The Lock-Keeper's Son

by Nancy Carson

  ‘I think not, Benjamin. Let us start afresh, with a new, more mature servant.’

  Algie was mystified by Aurelia’s unanticipated change of heart. The sudden about-turn in her intentions left him frustrated, disappointed and sad. There was also some misgiving in his heart, that she could change her mind with such apparent ease, especially after her very plausible commitment to a future life with him. It posed the question of trust. However, it resolved one problem. He did not have to juggle her life with that of his mother. It is doubtful whether his mother would ever have come to terms with him settling down with a woman who had been married and divorced. There was such a stigma attached to divorce; divorced women were further stigmatised as being either mentally retarded or whores.

  For the rest of Saturday he contemplated Aurelia’s unfathomable decision, without coming to any conclusion that made any sense, save that she was inclined to be impulsive; she could just as soon change her mind again and come running back, if her husband refused to take her back. It was with this possibility firmly planted in his mind that he left his workshop on Sunday, to go home for his dinner and to change his clothes before he embarked on the visit to Aurelia’s Aunt Edith, which he’d promised faithfully to fulfil. But Algie was baffled. What could Aurelia have possibly meant when she told him that her aunt held the key to it all? Why her aunt?

  As he rode to Oldswinford, he was glad it was another fine sunny day for the ride out. The weather reminded him of how it had been last spring, especially that fateful Sunday when he had forced himself to approach Marigold, and actually struck up a conversation with her. So much had happened since then, so many unexpected twists and turns in his life and in the lives of his family. But none as strange or as mysterious as the quest in hand today. He wondered again what had become of Marigold. If only she had not taken umbrage with him so pointlessly. Nothing would have come of his exposure to Aurelia. He would have had good reason to sidestep her irresistibility, and would not now be smarting over her. But he would get over it. It had been an exciting and intensely emotional adventure; planning their lives ahead, discussing their hopes, their dreams of a life together, lying with her, one of the most scintillating women he’d ever had the privilege to cast eyes on, during those stolen, illicit hours. But, yes, he would get over it.

  He found Rectory Road and rode along it slowly, peering at the numbers trying to locate Aunt Edith’s.

  Then he found it. A small cottage in its own neat garden. It faced the church and the old brick wall surrounding the graveyard. A pretty spot. He leaned his bike against the garden wall of the cottage, took off his cycle clips and checked his fob watch. It said two minutes to three. Perfect timing. He walked up the path, rapped on the shining brass door knocker. The door opened, and a pleasant-looking woman wearing spectacles answered it, middle-aged, veering towards fifty, he reckoned; certainly older than his mother.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Archer,’ he said with one of his winning smiles. ‘I’m Algernon Stokes. I’ve been told by your niece Aurelia to pay you a visit. She said you would be expecting me.’

  ‘So you’re Algie,’ the woman said, apparently unmoved by his amiability, when she’d finished eyeing him up and down. ‘You’d better come in.’

  She stepped aside to let him pass and closed the door behind him. ‘This way, if you please, young Algie … You don’t mind if I call you Algie, do you? I feel I know you well enough.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind, Mrs Archer,’ he said as she led him into the room and gestured for him to sit down.

  ‘Never mind the “Mrs Archer” bit. You’d best start calling me “Aunt Edith”.’

  He grinned inanely. ‘Why? What’s this all about? Your niece obviously told you about me. She said you hold the key to something or other …’

  ‘What key? I don’t know about no key, Algie, but I know there’s somebody spent a lot of time and effort looking for you, but in vain … Till our Aurelia said as she knew you and knew where to find you.’

  ‘Somebody’s been looking for me?’ he questioned, with a puzzled frown. ‘My sister, do you mean?’

  ‘Lord, let’s hope she ain’t your sister, else there’ll be hell to pay.’ She gave a wry laugh and stood up, went to the door and called, ‘Marigold! He’s here.’

  At once Algie’s face bore a look of utter astonishment, of incredulity. ‘Marigold’s here? Marigold Bingham?’

  ‘She’s coming,’ Aunt Edith said, and there was a hint of devilment in her eyes, that said she was really enjoying this. She sat down again.

