Sixpenny Girl

by Meg Hutchinson

  ‘Unlike myself !’ The attractive face smiled as the slender body lifted, bending its head to touch full lips to Zadok’s navel, the tip of a tongue sliding wetly downward. ‘I can raise you every time . . . all it takes is this.’

  As the tongue caressed the tip of his flaring column of flesh Zadok jerked like a marionette.

  ‘You like that, don’t you?’ Violet eyes teased.

  Gasping through clenched teeth, Zadok closed his eyes against the intensity of the rabid fire that leapt in his groin. This was the reason he put up with the whore’s possessiveness; this seething passion that had his balls like iron, the pulsing thrill that sent blood rushing like a torrent in his veins, the feverish excitement that had him hard as a stallion.

  ‘You like my tongue, Zadok? But I know you like this more . . .’

  As he felt the body slide away from the bed Zadok’s eyes flew open, his dry lips parting with the force of need driving through him, desire beating like a sledgehammer in his brain.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Violet eyes stared provocatively. ‘You like this more, so why not take it?’

  Yes, he liked that more. Both hands grabbing the slender hips, Zadok drew the tantalising body towards him, burying his face in the tussock of dark-brown hair nestled at the base of the stomach, kissing the warm triangle before snatching the exultant figure down on the bed and rolling it beneath his own inflamed body.

  ‘We can help the Elwells wi’out Jairus Ensell!’

  Setting a new batch of bread dough to rise in the corner of the hearth, Saran washed the utensils in the scullery, Luke’s argument of the evening before running in her mind.

  ‘Don’t take no thinkin’ out to see they needs a roof over their ’eads and work for their ’ands!’

  ‘But Jairus . . .’ She had blushed at the way the name slipped from her tongue and Luke too had caught the familiarity.

  ‘Jairus!’ he had said, irritation giving the name a razor edge of contempt. ‘That man ain’t the be-all and end-all the way you seems to think!’

  The various dishes and spoons washed she carried them back to the kitchen, putting each in its place. Luke made no secret of his dislike of Jairus Ensell . . . but the man could help Livvy and Edward, surely Luke could see that.

  ‘There be no rush so far as the Elwells be concerned,’ Luke had continued obstinately. ‘They don’t neither of ’em be fit enough yet for work and ’til it be otherwise they can stay here, and as to their board and keep I’ll pay that meself.’

  His words had stung and though she realised they were said in the heat of the moment tears had prickled her eyes. Seeing them, Luke had been beside her in a moment, words of apology tumbling from his lips.

  ‘It don’t be the way it sounded . . . I didn’t mean . . . Saran, honest . . . I knows it were not the money you was thinkin’ of.’

  ‘We are both tired.’ She had smiled immediately at the lad who was as dear as any brother could have been. ‘Why don’t we talk of this tomorrow?’

  But they had not talked of it. Luke had risen as usual at the last moment, leaving just enough time to wash beneath the pump in the yard and swallow two gulped mouthfuls of tea before dashing off to the tube works. Spooning tea into the pot Saran covered it with water bubbling in the heavy iron kettle. Luke was content with his lot and she too should be content, fate had been kind, it had given them Brook Cottage, and Wednesbury was providing them with the means of earning a living. But true contentment could never be hers until her mother and sister were here with her.

  At a knock on the rear door of the house Saran looked up and Edward Elwell stepped through the scullery into the kitchen, the clothes Jairus Ensell had left for him hanging loose on his thin frame.

  ‘Be my Livvy all right?’

  Her heart twisted as the desperate fear locked in every word and highlighted in panic-stricken eyes chased thoughts of her own unhappiness from her mind. Setting the kettle back over the fire she smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Livvy is resting. I was just making some tea, perhaps you could take some to her.’

  ‘That be more’n kind, Saran wench, but me and Livvy will be takin’ no more of what we ’ave no means of payin’ for. With your permission I’ll go fetch her and we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘To where?’

  Confronted by a strength which gave the question the impetus of a demand Edward Elwell shook his head.

  ‘Where don’t matter no more, since we don’t ’ave our children it meks no odds where we go.’

