement the lush dark brown of her hair, so elegantly swept up from the nape of her neck and piled up on her head in a swirling mass of feminine curls. An image of Marigold in her muslin frock, which had impressed him all summer with its simple femininity, leapt to mind, but by comparison with Aurelia’s it seemed rustic. Her chiffon bodice was buttoned demurely up to her throat, where a blue and white cameo brooch was fastened, but her breasts tantalisingly nudged the material of her bodice with every breath she took.

  ‘What would you like to drink, Algie?’ Benjamin repeated.

  He managed to divert his gaze away from Aurelia. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re drinking, Mr Sampson.’

  ‘It’s dry sherry, and I’m Benjamin tonight, Algie, remember. Not Mr Sampson. Didn’t you hear what I said about first names?’ He smiled magnanimously. ‘The same goes for all of us. Sit down, Harriet. You, as well, Algie.’

  Algie nodded.

  ‘Would you like to sit on this sofa with me?’ Aurelia suggested, and he willingly assented.

  Benjamin seated Harriet next to himself on the opposite sofa, rang for the maid and offered his cigarettes, which everybody declined. He lit one for himself.

  The maid entered and he requested drinks for his guests. ‘Leave the bottles there when you’ve poured ’em, Mary. We’ll help ourselves.’

  Mary handed out the drinks, bobbed a curtsey and left them.

  ‘How long have you been married?’ Harriet enquired, her question directed at Aurelia.

  ‘Nearly three years.’ Aurelia glanced at her husband as if seeking his permission to say more, but he was not looking at her, his eyes were lowered, furtively glancing at Harriet’s diverting cleavage. ‘I have a little boy, coming two years old.’

  Algie felt a deep twinge of agony as Aurelia plunged the knife of despair deeper into his heart and twisted it. Already she had a child …

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ Harriet cooed. ‘What’s his name?’

  Aurelia smiled proudly. ‘Benjamin. After his father, and his grandfather before him.’

  ‘Is he like his father?’

  ‘More like his mother at present, I’d say,’ Benjamin declared. ‘And about as soft.’ He drew on his cigarette, turned to Algie and blew smoke down his nostrils in two parallel gusts. ‘Aurelia is turning my son into the biggest softy imaginable. Lord knows what she’ll do when we send him packing off to boarding school.’

  ‘It will break my heart,’ Aurelia said softly.

  Algie felt like clasping her to him to shield such a sensitive soul from the emotional terrors of the wicked world. ‘I wouldn’t put you through that,’ he heard himself say quietly, and his heart lurched when he noticed her warm smile, intended only for him, in response.

  ‘Then you’re as soft as she is,’ Benjamin guffawed. ‘You can’t be soft with sons, you know, Algie. Course, you’re not a father yourself yet, so you’re hardly likely to know. But let me tell you – a child can have too much of his mother’s softness. Sons have to be brought up in a way that prepares ’em suitably for the rough and tumble of the world we live in, whatever their station.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re quite right,’ Harriet said amenably. ‘All the same, I can see Aurelia’s point of view. I would hate to be parted from a little child of mine even for a few days. Providing I’m ever fortunate enough to be blessed with children.’

  ‘Oh, children are all right so long as you keep them in their place,’ Benjamin proclaimed archly. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’

  They talked on, switching from one subject to another, until they were led into the dining room and took their places on mahogany chairs upholstered in red velvet, at the beautifully laid table. The fire grate was low and brilliantly blackleaded. Above it, a tall mirror had been installed, which emphasised the room’s height. The top of a mahogany sideboard was taken up with a dessert service, ornaments and unused table decorations. And there were more flowers.

  Mary served the soup. It was hare, Aurelia announced, and Algie waited to see how his host and hostess set about consuming it before he committed himself to doing the wrong thing.

  Benjamin said, ‘This idea of making bicycles, Algie …’

  Algie was studying the soft skin and slender fingers of Aurelia’s hands, wishing the bright gold band she wore on her wedding finger was his, before he looked up expectantly in response to Benjamin’s words.

  ‘I reckon it could be viable, and that we should have a go, but on a limited scale at first, to test the water, so to speak.’

  Algie beamed, glancing at Aurelia, who met his admiring look with a smile of encouragement.

