A Family Affair

by Nancy Carson

  ‘He was on about ’em needing more money to finish what they’m a-doing in the brewery.’

  ‘God knows where they’ll get it. You know what Mother’s like about the banks.’

  ‘Well that Jake was saying as how they’ve got to the point where they can’t turn back. They’ve got to go forwards, he says. So he’s asked his brother Elijah to come in with ’em. He ain’t short of a copper or two by all accounts.’

  ‘Well, if that solves the problem, Zillah, all well and good.’

  ‘Yes, but you ain’t heard the best of it,’ Zillah gloated, bursting with this opportunity to impart even more astounding information. ‘He’s taking up lodgings with you. He’s moving into the spare bedroom. From next Sunday. I gorra spruce it all up and air the bed.’

  ‘You mean he’s coming to live at the Jolly Collier?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it, Clover, my wench.’ She pressed her lips together tightly and nodded once, her expression suitably grave.

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. I don’t suppose Mother will tell me till the last minute. She never tells me anything. I sometimes wonder if she knows I exist.’

  ‘Well, she seems a bit took with your stepfather Jake, and no two ways. I ’spect she can’t keep her mind on nothing else yet awhile.’

  ‘As long as she’s happy…I’ll go, Zillah. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, see you tomorrow, Clover. Keep out the hoss road.’

  Clover carried on, smiling and acknowledging people who were walking in the opposite direction. As she reached the Jolly Collier, Tom Doubleday rushed out and almost knocked her over.

  ‘Oops!…God, I’m so sorry, Clover,’ he said full of remorse.

  ‘Oh, hello, Tom. Fancy bumping into you.’ Standing on one leg, Clover tried, hidden by the length of her skirt, to secretly rub her shin with the upper of her shoe at the spot where his foot had caught her.

  ‘I hope I haven’t hurt you, Clover.’ He placed his hand on her arm in a gesture of concern and the sensation of his hand, warm upon her, set her pulse racing. ‘I ought to start looking where I’m going before I wreak too much damage. I’m such a clumsy clot.’

  ‘It’s all right, Tom, I’m fine,’ she assured him.

  He took his hand away. ‘Did I hurt your leg?’

  ‘Just my shin,’ she admitted and raised the hem of her skirt to reveal a well-turned ankle. ‘It’s nothing. Are you just leaving?’

  He smiled with a warmth that churned her insides. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Oh…Is Ramona all right?’ she asked awkwardly.

  He turned his head momentarily as if to check inside the pub. ‘Yes, she seems all right. Why? Is something the matter? Are you worried about her?’

  ‘No, no…’ She shook her head, tongue-tied, and hoped he would be able to think of some comment to make, for she could think of none.

  ‘How’s your friend?’ he blurted, almost as dumbstruck as she was. ‘Isn’t his name Ned? I think that’s what Ramona told me.’

  ‘Oh, Ned…’ She nodded, flustered. There was no sense in denying Ned if Ramona had made it her business to mention him. ‘Ned’s all right…thanks.’

  ‘He’s building a flying machine, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, that’s his real passion.’ She smiled then looked abashed at her shoes that were poking out daintily under her skirt, silently cursing herself for blushing so vividly. ‘I help him. I help him build it. He’s going to fly it on Sunday morning over Rough Hill. ‘Tis to be hoped the weather stays fair.’ She looked up into the sky as if it would yield some clue.

  ‘Let’s hope so.’ He found it difficult to avert his eyes from her face. ‘Are you helping him tonight?’

  ‘Oh, no, not tonight. I’m having a night in tonight. Ironing.’ She uttered a little laugh of embarrassment and rolled her eyes.

  He nodded. ‘Well, it’s nice to see you Clover. I seldom get the chance to talk to you…which is a shame. Still…I’ll see you again soon, I hope.’

  She smiled demurely and nodded again. ‘Yes…I hope so.’

  ‘See you then, Clover. Sorry about your shin.’

  ‘It’s all right, Tom. I can’t feel a thing.’

  And she couldn’t.

  As the week wore on Clover thought more and more about Tom Doubleday. Meeting him so unexpectedly and talking to him had triggered dreamy thoughts again which, because of Ramona, she dared not foster. The week also brought a steady dribble of cardboard boxes and a couple of suitcases; Elijah’s belongings that were in the course of being transferred from the Dudley Arms to the Jolly Collier. And still nobody mentioned to Clover that his permanent arrival was imminent.

