Hidden Currents

by Rowena Summers

  The question startled Sam so much he almost spilled his drink. He stared at the complacent bull of a man seated opposite him.

  ‘You ain’t telling me you’re about to snuff it, are you?’ he said, unable to think of anything else.

  He heard the other man laugh and saw him shake his head. ‘Not for a long while., I hope, but it does my heart good to see a touch of alarm in your face at the thought, Sam. Perhaps there’s some hope for our friendship yet.’

  Sam glared at him. He didn’t like being sent up for a fool, nor taken unawares like that. There had been too many shocks lately, and too many of them were coming from this man’s doorstep. He drained his glass and stood up.

  ‘I doubt that. And if all you wanted me here for was to bait me —’

  ‘Sit down and shut up, man,’ Gaffer said sharply. ‘And perhaps some more brandy will mellow you a bit.’

  Before Sam could argue, Gaffer was tipping up the decanter into his glass, and he sat down again heavily, his head already spinning from drinking too much, too fast.

  ‘Now then, when I asked if you could make a coffin for me, I wasn’t meaning anything quite so personal.’

  ‘’Twas a pretty daft request, then, and not in the best of taste,’ Sam said with a scowl.

  ‘What I meant was this,’ Gaffer went on patiently. ‘If you were supplied with the best materials and a place to make ’em, could you turn out expensive and elaborate coffins to special order, that the toffs would pay a bundle for?’

  Sam stared at him now, as the workings of Gaffer Woolley’s brain began to turn over in his mind. He took another swig of brandy before he answered.

  ‘You know my work well enough, Gaffer. You know very well I could turn out the best damn coffins in Christendom, given the materials. Fit enough and fancy enough for a prince, if need be.’

  ‘Yes, well, let’s hope such a one won’t be needed for many years yet. And have you any idea what the demand for such work might be if it was advertised discreetly enough?’

  Sam gave a short laugh.

  ‘I know that death don’t make no distinction between rich folk and paupers. We all go the same way in the end, and we all need a box to carry us off in —’

  His eyes narrowed. It was true enough, and he’d never even considered it before. He’d made his coffins for paltry sums, and been glad to do so to help those worse off than himself. But there must be folk willing to pay handsomely for as fine a piece of furniture for burying as ever graced an elegant drawing-room.

  ‘I see that you’re beginning to see daylight,’ Gaffer said now, leaning back in his chair.

  ‘No, I ain’t,’ Sam said shortly. ‘Where would I ever have the wherewithal to start up such a workshop or have the know-how to contact clients? It ain’t like shopping for turnips.’

  ‘That would be my job,’ Gaffer said. ‘It was my cousin who put the idea into my head, and once he did, it became obvious. I would provide you with premises and supply the materials, and I’d see to the advertising, and contacting the undertaking firms. We wouldn’t want no truck with that side of it, o’ course,’ he added quickly. ‘Ours would just be a supply business.’

  ‘And what would be in all this for you?’ Sam said, still suspicious of everything the man was saying. It sounded too good to be true, but it was well known that Gaffer Woolley never gave anything away for nothing, and he wasn’t likely to be starting now.

  ‘A fifty per cent share of the profits,’ Gaffer said calmly. ‘You’d be doing all the manual work, but I’d be supplying all the materials, the business know-how and the premises. What do you say to it, Sam? Do we strike a bargain?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know what to say! I never aimed to end up as a coffin-maker, though I don’t deny there’s as much skill in turning a piece of wood into a fitting resting-place for the relatives to admire, as in any other task.’

  ‘And there ain’t never likely to be a shortage of such work, is there?’ Gaffer reminded him.

  ‘I’d want me own sign above the workshop,’ Sam said suddenly. ‘“Sam Stuckey, coffin-maker’ sounds about right. It needn’t be nothing fancy, just enough so folk ’ould know the name of the craftsman.’

  ‘I think I could agree to that,’ Gaffer said, smiling, and he held out his hand. Sam stared at it thoughtfully for a moment more, before spitting on his own, then slapping Aaron’s hand squarely in the middle. They had made a deal.

