Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  ‘I don’t want any, Mrs Stuckey,’ Elsie said quickly. ‘I’ll be on my way now, and thanks for yesterday.’

  She avoided Carrie’s eyes as she spoke. As far as she was concerned, Carrie was in one of her silent, prissy-mouthed moods again, and she couldn’t be doing with it. If she did but know it, Carrie was simply too embarrassed to look at her, since she’d had such a night of tossing and turning, unwillingly imagining Elsie lying in some ardent Welsh boyo’s arms, and wishing so badly it was herself and John Travis.

  ‘You’ll not leave this house on such a cold morning without some food inside you, my girl,’ Ma said firmly. ‘And aren’t you going to watch the Boxing Day river races today?’

  ‘I really couldn’t eat a thing. I’m still full from yesterday, Mrs Stuckey, but I’ll see you all down by the river this afternoon,’ Elsie said. ‘I want to go home and tidy up the place a bit first. I thought I might put a lick of paint on the walls too, before the landlord starts complaining, seeing as it’s got so dingy inside. Me granpa never bothered overmuch about such things.’

  Neither did Elsie Miller, to Carrie’s sure and certain knowledge! She almost laughed out loud at the virtuous look in Elsie’s eyes. But if this sudden burst of domesticity was the effect of having a boy come to visit her, then perhaps this Dewi Griffiths was going to turn out to be a good influence after all.

  ‘We’ll be around our usual place for the races,’ Carrie told her casually. ‘So we’ll look out for you.’

  It was about as far as she could go right now, and in her mother’s presence, to reviving a friendship that had somehow gone sour during the night. But Elsie never bore malice, and she merely nodded and grinned, and wrapped her shawl tightly around her body before stepping out into the freezing morning.

  * * *

  Wilf was surprised to find Gaffer Woolley and his cousin at the warehouse that morning. Though he guessed that he shouldn’t have been. Gaffer took little time off during the year, except for special days when his womenfolk would have something to say on the matter of his working all hours. He sensed that the two Woolley men were alike in many respects, both being the kind of men who took a pride in their achievements and in showing them off to others. And this London cousin would seem to be a firecracker of a businessman.

  ‘Well now, young Stuckey, it’s good to see a man who’s as keen as mustard,’ Mr Cedric greeted him, just when he was wondering awkwardly if he should be here poking around at all.

  After all, the last time he had been in this warehouse had been on the bitter day Gaffer had stood him and his father and brother off, and the relationship had gone steadily downhill since then. But everything was changed now, he reminded himself. Now he had the say-so to court Gaffer’s daughter, and he was going to the Woolley house later on for Boxing Day supper. He lifted his head a mite higher and after nodding at Mr Cedric, he spoke directly to Gaffer.

  ‘I trust you don’t mind. I’m anxious to see the premises I’m to use, Gaffer.’

  Gaffer shrugged. ‘As you will, boy. Come inside out of the cold and I’ll show you the place I mean.’

  They had to drag the heavy warehouse doors open against the drifted snow. Already thin shafts of sunlight were glinting on the overnight fall and it was starting to melt. Wilf had passed a dozen small urchins on Jacob’s Wells Road, up early and slithering down the hill on their tin trays, and guessed that his brother Billy would be among them by now.

  As soon as Wilf was inside the huge warehouse, the familiar smells of sawdust and aromatic timbers rose to his nostrils, as sweet as nectar. Stacks of cut planks were piled high, awaiting despatch or orders for use, and he felt a sudden ache of nostalgia for the old days, when he and Frank and Pa had worked to the music of the saws before the raw cut timbers were passed on to the crafstmen they were, to be fashioned and carved into things of beauty.

  It was a far cry from creating fittings and fitments for Brunei’s great ship and others of lesser magnificence, to making toys for children.

  But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was grateful for this chance fate had handed him. And he’d make Woolley’s Toys the best that could be found anywhere in the West Country, he vowed. Maybe the best from here to London …

  ‘Does this suit you then, boy?’ he heard Gaffer say shortly. ‘It’s the best I can do for now, but I gather you’ll have your own workshop behind the new shop in due course.’

