by Nancy Carson
‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘Collect them from my house. But I do it for my own convenience, Stokes, not yours. And please don’t expect to see me.’
‘You flatter yourself, Mr Sampson, if you imagine that I’d want to. I’ve seen enough of you to last me a lifetime. You pinched my ideas, my design and my method of building bikes, then pretended it was all your own work and treated me as if I never existed. Well, let me assure you, Mr bloody Sampson, that I do exist, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if one of these days you’ll begin to believe it.’ He turned his back on Benjamin in resentment and returned to his workbench to pick up his things. As he made his way out, past his old gaffer who was watching incensed, Algie added, ‘My wages, Mr Sampson.’ He wagged his forefinger goadingly. ‘I’ll collect them this afternoon, as arranged. Be sure they’re ready and waiting … in full.’
‘Be sure,’ Mr Sampson retorted angrily, ‘that if need be – if you create a fuss – I shall report you to the police.’
Aurelia had overheard her husband’s instructions to the maid to hand over an envelope to Mr Stokes, who was expected to collect it later.
As soon as Benjamin was out of the way she sought the maid. ‘I’ll hand that packet to Mr Stokes when he comes, Mary,’ she said. ‘There’s also a message I have to give him.’
‘Very well, ma’am,’ said Mary. ‘But Mr Sampson said I wasn’t to let him come in the house.’
Aurelia smiled. ‘That’s all right. I shall abide by Mr Sampson’s wishes.’
Shortly after half past three Algie rode up the drive on his bicycle and rang the bell. He was surprised, but gratified to see Aurelia answer the door. At once she stepped outside, away from the house.
‘I’m to give you this,’ she whispered, showing him the envelope, ‘but I’m not to let you in the house. What on earth has happened?’
‘I’ve been sacked,’ he replied with a shrug.
‘Sacked?’ Her face bore a look of alarm. ‘Does he know anything?’
He shook his head to reassure her. ‘No, but a lot has happened, Aurelia. I need time to explain.’
She took his arm and, glancing behind her, urged him to the side of the house where they could not be overlooked or overheard. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, speaking low.
He explained briefly about exposing Murdoch and his sister and how he and his mother had subsequently left the house and since found rented accommodation.
‘Which puts our escaping to another town together in a totally different light,’ she whispered, with disappointment manifest in her eyes.
‘I suppose so,’ he admitted.
‘Oh, Algie, I just long to get away now we’ve talked about it,’ she sighed, shivering in the cold air. ‘And I’ve almost got him to agree to a separation. We are so close to being able to fulfil our dream. But your mother would not welcome me into the same house, married to another man as I am.’
‘To say the least of it,’ he agreed sadly. ‘She’s seen enough of infidelity to last her a lifetime. And I couldn’t leave her. Not yet at any rate. Not until she’s had time to get over everything that’s happened. I couldn’t desert her yet, Aurelia. You do understand, don’t you?’
‘Of course, I understand,’ she said, full of sympathy for him.
‘Well, don’t do anything rash in the meantime that might jeopardise your situation here,’ he advised. ‘You and Benjie still need a roof over your heads.’
‘If the worst comes to the worst we should be able to take refuge elsewhere.’
‘It’d be as well if you did. Do you have relatives?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Because this setback might plague us for some time yet. You do see, don’t you, Aurelia, that I can’t forsake my mother?’
‘Of course,’ she said again, and touched his hand briefly in reassurance. ‘I understand perfectly. The poor woman. My heart bleeds for her.’
‘And I have to find work. In the meantime, you can write to me if you want, at number twelve, Abberley Street, Dudley. If ever he’s going to be away, write and let me know and we can meet at the usual place.’
She smiled, all her affection oozing from her eyes. ‘Let’s hope and pray it can be soon.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ His hand lingered on hers as she handed him the envelope containing his wages.
‘You’d better go now, my love. If Benjamin knows you have arrived he’ll be watching for you. I don’t wish to compromise myself quite yet, do I?’
‘No, we’re not ready for that. But don’t forget to write.’
‘Oh, be sure that I shall write, Algie,’ she answered tenderly. ‘Twelve, Abberley Street.’
