by Nancy Carson
Nevertheless, he would gently broach the subject of marriage, to try and draw her out, to ascertain whether or not she was agreeable, at least in principle. He would have to pick his time, of course. You could hardly introduce a subject with such vast implications when the object of your affection was preoccupied with something else, but he would mention it somehow. First, though, he would seek the advice of Moses Cartwright who was familiar with the quirks of the Piddock family’s womenfolk.
Moses proved to be very effective and diligent in his work at the premises of Jeremiah Goodrich and Sons, Monumental and Sepulchral Architects. Despite his handicap, he had perfected a method of keeping himself balanced and upright on one crutch, while maintaining the freedom of at least one arm to enable him to do the tasks expected of him, like grooming Quenelda and Roxanne, cleaning the windows and tending to the forge. One Friday afternoon in July when Arthur returned to the workshop he found Moses in the yard lugging a bucket of coke inside for the forge.
‘Let me carry that for you, Moses.’
‘Nay, Arthur. I’m capable, and it’s what I’m paid to do.’
‘Is the old man inside?’
‘No, he’s gone into the house. I reckon he’s finished for the afternoon now.’
‘Good.’ Arthur followed Moses inside.
‘So’s Talbot. I’ve been making meself busy waiting for you to come back and lock up. Got much on tomorrow, Arthur?’
‘A trip to Kidderminster. We’ve been asked to put an inscription on a new stone pulpit we made.’ He placed his toolbag down on a workbench. ‘So make sure I’ve got plenty hardened and sharpened chisels, Moses.’
‘Aye, there’s plenty done. Would you like me to put ’em in your bag ready for morning?’
‘Yes, better to do ’em now, I reckon. I’ll need an early start in the morning if I’ve got to catch a train to Kidderminster. I expect it’ll be gold leafed as well, so I’d better make sure I got plenty gold leaf.’
‘How’s your thumb where you hit it with the mallet?’ Moses asked.
‘Oh, still sore as a boil …’ Arthur put a few sheets of the precious gold leaf into his bag. ‘I’ve got damned toothache now as well. I’m always getting the damned toothache … It drives me mad.’
‘Sounds to me as if you should get it pulled.’
‘Pulled?’ Arthur said scornfully. ‘I ain’t getting it pulled. I’d be in even more agony than I am now if I had it pulled. No, I’d rather keep me tooth.’ He paused a few seconds, watching Moses operate. ‘Moses, I’ve been meaning to ask your advice …’
He ceased shovelling coke into the small furnace and regarded Arthur expectantly. ‘You want my advice?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about?’
‘About Lucy.’
‘About Lucy?’
‘Yes … Sit down for five minutes, Moses … Are you in a rush to get off?’
‘Not particularly, ’cept Jane’ll have me fittles ready afore long.’
‘Well, I won’t keep you long, Moses.’
Moses sat down on the dusty old wooden chair. ‘I don’t know as I’m qualified to give advice about Lucy, you know, Arthur.’
‘Well, it’s not so much about Lucy as about me and Lucy together. I’ve a notion I’d like to marry the wench, see, and it’s your advice on how to go about broaching the subject as I need.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Moses answered, with a broad grin. ‘Just ask her outright. Just say, “Listen, Lucy, will you marry me?”’
‘Is that how you asked Jane?’
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘More or less. I asked her afore I went to fight in the Crimea though. But we thought it better to wait till I got back afore we went and did it, for fear I didn’t come back and med a widder of her. If I’d never come back she’d have a better chance of marrying somebody else if she was a spinster and not a widder, we reckoned.’
Arthur nodded his understanding. ‘But I get the notion that your Jane thinks more o’ you than Lucy thinks o’ me.’
‘Oh? How d’you work that out?’
‘It’s how I perceive you. She looks at you with such love in her eyes, Moses. I never see that for me in Lucy’s eyes.’
‘But Lucy thinks the world of you, all the same.’
‘Do you know that for sure? Has she ever said so?’
‘Not in so many words, Arthur … But in the way she talks about you, especially to Jane, it’s obvious.’
