Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  ‘We’ve all had enough,’ he said. ‘Enough depending on charity and worrying about where the next penny’s coming from, but we don’t all throw in a good job when we find one.’

  Carrie burst out at him. ‘And when did you last find a good job? As far as I can see, you don’t even look for work any more. You just leave it to Wilf and me, and you’ve driven Frank away.’

  She ducked as his hand lashed out, missing her by inches, and she wished she could bite the words back, because at least that wasn’t true. Nothing had driven Frank away from Bristol except his own desire to see a bit of the world.

  Before she knew what he was about, Sam grabbed hold of her shoulder, and yanked her through the house to the back yard. In the little shed he used as a workshop now, she could see the rough fashioning of a child’s coffin.

  ‘You’re right, girl. I don’t look for work, because there’s ain’t nothing about for a skilled man to do except for this. And God knows there’s plenty enough going hungry who are glad of my work, whether or not I get paid a fair price for it. Would you have me charge above the odds to a man whose babby has died in his arms?’

  She felt a swift shame then, combined with something else. She didn’t recognise it for a moment, and then she knew. It was a premonition as real as if a cold hand had reached out and touched her. This coffin was for some unknown person’s baby, but it could so easily be for Ma’s.

  Without thinking, she put her arms around her father, in a way she hadn’t done for years. He was still a proud man, and she was nothing if not his daughter.

  ‘I’m sorry, Pa. But you wouldn’t have me kow-towing any longer to that rich little madam, would you. I can still work in the house. I’ll take in washing like I used to. We won’t starve, and besides, I want to look after Ma until the babby comes, Pa. She needs looking after.’

  And he hadn’t done much of that lately, she added silently. But she felt his rough hands on her hair, and knew she was forgiven. She breathed a little more easily, even though there were only three days to go before Christmas now, and nothing was turning out the way any of them had expected.

  * * *

  By the time Wilf got home from work that evening, the aroma of hot spicy mutton stew greeted his nostrils, and he gave a surprised smile to see his sister working in the scullery, with the house looking tidy and ship-shape. Not that he blamed Ma for not attending to her duties as throroughly as of old, he thought quickly. But the place certainly looked more cared-for tonight.

  ‘Something smells good,’ he said.

  He was feeling good too. If it weren’t for the fact that Nora was going away for Christmas, the way so many rich folk did, he’d feel even better. Not that he particularly wanted to be on the move at such a time. He’d seen enough of railways, and felt enough stinging smuts in the eyes as the great lumbering engines steamed into Temple Meads Station with all their comings and goings, to settle any wanderlust.

  ‘Our Carrie’s come home to stay,’ Billy came hurtling down the stairs to impart the news. ‘She told that Miss Barclay what to do with her job, and she’s come home to look after us all instead.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Wilf said, staring, as Carrie came into the parlour with two plates of steaming food in her hands and dumped them on the table.

  ‘More or less,’ she said over her shoulder as she went to get the other meals. She sounded more breezy than she felt. It had been such a big step to take, and she’d taken it without due thought. But she was here now, and Ma’s appreciative eyes were all the reward she needed. All the same, she had thrown away a good job.

  ‘What happened? Did she upset you, our Carrie?’ Wilf said. ‘I always thought she acted too big for her boots.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m daft then?’ Carrie said, her face flushed from the cooking, and the fact that he didn’t rail at her the way Pa had done earlier.

  ‘Not if you stood up for yourself the way a Stuckey should,’ he said. ‘There’s no cause for hitting folk when they’re down, and you’ll be more appreciated here if this stew’s anything to go by.’

  ‘Sit down and eat it then,’ Ma said, as briskly as in the old days. ‘And call your Pa, Billy. He’s been out in that old shed for long enough tonight.’

  As they all sat down at the table, Carrie’s throat was full. It was just like the old days, when they all sat together for their evening meal. The days before their glorious ship was finished, and Gaffer Woolley had to lay off all his best carpenters, and things got bad. Before Carrie had met John Travis and had had to leave the nest and work at the big house. There was only one thing missing. Frank’s place at the table was empty, and they had no idea whether or not he would be home for Christmas.