Towards the end of February there was a let-up in the weather and the temperature rose a little. The ice began to lose its formidable grip, freeing up at last the lakes, the ponds and the canals, to the relief of all. The Binghams, along with all the other trapped boat people, were able to continue their journeys and recommence working. Marigold had enjoyed her temporary employment in the warmth of the bakehouse in Rugby, where Mr Fairfax, the owner, had been extraordinarily kind. Every day he handed her not only the promised loaf of bread, but a bagful of fancy cakes and egg custards as well, most of which were broken and unsaleable, but eminently edible, and it was the thought that counted. The little she earned was a significant help to the rest of her family, and lessened the hardship of those bitterly cold, frustrating days and nights trapped in the ice at Willoughby Wharf. Marigold was not sorry, though, to be giving up her early morning walk into Rugby in the frost and darkness of that cruel winter. Returning to the narrowboats late afternoon wasn’t so bad though; she could take the train, which stopped at Willoughby Station, close to where the Sultan and the Odyssey were stuck fast.
Her belly was growing inexorably by this time and there was no hiding her pregnancy. Mr Fairfax could hardly fail to notice, and was concerned that a girl so vulnerable might have fallen victim to male abuse. He questioned her about it one day just before she left.
‘Do my eyes deceive me, young Marigold, or are you carrying a child?’ he said with no hint of condemnation in his voice. ‘I’ve been wondering for some time now, and meaning to ask you. I hope you don’t mind me being so blunt.’
‘Course not, Mr Fairfax. It shows too much to deny it anymore, don’t it?’ she answered with a grin, and felt herself blush. ‘Course I’m a-carrying, Mr Fairfax.’
‘Yet you’re not married either? What happened to the fellow who got you in that pickle?’
‘Oh, he’ll be waiting for me, I hope, Mr Fairfax. Because we’ve been stuck in the ice with no hope o’ getting out, I ain’t been able to see him and get wed yet. He lives at Brierley Hill, see. I ain’t seen him since November, and he don’t even know as I’m in the family way. He’ll have such a shock …’ she chuckled as she imagined Algie’s surprise. ‘But we intended to get wed anyroad, Mr Fairfax, sooner or later. I reckon it’ll just be sooner. As soon as I can get back to him.’
‘Then let’s hope you manage it before the little blighter’s born, eh?’
‘Well,’ she replied brightly, ‘now the weather’s letting up a bit, we should be on the move any day. Who knows, we might be heading Brierley Hill way afore too long. In any case, me mother says I’m to go away for me confinement. She says a narrowboat’s no place for a laying-in, and she should know, having had a few herself. In any case, we couldn’t afford to stop, even if I was in labour, so it’s best that I goes away for a bit.’
Mr Fairfax smiled sympathetically. ‘So when’s the baby due?’
Marigold shrugged. ‘I ain’t really sure, to tell you the truth. I thought it might be sometime in May, but I ain’t really sure. It might even be sooner.’
‘A spring baby anyway, eh?’
She nodded and smiled. ‘With the summer to look forward to. I hope we have a summer like last summer,’ she said dreamily. ‘Last summer was lovely …’
Algie Stokes was out looking for work in Brierley Hill when he
happened upon Harriet Meese and her sister Priss walking along High Street in the direction of their father’s drapery and mourning wear emporium. He was glad to see them and stopped to pass the time of day.
‘Algie,’ Harriet greeted. ‘What a lovely surprise. Seems like a century at least since I’ve seen you. Are you well?’
‘Pretty well, thanks. And yourselves?’ He looked from one to the other of the sisters.
‘It’s so long since you’ve been to see us after my father forgave you for jilting me, that I meant to send you a map with our house marked on it in red ink.’
‘I haven’t felt much like paying social calls, Harriet,’ he replied glumly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit otherwise occupied, as you might say.’
‘For goodness sake, don’t make excuses,’ Priss said, opening her mouth for the first time. ‘If you wanted to come and see our Harriet you’d come, and if you didn’t you wouldn’t. You don’t have to make bland excuses. It’s hardly one of the seven deadly sins. Merely a matter of preference.’