  Algie heard hurried footsteps on the hard tiles of the hallway and looked at the door expectantly. He could scarcely believe his eyes when, standing in the doorframe, was none other than Marigold. She looked radiantly lovely and refined, wearing a bright blue dress with bodice buttoned to the throat, and obviously new. Her face was just as beautiful, yet there was such a change in her. He was at once reminded of Aurelia. She looked so much like her that he was astounded by their similarity. The same shaped face and nose, the wide, sparkling blue eyes, and the same rich, dark hair. Why had he not considered it before?

  ‘Marigold,’ he exclaimed with a smile of delighted bewilderment. ‘Is it really you?’

  She ran to him unhesitatingly, and threw her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Algie, Algie … Is it really you, after all this time? Where’ve you been hiding? I’ve hunted high and low.’

  ‘I’ve hunted high and low for you … I’d given you up for lost … Let me look at you …’ He held her at arm’s length and gasped. ‘God … You look … well, Marigold, you look beautiful. There’s no other word. You’ve put a pound or two on, I see, but it suits you well. You look really beautiful.’

  She laughed with joy at his reaction, blushing, self-conscious at his compliment. ‘I’m ever so glad you think so, Algie,’ she said. ‘You as well … You look more handsomer than ever.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Algie?’ Aunt Edith interrupted. ‘And a piece of my cake, which I’ve made ’specially?’

  ‘Thank you. That would be very nice. Special cake for a special occasion, eh?’

  Aunt Edith nodded and smiled. ‘Just for the occasion, as you rightly say. Well, I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. Marigold’s got such a lot to tell you.’

  ‘I don’t know where to begin, Algie,’ Marigold said, as her aunt left them. ‘Maybe first I should say sorry for running away from you that night after the concert. I know now how daft I was. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Come and sit by me,’ he said warmly, and she did as she was bid, smiling happily. ‘I think I can forgive you anything. I still can’t believe you’re here, in the same room as me. I spent hours searching the canals and basins for you, hoping you’d come back.’

  ‘Did you, Algie? Honest?’

  ‘I did. I rode for miles, day in, day out.’

  ‘I heard about your dad dying,’ she said, suddenly looking solemn. ‘I was that sorry, Algie. It must have been heartbreaking for you. I know you thought a lot of your dad.’

  ‘He died the same night you left me. I felt pretty rotten at the time, as you can imagine. Everything bad seemed to happen at once.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about that … Are you sure you can forgive me for causing you so much upset?’

  ‘Course I can … now.’ He regarded her admiringly. ‘But what I don’t understand, Marigold, is how you come to be here? I mean here, of all places, at the same time as Aurelia.’

  ‘Oh, Aurelia’s lovely, ain’t she? And I just love her little lad. She was such a help, such a friend to me. More than a friend, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘So what happened? How did it all come about?’

  ‘Well, for a start, Algie, I have to tell you, my dad ain’t my dad …’ She paused for this information to sink in. ‘What I mean is, I’m illi—illiterate.’

  ‘Do you mean illegitimate?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I mean, but I can never remember how to say the word. My mom had me bef
ore she met Seth, see, but I always believed he was me dad. I didn’t know any different. Then me mom brought me here to stay for a while with Aunt Edith. Aurelia arrived a few days after with her little lad, and it turns out that her mother, and my mother, and Aunt Edith am all sisters – was sisters, ’cause Aurelia’s mom’s dead now. Then, as we got talking more and more, it came out that her dad is my real dad as well. Somebody called Murdoch Osborne … That name’s familiar, you know, Algie,’ she said pensively. ‘Anyway, he had it off with my mom, the dirty devil, when he was already married to my poor Aunt Elizabeth. So we’m sisters, see? Half-sisters anyway.’

  Algie was further astonished by this news. ‘She’s also your cousin,’ he suggested intently, at once caught up in the thread and seeing the relationship from another angle.

  ‘Cousin – sister – half-sister. What difference does it make? We’m close relations anyway.’

  Somehow it seemed to Algie that he could not get away from the influence and questionable deeds of Murdoch Osborne. But it was not Marigold’s fault. She could not help who her father was. Then he recalled how he’d taken her once to Murdoch’s butcher’s shop.