  She could see that Ma ate very little, though she was determinedly bright that evening, and clearly thankful that Carrie was taking over all of her chores. It was obvious that the baby was still lying awkwardly, from the many times Ma would pause and catch her breath or press her hand to her side.

  Carrie sent up a frequent little prayer that everything was going to be all right when Ma’s time came. But, try as she might, she was unable to get rid the spectre of a cold still child lying in the tiny coffin her Pa had almost finished. She wished he’d never taken her outside to see it. It seemed like too much of an omen, and Carrie had always believed in omens.

  When the hammering came on the front door later that evening, she almost jumped out of her skin, as if she had conjured up the devil himself with her dire prophesies.

  Her next thought was that it surely couldn’t be someone sent from Miss Helen Barclay, insisting that she return … that farcical idea was just as instantly swept out of her mind as Pa went frowning to the door, clearly annoyed at this disturbance, and threw it open to reveal the familiar face of the man standing there.

  ‘Now then, Sam Stuckey, are you going to ask me in, or do I have to stand here stamping my feet in the cold all night?’ came Gaffer Woolley’s belligerent voice.

  Chapter 16

  ‘I suppose you’d best come inside,’ Pa growled. ‘Though unless you’re going to offer me work, I’ve nothing to say to you.’

  Aaron Woolley came inside the house, followed by a stocky man with rather similar features, but a more affluent air. The two of them seemed to fill the remaining space, and as Pa seemed disinclined to offer them a seat, Carrie felt obliged to do so.

  ‘They don’t need seats, since they won’t be stopping,’ Pa said at once.

  ‘Since when were the Stuckeys so discourteous to visitors?’ Ma suddenly said with surprising vigour in her voice. ‘Sit you down and welcome, Mr Woolley and sir, and our Carrie will fetch you each a glass of cordial, if you’ve mind to drink with us.’

  ‘That will be very welcome, missus,’ Gaffer said. ‘It’s a cold night, and we could do with a little warming.’

  Carrie went to fetch the drinks at once, aware that Billy seemed tongue-tied by the magnificence of the two men. Gaffer Woolley was dressed up in weskit and overcoat and top hat instead of his working clobber which was normally dusty and covered in sawdust. He might be a gaffer, but he was always prominent in his warehouse and knew exactly what went on there. It was the mark of a successful businessman, Pa used to say, in the days before he had nothing good at all to say about the man.

  Wilf was also saying nothing. There was nothing unusual in that, since he rarely wasted words, but there was something about him that puzzled Carrie … he had a kind of defiant unease about him, almost as if he was waiting for something.

  The gentlemen made small talk with Ma, enquiring about her health, and commenting on the state of the weather, until the drinks were handed around, and then Pa could clearly stand the suspense no longer.

  ‘So what’s this deputation all about, man?’ he said impatiently. ‘Is it a charity visit, or what? If ’tis, you can sling your hooks, the pair of you. Or are you just inspecting the poor, mebbe? As you see, we live plainly, and plainer still in recent months, but if we’d known we was expect
in’ royalty, we might have managed a crust or two.’

  ‘Sam Stuckey, you always had the most pig-headed pride of any man I ever knew,’ Gaffer said sharply. ‘But rest easy. I’ve not come here offering charity, nor to bandy words with you. It’s your young ‘un I came to see.’

  ‘Our Billy? What’s he been up to? I’ve warned him not to go near your warehouse for sticks.’

  ‘Not the sprog. The other one.’

  He looked directly at Wilf now, and Carrie was surprised to see her brother’s face go a dull, angry red. His hands were clenched as he faced Gaffer Woolley.

  ‘Whatever you have to say to me, I’d prefer it said in private. This has nothing to do with my folks.’

  ‘I’d say it has a lot to do with ’em, if you intend to go on seeing my daughter —’

  ‘What!’ Sam roared. He rounded on Wilf at once. ‘Have you been sniffing around the Woolley girl’s skirts, you numbskull, and got her in the family way? I’ll thrash you to within an inch of your life if you have!’ He had to pause for breath, and Wilf snapped back at him, livid with rage and embarrassment.

  ‘Don’t shame me, Pa, and don’t talk about summat you know nothing about.’

