by Nancy Carson
But I won’t be swayed, Algie, trust and believe me. I am resolved to resist this new crop of promises and this new show of overdone affection. What does melt me, though, is his softened attitude to our son. Whether it is just a ploy to win back my affection I do not know.
But there is another tactic he is using. Yesterday he suggested that we ought to be looking at a bigger and better house, that if we were to enlarge our family (some chance), the extra space and a larger garden would be a boon. For obvious reasons I didn’t show much enthusiasm for the idea. If, ultimately, it is my intention to leave him, as it certainly is, then why should I wish to be troubled by looking at new houses and have all his extra expense on my conscience if he decides to plump for one? I am sure it is just a ploy, however, to divert me.
But don’t worry about me, Algie, my love. If we do decide suddenly on a separation, I have relatives who would doubtless be prepared to take Benjie and me in. I would have to confide to them the state of my marriage, of course, how desperately unhappy I am, and how I fear that my son will be dragged away from me just so that he can attend boarding school. They would be sympathetic, I’m sure.
Please write to me with news of yourself, my darling, for which I wait in earnest. Be assured that it is quite safe to write, since I always get to the post before Benjamin comes down.
I love you always,
Aurelia
If the letter had been written to arouse his jealousy, it had succeeded. He read it again, feeling intensely agitated. What did she mean by ‘ever since then he has been most attentive. Most attentive, I may say!’? Did it mean they had been intimate again? Did it mean Benjamin had forced himself upon her? Or did it mean that he had merely tried? It would be very interesting to know, yet how could he ask her outright? In any case, did he really want to know if the worst had happened? And yet, she had followed it with, ‘But I won’t be swayed, Algie, trust and believe me. I am resolved to resist this new crop of promises and this new show of overdone affection.’ Her reassurance to him. Her reassurance that whatever happened, her love would remain steadfast. The key was in the word resist. If only he could be that certain. Benjamin Sampson was a bully. To outface a bully you had to stand up to him, be stronger than him, morally at least. He prayed Aurelia possessed that strength of will.
And yet … And yet if he turned out to be Aurelia’s half-brother, all this worrying, all this fretting over whether she and her despicable husband were engaging in bedtime activities would be for nothing. Someday soon he must tackle his mother on the question of his parentage. It was essential that he should. But how could he now? The time was not yet ripe. His mother was still too raw for such probing questions into her erstwhile propriety, or lack of it.
Anyway, he replied to Aurelia’s letter. It was a bland missive, deliberately so, if only for fear that Benjamin got to it before she did. Despite her assurances that she always picked up the post before him, he realised the merit in being uncontroversial, and not declaring outright his love. He merely stated that he looked forward to hearing from her again soon. Nor did he sign it with his name; just the letter A.
During the extra time he had on his hands, Algie began to ponder Marigold more. Dear, sweet, unschooled, unpretentious Marigold. How much simpler his life would have been if Marigold had not made herself scarce that fateful night of his father’s death. Although he had admired Aurelia so immensely, he would have been perfectly content with Marigold. Now his life was complicated by this emotional involvement with Aurelia who, to confuse things even more, just happened to be married already, with a small child. Well, he might eventually be content with Aurelia, if she left Benjamin and it could all be done with the minimum of chaos. But he foresaw problems ahead with his mother.
Algie fancied a ride out along the canals to clear his head. He might just be lucky enough to catch sight of the Binghams, now that the ice on the canals was all but gone. If he did not actually see them, somebody might have news of them. So he got on his bike and rode to the canal, getting on the towpath near the Parkhead Viaduct. He passed the pits, the brickworks and the ironworks, wishing that round the next bend he could happen upon them. He imagined Seth Bingham leading their strong little horse, Victoria, as the animal hauled their pair of narrowboats. He imagined Marigold running before them to open the locks early to expedite their passage, Hannah at the tiller on the stern, the smaller children bobbing about on one or both boats, and the lark hopping about in its cage placed near the smoking stovepipe to keep it warm. It was a hard life on the canals, devoid of life’s little luxuries. Yet he had never met a boat family who would order their lives any other way. How wonderful it must be to live a life so uncomplicated, so unfettered. All you had to worry about was what load you would be able to pick up when you had offloaded the one you were carrying now.
