The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Family’s family, eh, Hannah? We have to watch out for one another, don’t we? Nobody else will. She seems a lovely girl anyroad, like you say – quiet and reserved considering she’s been brought up in one of them narrowboats, as you like to call ’em. And ever so pretty. Now that you’ve come all this way I can hardly turn her away, can I?… Nor would I. To stop tongues a-wagging we can always say as her husband’s a soldier, and he’s in Africa or India.’

  Hannah smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks, Edith. I knew as you’d be all right about it. I will pay you for her keep, though. I don’t expect you to look after her out of the kindness of your heart. She’ll be an extra mouth to feed, an extra expense. Then there’s the baby as well to take into account when it arrives …’

  ‘Save your money, our Hannah. From what you’ve told me I think you need it. I can manage. I’m careful – I have to be – but I’m no skinflint.’

  The next day, after ensuring that Marigold was content and comfortable in her new lodgings with her aunt, Hannah left, making the return train journey to Hemel Hempstead. She promised to make certain that, as soon as they could, the family would try and secure work that took them to the Black Country so that they could all be reunited, if only temporarily, until Marigold and her baby could eventually rejoin them, or get wed to Algie.

  The thaw had set in, the middle of March ushering in milder weather. After just a day of cosseted apathy, Marigold became restless and decided that it was time she actively tried to find Algie Stokes. She told her aunt what she intended to do and asked her the best way to get to Brierley Hill. Aunt Edith advised her to take the tram and handed her a shilling for her fares.

  With difficulty, she tried to recall the name of the firm where Algie worked. She had heard him say it was at Queen’s Cross in Dudley, so she stood at a tramcar stop and waited for a tram going to the town. One soon arrived.

  ‘D’you go anywhere near Queen’s Cross?’ she asked the conductor as she stepped tentatively aboard his vehicle.

  ‘We pass it on the way, miss,’ the conductor answered. ‘That’ll be thre’pence.’

  She handed him the shilling. ‘Can you tell me when we get there, please? I’m after a factory there, where they make bedsteads.’

  ‘That’ll be Sampson’s or I’m never here. I’ll gi’ thee the nod, my wench, when we get there.’

  She thanked him, and carefully counted the change he gave her before she sat down. When the tram began to move she was enthralled with the feeling of speed as the buildings flashed past in a blur. It seemed only a few minutes before the conductor drew her attention to tell her she needed the next stop. Apprehensively, she rose from her seat and made her way to the exit, clutching at the poles to steady her as the tram slowed to a halt.

  ‘That’s the place, there, miss,’ the conductor said, pointing.

  She smiled and thanked him, then alighted. Nervously she walked towards Sampson’s. Within a few minutes she would be reunited with Algie, her dream fulfilled, and her heart was pounding hard with expectation.

  A red-brick building, which she presumed must be the office, stood in front of the factory. There was an open door, which she entered, and looked around her. The door had opened onto a sort of hallway. A staircase ascended on her left, and two closed doors faced her, one directly in front of her, one to her right. She tried the first, and at once the crash and bang of industry assailed her ears, since it opened directly onto the factory floor. She shut it immediately and tried the door on her right, which opened up onto a storeroom of sorts, but devoid of personnel.

  The stairs … She ascended them and on a landing at the top was a hatch. She tapped on it and waited. A plump woman in late middle-age opened it.

  ‘Can I help you, miss?’ She smiled patronisingly.

  ‘Yes, I’d like to see Algie Stokes, please. It’s important that I see him.’

  ‘Algie Stokes?’ the woman – who was, of course, Violet – queried. ‘I’m afraid he don’t work here any longer, miss.’

  ‘He don’t?’

  ‘No. He left a week or two ago.’

  ‘D’you know where I could find him? It is important.’

  Violet turned down the corners of her mouth and shook her head ominously. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue, miss. He left under a bit of a cloud, as far as I can make out. Something to do with having time off to move house again.’