  ‘Do I take it that somebody is coming to lodge with us, Mother, seeing how somebody’s trankelments are cluttering up the passage and the stairs?’ she asked, pretending she did not know, peeved that nobody other than Zillah had mentioned it.

  ‘Elijah Tandy,’ Mary Anne responded economically. ‘Sunday.’

  ‘Why has nobody mentioned it?’

  ‘Oh? I would’ve thought that Jacob or Ramona might’ve said.’

  ‘Nobody’s said. I would’ve thought you might have said, Mother. So how come he’s moving in here?’

  ‘He’s investing some money in the brewing venture and coming to work with us. Jacob said that if he did, he might as well live here.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he go and live in Jake’s house till it’s sold?’

  Mary Ann laughed scornfully. ‘I imagine he’s afeared that if he does, young Dorcas will take it as a sign to go and live with him. That’ll mean him getting wed and he don’t want to get wed. You’d think she’d have the gumption to take the hint. He’s only been engaged to the wench three years.’

  ‘Will he be paying rent here?’

  ‘Lord, no. He’s Jacob’s brother, our Clover. Besides, you could hardly ask him to pay rent when he’s coughing up a load of money.’

  ‘I suppose not. How did he make his money, Mother?’

  ‘I shouldn’t ask.’ Mary Ann lowered her voice. ‘Gambling, if you want the truth,’ she muttered distastefully. ‘Cards. Not as I hold with it, as you know. But if it can do Jacob some good…’

  Clover finished her ironing by eight o’ clock that night and, looking neat and tidy in a white blouse and navy skirt with her hair done up, went into the taproom to help Ramona. The number of young men that were patrons these days suddenly struck her, young men she had not seen before, many more than there ever used to be. They all had eyes for Ramona but, when Clover herself appeared, many of them fastened their eyes onto her too. Ramona spoke familiarly to those who addressed her. She giggled at their flirting and her repartee was equal to the wittiest.

  ‘You seem to have quite a few admirers, Ramona,’ Clover commented ungrudgingly.

  Ramona grinned. ‘Well, they’ll all be disappointed when Sammy comes.’

  ‘Sammy?’ she queried, thinking of Tom and how it might affect him. ‘Is he coming?’

  ‘I ain’t seen him for ages. But I had a letter from him yesterday. He says he wants to see me again, so I wrote back and asked him to come tonight.’

  Clover was tempted to ask her about Tom Doubleday. She felt inclined to comment that it seemed hardly fair on him, especially if she intended resuming her shenanigans with this Sammy. But she thought better of it. It was none of her business. It was best to keep well out of it.

  ‘When he comes, Clover, would you mind covering for me while I go out with him, seeing as you’re down here?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Clover replied. ‘Just as long as Pop doesn’t mind you going out.’

  ‘Oh, he won’t mind.’

  ‘Is Tom coming tonight?’

  ‘He’s already been and gone, Clover.’

  A group of young men on one table called Ramona’s attention. They wanted their glasses replenished. She made a show of provocatively swinging her narrow hips as she approached them and it seemed to Clover that her stepsister was deliberately flau
nting herself. She seemed to enjoy it when they gawped at her. She revelled in their looking her up and down wantonly, making lewd signs to each other. She played up to them, laughing at their ribald comments while she collected their glasses ready for refilling.

  ‘You seem to enjoy egging those men on,’ Clover remarked with disapproval, helping her fill a couple of the glasses from another beer pump. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘Wise?’ Ramona queried, as if such wisdom was irrelevant. ‘It’s good for business, Clover.’

  ‘You mean…?’

  ‘I mean, I couldn’t give a sod for any of them, but as long as they think they’ve got a chance with me they’ll keep coming in here and spending money.’

  Clover laughed as the realisation struck her. ‘Yes, I suppose…’

  ‘You could help the cause as well, you know, Clover. You can fetch the ducks off the water. I’ve seen how men look at you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so. You’re different to me but that don’t mean they like you any less. What one bloke likes, another won’t. What one bloke don’t like, another will. One man’s meat, Clover.’