  He realised they had walked the length of the warehouse and he hadn’t even noticed it. He’d been so wrapped up in his love of his creative materials, and the challenge that was opening up to him. But now he stepped into one of the old storerooms at the back of the place, and nodded at once.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ he declared. For a moment, he wondered if he dared ask about sharing the work with Pa, but he decided it could wait a while yet. It was Cedric who was paying him his wages, and he still had the feeling Gaffer was loaning him this storeroom on sufferance. Wilf Stuckey wasn’t the man he’d have chosen for his daughter, and he didn’t want to push his luck too far too soon.

  ‘Then we’ll see you this evening,’ Gaffer said, clearly not wanting to prolong this meeting any longer than necessary. ‘My daughter is naturally pleased that you’ll be putting in an appearance for supper.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ Wilf said gravely, and tipped his hat to both gentlemen before turning on his heel and going back through the vast warehouse, with his boots ringing on the cobblestones.

  ‘You’ve a young man to be proud of there, Aaron,’ Cedric Woolley said thoughtfully, watching the upright stance of the retreating Wilf.

  Gaffer grunted. ‘Mebbe so, though I wouldn’t tell him so. It don’t do to be too free with your praises when you’ve a lot of workers under you. It lets ’em get above themselves, and it pays to keep reminding ’em who’s boss.’

  Cedric laughed. ‘Them’s fine sentiments for ordinary workers, cuz, but you’re talking about your future son-in-law now — or ain’t you given that much thought yet?’

  ‘Not too much,’ Gaffer retorted. ‘Besides, young girls don’t always know their own minds. Mebbe when Nora’s allowed to see young Stuckey as freely and as often as she likes, her feelings will cool down.’

  Cedric laughed again. ‘I reckon you’re on a loser there, mate. You’ve only got to see how your girl’s eyes light up every time Wilf’s name is mentioned to know it’s a true love match. No, she’s going to end up changing her name to Stuckey all right, and you’d best get used to it.’

  He slapped his arm around his cousin’s shoulder while they strolled on through the warehouse together, never guessing that Aaron was wondering viciously if the whole damn world was conspiring against him with regard to these Stuckeys. The more he tried to be rid of them, through no fault of his own other than lack of work, the more determined they seemed to be back in his life.

  And he could still feel remorse over Sam, whom he’d once been prepared to think of as friend as much as employee. Sam was a good man if ever there was one, but lately … well, it was common knowledge he’d taken to drinking more than usual. And Wilf … Wilf was as good a craftsman as his father, and it was only the fact of Nora taking up with him behind his back that had got him really riled up.

  Good God, he must be mellowing with the goodwill season, he thought sourly. And since there was no backing down now he’d given his word, he had to agree with Cedric. His girl was in love, and she was never going to change her mind about that. Nora could be heard singing about the house nowadays, and for good or ill, it seemed certain that he was going to end up with a Stuckey for a son-in-law.

  * * *

  John was entering his boat in the races that afternoon. If Carrie had been a betting person, she would have backed him against all comers, if only out of love and loyalty. She’d persuaded her Pa to put a few coppers on John’s boat, despite the fact that Ma disapproved of gambling, and the money should be put to better use. But not if he won! Carrie had every confidence in John’s manoeuvring
of his craft, and her persuasive ways had Pa agreeing amiably enough.

  ‘Mind you, if the boy loses, and your Ma gives us tongue-pie for throwing good money to the fishes, I shall put the blame on you,’ he told her.

  She laughed, hugging his arm. He was suddenly more like her old Pa, teasing and cheerful, and striding out down Jacob’s Wells Road as best he could in the snow, made even more slippery by the hurtling tin trays flying past them with small boys astride them.

  ‘He won’t lose,’ she said confidently. ‘Ma’s making some hot punch and baking mincemeat pies while we’re down at the races, and I aim to ask John to come back for some later. As long as you don’t object, Pa?’ she added hastily.

  He jumped out of the way as their Billy screeched a warning and went careering past them on his tray, sending flurries of snow everywhere.

  ‘It seems like a good idea,’ he said tolerantly. ‘We’ll all be glad of summat hot inside us by then, providing these young devils don’t cut the legs out from under us before we see the end of the day.’

