The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Oh, definitely or what,’ Harriet chirped, to Aurelia’s amusement. ‘We used to step out together, until … But we remain friends.’ She looked at Algie, smiled with mild embarrassment, and then reverted her gaze to her dinner plate and the well-done roast beef that Mary had served so unobtrusively.

  Aurelia put down her crystal goblet after taking a sip of wine. ‘But Algie seems to be an ideal candidate for marriage,’ she suggested with an interested glance in his direction. ‘He seems so homely and comfortable.’

  ‘So is bread pudding, and flannel petticoats,’ Harriet responded.

  Aurelia giggled deliciously. ‘But so handsome, too. What a pity you are neither of you in love.’

  Benjamin rolled his eyes but kept silent.

  ‘Oh, I’m not even sure that Algie is capable of falling in love, Aurelia. He is so matter-of-fact, if you know what I mean. So unromantic.’

  ‘Is that true, Algie? I’d be very surprised …’

  ‘No. I think Harriet has a tainted view of me.’

  ‘Is your view tainted, Harriet?’

  ‘I think not. I am a realist, if nothing else, and I think I know him as well as anybody.’

  ‘I don’t think you do,’ he answered defensively.

  Aurelia turned to Algie once again. ‘So do you think you’ll ever marry?’

  ‘Do you mean, will I marry Harriet, or marry anybody?’ he asked, unsure of her meaning.

  ‘Oh, he’ll marry right enough,’ Harriet butted in. ‘A sweet homely girl who darns his socks while he talks to her about building bicycles and the price of pneumatic tyres.’ She smiled to show that she bore no ill-will. ‘He’ll believe he is making love to her with all this small talk and, what’s more, she’ll very likely believe it too. Until a prettier face comes along to divert him from his domestic bliss.’

  Algie recognised the truth of Harriet’s perception and glanced at Aurelia to gauge her reaction as he took a sip of the fine Bordeaux his hosts had provided, but which he could hardly appreciate.

  ‘Is that true, Algie?’

  ‘At heart I’m a very loyal person,’ he answered. ‘I’m not swayed just by a pretty face, although a pretty face helps. There are other qualities I like in girls.’

  ‘Money, for instance?’ Harriet suggested provocatively.

  ‘Yes, if a very pretty girl came along with plenty of money, I could be tempted,’ he said unapologetically. ‘I am single, after all, Harriet. I’m still free to pick and choose.’

  ‘Don’t fall into the trap, Algie, of thinking money can make you happy,’ Aurelia said, with all the callowness of one who has never known what it is to be without, yet with all the sincerity of one who knows the truth of her own words from experience.

  That comment made Algie think. Maybe Aurelia was not happy, surrounded as she was by the trappings of wealth. Something else he realised at that moment: he had not seen or heard Benjamin speak to her directly. All the time he and Harriet had been in their company, the man had spoken to him and to Harriet, but he had not once addressed Aurelia. Maybe something was amiss in this marriage of theirs.

  ‘Tell me, Algie,’ Aurelia said with an earnest expression. ‘Have you ever fallen in love?’

  ‘I really believe I have,’ he answered with reckless ambiguity, and looked into Aurelia’s eyes with such burning intensity that she had to avert hers. He noticed her blush. He believed she had caught his meaning. But she had asked for it, and he had no qualms about letting her know it.

  Despite the wine, or because of it, Algie felt himself redden at his foolhardy admission and had to avoid her eyes momentarily. He glanced at Benjamin, whose head was down over his plate as he tucked into his dinner and swigged more wine, still content to let the others make their own conversation.

  ‘What about you, Harriet?’ Aurelia persisted. ‘Have you ever fallen in love?’

  ‘Oh, I think I fell in love with Algie,’ she answered candidly. ‘But I just can’t be sure. I wish I could be.’

  ‘There’s no mistaking the feeling,’ Aurelia proclaimed. ‘If you say you can’t be sure, then you haven’t. Falling in love is like nothing else this side of heaven, especially when it’s reciprocated.’

  Well, maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was happy in her marriage after all. She would hardly speak so openly of love in front of her husband if she did not love him and he was aware of it.