‘Preference has nothing to do with it, Priss,’ Algie countered. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see Harriet. But in any case, I hear she’s still stepping out with Clarence Froggatt.’
‘I know. Still. It’s amazing, isn’t it? I do believe Mr Froggatt’s quite taken with our Harriet.’
‘I still say Harriet’s too good for him. Anyway, what about you, Priss? Have you been proposed to yet?’ Algie enquired flippantly.
‘She’s gone off the curate,’ Harriet said, with a mischievous glance at her older sister. ‘I believe she’s taken with that young Mr Tapper, who’s taken over the apothecary’s shop.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, he raised his hat to her the other Saturday and she blushed to her roots.’
‘It was nothing to do with Mr Tapper raising his hat, Harriet,’ Priss objected indignantly. ‘I was hot from walking. It heightened my colour.’
‘But she wasn’t walking, Algie. We were standing looking in his window talking about the parish flower rota and, only a minute before, I’d remarked on how pale she looked. I was about to suggest that maybe Mr Tapper could recommend something for her when he passed through the door and raised his hat. Suddenly she was the colour of a beetroot.’
‘Thank you, dear sister, but “rose” would have been a much preferred expression to describe my delicate colouring.’
‘So what of you, Algie?’ Harriet enquired. ‘Have you heard from your little rose of the waterways yet?’
‘Not a word. I’ve really given up all hope. She’s forgotten all about me by now. I’ve moved on. Between me, you and the gatepost, we’ve all moved on. Literally … The whole family.’
‘Do tell us,’ Harriet said.
‘Well, you know my mother married Murdoch Osborne …’
At once their ears pricked up, and Algie duly related the scurrilous events that had led up to him and his mother leaving Murdoch’s house to find accommodation elsewhere. As the story unfolded, Harriet and Priss stood listening with open-mouthed incredulity, their faces like two gargoyles hanging off the side of an ancient church.
‘There’s been a desperate shortage lately of good quality gossip,’ Priss replied crisply. ‘But that rather takes the biscuit. A little more to it than the usual nonsense that we have to embellish to make more interesting.’
‘But that’s dreadful,’ Harriet commented, with perfect understatement. ‘Mind you, Algie, I always imagined there was something rebellious about your sister Kate.’
‘And that horrible Murdoch Osborne,’ Priss scoffed. ‘You know, Algie, I’m not a bit surprised that he lost his silly head to your sister. The way he looked at her was always very suspicious to my mind.’
‘He’d lose his head to anything in a skirt,’ Harriet replied scornfully. ‘According to Clarence anyway. Did you know Clarence used to be engaged to Murdoch’s elder daughter?’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And you know who that daughter is, Algie?’
‘Who?’ he asked, feigning ignorance.
‘Why, no less a person than Aurelia Sampson. That girl you fell in love with on sight so irrevocably. The wife of—’
‘Yes, I know whose wife she is, Harriet. I happen to remember her very well.’
‘And very fondly, no doubt.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Very fondly.’
‘But how futile to fall in love with a married woman,’ Priss suggested with ample disdain. ‘I mean, dancing a Roger de Coverley with a married woman at a party is one thing, especially if you secretly fancy her, but allowing yourself to fall in love with her is quite another. Only heartache can come of that.’
‘Is Mr Tapper the apothecary married?’ Algie fenced.
‘I hope not,’ Priss replied. ‘Else I should be as guilty as you of fancying a married person.’
‘So you admit you fancy him,’ Harriet declared with glee. ‘Oh, our Priss! How sweet.’
‘For all the good it will do me, I suppose. Men just don’t fancy me.’
‘Oh, Priss,’ Harriet said, full of sisterly sympathy. ‘Lots of men fancy you.’
‘Yes, in the same way that they fancy olives. I appreciate I’m an acquired taste.’
‘Well, you have a spicy outside and a heart of stone – not relished by every male.’
‘I don’t like olives,’ Algie said. ‘Not that I’ve ever had many.’
‘So where are you living now, Algie?’ Harriet enquired, reverting to the subject that had been suspended meanwhile.