  ‘I propose to put you in overall charge of the manufacturing side, Algie. It’ll be a big responsibility. First, I intend to start a new draughtsman who’s got the engineering knowledge and skill to convert your designs – your designs, Algie, mark you – into workable engineering drawings. We’ll need jigs and fixtures made, based on these drawings. While all that’s going on, I want you to sort out that welding process you mentioned.’ He took a slurp of soup.

  ‘Resistance welding,’ Algie prompted.

  ‘Aye, that.’ Benjamin dabbed his mouth with his table napkin. ‘Get to the bottom of it, Algie. Do some digging and delving. Find out which companies can offer us the tackle we need to do it, and what it’s gunna cost. We shall need some sort of enamelling facility an’ all, since we can’t despatch the machines without first painting ’em. As you said, we’ll have to source wheels as well, till we learn how to make ’em ourselves. And them new-fangled tyres that you pump up with wind.’

  ‘Pneumatic tyres.’

  ‘Aye, pneumatic tyres … That’s something else I’ll want you to look at.’

  ‘Shall you want me to do this while I’m still working on bedheads?’

  ‘Good Lord, no.’ Benjamin laughed, and Algie felt stupid for having asked it. ‘You’ll be too busy for that. I’ll transfer you to the offices. You’ll have your own office, Algie … Close to mine.’

  ‘My own office!’ He grinned with delight at Harriet.

  Harriet regarded him proudly. Aurelia pushed her half-consumed soup away from her and listened quietly, glancing from one to the other from time to time and smiling indulgently.

  ‘O’ course, one of the things we shall have to do quick is assess the potential market. We’ll need to appoint a network of wholesalers. That’ll involve a fair amount of travelling up and down the length and breadth of the country. That will be up to me, Algie, to travel, to seek out good, reliable wholesalers and get ’em signed up accordingly. Even abroad, maybe, since it would be my intention to export what we make. Everybody else does.’

  ‘You have it all mapped out,’ Algie commented familiarly, and was delighted to see that Aurelia considered the comment with approval enough to warrant another generous smile. ‘When d’you want me to start on all this work?’

  ‘Let’s say from the beginning of November – the first Monday, eh? In the meantime, I’ll have you an office whitewashed, and a decent desk and chair found.’

  Algie smiled with satisfaction at the prospect. This is how he would make his name. ‘You said we should come to an … an arrangement to our … our mutual benefit,’ he said hesitantly, not wishing to push his luck too far, but anxious for some appropriate financial consideration for all the effort he was being expected to put in.
And this was as good a time as any to broach the subject.

  ‘You mean money.’

  ‘Yes … But not just money.’

  ‘What d’you have in mind, Algie? A seat on the board?’

  Benjamin was mocking him, and Algie reddened, for he could never aspire to that. ‘No, Mr Sampson,’ he said, ridiculing the notion with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Course not.’

  ‘Nor would you get one. My mother and me are the only company directors, although it’s just me that gets involved with the day-to-day running of the business.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I—’

  ‘Having said that, Algie, if things go well there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed eventually to buy shares in the firm,’ he went on more amenably. ‘And your wages would reflect your new status. But let’s not count our chickens afore they’re hatched, eh? There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip. Nor was Rome built in a day.’

  ‘But if a job’s worth doing it’s worth doing well,’ Algie felt justified in saying. It was obviously socially acceptable to bandy about hackneyed proverbs so indiscriminately, as Benjamin often did.

  ‘Well,’ chimed in Aurelia, with a mischievous grin that made her blue eyes sparkle, ‘if you don’t, it’ll be no good crying over spilt milk afterwards.’

  Harriet subdued the inclination to burst out laughing. She realised that Benjamin had not tried to be clever or even amusing rattling off so many sayings consecutively; they simply fell from his lips unheeded. He was too uncultured to comprehend that what he was saying was unoriginal, just so long as it conveyed his meaning. She felt an inclination to riposte with ‘a still tongue makes a wise head’, but decided to heed her own advice and say nothing.

  ‘So what about money, Mr Sampson?’

  ‘I don’t discuss money over the dinner table, Algie,’ Benjamin said flatly. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

  Benjamin kept his own counsel thereafter, at least during the first remove, content to let his guests and his wife have their conversational heads while he sank the wine.

  ‘So forgive me for asking, Harriet,’ Aurelia said, after some minutes of small talk, ‘Are you and Algie engaged? Or what?’