  ‘You met him once, your father.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘Remember I took you to that butcher’s shop and you wanted some meat but refused to buy it off him. Because you said he gave you the creeps?’

  ‘Yes …’ She regarded Algie with open-mouthed incredulity. ‘Was that him?’

  ‘That was him.’

  ‘Oh, Lord! I hated him. I thought he was horrible. Then we saw him after at that concert, didn’t we?’

  ‘Well, I doubt if you’ll see him again. But that’s another story … Anyway, why did your mother bring you here?’ he asked, changing the subject, not wishing to get bogged down with the tale of Murdoch and his mother just yet.

  ‘Because of the dreadful winter, all that snow,’ she replied. She looked at him uncertainly, and he caught her look. ‘I got something else to tell you, Algie …’

  ‘Go on …’

  ‘I got a baby.’

  ‘You’ve got a baby?’ he spluttered, incredulous. ‘My God.’

  ‘That’s why my mom brought me here. So as I could have it away from the canals, and so as Aunt Edith could look after me.’

  ‘Whose baby is it?’ he asked, half choking with confused emotions.

  ‘Mine, you daft thing.’

  ‘No, I mean who is the father?’

  ‘You am, you daft ha’peth.’ She rolled her eyes, feigning impatience. ‘Who d’you think?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Course, you.’ She smiled, amused by his obvious surprise.

  ‘Where is it? The baby, I mean.’

  ‘Upstairs, in her little crib. It’s a girl. And she’s so beautiful, Algie. Just like you.’

  ‘I would’ve hoped she looked more like you,’ he said flippantly, rapidly warming to the situation. ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘She’s asleep. But I’ll fetch her down if you like. Shall I?’

  ‘I’d love to see her. My own daughter. Blimey!’

  Marigold was on her feet in a swirl and a swish of blue skirt, and raced daintily up the stairs. His eyes followed her. She was all slender, the only way he’d ever known her, her neat figure showing no signs of coarseness after giving birth. Within a minute she descended, slowly this time, with the child securely, lovingly in her arms. Algie stood up, the better to see his daughter, while Marigold proudly tilted her in his direction, so he could see her more easily.

  He gently shifted the white blanket away from the child’s face with his forefinger and peered at her. ‘She is beautiful.’ His voice was quiet, taut with emotion, his look intense. His eyes welled up with tears, which ran down his cheeks unchecked. Then his face brightened into a tearful smile. ‘She’s the spitting image of you, Marigold, thank the Lord. Please let me hold her?’

  ‘Course.’ She carefully handed the little bundle over and they sat down again.

  He was overcome. Tears flooded down his cheeks. All the time they were apart, Marigold had been carrying his child, and he had known nothing about it. He could have lost her, he could have lost his daughter, never been aware of her. Through his tears he looked at this helpless child with absolute tenderness. He had not known she existed until those amazing moments. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and grinned excitedly. ‘What are you calling her?’

  ‘Rose,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘I hope you like it. All the first-born girls on the canals are called Rose. It’s a sort of tradition.’

  ‘I know it is.’ He looked down at the child sleeping in his arms, with a natural, intense affection and rapidly growing pride. ‘Rose,’ he said quietly. ‘I should have guessed you’d call her Rose … I wish she’d open her eyes, so I can see them.’

  ‘Oh, she will soon enough. She’s due a feed in half an hour. She feeds ever so well, you know, Algie. You’ll see.’

  ‘Are you taking her back to the narrowboat?’ he asked, not without some angst. He did not know for certain yet how he stood, if at all, in Marigold’s plans for the future.

  ‘Well … that really depends on you, Algie …’

  ‘On me?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘Then I’ll ask you now what I intended to ask you the morning you rushed away from the basin by our house, the morning my dad died … Will you marry me?’