  * * *

  By the time Sam rolled back down Jacob’s Wells Road late that night, he was awash with brandy and high spirits. If neither he nor Gaffer Woolley had precisely referred to their association as a partnership, each of them knew damn well that was what it amounted to. And since Gaffer was going to have some papers drawn up to the effect that they’d each be taking fifty per cent of whatever the new venture earned, Sam was more than satisfied with this night’s work.

  He’d always known Aaron Woolley was really a stouthearted fellow, he thought expansively, conveniently forgetting all the past antagonisms. The man had even pressed an advance of cash on him, to tide him over until the business was under way and the orders came flowing in, as Aaron was confident that they would.

  Sam had money jingling in his pockets, and he’d be buggered if he was going to squander it all on ale. He was a Somebody now, and he could hold up his head as high as anybody. And he wasn’t so stewed that he couldn’t recognise the fact that Gaffer Woolley knew a good thing when he saw it. Gaffer Woolley would never consider going into a fifty-fifty partnership with Sam Stuckey without being pretty damn sure it was going to be a money-making arrangement.

  He managed to stumble inside the house, well pleased with the night’s business, and grimacing that for the present he’d do better to mind where he put his unstable feet than to keep his head stuck up in the air.

  It was all dark and silent indoors. The rest of the family had obviously gone to bed long ago, and he crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, swearing every time he stubbed his toe. He was itching to tell Ma about the change in their fortunes, but his head was fair muddled with it all, and he supposed the morning would do just as well.

  He fell across the bed, fully dressed, and was asleep in seconds, snoring as loudly as a train at full steam, while May tried in vain to push him away from her side of the bed and was obliged to cling to the edge in vexation.

  * * *

  Sam awoke with the grandaddy of a headache, and a screeching sound going right through one of his ears and out the other. He resisted opening his eyes, sure that the raising of even one lid would send his nerves jangling with pain. Slowly he recognised that the noise came from his youngest son, Henry, bawling and caterwauling fit to raise a church roof. As he managed to let one eye flicker a little, wincing as he ascertained that it was daylight, he vaguely glimpsed Ma sitting up in the bed and offering one blue-veined breast to the hungry infant. Thank God, Sam thought feelingly. He was enormously proud of his new son, but he could do without his yelling this morning, thanks very much.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re not awake, Sam Stuckey,’ he heard May say severely. ‘And if you’re not, then you ought to be. Coming home here at all hours and sprawling all over me like that! What did you and Gaffer Woolley get up to last night, for pity’s sake, or shouldn’t I ask?’

  His one wakeful eye opened a fraction wider. If only his head didn’t throb so much … if only he felt as buoyant as he knew he should, with all that he had to to tell her …

  ‘We’re going to be rich, Ma,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I wanted to tell you last night —’

  ‘Oh ah, and my name’s Mrs Gullible,’ she said sarcastically, biting her lip as Henry sucked more forcefully. His tiny fingers dug into her breast, and she cuddled him in close to keep him warm, glowering at her man. ‘What kind of romancing have you been doing now?’

  ‘’Tain’t no romancing, woman. I tell you me and Gaffer’s going into partnership.’

  May stared for a minute, then burst out laughing.

 
‘What? You ain’t had a good word to say about the man these past six months or more, and now you come home with these daft tales.’

  Sam sat up in bed, discovering to his shame that he was still wearing his clothes. But God damn the woman, he’d show her. He thrust his hand in his pocket, and felt the coins there. It weren’t no dream, then, as he’d almost feared himself when May had got so scathing. It was all true. He spilled out the money on the bed, saying nothing, and watched her eyes grow round.

  ‘What have you been doing?’ she whispered. ‘Sam, you ain’t done nothing wrong, have you?’

  That did it. He swung his legs off the bed, feeling them buckle as he did so. But he’d be buggered if he was going to stay here and be accused of being a thief, when he’d never done a dishonest thing in his life.

  ‘No, I ain’t, woman,’ he shouted. Henry flinched, pulling away from the nipple and bawling in fright, until May coaxed him back on again. ‘And if you want to know any more, you can damn well come downstairs and ask. And make haste there, for the sprog’s not the only one wanting breakfast.’