He passed plenty of narrowboats on the move, but nobody he knew well enough to enquire about the Binghams. He reached the Bottle and Glass. Time for some refreshment anyway. He went round to the front, leant his bike against the wall and entered the taproom on the left.
‘Good God above!’ Tom Simpson, the landlord, exclaimed at sight of him. ‘Look what the cat’s brought in.’
‘Just passing, Tom, so I thought I’d call in and pay my respects.’
‘Pale ale, is it?’
‘Please.’
Tom Simpson reached for a tankard and began pulling a pint into it. ‘No work today?’ he asked.
‘No job, Tom. I got sacked.’
‘Sacked?’
‘For having too much time off.’
‘Lucky as you can afford it, eh?’ Tom handed Algie his tankard. ‘I heard as your mother got wed again already.’
‘Yes, and separated already. That’s why I had to have the time off, to resettle us.’
‘Separated already?’ Tom blew his lips in shock. ‘How come?’
‘Didn’t work out. Too soon after my father’s death.’ He did not want to say how or why, so took a quaff of beer.
‘I ain’t surprised.’ Tom shook his head. ‘Takes months, if not years, to get over somebody you’ve bin close to most of your life.’
‘Seen anything of the Binghams?’ Algie enquired, setting his tankard down again.
Tom shook his head. ‘A bit soon, maybe. Traffic ain’t long bin on the move. We’ve had one or two up from Coventry and Brum, some from Stourport, and some from beyond Wolverhampton an’ all, but I’ve seen nothing of the Binghams. Lord knows where they might be.’
‘Might still be miles away,’ Algie said with a sigh. ‘So what’s the new lock-keeper like?’
‘What new lock-keeper? There ain’t no new lock-keeper. The cottage as you used to live in is still empty.’
‘There’s still no lock-keeper? After all this time?’
‘Not on this stretch. I wonder you don’t apply for the job yourself, Algie, since you’re out of work. You know the ropes, you know the canal folks. The company would be glad of a strapping young chap like you. Why don’t you apply?’
‘It’s a thought, Tom …’ Algie quaffed his beer thoughtfully, then instantly brightened up. ‘You know, it’s a thought. I’ll see what my mother says. It could be the answer to a good many of our problems.’
News of the indiscretion between Murdoch Osborne and his stepdaughter, a female member of the Brierley Hill Amateur Dramatics Society called Kate Stokes, soon reached the gossip-hungry ears of the general population of Brierley Hill, with devastating consequences. Nobody from within the society’s ranks wished to be associated with him once they knew the depths of his immorality, and they left en masse. The forthcoming play had to be abandoned, and the use of the town hall, where it was being staged, was subsequently cancelled. The very name Murdoch Osborne was anathema.
Few people, except those connected with the amateur dramatics society and those who had seen her act in the previous production, knew very much about Kate Stokes, which would have surprised and disappointed her immensely. However, news of the monstro
us deeds against her mother of which she stood accused quickly reached the owner of the baker’s shop where she worked, and she was asked to leave forthwith.
‘What shall we do?’ Kate asked Murdoch when she went to tell him at his empty butcher’s shop immediately after she had left. ‘Nobody wants to know us anymore.’
‘That’s plain enough,’ he replied, standing forlornly behind the counter in his striped apron. ‘There’s been ne’er a soul in here for days.’
‘Why don’t we just go to London till it’s all died down?’ she suggested. ‘It’ll serve two purposes. First, it’ll get us out of the way of the vicious wagging tongues, and second, you can introduce me to those important impresarios you promised to write to for me.’