  ‘Oh, Algie …’ It was Marigold’s turn to shed tears of joy. ‘Course I will …’

  Chapter 34

  Algie cycled back home elated, scarcely able to believe he’d just spent two hours with Marigold and his very own daughter, who had captivated him instantly. It was blindingly obvious to him by this time what Aurelia had meant when she said that Aunt Edith held the key to her actions. Aurelia, he quickly realised, had nobly sacrificed herself for the benefit of her new-found sister. Marigold, she evidently believed, had a greater claim on him than she herself. Nor did he harbour any doubts as to how difficult such a sacrifice must have been to make; the heart-rending decision to return, humbled, to that disagreeable louse Benjamin Sampson. Algie, of course, had no notion of the circumstances of her return.

  Algie learnt from Marigold that Aurelia had arrived at Aunt Edith’s house with her little son while Marigold was in the throes of childbirth. Acknowledging from the outset that the stranger was her own half-sister, Aurelia had insisted on helping, and making herself known. During her labour, Marigold was prone to regularly shrieking Algie’s name in her agonies, which in turn had prompted Aurelia to seek confirmation of this particular Algie’s identity. The revelation must have afforded her plenty of scope for some serious heart-searching.

  Algie was amazed at how the sight of Marigold and his own child had put everything into perspective. He had a responsibility to them both, a responsibility he would not shirk. He was delighted with his daughter, he was delighted with Marigold. His prior feelings, emotions which he thought had faded, came flooding back with a vengeance. He loved her. He had never stopped loving her. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let go. Maybe his feelings for Aurelia had been intensified simply for want of love and affection, that same love and affection that Marigold had blessed him with, which he had been sorely missing. Maybe he had become involved and enchanted with Aurelia on the rebound, subconsciously responding to her sisterly likeness to Marigold.

  Now, it just remained to tell his mother everything, although he dreaded the inevitable confession that he had put Marigold in the family way.

  He reached home and put away his bike in the brewhouse, then went in the house.

  ‘Ah, you’re back.’

  He grinned massively.

  ‘You look like the cat that got the cream, our Algie. Yesterday you were like a dying duck, your face as long as a wet weekend. Now look at you. How you do change in a day. Whatever have you been up to?’

  ‘I’m getting wed, Mother,’ he answered proudly, and allowed her a second to inwardly dige
st this titillating morsel.

  ‘Not to that Aurelia?’

  ‘Course not, she’s already wed, I told you. Anyway, it’s all over with Aurelia.’

  ‘Good. I can’t say as I’m sorry. Who are you getting wed to then? Isn’t that a bit sudden as well?’

  ‘I’m marrying Marigold.’

  Clara gasped with relief, and clasped her hands to her face in astonishment. ‘Marigold? You found her then?’

  ‘Aurelia found her, to be more precise.’

  He told his mother the whole story, embellishing it not one bit, but omitting nothing either.

  ‘It means that Murdoch Osborne is Marigold’s father,’ he said hesitantly. ‘You do see that, don’t you, Mother?’

  ‘I’m not altogether stupid, our Algie. I can work that out for myself. He’s been a bugger-up-the-back in his time, has Murdoch, and no two ways. I knew Hannah had a child before she went on the narrowboats, but they certainly kept it quiet that her sister’s husband was the culprit. I had misgivings when you first started courting Marigold. But then, I thought, what does it matter? As long as you love the wench it doesn’t matter a bit. But that rogue I married is capable of anything. The more I hear about him, the less I’m surprised.’

  ‘When you see Marigold, please don’t mention that you married the blighter. I’ve said nothing yet.’

  ‘But somebody will blurt it out, as sure as sparks fly upwards, so you might as well tell her as not. The sooner the better, I reckon. So when d’you intend to get wed? That little child of yours needs a father.’

  ‘I know, and it’ll be as soon as we can arrange it. Marigold isn’t one-and-twenty yet, so we need her mother’s or Seth’s consent. It depends how soon they pass this way. But you’ll be kind to her, won’t you, Mother, when she comes to live here?’

  ‘I bet her Aunt Edith could sign for her, as her guardian, Algie.’

  ‘D’you think so?’ he asked excitedly.

  ‘It’s worth finding out. Anyway, as regards Marigold, I’ll help her all I can, course I will, without trying to interfere.’ Clara clapped her hands together and beamed. ‘Well, what news this is, Algie. I’m getting a new daughter to take the place of the one as turned out to be no good, and I get a granddaughter as well. Oh, I long to see the little mite.’