‘She’s never told me she loves me.’ Arthur looked down at his swollen thumb, which he was twiddling agitatedly around his good one, as he sat on the workbench next to his toolbag.
‘Have you ever given her the urge to?’
‘How do you mean, Moses? I don’t think I follow.’
Moses threw his hands out in a gesture of frankness. ‘Have you ever bedded the wench?’
Arthur looked astonished at such a direct and personal question, which compromised Lucy’s integrity. ‘No, and I don’t think it would be the right thing to do afore marriage, Moses.’
Moses laughed at Arthur’s prudery. ‘Well, maybe that’s your problem, Arthur. Wenches always respond better to a man once he’s given ’em the benefit of a good poking. Maybe that’s what Lucy needs – a good poking.’
‘But, Moses, I wouldn’t dream … Did you give Jane a good … you know … poking – pardon my asking – afore you got married?’
‘Aye, course I did. Many’s the time. Afore I went to the Crimea. I had to give her summat to remember me by.’
‘But she didn’t get pregnant?’
‘No. But wenches don’t necessarily get pregnant every time you give ’em a poke, else there’d be millions o’ babbies running around all over the place. You have to pull your old man out in time.’
‘Do you still bother to pull it out now you’m wed?’ Arthur asked, intrigued.
‘If she’s due for a fall of soot I don’t bother.’
‘Pardon me for asking, Moses … but how do you manage to do it now with only half a left leg?’
‘Well, I use the rail at the foot o’ the bed to give me a bit o’ purchase. Having only one good leg don’t hamper me a bit, I can tell you.’ He winked waggishly.
‘Good. I just wondered … Anyway, you think that’s what I should do to Lucy?’
‘If she’s averse to a poke she’ll be the first wench ever. My advice is, give her a good poking regular, and she’ll be eating out of your hand.’
Arthur smiled resignedly. ‘I never thought it right and proper, Moses, and I still ain’t sure as I believe you, but—’
‘Listen, Arthur, if you don’t do it, somebody else’ll beat you to it. Wenches am like that. They’m fickle till they’ve had the benefit of a good poking. They’ll go for the chap as gives ’em a good poking every time, mark my words … Has Lucy ever bin poked afore by anybody, d’you reckon?’ Moses asked guilelessly.
‘Lord, no. I’d stake me life on it.’
‘No, I wouldn’t have thought so either. So get in there first, eh? Wenches never forget their first poke, and they love the chap as did it forever after.’
‘Are you sure, Moses?’
‘Ask anybody.’
Having finished his work in Kidderminster, Arthur made his way back to the station, pondering his own behaviour while he’d been working on the church pulpit, now completed. All morning he’d suffered agonies, his toothache throbbing as if he were afflicted with some sort of dental gout. It had caused him to be rather curt with the vicar of the parish who came to see how he was getting on. Arthur brooded over how sorry he was for that, and for being so offhand with the maid who had trundled across the churchyard from the vicarage to bring him a mug of tea, just because there was not enough sugar in it. She was a pretty girl, inoffensive, and did not deserve his abruptness. If only he could have bothered to explain the agony he was in.
He hoped the train would not be late. He was due to play cricket that afternoon at Netherton. He was the wicket-keeper now, a very responsible positio
n in the team. He’d trained hard and was becoming quite adept. If only this nauseating toothache would go away …
The train steamed in from Worcester and Arthur clambered awkwardly into the first available third class compartment, lugging his bag with him. He heaved it onto the luggage rack above then flopped forlornly into a seat, scanning his travelling companions assessively. They were three in number, and none seemed interested in him. Two were gazing out of the window at the sunshine and the third was reading a news sheet.
He felt in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small green bottle containing laudanum. Just a couple of drops would numb the pain entirely and he would have some respite. He did not habitually take laudanum, but once in a while at bedtimes, when the pain was intolerable, he might take a drop or two for it helped him sleep as well. He opened the bottle, surreptitiously glancing again at his fellow passengers, and allowed a few drops to drip onto his tongue, before he pushed the cork back in and returned it to his pocket.