  ‘It does to me!’ Saran snapped. ‘And it does to Luke, we are both of the same mind. You and Livvy must remain here at Brook Cottage until you can get a place of your own.’

  Slumping into a chair Edward lowered his head into his hands. ‘That won’t never be,’ he murmured, ‘I’ve asked at every place in Wednesbury but I would ’ave had more luck had I been asking for the moon. There don’t be nothing, not even collectin’ night soil.’

  ‘But you have a skill, you are a nail-maker and nails will always be wanted.’

  Edward’s head shook without lifting. ‘Ar, there’ll always be a call for nails but not them as be med by hand, they are being turned away; nail masters be buyin’ cheaper, machines be doing a man’s work and tekin’ the bread from his mouth. There be others in the town as be near following the path Livvy and me was forced to tread but, like me, they’ll find the world ’as no heart.’

  She had once thought as Edward did now, but some power had guided her steps and brought her to the heath where she had helped a woman give birth, brought her to Wednesbury and to this house . . . and Luke, it had brought her Luke, the most cherished gift of all.

  ‘Edward.’ Calmness replacing the twitch of impatience that moments ago had made her words hard, she waited until the man’s head lifted and his hopeless gaze fastened on her. ‘Edward, please don’t say any of this to Livvy, not yet; I fear she might not have the strength to face another setback.’

  Saran smiled at the man stood in her pretty parlour, sunlight from the window creating a blue crown on jet-black hair. ‘It is a wonderful offer, Mr Ensell, and so kind of you.’

  ‘No, not kind, Saran . . .’ he stepped close, eyes dark as his hair looking deeply into her own, ‘selfish . . . my offer is made on purely selfish gounds. It provided me with an excuse to call upon you.’

  Mesmerised by the intense look which seemed to drive into her deepest parts she tried to answer, but when none came the handsome face took on a slight frown.

  ‘My bad manners, my illiberality at calling without invitation is unforgivable . . .’

  Reaching a hand to his sleeve as he took up his hat she blushed as it was caught between strong fingers. ‘Your coming here is nothing if not kindness, to think of Livvy—’

  ‘It is not for the Elwells I came,’ he interrupted, his eyes boring into hers. ‘True, the offer of a place with my grandmother provided the opportunity but the real cause was you. You have come to mean a great deal to me, Saran; since the moment of my first seeing you, of catching you in my arms as you fainted, I have thought of little but you. I love you . . . I know I should not say it but I must or burst from want of doing so. I love you, Saran, and I ask you to become my wife.’

  She was to become another man’s wife! Stood behind the small cottage that had been his home from birth Gideon Newell stared across the wide pastureland and crop fields that belonged to Oakeswell Hall. Luke had broken the news, repugnance staining his every word.

  ‘Ensell be in love with ’er.’

  The memory twisted like a knife blade in the chest.

  ‘He asked would ’er marry him and her said yes.’

  It had cut deep, taking the breath from his body, but in his hatred of the idea Luke had not noticed the pain lance across his face, a pain that burned now as it had that morning.

  ‘Why?’

  The talk had resumed while they had sat together in the yard of the tube works, Luke eating the fresh bread and cheese Saran had left for hi
m when giving the old gatekeeper the sandwich it had become a habit to save for him.

  ‘Why would Ensell want to marry Saran? I would never have placed him as a man to marry beneath him, seems too much the dandy for that.’

  The lad had ranted on until a short blast of a steam whistle recalled them to the noise and heat of the tube works. But the silence Gideon had kept had been only in his mouth while the whole of the rest of the day his insides yelled the turmoil in his brain.

  To have shared his suppositions with the lad would have added fuel to the flame of young judgement and done no more than anger a young woman who already held no liking for Gideon Newell and would rightly see any words of his as having no business in her life.

  Nor had he any rights and, for that matter, neither had Luke, they were no kin to Saran Chandler, they were simply friends. No, no, that was wrong . . . Luke Hipton was a friend, Gideon Newell could not even claim that. But what was Jairus Ensell claiming? More than friendship; but love? Rain clouds gathered force, besieging the moon, threatening its golden beauty with an all-encompassing darkness which matched the turgid shadows in his heart.

