Carrie was outraged and insulted by his words. But at the same time she was shamed by his reasoning. She bit back the furious reply that as far as she was concerned she was never going to tell him anything ever again.
‘Well?’ John said. ‘Has the cat got your tongue?’
That did it.
‘You’re impossible!’ she raged. ‘The next time I come to see your uncle, I hope you’re somewhere on the water like the rest of the river scum.’
She slammed out of the house, knowing she was acting like a hoyden, and fully aware that she’d as good as told him she had every intention of coming here again. But it would be to see his uncle, not him.
She went back down Bedminster Hill, slipping and sliding on the glassy surface, thinking it highly unlikely that he would ever want to see her again. Their relationship had been damned from the start. And a good riddance too, she thought defiantly, dashing the furious tears out of her eyes.
Chapter 13
Wilf was developing muscles he never knew he had since starting his job on the railway. Being part of a navvy’s gang was boring and tedious. His section consisted mainly of keeping a constant check on sleepers and rails, hauling the heavy stones away from the track and shoring up the banks to ensure that nothing endangered the smooth running of the trains to and from Paddington.
There was the added chore of signal-greasing to attend to now that the colder weather was here. It was also important to see that the points didn’t seize up to cause a train to remain in a siding, while the fare-paying passengers slowly froze inside.
He didn’t find it a rewarding job, and it had none of the thrill of fashioning a raw piece of wood into an article of perfection for people to admire and cherish. But he had managed to find his own outlet on that score. It had come about quite accidentally, when one of the table legs in the foreman’s office had splintered and collapsed.
Wilf had offered to make a new leg, and had shaped it and stained it so well that nobody could tell the difference between the new and the old.
The foreman had been impressed and wanted to know how Wilf came to be so adept with his hands. The outcome was that he’d asked Wilf to make a doll’s house for his young daughter for Christmas, providing him with wood and tools, and giving him after-hours access to a small workshop at the back of the station.
It was a task that was saving his sanity, he told Nora on their next, clandestine meeting.
‘I never knew how much I was missing being a craftsman,’ he said, flexing his fingers as if he held the polished wood between them. Nora gave an indulgent laugh, snuggling up to him in complete privacy behind the drawn curtains of her father’s carriage.
‘I do believe you think more of caressing that old wood than me,’ she teased him.
He immediately assured her by words and action that it wasn’t the case, and when she leaned back, flushed from the ardour of his kisses, he spoke ruefully.
‘Nothing could compare to the softness of your skin, my love, but I don’t deny that there can be something quite erotic in the satiny curves and scents of the wood. I think my Pa feels the same, though he wouldn’t have the words to say so,’ he commented.
‘But you do,’ she said.
Wilf grinned. ‘Only since knowing you. ’Tis my brother Frank who’s gifted with the gab, not me. Maybe you bring out a bit of the poet in me, though it would be as well not to let the navvy gang hear me say so.’
‘Do you hate it so much, Wilf?’ Nora asked.
‘Not so much, especially with the work the foreman’s put my way. The doll’s house is coming on a treat, and with the bits of wood left over, I aim to make some small furniture for the little maid as well.’ He found it hard to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.
Nora spoke almost wistfully. ‘You know, I had everything a child could want in my nursery, except the one thing that seemed to be overlooked. I never had a doll’s house. Strange, isn’t it?’
* * *
Wilf ran an expert hand over the planed and polished roof of the small house. It was almost completed now. The foreman’s daughter would have it by Christmas, and he could just imagine a small girl’s delight at playing with it.
He eased his back, deciding to call it a day. It was long after his working shift, and the day on the tracks had been hard, with the points frozen and the rails starting to be iced up. Chipping away at long lengths of rail for the trains to steam safely in and out of the station had seemed the most futile, though necessary of jobs. It had been a relief to come inside the relatively wind-free interior of the small workshop when the rest of the gang had gone home.