As the train chugged on he thought about Lucy. Last night, when he went to the Whimsey and walked her home afterwards he could not pluck up the courage to mention his thoughts of marriage. Indeed, there was no great rush. There needed to be a decorous amount of time between starting courting and getting wed, and a decorous amount of time had not yet passed. Perhaps Christmas would be a good time to get wed, always assuming Lucy agreed to it. It would also be nice to be in a position where he was sure of a positive answer. Perhaps Moses Cartwright had a point when he advocated giving Lucy a good poke. If it truly were to ignite a passion for him and establish her lifelong devotion, as Moses suggested it would, then perhaps he was being foolhardy in not pressing for it. But how did you go about it? How did you go about seducing the love of your life before you were married, when hitherto you had endeavoured to be honourable and decent? If he tried suddenly to play the role of the amorous seducer after all these months of passive courtship, would he look a fool? Would he appear plausible? Besides, he should have asked Moses for some clue as to where such an initiation could take place, for Arthur was bereft of ideas.
His toothache was mercifully easing, and he was beginning to feel warm, comfortable and relaxed as the train rattled on through countryside as pleasant as anywhere in England. The laudanum was doing its work. Arthur closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest and tried to imagine himself in a soft feather bed with Lucy. Yes, that was not beyond his ability to imagine. But contriving how to get her there was causing him some concern. He could never persuade her into bed at their little cottage in Bull Street, for Hannah was generally in residence even if Haden wasn’t. He might be able to effect it at his father’s house, providing he could get his mother out of the way; preferably on a day when his father was at work … But then Lucy would be at work as well …
Maybe he could bribe Moses to lend him his and Jane’s bed one evening … Or Haden’s and Hannah’s … He could go up to Haden and say, ‘Hey, Haden, I want to give your daughter a good poking, so let me borrow your bed.’ Haden would be very understanding and say, ‘With the greatest of pleasure, my lord king. And would you like me to bring you a pot of tea and some crumpets afterwards to refresh you both?’ Oh, Haden could be very accommodating at times. Imagine if he presented himself at Talbot’s house and started divesting Lucy of all her clothes in front of Magnolia, she too would be very understanding and hospitable and say, ‘Oh, let me help you, Arthur.’ Then she would take her own clothes off and make sure she joined Lucy and him in her own marital bed while Talbot did a spot of letter cutting in his place at some churchyard or other.
But wouldn’t it be a good idea if they could dress in the same colours as the place where they were, like polar bears in snow. Then it would look as if they weren’t there. They could get up to all sorts of antics if they were so well disguised and nobody would be able to see them. If they each had an outfit the same colours as his mother’s parlour furniture for instance, folk would come in and have a look around and not even know they were there, and they would be able to poke to their heart’s content undetected. They could dress in greens and browns and blend into the countryside, looking as if they were parts of hedges and stiles. On a Sunday afternoon with Lucy in her blue muslin dress and him in white cricketing trousers, they hardly looked like a hedge or a stile; you don’t see many hedges or stiles made out of blue muslin or white flannel. They could even paint each other with a woodgrain effect and poke about on a pew in church …
Perhaps he could go to the vicarage and ask the vicar if he would lend him his bed, for services rendered in the cricket team. ‘And is this young woman a member of my flock?’ the vicar would say spouting mouthfuls of communion wine over the curate. No, your highness, but her mislaid grandmother used to make lovely dripping. The trombone was her downfall though. That and sitting up all night trying to bleach the parrot lest the minister thought it too gaudy … when he came for his weekly poke … Ha-ha … When he came for his poke … When he …
Lucy and Miriam decided that a trip to Dudley would be the thing to do that Saturday afternoon, since it was such a lovely warm day. As they sat waiting on a bench for the train at Brettell Lane station they gossiped about this and that.
‘I heard as Penina Baggott has just buried her ninth,’ Miriam said, and drew her mouth down at the corners to emphasise the gravity.
‘Fancy,’ Lucy replied with equal solemnity. ‘How old was it?’
‘I ain’t sure. They’ve never been wed, you know, her and that chap of hers. He just rented a house and she just moved in with him. Scandalous it is, I reckon.’