  That was the doubt that had played in his mind since Luke had divulged the man’s asking Saran to marry him; was Jairus Ensell truly in love with her or did he see what she owned as more desirable? Saran Chandler had no fortune but was Ensell aware of that or did he think William Salisbury had given a great deal more than he had, so seeing that reward as a way of paying for a few more years of fancy living?

  The first few drops of rain touching like tears against his face, he turned towards the house. That was Jairus Ensell’s first and only love, that much he would stake his life on; a fogger who thought nothing of taking the last penny from a man and leaving him to starve while the fruits of those labours were dedicated to upholding his own lifestyle. Like a leech Ensell clung to a man’s back, and like a leech he sucked until there was no more left to drain; would he do the same to Saran Chandler? There was no doubt of it! Bypassing the cottage Gideon strode into the fast-gathering storm. The only question was whether he would take the true prize he had set his sights on before or after becoming Saran Chandler’s husband?

  ‘It be good o’ the man mekin’ the offer he has, but the missus, her don’t want to go live Wolverhampton way.’

  Edward Elwell looked apologetically at the two people sat with himself and Livvy in the lantern-lit kitchen of Brook Cottage.

  ‘It ain’t like I don’t be grateful . . .’ Livvy held a scrap of cotton cloth to her trembling mouth, ‘I am, wench, truly so; but my babbies . . . I can’t leave ’em again, not a second time.’

  A glance at Luke telling her he understood the woman’s mental attitude, her complete refusal to admit to herself her children were lost to her, Saran touched a sympathetic hand to those clutching the makeshift handkerchief.

  ‘I understand,’ she said pityingly, ‘and so will Mr Ensell.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want him thinking as we had throwed that offer back at him . . . but with Livvy . . . the way things be . . .’

  ‘Mr Ensell will not think any such thing, Edward, he knows how broken-hearted you both are and, believe me, he will continue to search for the children as he will search for my family.’

  Ensell could think what the hell he liked! Luke kept his jubilation well hidden as Saran poured tea they all hoped would soothe Livvy. At least the Elwells would be free of him if they accepted the proposal he had talked over with Gideon during the day. Talked over! That was hardly an accurate description, getting Gideon to say anything at all had been harder than drawing iron.

  ‘Forgive the question, Edward, but do you understand figures?’

  The tea poured and cups passed to each, Saran resumed her seat as she asked the question.

  ‘Ar, wench, some.’ Edward nodded. ‘Me father taught me to read and to write and to know me numbers though I be no scholar.’

  ‘Then, given the opportunity, you could weigh and record a delivery of nails?’

  ‘I could do that easy, wench, and tell the true price, unlike the foggers and nail masters that has this town by the throat.’

  ‘And the iron strip necessary for the making of nails, could you take on the responsibility of ordering that?’

  Where would all this lead? A frisson of apprehension tickled along Luke’s spine. It was one thing for him to throw his money away, but for Saran to do the same! Opening his mouth he closed it, saying nothing; he had argued . . . he had tried reasoning, but Saran was adamant.

  ‘I knows the nailing well,’ Edward Elwell was replying, ‘I was born to it as were many a man in Wednesbury, I don’t think there be any part o’ the trade be unknown to me though, to tell it honest, I ain’t had no experience of the part you be speakin’ of.’

  ‘No matter. There is, however, one more question I would have you answer but before I ask it there is something Luke would like to say.’

  Edward Elwell took his wife’s hand, holding it between his own.

  ‘You don’t need to say it, lad, me and the missus we knows it be time we was on our way.’

  ‘T’ain’t what I were about to say at all, Mr Edward.’ Luke used the respect he had adopted when speaking to the man. ‘I were going to say that you and Mrs Livvy . . . well, if you goes tomorrow and finds a house, a little ’un like, then . . . then the money be here for the renting.’

  ‘Oh lad!’ Edward’s choked words followed his wife’s cry. ‘Oh lad . . . God bless you . . . God bless you . . .’