  He stumped down the stairs, aware that the rest of the household was stirring. He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t meant to snap and snarl, especially when he was so full of good cheer … too bloody full, he groaned, feeling the bile in his gut after the lashings of brandy Gaffer had swilled into him. He turned as Wilf came downstairs, a grin on his face.

  ‘Did the meeting go well then, Pa?’

  ‘I suppose you knew all about it,’ he said curtly.

  ‘Does it matter? I’d have thought what matters was whether or not you accepted Gaffer’s offer. So what did you say to it, Pa?’

  For a minute Sam looked at him resentfully. The boy was getting far too big for his boots lately. But a man with a secure job and a bride-to-be had every right to look big. As did a man with a new opportunity landing slap bang in his lap. He gave a hooting laugh.

  ‘I said yes, boy! What else do you think a sane man would have bloody well said?’

  ‘Is somebody going to tell me what this is all about?’ Ma said a short while later, when Henry had been fed and changed, and was belching happily in his carriage in the corner of the room. In answer, Sam caught her around the waist and danced her between the table and chairs until she begged for mercy. But her eyes were like stars all the same, and even without knowing what had happened, she didn’t need telling that it was something wonderful.

  * * *

  ‘So my Pa’s going to be a fully fledged coffin-maker,’ Carrie told John’s aunt and uncle, when she took the baby to visit them a week later. ‘I don’t like saying it, really, but he’s as pleased as ninepence about it.’

  ‘It’s an honest job, and a very necessary one,’ Aunt Vi said. ‘Don’t ever be ashamed of what your father does, Carrie. And I doubt that he’ll ever be out of work again.’

  ‘Mebbe I should order my box from him in advance. Do you think he’d give me a discount, being almost family?’ Uncle Oswald teased, and Carrie protested at once.

  ‘Don’t even talk about such things, Uncle Oswald. I’m sure it’s bad luck!’

  He chuckled. ‘It’s only you young folk who think death’s summat to be feared and not talked about. But I reckon a man has as much right to overseeing his own coffin as buying his marriage bed. He’ll be spending a sight longer in it too.’

  She hated this kind of talk, and she bounced Henry on her knees to encourage Aunt Vi to coo over him and tickle him to make him laugh.

  ‘Have you heard from John lately?’ she said, wishing she’d never mentioned her Pa’s new prospects. ‘I had a letter this week, and I thought he sounded as if he was getting tired of the constant moving around.’

  She couldn’t help hoping that it was so. In his last letter he’d said how much he was looking forward to staying in one place again, and that there was no place like home. And the other, more personal messages, had told her that his love was still strong, and that he was impatient for their wedding.

  ‘We had a letter too,’ Oswald nodded. ‘You can read it if you like, since there’s summat of interest to you in it. Then Vi can dandle that young bab, like she’s bursting to do.’

  He handed her the letter from the sideboard. Carrie recognised John’s firm handwriting, and opened the pages. It said much the same general information as her own letter, save for a few added bits.

  ‘If you see Carrie, tell her this tour will be the last time I enter the ring on any account. Perhaps you can convince her, that all I want now is to come home and lead a settled life, with Carrie by my side. I’ve done what I wanted to do, and the money’s being safely put by in a bank account. All the same, I’ve nearly had enough of this life, and some of the wagers that go around the arena are enough to sicken anyone. Roll on the spring and summer, when I can put it all behind me.’

  There was more of the same, but since her eyes were so blurred, Carrie could hardly read it. Why did she find it so difficult to believe what her heart should have told her? And why didn’t John open his heart to her, the way he did to his uncle? But she knew the answer to that one. He still had his pride, and perhaps she had never been intended to read these words. If so, she vowed she would never let him know she had seen them. She handed Oswald back the letter.

  ‘I think this is meant for your eyes, and not for mine, but I thank you for letting me see it,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Take this charmer back, Carrie, while I get us some tea. It’s all ready in the kitchen, and just needs bringing in,’ Aunt Vi said.