  ‘I know well enough what it means when a man starts bleating on about a boy seein’ his daughter.’

  ‘Sam, will you listen a minute?’ Gaffer thundered above the din. Carrie saw Billy go helter-skelter up the stairs to his favourite spot between the banister rails. ‘I’ve not come here to censure your son, though that was my first intention, I’ll admit, until my womenfolk got at me.’

  He scowled for a moment, then went on briskly. ‘Anyways, this here gent is my cousin from London, here on a pleasure visit as well as a business one, and he’s got a proposal to make to your Wilf, if you’d shut your trap and listen a minute, instead of going off half-cocked as usual. God damn it, but you’d try the patience of a saint, man.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to let me interpose, Aaron,’ the other man said, speaking up for the first time. Carrie didn’t recognise the accent, which was much quicker and more rounded than their slower West Country one, but even without it, she’d have guessed the man didn’t come from around here. He was altogether more genteel than Gaffer Woolley too.

  ‘What kind of proposal?’ Pa said, looking from one to the other suspiciously.

  ‘I think that’s for me to find out, Pa,’ Wilf said. ‘It’s me they’ve come to see, if you’d be obliged. Though I’m as muddled as you as to why that might be.’

  Because as sure as eggs were eggs, they didn’t intend proposing that Wilf Stuckey married Gaffer Woolley’s daughter! The sweetest and best thought in all the world was so unlikely and so laughable it had the effect of calming him down totally after all the ructions in the house. He folded his arms across his chest and looked directly at the two visitors, while his Pa sat down heavily beside Ma, outfoxed for once.

  Sitting there close together, the two of them looked so old, Carrie thought. And with all the other troubles lately, Ma shouldn’t have to be coping with carrying another babby, when she’d thought all that was behind her. It was well known that the older a woman got, the more the risks in childbearing, and Ma had never found it easy.

  Carrie realised it was the first time she had ever really thought of her as mortal. Children always thought their parents would live for ever. But now it occurred to her that in giving birth to this child, Ma could even die. Nor could she quite rid herself of the haunting thoughts of a newborn babby fitting as tidily as a hand in a glove inside the tiny coffin in Pa’s shed, and she felt a sliver of fear run through her, as sharp as a blade.

  She forced herself to shake off all the disquieting thoughts, as Gaffer Woolley formally introduced his companion.

  ‘This is Mr Cedric Woolley, my cousin from London,’ he repeated, more grandly. ‘And he was so impressed with this young feller’s handiwork that he wants to instai him in a business venture he’s been trying to set up here in Bristol. Now then, what do you say to that, young Wilf?’

  Nobody said anything for a moment, and the two most prominent sounds in the room were the monotonous ticking of the clock on the mantel and Ma’s sharp intake of breath. But all eyes were on Wilf then, and his own narrowed.

  ‘What handiwork would that be, sir?’ he said carefully. Surely Nora hadn’t been so reckless as to show her family the doll’s house he’d made her? But if she had, and it had produced … what had the man said? Installing Wilf Stuckey in a business venture here in Bristol? His heart suddenly leapt, and his hands were so clammy he’d never have been able to whittle the simplest stick at that moment, let alone perfect his craftmanship.

  ‘What’s all this about, Gaffer?’ Pa wouldn’t be silent any longer. ‘Has your cousin been taken over the Great Britain to see some of the wood carvings me and my boys did, perhaps?’

  Mr Cedric gave a short laugh. ‘I have not, sir. Though I’m to have the honour of being shown around the great ship while I’m here. No. I refer to the exquisite replica of my cousin’s house that your son made for my niece.’

  He ignored the varying exclamations and shocked Stuckey faces at this information.

  ‘It’s truly remarkable workmanship, and since the fashion for wooden toys has become so much the rage in London, it will soon appear in the provinces also. I am in the retail toy business, and although I haven’t yet opened a shop in Bristol, the time would seem to be ripe for it. I hadn’t thought to have a local craftsman in a workshop on the premises who can make things to order for my customers until I saw your son’s work. Now that I have, I foresee even greater fortunes to be made, since local skills always enhance profits. So this is the proposition I’m offering you, Mr Stuckey.’