  Her own feelings reflecting in her eyes, Saran smiled at an embarrassed Luke. How many in today’s world had so generous a heart?

  ‘You will overlook my Livvy not givin’ her own thanks straightaway, but her still be heartbroke . . .’

  The rest choked in the man’s throat and he turned his head, not wanting his own tears to be seen.

  ‘I think Mrs Livvy and yourself should both listen to the next question Saran be goin’ to ask.’

  A quick glance telling her to speak on before he as well as the Elwells would give way to tears, Saran nodded.

  Edward’s smile glistened in moist eyes. ‘Ask whatever you will, Saran wench, you can be sure Edward Elwell will answer truthful.’

  There was still time for her to change her mind, to say different to what she had outlined to him. Watching the girl he had come to love as a sister, Luke mentally urged the words to remain unsaid.

  ‘Before I do,’ Saran spoke quietly, ‘Luke and I both want it clearly understood that whatever you and Livvy choose to do has our complete support. I wanted you to hear Luke’s suggestion before I made one of my own, that suggestion being you act for me, become a manager.’ Seeing the utter surprise come to the man’s face, she wondered for one fleeting moment whether what she had thought on the whole day was really the best for all concerned; if it went wrong she would lose everything, which was the very reason she had resisted every argument of Luke’s that he should be involved. What money he had he must keep against his own work being taken from him.

  ‘Me . . . a manager . . . !’

  Edward Elwell was almost tongue-tied with the unexpectedness of it.

  ‘You have what it takes, you said it was a job you could do.’

  ‘Ar, so it be, but a manager . . .’

  ‘If you have no liking for my suggestion then take the offer Luke has made. I will buy the necessary equipment and iron for you to start and will purchase the nails you produce.’

  Saran was mad, she was out of her mind! Luke swallowed the protest rising in his throat. She knew absolutely nothing about the making of nails and even less about the selling of ’em!

  ‘You . . . a nail master . . . eh, wench, you ’ave no idea what it is you’d be tekin’ on.’

  ‘Which is why I need you.’

  His head swinging slowly from side to side, Edward Elwell looked into the young face. The wench had gone through some hard times but her had no idea of what becoming a nail master would hold, her would have to fight too
th and nail with the roughest.

  ‘A nail master can’t mek a livin’ from just one nailer . . .’

  ‘I know that, Edward. But wasn’t it you said nail masters have this town by the throat, that they are choking the life from its families? Then help me, work with me to break that stranglehold.’

  ‘It be easy to talk, wench.’

  Determination tightening her mouth, Saran sat upright in her chair. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it is easy to talk and easy to back down; which will you do, Edward?’

  24

  ‘It don’t do for me to tell you your business, Saran wench, but renting a warehouse be costly.’

  ‘But we will need somewhere to weigh and store nails and the brewhouse isn’t big enough, and I wouldn’t want this kitchen turned into a storeroom.’ Saran looked at the man whose delight in accepting her offer to act as middleman had been obvious.

  ‘I knows that as well as you does,’ Edward Elwell nodded, ‘but where be the sense in payin’ out good money . . .’

  ‘So what be your way?’ Luke asked.

  ‘Well, lad,’ releasing his wife’s hand the older man leaned forward, tracing a finger over the spotless tablecloth as he spoke. ‘This ’ere be the canal an’ these be the buildings standin’ close alongside.’

  ‘They don’t be warehouses!’

  ‘No, lad, they don’t, but that there biggest could be. Don’t you see,’ he looked at Saran, ‘by usin’ one o’ your own outbuildings you cuts the cost down considerable, the only outlay you would ’ave would be the buyin’ of a pair o’ weighing scales and a man took on to keep the accounts.’

  An accountant! That would be unnecessary for it was a job she could do herself, taught as her father had taught her; but offsetting the cost of a warehouse was something well worth the considering.

  ‘Saran.’ Livvy Elwell’s sad eyes watched the slender figure reach a black-bound volume from a drawer of the dresser and bring it to the table. ‘Saran, I ’opes you don’t mind . . . my Edward ’e were only thinkin’ to ’elp.’