The Blacksmith's Girl

by Rosemary Aitken

  ‘Sit down and catch your breath. I’ll set the kettle on.’ She picked up the battered object and put it on the trivet over the embers as she spoke. ‘Not seen you for months. Pity I’ve only just put this bit of saffron cake to rise. Only a small one, cause things have got so short, but if you’d’ve come later this afternoon, you could’ve ’ad some with your tea. As it is I can only give’ee bread and jam, if you’ve a mind to it?’ This last was shouted from the scullery, into which she had briefly disappeared, though she was now emerging with three saucers, cups and plates.

  He shook his head, balancing his policeman’s helmet on his knee. Jam would be a luxury in this house, you could see. ‘Just a cup of tea would do me grand. Don’t want to run you short. But, nice and all as it is to see you – this not a social call. Your Verity about, is she?’

  Martha gave him an astonished look and sat down abruptly on the nearer bench. ‘No, not here she isn’t. Gone down the dairy with her sisters. Started there this very day. Constance is stopping home instead now, giving me a hand.’ She nodded at the girl, who was standing on tiptoe to reach the milk and sugar from the shelf. ‘What do you want with our Vee, anyhow? She’s not in any kind of trouble?’ She scarcely waited for him to shake his head, before she rushed on, her voice sharp now with anxiety. ‘There’s not been an accident, down that factory?’

  ‘Nothing like that, Martha. It’s just …’ He cleared his throat. He had been deciding what to say the whole time he’d been pedalling up that confounded hill, and now the time had come. He got out his notebook, licked the end of his pencil, and went on, trying to sound as policemanlike as possible: ‘It’s come to our attention that there may have been some questionable activity on the cliffs the other day, and it seems your Verity—’

  He was interrupted by a roar from the doorway. ‘Verity! I saw the policeman’s bike outside and wondered what was up. I might have known that if there’s trouble, she’d be bringing it. What has she been doing now?’ Tobias Tregorran was standing at the door, still in his leather working-apron, and he’d never looked so huge. One massive hand was resting on the jamb, while the other was balled into a fist, and being shaken in a threatening fashion – though at no one in particular.

  Martha, dismayed, had risen to her feet and would have said something but her husband cut her off.

  ‘Woman, don’t shake your head like that at me. I know you’ve got a soft spot for that girl, but I wasn’t born yesterday and I’ve got eyes and ears. I heard exactly what was being said. Something questionable going on, that’s what the sergeant said. And on the cliffs at that. Loose morals, very like. And obviously serious, or we’d not have policemen calling here.’ He turned his piercing blue-grey eyes on Will. ‘You tell me who the chap is, and I’ll sort him out myself. And don’t you worry, Sergeant, we’ll have her home again – none of this working in the dairy factory. Verity’s not steady, like the other girls. She isn’t wicked – I aren’t saying that – but there are too many notions in that head of hers, it makes her easy led. I should have known better than to let her go down there to work!’

  Will was on his feet by now. ‘It isn’t what you seem to think, Tobias. It’s nothing that your daughter’s done at all. You’re making ogres out of shadows!’ It was unexpected to find himself defending Verity, but Martha was giving him such a grateful look that he went on: ‘As I was saying to your wife, when you came in, we’ve had information – I can’t disclose exactly what about or who reported it – but it looked suspicious, and it seems your daughter happened to be passing at the time. I’m hoping she can give us further details – that’s all.’

  ‘There you are, Toby!’ Martha sank down with a deep sigh, like a collapsed balloon. ‘Though, Sergeant Jeffries, you had us worried then. But if all you came for was to talk to Vee, you’ve had a wasted journey, I’m afraid. It’s sure as God’s in heaven that Verity can’t help. Her tongue would not have stopped wagging for a week if she’d seen any impropriety going on.’

  Toby had stopped gesticulating now and somehow managed to insinuate his frame in behind the table and sit down on the bench. ‘Martha’s right!’ he said, gruffly, as his daughter hurried to pour him a cup of tea. ‘Anything like that, Vee would have said as soon as she got home. That girl runs on like Pentargon waterfall, if there’s anything to tell – and very often even if there’s not. Pass a horse and cart and she’ll create a drama out of it.’ He put half a spoon of precious sugar in his tea and drank it greedily. ‘She can’t have seen anything that would interest you. Anyway, what would she be doing on the cliffs?’