‘You’re still keen to be a professional actress, ha?’
‘Course. Nothing’s changed. I’m even more determined now. What have I got to lose?’
‘Aye, well you’ve got talent, Kate, and no two ways. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.’
‘So you agree then, Murdoch?’
‘What have I got to lose, ha? All else is in ruins. I got no business worth having anymore, everybody’s left the society, and folk I always thought of as my friends treat me like a pariah. At least if I go, the society might all get back together again under somebody else’s leadership. We’ll get rid of the servants, shut the house up and go, ha?’
Momentarily, he imagined the nights they would have in London, living together, unashamedly sharing the same bed. He was besotted. She was the most sensuous creature, the most fun he’d ever had in bed with anybody in his whole life. No woman, married, single, divorced or widowed had ever given him pleasure like she did. In London he could manage her stage career, guide her, make sure she met only the best people, the right people, and protect her from randy and unscrupulous impresarios who merely wanted her body.
Kate smiled with satisfaction meanwhile. She was going to get her way at last. To her it did not matter the cost. She would become a famous actress, admired and desired by the wealthy. The world was about to become her oyster. She would be besieged by stage-door Johnnies, able to take her pick of the handsomest, the richest, the most generous. What need would she have then of paltry Murdoch Osborne? He was but a stepping stone.
On the Monday morning – it was the 9th of March – Algie cycled to the offices of the Stourbridge Canal Company and leant his bike against the front wall of the building. He recalled the last time he had been there, to report the death of his father, and it amazed him how much had happened in the short time since then. The same woman who had greeted him last time greeted him condescendingly once more, showing no sign of recognition.
‘Is Mr Munslow in?’
‘Mr Munslow? I think so. Who are you?’
‘Algernon Stokes, son of the late Will Stokes, who used to be one of the company’s lock-keepers,’ he explained.
‘Oh, yes. What is it in connection with?’ the woman enquired.
He didn’t like her tone. Besides it had nothing to do with her. ‘I’d rather discuss that with Mr Munslow.’
She looked at him with indignation at his impertinent answer and slid off her high perch haughtily. In a minute Mr Munslow presented himself, but seemed aloof, hardly pleased to see him.
‘Mr Stokes. What can I do for you?’
Algie glanced at the woman at the desk. He did not wish to discuss his purpose in front of her, after what he had said. ‘Can we talk somewhere private?’
‘If you insist.’
Mr Munslow led him to the grubby office he’d been in before, cramped and overbearing, with flaking cream paint and yellowed, frosted glass. The man sat down and gestured for Algie to do the same.
‘So what can I do for you, Mr Stokes?’
‘I understand the position of lock-keeper, made vacant by the death of my father, is still available. I would like to be considered for the job, Mr Munslow.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘I’ve got plenty of experience,’ Algie went on enthusiastically. ‘I used to help my father when I was a lad. I know what’s involved. I also know the canal folk. I reckon I could do the job as well as anybody, and as conscientiously. Besides, my mother would love to be living back in that house. It’d mean so much to her.’
‘Your mother?’ Mr Munslow uttered with a look of scorn. ‘I’m afraid the vacancy is not open to you, Mr Stokes. Of course, I can’t stop you making a formal application, if you so wish, but I can assure you it would be futile.’
‘Futile? On what grounds would it be futile?’
‘I would rather not discuss it.’
‘Does it have anything to do with my mother?’
Mr Munslow fixed his eyes on a paper on his desk, avoiding Algie’s. ‘To be frank, Mr Stokes, news – and gossip, I’m afraid – both travel fast in a small community like ours, especially when one’s sister’s daughter was recently taken on as a maid in the house you and your mother recently occupied on her remarriage, and almost as quickly dismissed. I have to be candid, Mr Stokes. We, as a company, could not be seen to condone what has gone on by affording you employment and your mother shelter.’
‘But my mother is the injured party. She’s done nothing wrong.’