  ‘Oh, I’ve known girls get lit up like a hollowed-out turnip with a candle inside,’ Harriet said flippantly. ‘Just because some man or other said something flattering. It just seems a bit silly to me to get yourself worked up into a stew over a man. Oh, I’ve done it myself, I know I have, but I’m still not convinced it was love that caused it. More likely my injured pride at being cast aside. I’ve known myself go to pieces like a linen button through a mangle just because somebody—’ she glanced at Algie, ‘—did the inevitable and preferred a girl with a prettier face than my own.’

  ‘Was it you, Algie, who caused Harriet such distress?’ Aurelia sounded disappointed.

  ‘She makes it sound like it. But we were never betrothed, Harriet and me, nor ever likely to be.’

  ‘So you don’t have a current sweetheart then?’

  ‘Yes, I have a sweetheart,’ he replied.

  ‘So how come she’s not here with you this evening, instead of Harriet?’

  ‘Because she … Well, because she’s away at present … She goes away quite a lot. And because Harriet and I are still friends, she agreed to come here with me tonight in her place.’

  ‘You don’t mind being a stand-in then, Harriet?’

  ‘As Algie says, we remain friends, although we don’t see each other often these days.’

  ‘And shall you tell your absent sweetheart that you have been here tonight with Harriet?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied honestly. ‘I haven’t thought about it yet.’

  ‘I think honesty is pref—’

  ‘I say,’ Benjamin chimed in indignantly. ‘Do we have to put poor Algie on the rack just because he preferred somebody else to Harriet here? Every Jack has his Jill.’

  ‘We’re not putting Algie on any rack,’ Aurelia bit back. ‘As a bachelor, he is perfectly entitled to step out with whomever he wants. I was only trying to establish in my own mind the relationship between him and Harriet.’

  ‘And now that you have – so blatantly – even though it’s none of your damned business – why don’t you change the subject? Your talk of love is so … so tedious, Aurelia … Now … Algie and I have something more important to talk about.’

  ‘Then Harriet and I will retire to the drawing room, Benjamin,’ Aurelia said obediently, and rose gracefully from her chair. Algie was irritated and embarrassed for her over the way Benjamin had spoken, belittling her. Yet she retained her dignity and he watched with longing the feminine sway of her hips as she left the room behind Harriet.

  Over several glasses of port, Algie and Benjamin talked about the manufacturing of bicycles and everything they imagined it might entail. Benjamin, however, would not be drawn yet on details of remuneration for Algie, other than to say that he could expect an increase in his wages in recognition of the new responsibilities Sampson’s would impose upon him, with a review in three months.

  As they walked back towards Brierley Hill, Harriet said, ‘I hope you didn’t mind my saying what I did about you preferring somebody with a pretty face to me.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mind. It livened up the conversation.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I like Benjamin Sampson. Especially the way he spoke to Aurelia. I thought she was very pleasant though.’

  ‘Yes, so did I.’

  ‘You quite fancied her, Algie. I could tell.’

  ‘Was it that obvious?’

  ‘To me it was. But then, I know you. I know what you’re like. Still, you can’t have her, and that’s a fact … She’s way out of your reach.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’re pleased about that,’ he said grumpily.


  ‘And you not at all.’

  ‘I get the feeling that she isn’t happy, wed to Mr Sampson,’ Algie said, fishing for Harriet’s opinion.

  ‘You mean, you hope she isn’t happy, wed to him.’

  ‘I wish she wasn’t wed to him at all.’

  ‘Even if she wasn’t, Algie, she’d be no nearer you. On the other hand, maybe it’s Mr Sampson that isn’t happy wed to her … Maybe he’s not in love with her. He didn’t seem it.’

  ‘But she’s so damned beautiful! How can he not be in love with her? I’d give my right arm …’

  ‘But that’s typical of you, Algie. Only ever attracted by what you can see. Beauty is only skin deep, you know. He married her for her beauty, I suppose, but that’s just typical of men. Who knows? She might be a very obnoxious person when you get to know her.’

  ‘I can’t believe that. Never in a million years.’

  ‘Then you are a romantic after all, despite everything I said about you earlier.’