  ‘Again?’ Marigold said, with a profound sigh. ‘I wonder where he’s gone to now?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Violet, not without some sympathy in her voice. ‘I don’t think Mr Sampson knows either, else he would’ve let me know.’

  ‘He didn’t leave an address then?’

  Violet shook her head.

  Marigold smiled, but with bitter disappointment. ‘All right … Thank you … Sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, miss.’ Violet couldn’t help but notice that the visitor was heavily pregnant. ‘I do hope you find him.’

  ‘Oh, one way or another … Cheerio …’

  Marigold’s second plan, if the first yielded no results, was to locate Algie’s sister. She was aware that Kate worked in a cake shop in Brierley Hill town, so she took another tram directly, back to Brierley Hill. Having been shown it before by Algie she quickly located it. But when she enquired within she met with the icy response that Kate Stokes no longer worked there and nobody knew where she had gone. She sensed some haughty disapproval of Kate, manifested by scornful facial expressions rather than actual words. Then she recalled the butcher who had given her the creeps, and decided to call there for information; Algie and his mother, she remembered, were well-known to him. He might well be able to shed some light on his whereabouts. But the butcher’s shop, which she recognised, was shut up. The window bore no display, save for a painted plaster model of a pig’s head set in the middle. There was certainly no sign of activity there. It looked as if it had been unattended for ages. It seemed as if Algie, and everybody connected with him, had disappeared off the face of the earth.

  That girl Harriet could have been an option, but Marigold had taken it into her head to avoid Harriet at all costs. She’d only ever seen Harriet once, and could not be certain she would recognise her again anyway, even if she knew which shop housed their family business.

  Then she remembered the Bottle and Glass. She was sure she could remember how to get there. She’d found her way in the dark, that fateful night she left Algie helping the poor injured folks in that dreadful tram accident. Surely she could find it in daylight.

  As she walked towards Buckpool, she relived in her mind the events of that evening last November. How pathetically foolish she had been to allow herself to get worked up about that girl. She had failed to heed Algie’s earnest assurances that he was having nothing else to do with Harriet. And no wonder at it, since the girl was not the good-looking type she felt Algie liked. He was a well-set-up lad, and could take his pick of the best-looking girls. They must surely be queuing up to be noticed.

  Why had she been so pig-headed as to let him go? Why had she asked her father to leave their mooring early next morning – a whole day early – when, had they remained, she and Algie would have patched up their differences beautifully. Her unborn child would have a father, by now she would be married to him, cared for and adored. Instead, she had nothing, save the prospect of being an object of scorn and derision for allowing herself to get pregnant out of wedlock. She would be tied forever to a life on the narrowboats where the stigma of illegitimacy existed as fiercely as it did anywhere else. Gone were all hopes of ever living a life of relative contentment in her own little house, made homely and comfortable, like that of Aunt Edith, unless she could find Algie and win him back …

  She reached the Bottle and Glass, aware that women and girls were hardly likely to venture into such a public house alone. Filled with trepidation, she hesitated. It was approaching dinnertime and plenty of men would be in there, forcing as many pints into their bellies as time would allow. T
hey would gawp at her, make unkind and lurid comments. But she was here, standing in front of the public house. Because she had come this far there was no sense in foregoing the opportunity to ask the landlord if he had heard anything of Algie Stokes. So, in she went.

  She stood at the bar of the taproom forlornly, shrinking away, self-conscious, wishing that she could look entirely inconspicuous. Tom Simpson regarded her with some surprise when he saw her.

  ‘Yes, my dear? What can I do for you?’

  ‘I … I need some help, if you please, Mr Simpson.’

  ‘You know my name.’ He looked at her with concern, and Marigold could not discern whether he had noticed her large belly under her mantle. If so, maybe he thought she was about to give birth there and then. ‘If I can be of help, miss …’

  ‘I think you know my dad … Seth Bingham …’

  ‘Seth Bingham! Course.’ Tom smiled amenably when he realised it was Seth’s daughter standing before him. ‘How is he, the old sod? We ain’t seen him round here for a while. Is he about?’