  Clover smiled to herself. They were different, she and Ramona. Ramona was so much more worldly than her years suggested. But then, she had always had the freedom to do as she pleased. She was canny and uninhibited. Clover was neither. Ramona understood love, life and how to manipulate. Clover did not. Ramona’s big brown eyes, her curly, flaxen hair and her dimpled grin she could use to gain ascendancy over anybody she wished and she was not reticent about doing it. A couple of inches taller, with dark hair and blue eyes, and with an innocence Ramona lacked, Clover certainly was different. But she was no less appealing. Each had something the other did not possess.

  Clover oozed innocence. Although she was two years older, compared to Ramona she was a novice, never allowed to go out alone at night before Jake and Ramona came along. She had led a sheltered life and she was beginning to realise just how sheltered it had been. Clover had never been loved by a man – not truly loved. How could she be a complete woman when she was lacking such experience? How could she truly know what men appreciated in a woman when she had never been allowed to mix freely with attractive, eligible young men who might teach her? She had obediently succumbed to her mother’s will in all things, seldom challenging; not that Mary Ann had been tyrannical – indeed, she had not, but she brooked no opinion contrary to her own. Sometimes Clover wondered whether Mary Ann’s decisions were derived for Mary Ann’s own benefit and the daughter’s considerations were secondary. Well, times were changing. Things were going to be different.

  The front door latch clattered and a youth walked in with an expectant look on his fresh face. He was about nineteen, Clover estimated, with short-cropped dark hair and a cheeky grin. He had a pretty face for a boy, features that many a young girl would have been glad of. With an indisputable cockiness he stepped up to Ramona, who had her back towards him.

  ‘Ramona?’

  At once she turned around, a grin of anticipation on her face. ‘Sammy. You came. How are you?’

  ‘All the better for seeing your lovely face, Ramona,’ he replied. ‘Can I have a pint?’

  ‘Have it on me,’ she said and immediately pulled him a pint of mild. ‘When you’ve drunk it we’ll go out if you like. Clover here will cover for me, won’t you Clover?’

  ‘I said I would. So this is Sammy.’ She smiled politely.

  ‘Clover. My new stepsister,’ Ramona explained.

  Sammy shook her hand and smiled broadly. ‘I bet you fetch the ducks off the water,’ he commented.

  The two girls broke into a fit of giggling.

  Dorcas Downing and Elijah Tandy appeared in all their finery at the Jolly Collier on the Saturday night. They drank in the snug with Jacob, Mary Ann and Ramona by turns, when customers in the taproom would allow them a few minutes from serving.

  Elijah Tandy was celebrating his thirty-second birthday that very day and he bought everybody in the pub a drink. He oozed confidence and had a way with women. He was not excessively handsome, but he was fit and solid and his pleasant and polite manner, his easy way with a compliment, won him the admiration of many a girl.

  Dorcas Downing, his woman, was twenty-five, dark and strikingly beautiful with enormous brown eyes. Her father, who owned a hollow-ware factory at Eve Hill in the parish of St James, was also a magistrate and highly respected. His affluence ensured Dorcas could indulge herself in expensive clothes. They lived in a fine house in Ednam Road on the rural north-west side of the town. Whether Mr Downing approved of his prospective son-in-law, nobody knew.

  ‘Can I interest anybody in a cheese sandwich?’ Clover was carrying a tray into the snug. She looked a picture of fresh-faced femininity with her dark hair shining, done up in loose curls on top of her head. She wore a crisp white blouse with a high neck and a long black skirt that emphasised the youthfulness of her hips and gave her bottom some attractive contours. ‘There’s some Spanish onion as well, look, if anybody wants some.’

  ‘Yes please, Clover, my babby,’ Elijah said amiably. He put down his pint and took a couple of sandwiches.

  ‘Dorcas?’

  Dorcas sighed heavily as if the world and all its problems had suddenly come to roost on her shoulders. ‘Well if Elijah’s having cheese and onion, I suppose I’d better.’

  ‘I should,’ Clover urged with a friendly wink.

  ‘You’d better,’ Elijah agreed and there was a twinkle in his eye, ‘else you won’t want to kiss me after.’

  ‘Who would not want to kiss you, Elijah?’ Clover said flippantly. ‘Onion or no onion.’ At once she realised she had been tactless. She was not that familiar with Elijah, yet his easy-going nature had allowed her to believe she could get away with such innocent innuendo.