  Another couple passed them walking in the opposite direction, and they all bid each other goodnight.

  ‘Do you mind if I take your arm, Algie? I’m a bit unsteady on these cobbles in these boots.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ he said, and offered it.

  ‘Thank you. I’ve seen her before, you know, that Aurelia. I really feel that I ought to know her. It was ages ago, but I can’t place her. I didn’t dare ask her, of course … Was she familiar to you?’

  ‘Never seen her before in my life. But what’s so surprising about that? We only ever see the people who cross our paths at the same time every day, as our own routines dictate. Of all the thousands of folk who live in Brierley Hill, I reckon I’ve only ever seen a fraction of them in all my life … and most of them I’ve forgotten. Look at you—’

  ‘Oh, yes, I realise I’m eminently forgettable.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that, you ninny. I was going to say that I haven’t caught sight of you in, what? Five months? If we’d never met before that, I’d never have known you existed.’

  ‘You still don’t know I exist, Algie.’

  ‘That’s a daft thing to say, Harriet.’

  ‘Is it? Who knows? It might be another five months before I hear from you again.’

  Meanwhile, they were getting perilously close to her home.

  ‘I’d best leave you here,’ she said, ‘for fear I’m seen with you.’

  ‘All right.’ They stopped walking and she let go of his arm reluctantly. ‘Look, Harriet, thanks ever so much for coming with me tonight. It means a lot to me. As you can tell, there’s a lot at stake for me in this bike building thing.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed myself, Algie.’ She stood before him and looked up at him smiling expectantly, the meagre light from the gas street lamps reflected in her eyes. ‘It’s been really lovely seeing you again. I’ve had a jolly good feed, and even a glass of wine, which I shouldn’t have, because it went straight to my head. I should sleep well, anyway.’

  He smiled at her with genuine admiration. Why couldn’t Harriet have been blessed with a beautiful face like Aurelia Sampson, or even Marigold? There again, if she had been – and with her body – she wouldn’t be standing in front of him right now gazing into his eyes waiting for a goodnight kiss. No, she would be like Aurelia; already the wife of some wealthy ironmaster’s son or suchlike who didn’t deserve her, snapped up for her ability to adorn, to be admired, to titillate, to be a submissive and playful bed-partner and bear an unending succession of children.

  ‘Will you mind if I give you a goodnight thank you kiss?’ he enquired, the alcohol clouding his judgement, and with as much passion as if asking a policeman the time.

  ‘Do you need to ask?’

  ‘In view of the way things are, yes. I don’t take such things for granted.’

  ‘How noble of you.’ She swivelled her head to check that nobody was watching them. ‘Then you’d best make it quick while there’s nobody about.’

  He kissed her briefly. ‘Goodnight, Harriet. And thanks again for going with me.’

  ‘Goodnight, Algie. See you sometime. By the way, are you coming to see the play?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘Shall you bring Marigold?’

  ‘Course, if she’s around.’ He smiled. ‘Goodnight, Harriet.’

  Chapter 13

  The following week, on the Saturday dinnertime – it was the 1st of November – Algie returned home from his last day of bedstead making. It was a grey, chilly day and damp. Typical autumn weather. Brown leaves eddied and swirled in the breeze as he rode his bicycle to the lock at the rear of the house. He was hungry. He’d not eaten since he’d got up and, because he had been late getting up, he’d had no time to prepare any snap. So, he’d had to do without. He carried his bike across the lock gate and left it in the shed before he entered the house by the back door.

  Clara, her arms dusted in flour, was rolling out pastry on the scullery table. Sliced apples, which occupied a basin, were destined to become the contents of several pies. Algie sidled up to his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Apple pie, eh? Where’d you get the apples from?’

  ‘I’d got some stored in the cellar. There’s still some left. We ought to make some cider one of these days, save them going to waste.’

  ‘I don’t mind helping my dad do it,’ Algie said, hanging his cap on the nail that had been hammered into the door for that very purpose.

  ‘Your dad’s poorly, our Algie.’

  ‘Poorly?’ Algie frowned with concern. ‘I didn’t know he was poorly. What’s up with him?’