  ‘Oh, she went out there, Toby – the day before yesterday at dusk – while she was waiting for that interview.’ Martha turned away to add more water to the pot. ‘Don’t ’ee remember?’

  Toby grunted. ‘First I’ve heard of it!’

  Martha’s cheeks had turned a little pink, but she answered steadily, ‘Well she mentioned it to all the rest of us – must have been while you were doing something at the forge. She wasn’t making any secret of the fact. She had to wait for hours to see this Mr Grey, and it was threatening rain – so very sensibly she called in on my sister for a while.’ As she spoke she refilled her husband’s cup. ‘She was telling about it for at least a half an hour – you know what Vee is like – even to the jam that Dorcas gave her with her tea!’

  ‘I don’t know why you encourage her to go down there so much,’ Toby grumbled. ‘Your father would be proper vexed if he found out.’ He took another slurp of tea, but he seemed mollified.

  Martha turned back to her visitor. ‘But, Will, that just proves what we were telling you. She didn’t say a word about peculiar goings-on – and, knowing Verity, she would have burst with it if she’d’ve noticed anything.’

  The Sergeant gave a private smile, disguised by his moustache, partly because he knew what they did not – their daughter had clearly held her tongue this time – but also because Martha had called him ‘Will’ before she thought. She hadn’t called him by that name for years – not since he was a strapping policeman in the prime of life and Martha was no older than Verity was now. And nobody had since. (His wife had always called him Billie as though he were a goat, or William if she was annoyed with him.) It took him back. Did Martha ever think about those times as well? He didn’t look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him. He sipped at his drink, crooking his little finger as Ivy taught him to: ‘makes you look a bit genteel’, she used to say.

  He glanced up. Both Tregorrans were gazing expectantly at him. He put down his cup quickly and licked his pencil end again. ‘But she was out there, that evening? You can vouch for that? Thing is, it might have seemed quite innocent to her, but if I could talk to her a bit – find out who she saw and where they were – it might even remind her of something she’d forgot. Perhaps I could find her down the factory?’ It came out as a question, and – perhaps because Tobias was such a massive man – Will found himself adding, ‘If you’ve no objection?’ Though of course, as a policeman he had every right to interview their daughter if he wished. He put his notebook carefully away.

  Toby set his cup and saucer down and pushed them both away. His hands were huge and roughened with hard work. If he’d crooked his little finger while he drank it would have looked absurd. Will hid his own plump ones under the tabletop.

  The blacksmith heaved a sigh that shook his massive frame. ‘Well, I’m glad it isn’t worse. I’ve been too quick to judge. The Lord be praised, there’s nothing to forgive. Yes, talk to ’er by all means – I can’t object to that. Want to call back this evening and see her here, do ’ee?’

  Will was about to shake his head – Verity would never talk freely with her parents there – but he caught Martha’s eye and some inspiration made him say, ‘I might do that very thing – if I can’t find her down the factory. But, since she’s not here now, I’d best be on my way. I’ve got other things to do,’ he added, rising to his feet. He smiled at Martha, ‘Thank you for the tea’ and then to Toby, �
�and thank you for your time. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.’

  Tobias spat into the fire. ‘Not much to interrupt. I’ve left young Sam Chegwidden in there to blaw the furnace – he’s too small to be much use for anything, but with this war you take what you can get – and I came in to see had Martha made a pot of tea. By and by I’ll go back out and make those hooks she wants, but that won’t pay the bills. Not much paid work to speak of, the way things are these days.’

  ‘Shoeing horses, surely?’ Will was startled into speech. Toby was not given to confidences, much.

  The blacksmith shook his head. ‘Army’s requisitioned half of them – and it’s not just the shoeing that has disappeared. No horses means there aren’t the chains and cartwheels to mend – or make – and with so many men away to war, I don’t get tools so much. More forks and shovels on the farms than hands to work them, nowadays.’ He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Mending fire irons for a widow – that’s all I’ve done today. And what kind of living can you make from that?’