  Two more tobogganers slid past them, their faces red and glowing, shouting out a cheeky greeting to Sam Stuckey and his daughter. Carrie felt her heart lift. Everyone seemed to be in a holiday mood today, and all the bad omens she’d felt for Ma and the babby seemed to dwindle away into foolish fancies.

  When they reached the waterfront, she saw John almost at once. He was talking to a familiar figure, and as he caught sight of her, he left Elsie’s side and came to greet Carrie and Sam. His hands were cold as he took hers inside his own, and she felt an unreasonable burst of jealousy that he’d spent a little more time with Elsie than with herself.

  ‘I thought you’d never get here,’ he said at once. ‘The first race is almost due to begin, so I need to get on board. I just wanted to hear you wish me luck,’ he said, smiling into Carrie’s eyes. The jealousy vanished at once, and on impulse she pulled the blue ribbon out of her coppery curls and handed it to him. The wind caught at her hair at once and blew it all about her face, but she didn’t heed its sting.

  ‘Take this to bring you luck, the way ladies used to give favours to their knights,’ she said.

  She had done it without thinking, and she hoped John wouldn’t think her too sentimental. To her delight he pressed his lips to the ribbon, and just as quickly, pressed a kiss on her cheek, despite the fact that her father was looking on.

  ‘I’ll bring my lady back a trophy at the end of the day,’ he said gallantly.

  ‘And John — you’ll come back to the house for hot punch and a warm, won’t you? You’re invited.’

  ‘Thank you, yes,’ he said, smiling.

  Before Carrie could guess what Elsie was about, the other girl had pushed her way forward and handed John a second ribbon from her own unruly dark hair.

  ‘Take this for double luck, John,’ she said, and to Carrie’s furious disbelief she was obviously waiting for a kiss on her cheek as well.

  John took the yellow ribbon with a laugh, and clambered back across the sea of waiting boats, the way all the other contestants were doing. They needed to be nimble-footed, but there was little swell in this part of the river, and none of the boatowners took exception to having their crafts invaded by many feet.

  ‘That wasn’t necessary!’ Carrie said, blazing.

  ‘What wasn’t?’ Elsie said, all innocent eyes and mouth.

  ‘You know what,’ Carrie hissed under cover of the jostling and excitement going on all around them. ‘You’ve got your own Welsh boyo sniffing round your skirts, so don’t go making those cow eyes at mine! Especially not now.’

  Elsie was full of wickedness, sensing exactly what Carrie meant. ‘Why not now, especially? You mean because I might have interesting new ideas about every boy I see, now that Dewi’s shown me what’s what?’ she said, crowing.

  ‘You just try it, that’s all!’

  The two of them hardly heard the starting gun, or the way the mass of boats surged into action for the first of the races. Rowing-boats went first, and later on it would be the turn of the paddle-tugs, of which John’s was one, with a young lad crewing for him.

  The river was so full of craft, and the waterfront so full of noisy onlookers, it was possible to carry on a heated conversation in almost total privacy. Carrie and Elsie glowered at one another, still caught up in their own contest.

  ‘What you going to do to stop me?’ Elsie goaded, clearly with the devil in her that day. ‘Are you thinking of tying me up so I can’t ever look at your fancy man? Or tying him up, more like. I might even think of doing that meself, for a novelty.’

  It might have all ended in harmless teasing, since Carrie knew how Elsie’s tongue ran away with her once she got started. But things were different now, and unreasonable or not, the coupling of Elsie and this Dewi fellow had unsettled Carrie more than she realised.

  For some reason, she kept remembering vividly how Miss Helen Barclay had once commented on the kind of woman who was a self-appointed femme fatale. In Helen’s opinion, such a creature was the lowest of the low, and someone to keep well away from any beaux of one’s own. Suddenly, with her hot eyes and pouting mouth and suggestive words, Elsie had become the femme fatale who posed a real threat to Carrie’s relationship with John.

  In answer to her taunting question, Carrie gave the other girl an almighty push that had her staggering almost into the river. She hadn’t meant to push so hard, but fury gave her strength, and her eyes flashed blue fire at her so-called friend.