  ‘Bad pains in his belly. He’s been ailing the last couple of days. Now he’s feeling sick.’

  ‘Something he ate, I suppose.’

  ‘He’s only eaten the same as the rest of us, what bit he’s had, and none of us are poorly. He hasn’t been to work neither, and that’s unlike him. He’s still abed.’

  ‘I’ll go up and see him, Mother. Should I take him a cup of tea?’

  ‘He’d like that. The kettle’s boiled. Just swill out the teapot and brew a fresh pot. I wouldn’t mind a cup myself, our Algie.’

  Algie took off his coat, and hung it on the nail under his cap, then set about making a pot of tea while his mother distributed evenly the slices of apple into the pastry-lined plate before her.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Marigold today?’ he queried, spooning tea leaves into the crock teapot.

  ‘Marigold? I haven’t seen any of the Binghams. Missing her, are you?’

  ‘It’s been more than a fortnight since I saw her last. They must be due down this way soon, I’d have thought. I was hoping it’d be this weekend. It’s just that I bought a ticket for her to go to see the play tonight, thinking she might be here.’ He poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘Still, if she don’t come, I’ll take you instead, eh, Mother?’ He looked at Clara, hoping for her tentative agreement.

  ‘Me? Oh, it’s a nice thought, our Algie, but you know very well I shan’t want to walk up to the town again tonight, especially when I’ll already have been there this afternoon.’

  ‘Even though your only daughter is playing the lead role?’

  ‘Oh, our Kate’ll manage well enough without me there. She won’t be expecting me to go.’

  ‘I’ll go to the town for you, if you want some errands running.’

  ‘Would you, our Algie?’ She smiled her gratitude.

  ‘Course … If you’ll go to the play.’

  ‘Bless you. But I don’t particularly want to leave your dad, anyway, him being so off the hooks.’

  ‘Just tell me what to get, and I’ll get it,’ he said, exasperated that he couldn’t get her to leave the house, irked that she couldn’t seem to get over her ancient fright with the runaway horse and cart all those years ago. Yet her excuse to stay home and look after his father was perfectly valid.

  Clara reeled off a list of groceries and household goods she wanted while she plac
ed the top layer of pastry over the fruit. As he listened, making a mental note, Algie gave the tea a stir and covered the pot with their knitted tea cosy that had been singed many times due to its proximity to the fire.

  ‘Have you seen our Kate this morning?’ he asked eventually. ‘I wondered how the first night of the play went.’

  Clara held the pie up to eye level and trimmed off the overhanging pastry with a knife. ‘A bit of a touchy subject, I think.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘I think she and Clarence have had a row. She said he’s been funny with her lately and it’s affected the play’s love scenes. He kept looking at her funny, she said. I think it put her off her lines.’

  ‘Lord, that means we’ll all have to suffer,’ Algie said ruefully. ‘She’s miserable enough, without things like that to make her even worse.’

  ‘Well, maybe they’ll make it up with one another.’

  ‘Let’s hope not. Clarence is better off without her, if only he knew it … I’ll pour the tea and take one up for my dad.’

  Algie went upstairs and into his parents’ bedroom. It was cold in there. Already it seemed that autumn’s dampness had penetrated through the walls. Will Stokes was lying huddled beneath the blankets, his hair awry. He stirred as Algie greeted him.

  ‘Feeling a bit better, Dad?’ he said chirpily.

  ‘I feel lousy, Son,’ Will groaned, his voice weak. ‘Me guts feel as if they’m on fire.’

  Algie saw how pale and drawn his father looked. He looked a hundred years old. ‘I brought you a cup o’ tea.’ He placed it carefully on the bedside table beside Will.

  ‘Ta, my son,’ Will said piteously. ‘I’ll try and drink it in a minute.’

  ‘Shall I light you a fire, Dad? It’s cold in here.’ He hunched his shoulders to emphasise the point.

  ‘No, don’t bother. We need to be thrifty with the coal now winter’s a-nigh. Besides, I’m sweating like a pit-bank hoss as it is.’ Will raised himself on one elbow and picked up the cup. He took a token sip then lay down again.

  ‘Is there anything you want me to do, Dad? Any jobs you want doing on the cut?’