  His words were directed at Wilf, while the rest of them sat in stunned silence as they tried to take in too many separate pieces of news at once. The family knew Wilf had been making a doll’s house for the railway foreman’s child, and how much he had enjoyed doing it. But none of them knew of the extra overtime he’d put in at the railway workshop, nor of the wooden house he’d made with such loving care for Nora. Nobody knew of his association with Nora … he realised his mouth had dried. How the hell had Gaffer Woolley reconciled himself to that, let alone anything else?

  ‘Well, boy?’ Mr Cedric was saying now. ‘Does the idea appeal to you? I need an answer before I go back to London, since I shall need to put things in motion right after the New Year. I’ve already seen some premises in the Queens Road here that will be admirable, and I’d say the business could be in operation by early March. My cousin here will allow you the use of a disused shed alongside his warehouse in the meantime to make a start on some toys. You’ll be drawing a salary from the first of January, and I pay well for quality work. We shall want the place stocked for the grand opening before Easter. So what do you say?’

  The shocks didn’t stop coming. Wilf was so dazzled with all he was hearing, he could hardly take it all in. His fortunes were changing spectacularly, and all because of the little house he’d made for Nora. He glanced at Gaffer Woolley, wondering if he dared say what was uppermost in his mind. But his pride was returning in leaps and bounds. If this Mr Cedric Woolley thought his skills were so highly valued, then he could dare anything.

  ‘All this is like a dream come true, sir, and I won’t deny it,’ he said, trying to remain as calm as possible. ‘But there’s a condition attached to my accepting.’

  ‘Wilf, don’t be foolish,’ he heard Ma say in a strangled voice, but Mr Cedric merely looked amused.

  ‘Name it, young sir.’

  ‘Don’t you go asking for jobs for me, our Wilf,’ Sam warned, anticipating what was to come.

  ‘I wasn’t going to. I’m asking permission to court Gaffer Woolley’s daughter,’ Wilf retorted. ‘If I’m good enough for her uncle to employ as a craftsman, then I reckon I’m good enough for Nora’s father to consider me a suitor.’

  He fully expected a tirade from Gaffer, but instead, the other gave a
irritated grunt.

  ‘You’re too late, boy. I’ve already had storms and tears from my daughter, and I’m told if I don’t allow you to see her, she’s never going to speak to me again. And I can’t be doing with tearful females in the house, so I suppose I’ll have to give in. You’d better come to supper on Boxing Day if you’ve a mind to it. A man should know when he’s beaten.’

  He looked hard at Sam as he spoke, clearly expecting him to ask if there was any work going at the warehouse for himself, but Sam remained obstinately silent. And Gaffer had no intention of humbling himself any further in this devilishly proud family.

  ‘Then I accept your offer, Mr Woolley,’ Wilf said, and his hand was clasped firmly by the London cousin. The details would all be sorted out later, and Mr Cedric would clearly need to frequent Bristol often in the next few months. But Wilf could now leave the hated railway nawying, and do the job he loved best of all.

  He managed to hold in his elation until the two gentlemen had left, and then he gave out a whoop of joy. He clasped Carrie around the waist and swung her around the parlour until she begged for mercy.

  ‘I can’t believe it! When I saw Gaffer at the door, I thought I was in for it,’ he said, when he finally flopped down on the rag rug, running his fingers through his hair in disbelief. ‘And invited to Boxing Day supper as well. There is a God up there after all.’

  ‘Wilf, there’s no cause for that kind of talk,’ Ma said sharply. ‘But I’m pleased for you, son, even though you shouldn’t have been seeing the Woolley girl behind her father’s back.’

  ‘Just how long has that been going on?’ Sam said, not willing to give an inch, even now.

  ‘Long enough for me to know I want to marry her, Pa. I love her and she loves me, but we ain’t done nothing to be ashamed of, and don’t intend to,’ he whipped back. He was a man and proud of it, and as he stared his father out, Sam just as silently backed down.

  ‘Oh Wilf, I’m so happy for you,’ Carrie said. ‘If only our Frank was home now, everything would be wonderful this Christmas. And I’m glad Miss Barclay sent me packing, if only so I could hear all your news when it happened!’