  ‘You stupid bitch!’ Elsie yelled, just managing to recover her balance with the aid of a few helping hands to push her good-naturedly back into the crowd.

  The next minute, Elsie had pulled hard at Carrie’s loosened curls, hard enough to make her squeal with pain. In swift retaliation, Carrie grabbed a handful of Elsie’s tousled locks, producing a howl of rage in return. Within seconds, a small crowd had gathered around them, quickly losing interest in the slow start to the boat races, and sensing that a good fight was about to break out between two nubile young females.

  Carrie fought off Elsie’s grasping hands, slapping at her opponent’s face to free herself. Gasping, Elsie returned the slaps, harder and sharper, until Carrie’s cheeks were ringing from the blows.

  ‘I don’t want your fancy man,’ Elsie yelled between slaps. ‘But if I did, I’m damn sure I could get him off you!’

  ‘There’s only one way you’d get a boy interested in you, and my John’s not likely to be taken in by the likes of a tart!’ Carrie yelled back, to the cheers of the onlookers.

  ‘Do you want to put a wager on it?’ Elsie bawled.

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘Two to one the dark one wins,’ a voice yelled out from the surrounding crowd, to Carrie’s acute embarrassment.

  ‘Nay. I reckon t’other ’un’s got the edge,’ another added his piece.

  The two opponents ignored the banter and cat-calls of encouragement. They were wrestling with one another now, each breathing heavily, and seemingly getting nowhere. The sweat was running down Carrie’s back, despite the cold of the day. It was all so stupid and unnecessary, and it became obvious that neither really intended to hurt the other unduly.

  The folk surrounding them began sensing an impasse. They started to disperse and find other interests as the shouts from onlookers farther downstream heralded the turnaround of the boats in the first race, with the leaders clearly in sight now.

  Out of the corner of her eye Carrie saw her father thrusting his way through the hordes towards them, with Billy on his heels. The little devil had obviously gone to alert their Pa, she thought furiously. And he would have plenty to say about brawling in public … Carrie was suddenly aware of what she had done. Brawling in public, indeed … and she the one who had been so scathing of John fighting with her brother, and of his whole interest in professional bare-knuckle fighting.

  She was worse than a person who did it for gain, she thought in horror. She was acting like a guttersnipe and showing
herself up badly. If there had been a hole in which to hide, she’d have gladly jumped into it. But there was no hole big enough to hide her away from Sam Stuckey right now.

  He hauled her away from Elsie by the scruff of her collar, separating them as if they were no better than two dogs rutting in the street.

  ‘What in God’s name has come over you two?’ he said murderously. ‘I thought you was meant to be best friends, though from the screeches that was coming from this quarter, I’m fair ashamed to own that I know either of you. If you can’t behave yourselves, then just keep as far away from each other as possible, for I’ll have no brawling gossip attached to the Stuckey name.’

  ‘It suits me fine to keep away from your daughter,’ Elsie said in a high shrill voice. ‘I ain’t got time for a friend who looks down her nose at everything I do.’

  ‘And good riddance,’ Carrie yelled after her as she flounced away into the crowd. She felt Pa shake her arm hard, ordering her to stop shouting like a fishwife or go back to the house and stay with her mother for the rest of the day.

  Carrie’s eyes smarted with unshed tears. All this fuss had blown up in a moment, and now she had lost her best friend and was in disgrace with her Pa. And as far as she could see, her irritating little wretch of a brother was standing there gloating over it all, because she was the one getting the chafing, and not himself.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she snapped at him, resisting the urge to rub at her reddened cheek where Elsie had slapped it.

  ‘You are,’ Billy taunted. ‘You and Elsie fighting like two torn cats was funny. It weren’t much good, either, not like real men fighting.’

  Carrie glowered at him. ‘Well, that’s something to be proud of, at least. I’ve no wish to fight like a man, thank you very much.’

  ‘Don’t you like to watch John fight?’ Billy said. ‘I seen him up on the Downs a coupla weeks ago, and I cheered ‘im all the way, so he gave me summat to spend at the end. I might be a fighter when I grow up.’