  ‘Always be work for blacksmiths,’ Will said, cheerfully. ‘Or what kind of world would we be living in?’ He was already sidling to the door, which Martha was holding patiently ajar.

  ‘Don’t worry, Father, Something will turn up. The Lord will provide – isn’t that what you are always telling us?’ Will had forgotten about the girl with plaits, but she spoke softly from the shadows by the stairs.

  Tobias clearly half-suspected that she was mocking him. ‘Well, let’s just hope He does so, Constance!’ he retorted. ‘And don’t quote Scripture back at me. Honour your mother and your father, that’s what the Good Book says.’

  There was a dreadful silence. Martha caught her breath, but the girl’s face was a mask of innocence. After a few seconds, though, she said, ‘I’ll go and see to Faith,’ and scuttled up the stairs.

  Toby nodded, looking satisfied, as if he’d won a battle of some kind. He leaned back on his bench and said, quite heartily, ‘Well, Sergeant, let us know when you have spoke to Vee!’

  The moment of family tension had passed, but it had been an awkward one and Will was relieved to find himself outside the house again. He crammed his helmet on his head, then climbed onto his bike and a moment later he was streaming down the hill – a lot more quickly than he generally did.

  Martha made the excuse of fetching fresh water to go into the yard, so that she could watch the sergeant down the hill and out of sight. Poor man, he’d been embarrassed, she could see. And not just by Toby either, she thought with a smile. Never could stop his face from showing what he thought.

  No, she told herself severely. She was imagining things – thinking she could flutter hearts at her age! She made a rueful face and dipped the ladle-pot into the water butt. There had been a time when he was sweet on her – but no good to think of that! Her family would never have permitted it, even if Will had been nearer to her age. Father’d had his eyes on Toby for her from the very start. ‘A good, godly Strict Adherent, and a steady sort of man.’ And that was that.

  Mind, things were different then, nobody asked a girl’s opinion much and there was none of this free education, like her own daughters had. Even the boys round here didn’t have much schooling in those days, on the whole, and if you were a girl you learned to read at Sunday school, or not at all. She paused in her ladling, remembering her early struggles with the spelling books and Bible Stories Retold for the Young. But she had stuck with it and done very well in time – prizes and scholar’s tickets to the Tea Treats every year.

  Now everybody learned to read and write, it seemed, though none of the girls but Verity seemed to value it. Didn’t know their own good fortune, Martha thought. Her own ma had never learned to cypher all her life, and had to write a cross to sign her name, right up until she died, though she could add a bill up in her head as quick as wink.

  But, what was she up to, daydreaming like this? The bucket was so full it would be hard to carry in. Martha let the ladle dangle on its string and put the metal-grid lid back onto the water butt. Toby had made the cover, to his own design – it let in the rain but helped to keep the birds and creatures out. She picked up the water pail. It was very heavy – she’d filled it to the brim and in any case it was a metal one. Her husband had made that for her as well.

  Toby was like that – he was clever with his hands. He’d been a good provider, never drank or swore and had never lifted a hand to her, and rarely to any of the girls. Father had chosen well for her, according to his lights – and she had grown fond of Toby, in his way. Something to give thanks for, really.

  ‘Here, woman, let me have that, do. You’re spilling half of it!’ Her husband’s voice startled her into spilling more, but she relinquished the pail with some relief from her two hands into his enormous one.

  ‘I’ll put it in the scullery, where you can easy get to it,’ he said, carrying it inside as though it had no weight at all.

  How many husbands would do as much, she thought as she followed Toby back into the house. She should be thankful for her lot – not having ungrateful thoughts about widowed police sergeants! ‘I’ll see if me saffron’s risen,’ she said with a smile, moving the old teacloth that was covering the bowl. ‘And you can have some with your bit of supper later on. Yes, it’s looking handsome. You can taste the mixture, if you like, though I ’spect you’ll be wanting to get back out the forge? Even Sam Chegwidden will have blown the fire by now.’