  Elijah chuckled but Dorcas’s face was like cold marble. She was evidently not so easy-going. ‘Does that mean that when my back’s turned others will be trying to usurp me?’ she asked Clover, her eyebrows raised in pique.

  ‘Not at all,’ Clover apologised earnestly. ‘I was just being frivolous, Dorcas. I didn’t mean anything by it. You shouldn’t read anything into it.’

  ‘It’s all right, Clover,’ Elijah said, and others had cottoned on to the chill atmosphere that was suddenly pervasive. ‘Dorcas can be a bit touchy, can’t you Dorcas? Time of the month, I reckon.’

  Dorcas looked at him with scorn. ‘Don’t be so coarse, Elijah. But how do you expect me to feel now you’re coming to live in the same house as two frivolous young fillies who can’t keep their eyes off you?’

  ‘I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration, Dorcas,’ Clover said and left to fetch another tray of sandwiches for the taproom.

  Ned and Amos had already loaded the flying machine onto the borrowed cart by the time Clover arrived at Springfield House. Mr Mantle appeared in his dressing-gown and night-cap and wished Ned the very best of luck, to which Ned replied that he was getting nervous about the whole thing. But at least the weather remained warm and sunny.

  ‘I hope there’s a bit more wind up on Rough Hill,’ Ned commented apprehensively as they walked alongside the cart down Tansley Hill Road. ‘I’ll need a bit o’ wind to keep me aloft.’

  ‘The wind’s kept me aloft all sodding night,’ Amos said sombrely and Clover giggled. ‘That Millard’s bloody mild up at the Gypsy’s Tent serves me barbarous. And what with having to run up the yard when I was took short…’

  ‘It’s all right for you to mock, Amos,’ Ned complained, ‘but what about if I fail today? I’ve asked the Dudley Herald to come and report on this attempt.’

  ‘Well I don’t suppose he’ll mind, the Dudley herald, specially if you crash, our Ned. It’ll give him summat to shout about…Who is he, anyroad, this Dudley herald?’ Amos winked conspiratorially at Clover.

  ‘Who is he!’ Ned scoffed. ‘The Dudley Herald is the newspaper, you fool…’ Then it dawned on him that Amos was pulling h
is leg. He laughed, embarrassed. ‘Swine!’

  All three laughed and it relieved some of the tension they all felt. This was going to be a day of great significance. If Ned and his machine covered any distance and it responded to his new control mechanisms, he could be on his way to more important things. Powered flight would inevitably be next, and the search for a suitable engine. If he failed…No. Failing was not to be contemplated. Even though he had to scrimp and save so he could afford to buy the materials to build his machines, it really was a labour of love.

  Folk on their way to church stopped and gawped at the strange contraption that was strapped in sections onto the cart. One or two of the more enlightened men guessed that it might have been a flying machine but, for all some of them knew, it could have been a giant bedstead.

  Eventually they trundled past Oakham Farm and, on a lane known as Turner’s Hill, they arrived at the broken gate that led into the high field that crowned Rough Hill. To Ned’s relief the wind was blowing significantly harder up here than it had been in Tansley Hill Road, which lay in the lee of Cawney Hill. They off-loaded the flying machine and Ned began by bolting the undercarriage – a pair of bicycle wheels attached to a wooden frame – to the fuselage. While Clover held the assembly steady, Ned bolted the wings to the fuselage and began the complicated routine of fastening the bracing and the rigging between the top and bottom wings that afforded some stability and tension to the structure. By this time, the reporter from the Dudley Herald had shown up and began asking Ned all sorts of questions. Ned answered them patiently while he worked, but he would not stop what he was doing. He fastened the stiff wires that joined the wing flaps to the levers by his seat and within an hour, the Gull was ready to fly.

  ‘Steady as you go,’ Ned urged as they trundled it towards the launch point, holding it back so that it shouldn’t run on its own down the hill and fly off unmanned; that would be the ultimate embarrassment with a reporter there to witness it. Amos was chocking the wheels with a large piece of wood when they heard a man’s voice calling from behind them, its sound almost carried away from them by the stiff breeze.

  ‘Clover! Clover!’