The candlelight threw soft shadows onto the almost-finished doll’s house, and with a feeling of satisfaction, Wilf covered it with a cloth, and turned to his second project. This one was being fashioned with all the love and expertise he could put into it. He eyed it dispassionately, trying to see it through Nora’s eyes, and had no doubt that she would adore it. How could she not, since it was a tiny replica of her own home?
There hadn’t been the time nor the wood available to make a fancy affair like the first one. But this was a labour of love, not a toy for a child, and he was sure his Nora would know the difference. Besides, it would be easier for her to keep his gift away from her father’s prying eyes. This one would fit easily into Ma’s bread bin.
He longed to do a little more to it, but he knew Ma got anxious if he was away too long after his shift had finished. It was as if she feared that one of the great iron monsters that steamed down from Paddington was going to mow him down on the tracks. Besides, he’d done enough for one day. He put Nora’s house carefully on a high shelf and covered it, blew out the candle and locked the workshop securely before going home.
He realised he was whistling, and that he was walking with a surprisingly jaunty air, considering he was nearly dead on his feet. But doing the job you really wanted to do gave you more incentive than all the repetitive jobs in the world. Frank had clearly discovered that, from the cheerful scrappy notes they had received from him. Some day, Wilf thought, some day …
* * *
‘I suppose you’ll want some time to yourself for Christmas,’ Helen Barclay said carelessly.
Carrie was cautious how she answered. Things had improved enormously since the day she had virtually saved her mistress from what she still referred to as a fate worse than death. But Helen could still be unpredictable at times, and Carrie was getting to know her moods by now.
‘Well, I’d like to help Ma with the cooking,’ she said. Though what kind of a Christmas they were going to have, she couldn’t think. Frank wouldn’t be there, but Elsie had been invited for the mid-day meal, so they’d be the same as usual in numbers.
The food wouldn’t be up to much, though, and there’d be no gift-giving this year. Not that they ever made too much of it, since Ma always reminded them that it was Jesus Christ’s birthday, not everybody else’s, and they’d all do better to attend church and give thanks for His birth, rather than making merry and filling their bellies with food and ale.
‘You’re to have the whole day to yourself, Carrie,’ Helen suddenly said grandly. ‘You can help your mother in the morning and spend some time with your young man in the afternoon, or whatever you wish. I shan’t require you until six o’clock, since we’re all invited out for dinner and entertainment at Egerton Hall. I daresay the servants will be having a small evening celebration in the kitchen as usual, so you’ll be able to join them once I’ve finished with you.’
Carrie had a job not to stop her mouth from falling open. It was far more than she had dared to hope for. A whole day to herself … Ma would be so relieved, and with both herself and Elsie to give a hand, there would still be time to attend morning service.
‘I’m very grateful, Miss Helen,’ she began, but Helen waved her thanks aside.
‘Don’t get humble, Carrie, it doesn’t suit you,’ she said with a mischievous smile. ‘You’ll pay for the extra time off, of course. A
nd you may begin by forfeiting tomorrow afternoon and accompanying me onto the Downs to see something of the Christmas Fair.’
‘Yes miss,’ Carrie said, trying to keep poker-faced.
She might have known there would be strings attached to the generosity. But fairs held as much fascination for her as for everyone else, and she had already slipped across the Downs one morning to see the stalls being set up, and the huge posters announcing the attraction of BIG LOUIE.
She knew that tomorrow was the first of the days when all-comers were invited to pit their wits against the big man. A contestant could challenge BIG LOUIE as often as he dared, and five pounds would be the purse for each and any win. The promoters were clearly confident that there would be none.
And it was only the thought of catching sight of John in action against the fighter and witnessing the indignity and the humiliation of it, that had decided her against going there in the afternoons. That decision was taken out of her hands now.
* * *
But at least she had time to tell Ma she wouldn’t be going home the next day. Ma was looking bloated in the face now, but it wasn’t a healthy look. The doctor had said she was progressing normally, and she was merely having an uncomfortable pregnancy because of her age and the position of the baby. It seemed to satisfy Ma, but Carrie couldn’t help being uneasy.