‘I understand your desire to protect her, Mr Stokes. Your loyalty is commendable. But merely by association—’
‘Oh, I see.’ Algie stood up, seething with anger, and went to the door, desperately trying to control his emotions and retain some dignity. But the man’s attitude warranted some appropriate response. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mr Munslow, and to have embarrassed you with my earnest approach for work,’ he said with composure. ‘Be assured I shan’t trouble you again. You can stick the job up your jacksie. Good day to you.’
Algie left, reeling with indignation at his treatment at the hands of Mr Munslow. All the man was worried about was how the company would be perceived in the light of accepting him as an employee after the scandal surrounding his mother’s second marriage. How shallow and insensitive these people were. Well, if they didn’t need him, he certainly didn’t need them. He would find other work. He would still look after his mother come what may, whatever people might say.
He rode back towards Dudley along the canal network. The weather seemed to have turned cold again; there was a biting wind from the east that foretold of snow. He sniffed the wind like a hound and smelled its promise. Would this winter never end? He stopped at the Bottle and Glass for a pint, and for a warm in front of the welcoming fire.
‘Any luck with the lock-keeper’s job?’ Tom Simpson asked as he pulled the beer.
Algie gave a rueful little laugh. ‘I’ve just come from there, Tom. They reckon I’m unsuitable. But I shall have to find work soon.’
‘You’m best off doing what you know,’ Tom said, and handed him a foaming tankard.
‘Well, I know about making beds and bikes, if that’s any use to anybody.’ He took a swig, which left white froth on his top lip. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.
‘Make ’em for theeself then, lad.’
‘Bikes? I wish I could afford to set up in business, Tom. I’d welcome the chance.’
‘How much money can you muster?’
‘About twenty pounds as yet, but that’ll soon go if I don’t find work soon.’
‘Does your mother have any money?’
‘A bit. What my father managed to save.’
‘Would she lend it you?’
Algie smiled. ‘She might. If I asked her nice.’
‘Would you have enough to start a workshop if she did?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe not.’
‘Do it anyroad,’ Tom advised. ‘And if you find you’m still a bit short of spondulicks let me know. I might be able to help you out with a small loan.’
‘Honest?’
‘I don’t see why not, young Algie. You’re a trustworthy lad, hard-working, bright. I tell you what, an’ all – I’ll give you your first order if you can bui
ld a bike as good and as strong as the one you ride yourself.’
‘I know I can, Tom.’
‘Then make me a good strong bike and I’ll pay you the proper price for it … But while you’re at it, make two. You’ll be bound to sell the other at a profit.’
Algie beamed. ‘D’you think I should? It’s a big step, you know.’
‘And not beyond you, lad. Do it. I got faith in you. Why work for somebody else when you can work for yourself? The rewards are much greater.’
‘You know, Tom, I think I will. I’ll take you up on it … By the way, have you seen anything of the Binghams yet?’
‘Nothing at all, lad. Nothing at all.’
That same night the snow came down with a vengeance – heavy, powdery snow. Strong easterly winds raged across the south and west of England and Wales for the rest of the week. More than four days of the bitterest weather many folk had seen in their lifetime battered much of the country. Gales wreaked their havoc. More than half a million trees were blown down; telegraph poles did not escape the onslaught either. Trains were buried for days in the drifts; fourteen were stranded in Devon alone. It was reported that 220 people died and 6,000 sheep perished in the storms, while sixty-five ships foundered in the English Channel. Although the West Country was the worst affected, southern England, the Midlands, and South Wales also suffered badly. Twelve-foot snowdrifts were recorded at Dulwich in London, and even at Dartmouth in Devon.
Once again the Binghams were thwarted in their efforts to travel, and to work. Having taken advantage of February’s thaw they had managed to move on from Oxford, their cargo of coal delivered, and were headed towards London. The blizzard caught them in Hemel Hempstead, where they were once more trapped, again for as long as the weather might determine.