  ‘He’s at Hemel Hempstead, Mr Simpson. Or he was the day before yesterday. We’ve been stuck in the ice and snow nearly all winter.’

  ‘I ain’t surprised. Young Algie Stokes is forever asking if I’ve heard from you.’

  ‘Is he? Honest?’ Marigold smiled, much heartened by the news.

  ‘I keep telling him, I ain’t seen aught of you in months. Wait till he knows you’ve been here.’

  ‘I came up here by train. I need to know where I can find Algie, Mr Simpson.’

  ‘Ah … That might be a bit ockerd. I ain’t got no address, you see, my flower. He was in here not long ago, but he’s never left his address. He was living in Kingswinford after they left the lock-keeper’s cottage, but I think him and his mother have flitted again. I think he might be living somewhere in Dudley now.’

  ‘Dudley?’ Her bitter disappointment was manifest in her eyes.

  ‘I know,’ he said sympathetically. ‘It’s a big town if you’m looking for somebody.’

  ‘If I tell you where I’m living, can you pass it on to him next time he calls?’

  ‘Course I will, my flower,’ Tom said kindly. ‘He’d kill me if I didn’t. So where are you living and I’ll write it down for him?’

  ‘Rectory Street in Oldswinford. At Mrs Archer’s house.’ Tom Simpson picked up a blacklead and wrote it down on a piece of paper. ‘When d’you think he’ll be in here again?’ she asked.

  ‘That I couldn’t say, my flower. Could be tomorrow, could be next month. He’s out o’ work at the present, so I reckon he’s got time on his hands. But once he starts working again, who knows when he’ll find the time?’

  ‘How is he?’ Marigold asked earnestly. ‘Is he well?’

  ‘He don’t seem too bad, considering. Anyroad, don’t fret theeself. I’ll tell him as you’ve been looking for him.’

  Marigold nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Simpson. Thank you ever so much.’

  She left, no further forward in her search, but happier in the knowledge that Algie had been asking Mr Simpson if he’d heard anything of them.

  The following Tuesday, Algie received a letter. It read:

  My own darling Algie,

  At last Benjamin is going away for a couple of nights. I write this on Monday morning to reach you Tuesday, his first night away in ages. Meet me at our usual place, seven o’ clock.

  My love forever,

  Aurelia

  Chapter 32

  It seemed an age since Algie and Aurelia had last lain together in that bed at the Eagle Hotel which they called their love nest. Aurelia gave herself with an intensity and reckless abandon that told of her hunger for him, while his response was moderated by guilt because of his mother’s disapproval of the affair. They lay in each other’s arms afterwards, quiet, as usual, Aurelia reliving in her mind the tenderness and the simple pleasure of being together, while he was mentally struggling to find a way to please both women. Aurelia had sensed Algie’s reserve, however, and it worried her. She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ she whispered into his ear.

  He turned to look at her. Her eyes, reflecting the flickering firelight, were wide and beautiful. Her skin, taking on the monochromatic gold of the fire’s flames, glistened smooth and silky as the dancing shadows gave emphasis to the gentle curves of her body.

  ‘I was thinking about all sorts of things,’ he replied softly.

  ‘Were you thinking about us?’

  ‘I hardly ever stop.’

  She smiled at his reassurance. ‘It’s just that you seem preoccupied. Don’t you want to go on seeing me?’

  ‘Course I do,’ he said, alarmed that she should think otherwise. ‘It’s just that …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well … I made the daft mistake of telling my mother about you.’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t.’

  He sighed. ‘I did.’

  ‘I can imagine she was suitably unimpressed. Did you tell her I was Murdoch’s daughter, and married?’

  ‘As soon as I mentioned your name she knew.’

  ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t forbidden you to see me.’

  Algie uttered a little laugh. ‘I’m a grown man, Aurelia. I make my own decisions who I see and don’t see. My mother doesn’t make them for me.’

  ‘Anyway, I can only imagine her disapproval.’