  ‘You enjoy holding him, and I’ll do it,’ Carrie said quickly. She needed to escape for a moment, anyway. And besides … she looked around her slowly. One day this would be her domain. It was John’s plan that they should live here with Uncle Oswald after their marriage, and Aunt Vi would have found her own little place near the sea that she wanted so much. And Carrie had no objection to any of it.

  She put the plate of cakes and the tea things on the tray and carried it through, imagining for a moment that she was dispensing tea and graciousness in her own home. Being the hostess when Ma and Pa came to tea, perhaps, enjoying an afternoon with them all, then waving them off to Jacob’s Wells Road, while she and John closed the door behind them and went back to their own private world of happiness …

  ‘Are you all right, Carrie?’ Vi said, when she put down the tray. ‘I told that old duffer not to upset you by showing you John’s letter.’

  ‘It didn’t upset me. It made me think, though. I was beginning to realise it didn’t matter what John did, as long as we were going to be together eventually, and now here he is, saying he’s going to be done with it after all. Maybe everything’s done for a purpose.’

  She bent to her task of pouring tea, embarrassed at baring her feelings like that. She missed the way Vi glanced at her brother, and saw him nod.

  ‘We’ve been doing some thinking too, Carrie,’ Vi said. ‘As you know, I’ve had a hankering for a long while to get me a small place by the sea, and I reckon the little fishing village of Clevedon will just suit me fine. As soon as John comes home, I’m going to ask him to take me down there to look around for a place.’

  ‘But not on our account, Aunt Vi! There’ll be a couple of months to go before we plan to be wed, so you musn’t think you have to leave here right away. This is your home now —’ she stopped, for none of this was really her business, and she felt as if she was putting her foot in it more and more. But Vi laughed comfortably.

  ‘Don’t take on so, love. Me and Oswald have been having a long hard talk about the future, what’s left of it, and we’ve decided that we’d like to spend the rest of our time together. So we shall both be looking for that seaside cottage, and leave this place to you and John, with our blessing.’

  ‘Is this what you both want?’ Carrie said.

  Oswald nodded firmly. ‘It is, girl. Newly-weds should start off life on their own, and me and Vi are comfortable together now. Besides, when John gets his fine new boat, we s
hall expect you to come down the coast to visit us.’

  She ran to him and put her arms around his frail neck. She hoped that her Pa wouldn’t have to make a coffin for this lovely old man for years and years yet.

  ‘I love you both,’ she said, her eyes shining, and as Henry gave a healthy belch, they all laughed. ‘And Henry loves you too!’

  * * *

  She couldn’t wait to relate the news to the family. She felt happier than she had in a long time. Wilf and Pa were in work, Ma looked well, and so did the young ’uns. And John didn’t want to stay away a minute longer than he had to, and was never going to do any fighting again … she crossed her fingers as she thought it, but somehow she felt she was mature enough now, to know that if he was tempted to take up a challenge now and then, she could accept it. She wouldn’t want to tie a strong man like John Travis to her apron-strings.

  When she left the house on Bedminster Hill, she pushed Henry’s carriage at a fair rate down the hill towards the river, and along the road to the crossing-bridge.

  ‘You’re going to see your Uncle John very soon,’ she told the baby gleefully, ‘and you’re going to adore him.’

  Henry chuckled, far too young to understand the words or their meaning, but bright enough to respond to her mood.

  She was out of breath by the time she had pushed him up Jacob’s Wells Road, and hadn’t objected to stopping half a dozen times for folk to admire the baby and ask after her Ma. It was late afternoon by then, and although the days were starting to lengthen now in the first gusty days of March, the sky had begun to turn to indigo by the time she pushed open their own front door and called out that they were home.

  Wilf wouldn’t be home from the workshop yet, and Pa was busy organising his new work premises with Gaffer, and showing a surprising aptitude for business, but there was no sign of Ma or Billy. Then she saw them in the back yard. They were feeding the chickens, and Billy was collecting the eggs for tea, and jabbering excitedly to someone there with them.

  Someone who was tall and dark, and broader now than before he went away. Carrie’s heart seemed to jump in her chest. She left the baby carriage exactly where it was, and rushed out into the yard with her arms held wide.