‘And me. I believe in marriage, Miriam. I mean, you can’t share a house with a chap and not expect to have his kids, can you? And I think you should only have kids when you’m married.’
‘It’s bad enough him playing the fiddle of a night,’ Miriam declared. ‘He’s a keen fiddler by all accounts. I mean, you wouldn’t want e’er a fiddle a-squawking round you when you’d still got eight kids all a-squawking an’ all, would you?’
‘It’d drive you potty,’ Lucy agreed.
‘I’d leave him, with all that row going on.’
They heard the railway engine panting hard as it approached the station, and stood up in readiness.
‘I wonder what happened to that guard you used to fancy, Lucy?’ Miriam remarked. ‘We ain’t seen him for ages.’
‘Months,’ said Lucy. ‘Last time I saw him was in the winter.’
‘P’raps he’s left and found other work.’
‘Who knows? Maybe he’s emigrated.’
The train pulled into the station with its usual mechanical squeals, clanking of buffers and the attendant acrid smells. As it drew to a halt Lucy, out of ingrained habit, looked to the rear at the guards’ van, just in case Dickie Dempster was on duty … when she saw him.
‘Miriam, he’s here!’ She nudged her friend excitedly. ‘He’s just getting out the brake van. Hang on, I’ll have to speak to him.’ She waited a second or two, and he spotted her.
‘I thought you was dead,’ he said amiably when he reached her. ‘I ain’t seen you for ages.’
‘I was just saying the same thing to Miriam.’ Lucy sounded breathless. ‘Have you altered your shift?’
‘Swapped it around. I start earlier and finish earlier. That’s why I ain’t seen yer. I finish about two. This is me last trip today. When I get back to Wolverhampton, that’s me done. I shall get meself in front of a nice tankard of ale when I walk out o’ Low Level station. Where are you bound for, ladies?’
‘Dudley.’
‘Pity. I’d have took you for a drink if you was going to Wolverhampton.’
‘That would’ve been nice,’ Lucy said, looking at Miriam for her agreement.
‘’Cept we’ve already bought our tickets to Dudley,’ Miriam interjected.
‘Pity,’ he said again. ‘But why don’t you make it Wolverhampton next week, eh? I’ll be on the same train. Catch it and I’ll meet you off, eh? Then
I’ll treat you to a drink.’
Lucy’s blue eyes sparkled with verve and she blushed to her roots. But she was not going to let this opportunity pass. Of course, nothing would come of it, but she had dreamed of this for far too long not to take advantage of it now. ‘Yes, all right,’ she said and her smile was dazzling. ‘We’ll be on this train next Saturday. We generally catch this one.’
‘Good.’ He took his watch out of his fob and glanced at it. ‘This carriage, ladies?’
It was second class and Lucy giggled. ‘If you say it’s all right, Dickie.’
‘Course it’s all right.’ He opened the door and let them in. ‘Have a good trip and I’ll see you next week.’
‘We’re looking forward to it already.’
Dickie Dempster slammed the door to and waved, then scanned the train for stragglers and doors left open before he hurried back to his guards’ van. Once more the girls heard the familiar shrill sound of his whistle signalling the engine driver that it was safe to recommence their journey.
‘I shan’t go for a drink with him,’ Miriam declared.
‘You won’t?’
‘No, you can go on your own, Lucy. It’s what you want anyroad. You don’t want me playing gooseberry, spoiling your fun.’
‘But Miriam, I don’t think I should go and meet him on my own. He’ll be expecting us both.’
‘No, it’s you he’s interested in, not me.’
Lucy sighed. ‘But I’d feel guilty going on my own. After all this time, I’d feel I was being untrue to Arthur.’
‘Well, I reckon that depends on your intentions, Luce. I mean, if you want your seeing this Dickie Dempster to be something more, then yes, you’d be being untrue. But if it’s just being polite, and politely accepting his invitation, then you ain’t. So which is it?’
‘I don’t know, Miriam. I honestly don’t know.’
‘So it’s goodbye, Arthur,’ Miriam said.