  ‘Let’s just say that she doesn’t approve. But only because you’re married with a child. Not because of who you are. Your husband would disapprove of me, if he knew what we were up to.’

  ‘From his past actions, it’s obvious he takes a dim view of you anyway,’ she responded, a reply which amused Algie. ‘But who cares? Did your mother approve of Marigold?’

  ‘Yes, she did. But then Marigold wasn’t married to somebody else.’

  ‘It’s just possible she might be married to somebody else by now, though.’

  The thought pained him, when he had believed he was beyond pain now where Marigold was concerned. ‘I daresay it’s possible,’ he reluctantly admitted. ‘But whether it’s likely or not is another matter. I haven’t seen her or heard anything of her for months.’

  ‘But you were in love with her.’

  ‘Course I was,’ he admitted without hesitation. ‘You know I was.’

  ‘I presume she was very pretty.’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Did you love her more than you love me?’

  He gazed at the ceiling, hoping its whitewashed, cracked surface would supply an inspirational response. He could not gainsay what he’d felt for Marigold. He still felt it, though less intensely these days. ‘How the devil can I compare?’ he answered plausibly. ‘How do you measure the strength of your feelings, so that you can compare them one with another? There isn’t any such device that I know of. You and Marigold are totally different to each other, in outlook, class, upbringing, education … everything.’

  ‘Did you lie with her?’

  ‘As we do, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I mean. I shan’t mind if you say you did, Algie. I mean, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, after all.’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ he admitted. ‘But fancy you asking. I don’t ask you if you still lie like that with Benjamin.’

  ‘You did once. Whether I do or not, I’m still inclined to leave him, Algie.’

  ‘Then leave him. I wish you would. It’s no more than he deserves.’

  ‘Except that I have no money of my own.’

  ‘I would look after you. You know I would.’

  Aurelia sighed. ‘But with your mother disapproving of me there’s no prospect of us starting a life together, is there? Especially as you are committed to looking after her. If we could start a life together, of course I’d leave him tomorrow.’

  ‘I suppose my mother could hardly complain if you were divorced. That would enable us to marry.’

/>   ‘You know, I never really thought seriously about a divorce before. Not really seriously. It’s such a rarity. I mean, a divorce is so difficult to get. But yes, that could be the answer. We must marry. The only problem is, you need grounds for divorce. Adultery is one, cruelty is another.’

  ‘He’s not cruel, though, is he?’ Algie remarked.

  ‘Not physically, but he is committing adultery, I’m sure … Then again, so am I … Algie …’ She sat up in bed excitedly as an idea quickly developed. ‘If I admitted as much and you confirmed you were the co-respondent, I daresay he would be quick enough to start proceedings … It’s a thought, you know.’

  ‘But if your adultery became common knowledge, you would be treated like an outcast wherever you went. What you should also consider is that a judge would certainly declare that you weren’t fit to bring up your own child if you admitted adultery. Anyway, how long would it take, I wonder, till you were free of him, even if all went well?’

  ‘Months, I suppose. Years, maybe … I’ll have to think about it a little more.’ She lay down again, deflated, and snuggled up to him. ‘It’s a way, though, you know, Algie.’

  ‘Well, we’d better think of other grounds for divorce that won’t involve me being saddled with the legal costs, because I would be if I was named as co-respondent.’

  ‘Would you really?’

  ‘Course I would.’

  ‘Sorry. I hadn’t thought about that.’

  ‘Don’t you recall Charles Stewart Parnell, and that Mrs O’Shea?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Aurelia said. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Goodness, I don’t want you to be saddled with legal costs, Algie. They could be enormous.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And that would really take the shine off things … So, you admitting adultery is out of the question. In the meantime, I can be concentrating on my bike building business. I found a workshop, by the way. I’m looking for some second hand machinery now.’

  ‘That will really stump Benjamin, you know, Algie, you competing in the bicycles market. That will hurt him more than if he found out I’ve been unfaithful with you.’