He told her.
‘Please give your mother my very best wishes, Algie. And I do believe she is well out of it.’
‘So do I, Harriet. Thanks. I’ll tell her. So shall you be going to the next rehearsal?’
‘Oh, yes … I wonder if they’ll be there, Algie? Mr Osborne and your Kate?
Algie shrugged indifferently. ‘Whether or no, folk will find out soon enough about them …’
Chapter 30
March arrived and the days passed in a swirl of blustery winds, which complemented perfectly the savage winter. Algie sought the kind of work which he felt was to his liking, and approached the small bicycle manufacturer in Dudley, James Parkes, but there were no vacancies. That is not to say there was no other employment available; there was in fact plenty, but nothing that took his fancy. So he bided his time, sure that the right job for him would come along sooner or later. Rather sooner than later, though, he would have to plump for something. He had some money put by, enough to keep him and his mother for the time being, but it would not last forever, especially if he had to pay for more erotic evenings at the Eagle Hotel with Aurelia.
It was evident that Benjamin Sampson had not been on his business travels up and down the country, for no letter had arrived from Aurelia. She had his address; he would have thought that she might have written. Aurelia, he felt, had been ominously silent. Perhaps something had happened. Algie grew anxious, worrying that something was wrong. Several times he had ridden past the house on the off-chance that he might see her, but there had been no sign.
He was beginning to question both the wisdom and the futility of this affair, spurred by the comments Priss Meese had made when he stopped to talk to her and Harriet. It made him think, for the first time seriously, about whether he wished to have a broken marriage on his conscience. He wasn’t sure that he wished to be vilified either, which he certainly would be. There was little doubt that he would be regarded as the villain, however noble his intentions towards Aurelia. He would be seen as the one breaking up a family, but she too would be branded a loose woman for being unfaithful to her husband. The gossiping public could not see into the homes in which these unhappy marriages abounded, so they were not privy to the unsavoury truth. They were ignorant of the ignominy that one or other partner sometimes had to suffer, in particular Aurelia. For Algie, it would also mean taking on the extra burden of another man’s child, and he did not honestly know whether he would even take to that child. I
f little Benjie were his own, it would be a different matter.
At the end of the first week in March, the longed-for letter arrived. Algie opened it eagerly and read:
My own darling Algie,
I do hope that you and your poor mother have settled into your new home, and that she has come to terms with those awful, unspeakable events. I have been quite unable to get her off my mind for some time, and I am convinced she should never have married that horribly irresponsible man. I know the worry it caused you, my love, before ever it all blew up, and be assured that my thoughts are with you constantly. My dearest wish is that I could be with you, especially at times like this when I know I could be of comfort to you.
Still Benjamin shows no sign yet of going away on another business trip, which is awfully inconsiderate of him, considering that I long to be in your arms again in our love nest. Something I did not have the chance to tell you, which is entirely relevant, is that when I returned home that snowy night the last time we went there, Benjamin had already arrived home quite unexpectedly, a day early. Naturally, he questioned me as to where I’d been and actually insinuated that I might have been with another man. The very cheek of it! Can you imagine? So I concocted some excuse about having to call on my dressmaker with regard to a query, and as far as I could tell I think he accepted it. However, I think it has planted some seeds of doubt in his mind as to the prudence of leaving me for days and nights on end, just in case I am prone to straying. Prone! I should say I’m prone. If only he knew how much I love you.
His insinuations meant that I had to go on the attack, and I asked him what he would do if I said I had been with another man. He responded that he would strike me. He is such a gentleman, my husband. Straight out of the blue he suggested we separate and naturally enough I was secretly elated, although I tried to appear indifferent. That was just before I saw you all too briefly at our house. I can’t remember whether I told you that, although I do remember telling you that I believed our dream of a life together was now almost entirely tangible. Well, that is the reason why, my love. But ever since then he has been most attentive. Most attentive, I may say! I have not known him like it since the days when he was trying to woo me. Thinking he might have a rival has definitely rekindled his interest in me. I suspect he believes I’m worth nurturing after all, the poor devil.