Pa still spent far too much time with his drinking cronies, she thought indignantly, when he should be giving Ma support. But he could never express himself in words, and it wasn’t in him to show outward affection. She supposed they had been married too long for Ma to find anything objectionable in his ways.
She was surprised and relieved to find Ma quite perky that afternoon. Elsie had returned home again and was back at work in the markets, and acting wilder than ever, according to Ma.
‘Folk have to get over grief in their own way,’ she said mildly, seeing Carrie’s frown.
‘I doubt that she’s grieving overmuch for Granpa Miller, but she could show a bit of respect. And I don’t want to see her ending up in trouble, neither.’
She avoided Ma’s eyes. If Elsie landed up in the worst kind of trouble that could come to a vulnerable and flighty young girl, then it would be to the Stuckeys that she would inevitably turn for help. The Stuckeys would always be loyal to a friend in need, but Carrie wasn’t sure that such a foolish friend qualified for help.
She knew she was being churlish, and more than a mite jealous of the way Ma had seemed to forget her old objections to Elsie, and taken her under her wing. Yes, she was jealous, she thought abjectly, and the sooner she rid herself of the feeling, the better.
‘I’ll try to have a talk with the girl,’ Ma was saying thoughtfully. ‘You’re quite right, Carrie. There’s been no woman to counsel her, so a bit of guidance probably won’t come amiss.’
Carrie bit her lips, guessing that Elsie could probably tell Ma a thing or two about the ways of men, and particularly those stocky dark young Welshmen. They were the ones who could always put an extra sparkle into Elsie’s flirty eyes. And the name of a certain Dewi Griffiths from Cardiff had cropped up more than once in her airy ramblings about the Welsh boyos.
She pushed thoughts of Elsie out of her mind for the present. There were more important things to discuss.
‘I shan’t be here tomorrow, Ma,’ she informed her. ‘But I’ve got the whole of Christmas Day free until six o’clock, so I’ll be here early in the morning to give you a hand. And I’ve got a surprise for you. Cook says we can have one of the geese hanging in the cold store for our Christmas dinner. I can bring it down the day before.’
She’d thought Ma would be so pleased, but she was horrified to see the shine of tears in her eyes. Ma never cried, and she wouldn’t give a thank-you for daring to suggest that she was about to cry now. But her voice was full of sadness all the same.
‘That’s very good of her, Carrie. But ’tis a sad day when a family can’t afford to buy their own Christmas bird.’
‘It’s the first time, Ma,’ Carrie said huskily. ‘And I promise it will be the last. Things will improve by next year, you’ll see.’
She had no way of knowing it, and she crossed her fingers behind her back as she spoke. But things must surely improve. Pa would find proper work again, and Wilf’s temper would improve. Maybe Frank would come home from the sea a millionaire, and the babby would be fat and healthy and strong, and put a smile on all their faces.
Billy came hurtling indoors, his face red and blotchy. There was a smear of blood on his cheek, his shirt was torn, and his small fists were tight-clenched.
‘Have you been fighting, our Billy?’ Ma said, her wistful mood vanishing at once.
‘I had to,’ he said shrilly. ‘They was sayin’ bad things about Pa, and about our Frank, and I had to let ’em know they weren’t true.’
Carrie caught hold of his fiercely stiff shoulders and gave them a shake.
‘Slow down, ninny, and tell us what’s happened. Who was saying bad things to you?’
‘Some big boys,’ he said, wilting now and starting to sniff. ‘They said our Pa was a drunk, and that our Frank went away to sea to get away from him.’
‘Oh? And what about me? Didn’t they have any ideas on why I left home, seeing as how they seem to know our business so well?’ Carrie said mildly, seeing how Ma’s face was tightening up, and trying to lessen the tension in the parlour. Billy scowled.