  But her husband didn’t take the hint and go. He stood in the doorway of the scullery, filling it and looking at her keenly with his deep grey eyes. ‘What was it kept you at the water butt so long? I was feared you might have dropped the pail, or tripped and hurt yourself.’

  She laughed. ‘Just daydreaming as usual. I’m worse than Verity!’ Dreaming about Will Jeffries, she thought guiltily.

  Toby smiled his slow smile. ‘S’all right then. I’ll get back to me work.’ He turned away – then suddenly turned back. ‘Anythin’ happened to you, Martha, I don’t know what I’d do.’

  She’d turned the saffron dough out and was punching it. ‘Silly!’ she said, as lightly as she could. ‘What you think is going to ’appen? Fall in the fire and bake myself along with these ’ere buns? Get along with you, or I won’t get this baking done before the younger girls get home. They’ll want some bread and jam when they get in from school. Grace has only been down the schoolhouse for a week or two – poor little mite will be worn out with listening and copying letters on her slate. Then Faith will wake up any minute, crying for her feed. And don’t forget, you’ve got those hooks to make.’

  Her husband nodded and turned away again. But still he did not leave. ‘Don’t like that policeman coming here,’ he said.

  She was about to protest that Sergeant Jeffries was of no account to her, when Toby went on: ‘You don’t suppose that Verity saw anything, do you? I wouldn’t want her mixed up in it, if something nasty happened and it came to court.’

  Martha laughed aloud, though partly from relief. ‘Oh, Toby! Course she didn’t. She’d have told us, if she had. When did Verity ever learn to hold her tongue?’

  To her surprise her husband shook his head. ‘Our Vee can keep a secret when it pleases her. She thinks that I don’t notice how she looks for an excuse to call round to the Chegwiddens every whip and while – but, not being a horse with blinkers, naturally I do.’

  Martha said, ‘Well, what is wrong with that?’ although she knew quite well, of course. ‘They’re neighbours, after all. And isn’t their Sammy working in the forge with you?’

  ‘It isn’t Sam she’s after, it’s that Ned of theirs. Goes to find out if he’s written home – and Edna Chegwidden has no more sense than to read his letters out and even show the pictures that he’s sent.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ said Martha, remembering just in time that she mustn’t add, ‘It wasn’t me!’ and prove she’d known herself. ‘Young Sammy, I suppose?’

  Toby nodded. ‘He says his mother�
��s glad to have her come, so she can share her news with someone. I wish she wouldn’t, it encourages the girl. I do believe our Vee is rather sweet on Ned. If he was living nearer, I’d be quite concerned.’

  Martha kept her eyes fixed on her baking tray. ‘The Chegwiddens are nice people. Good chapel folk, as well. Verity could do a great deal worse,’ she said.

  But her husband’s mood had altered. ‘And a great deal better. too. You know as well as I do what the Good Book says “be not yoked with unbelievers”!’ He hadn’t raised his voice, but you could tell he was displeased.

  ‘They’re not “unbelievers” – they’re good chapel folk – at least the mother is …’ But it was too late. He’d gone out through the kitchen and she heard him slam the door.

  Martha made a little face and put the buns to do their ‘second rising’ by the kitchen fire. Hardly had she done so than Constance came downstairs, holding a red-faced, crying infant in her arms.

  ‘Faith’s woken up,’ she murmured, handing her sister to their mother as she spoke. ‘Have you got some water on? She needs a wash and change. I’ll do it if you’re busy.’ She was already at the hearth. ‘There’s not much in the kettle. What’s happened to the pail?’

  ‘Out in the scullery,’ Martha said, pushing Faith’s damp hair back from her face and bouncing the child so the sobbing stopped. ‘Your father put it there.’

  But Constance had already disappeared. She came in with the refilled kettle and put it on the trivet by the fire, then turned to her mother and made a little face. ‘I heard him slamming out. It woke the baby up. What was that about? Not me, again, I hope?’

  Martha shook her head. ‘No you’re a good girl, Constance. As I’m sure he knows. Your father’s not a bad man, it’s just he fears the Lord. And that policeman coming here about our Verity upset him – that’s all.’