‘You’re only a girl,’ he said, implying that she didn’t count. Carrie resisted the urge to snap back that until recently, she’d been the only one bringing money into the house. None of that mattered. What mattered was Billy’s hurt pride, and the way his tirade seemed to have taken all the stuffing out of Ma.
‘So I am,’ she agreed. ‘So I’ll act the nurse and bathe that poor old cheek of yours.’
She hustled him into the scullery where he submitted with squealing protests to her bathing the cheek with cold water, then dabbing it dry. It was only a scratch and had looked worse than it was.
‘You’ll live,’ she said dryly.
When they returned to the parlour, Ma was stabbing furiously at one of her rag rugs.
‘Miss Barclay’s got another bag of old clothes almost ready for me to bring down some time, Ma. At the rate you’re working, we’ll have more rugs than floors.’
She thought Ma was going to snap her head off at that, but thankfully the needle stopped its relentless prodding, and she was rewarded with a weak smile.
‘I was half wishing it was your Pa’s neck I had under my fingers,’ she said. ‘But a fat lot of good that would do to ease things.’
‘And you don’t really mean it,’ Carrie said quickly. She felt alarmed though. They had always been such a close-knit family, so supportive of each other, yet in recent weeks all the family closeness seemed to be disintegrating. It wasn’t only the departure of Frank and herself, and the change of job for Wilf. It was everything.
And it all boiled down to her Pa’s pride. It didn’t matter how well the rest of them did, if the man of the house couldn’t support his family by his own efforts, then he would no longer consider himself a man. She knew it just as surely as if she could hear him bellowing out the words.
‘’Course I don’t mean it,’ she heard Ma say with some of her old spirit. ‘It’s just me letting off steam, that’s all. And as for they big boys, our Billy, you just tell ’em your Pa’s the finest man that ever lived, and our Frank’s going to be the world’s best sailor.’
Carrie saw Billy grin at the boastful words, and wished she could have the same belief in the impossible that she had had when she was eight years old.
She had toyed with the idea of visiting John’s uncle again that day. But she had lingered so long at home, hoping Pa would return and that she could give him a hint of what had been happening, that she didn’t dare spend any more time away from Clifton. She wondered how Ma would handle it. She’d always found a way around Pa, but when he had the drink in him, he was as surl
y as any waterfront drunk.
She felt a sliver of fear. The taunts of those boys surely hadn’t been true. She didn’t see Pa very often now, but she knew he was generally unshaven and unkempt, and he’d always taken a reasonable pride in his appearance.
She remembered how he’d looked on the day of the Great Britain launch. So upright and dapper, his pride in his family plain for all to see. He’d been Somebody then. He’d been Sam Stuckey, the master craftsman.
And what did he do now? Menial jobs when he could get them and making cheap coffins for those who couldn’t afford to pay for anything better. It was enough to make Carrie want to weep.
She tried to push them all out of her mind as she went back up the hill towards Clifton. The roads were frosty underfoot nearly all the time now, and she had to concentrate to keep her footing.
It made a fine old downhill slide when the snow came, and all the Stuckey young ’uns had had their share of hurtling down the slippery curving slopes of Jacob’s Wells Hill on their tin trays when it was six inches deep in snow.
She wondered if John Travis had done the same, down Bedminster Hill. It was funny to think of them on opposite sides of the river, probably doing the same things when they were children, and never knowing it.
Carrie paused for breath once she reached the top of the hill. Ahead of her on the Downs, the Christmas Fair stalls were already set up and many of the dealings were under way. She usually loved the fairs, but she viewed tomorrow’s visit with Helen Barclay with some anxiety. How embarrassing it would be if John was actually there, and they witnessed his contest with BIG LOUIE … in her mind she could still only think of him as if his name was writ large, which only seemed to emphasise the implacability of the man.
She wondered if she should mention John’s possible involvement to Helen, and decided against it. If John wasn’t on the Downs tomorrow, there would be no need of it. And if he was, perhaps Miss Barclay’s delicate sensibilities would keep her well away from such a vulgar display.
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