The Castlefield Collector

by The Castlefield Collector (Watch for the Talleyman) (retail) (epub)

  In desperation, she started trying for other kinds of jobs but Dolly had no experience for anything except spinning and whenever anyone asked why she’d left the mill, she never seemed to have a satisfactory answer. People would eye her suspiciously, say they’d no vacancies and shut the door in her face. She’d need to go much further afield where she wasn’t known, but she’d no wish to do that, not only because it would mean leaving her lovely mam but also she wouldn’t ever be able to see Sam, which didn’t bear thinking of.

  For a while she got a job sorting rags, the lowest of the low so far as Dolly was concerned, but at least she drew some money at the end of the week. And then her mam found out and that was the end of that.

  ‘I’ll not have a daughter of mine working in a midden,’ Maisie declared. ‘I’d throw myself in the canal sooner. Have you no pride? That’s the one thing we do still have, our pride, since it costs nothing. Don’t you dare lose that, madam, or we’re done for, finished.’

  ‘You think I’m not already? You think I didn’t lose my pride knowing I’m not who I thought I was?’

  ‘Oh lass, don’t say such things. It’s cruel hard. I’ve done me best to be a good mother to you. Don’t I love the bones of you but we all make mistakes. I’m human. I’m a woman with a heart that beats fast when a man touches me. You’ll learn that yourself one day.’

  For supper that night, Maisie produced one piece of cod between the four of them, a small dish of peas and not even a bag of chips to share. Willy, who rarely said boo to a goose, remarked, ‘Nay, Mam, it’s our stomach what holds our back up. How can we work on this?’

  Maisie ran from the room in tears.

  The next night they had some sort of stew made from rancid bacon and what looked like potato peelings. Maisie didn’t eat a scrap. Aggie screwed up her nose but was too hungry to refuse it, and Willy said not a word.

  When the usual knock came to the door at the end of the week, this time Dolly let him in, ready to give her answer. She gazed at Nifty Jack, sitting ramrod straight in the upright chair, his bowler hat placed carefully beside him on the table and his bald head glistening with sweat. He was just a sad old man with surely nothing to fear about him at all. As he’d carefully explained, she’d have her own room and even the run of the house for much of the time while he was out and about on his calls. It surely couldn’t be any worse than enduring Aggie’s spiteful jealousy, or watching her mother’s daily decline into depression and starvation.

  ‘All right,’ she bluntly informed him, having come to a decision. ‘I’ll do it.’

  * * *

  Aggie couldn’t make up her mind what to wear. Not because she was spoiled for choice. Rather the reverse. She really didn’t think she possessed anything quite suitable for a Sunday tea that could well lead to a proposal. In the end, there was no alternative but the dress she always wore on a Sunday for chapel. It was a dull navy blue serge with a crochet collar and unfashionably long, being a full inch past the knee. She decided at least to shorten it, trimmed the hemline with a little rick-rack braid, pinned a bunch of violets on to the dropped waistband and wished she had a full length mirror to admire herself in it. She also made sure that she had on clean underwear, even if it was her tried and tested flannel drawers. Just in case. She didn’t even possess one of the new brassieres although fortunately her breasts were small enough to be entirely in fashion, with no need for flattening.

  Harold had laid tea on a little folding table before a bright coal fire in the front parlour. The teapot, milk jug and sugar bowl, Aggie noticed, were best silver plate; the cups and saucers prettily painted with maroon flowers. All of which seemed to indicate affluence. The room, however, was disappointingly gloomy and old fashioned, painted in a dull brown and still with Victorian gas brackets no different from their own and not the modern electric light she had hoped for. The furniture too was of that era: too big and heavy for the small parlour, every surface covered in crocheted mats and antimacassars, with even the table legs draped in swathes of velveteen, in case their provocative shape might bring the subject of sex to mind. Sex was certainly on Aggie’s mind. She had no objection to a man older than herself, so long as he was experienced and exciting.

  Harold was bringing food from the back kitchen including soft white buttered slices of bread and strawberry jam. He’d bought cream cakes from Bradburn’s and there was a fruit loaf to cut. Aggie’s mouth started to water the moment she set eyes on the feast, reminding her just how hungry she was. No rancid bacon and leftovers here.

  ‘Sit yourself down, Aggie. I want you to feel at home.’

  Harold poured the tea, handed her the bread, and strawberry jam, pressed her to take a second cake, waiting on her every whim. Aggie forgot all about proposals and dreams of silk cami-knickers, and stuffed her face with food. Only when she was quite replete and satisfied, did she sit back with a contented sigh and turn her attention to the matter in hand. She asked if she might powder her nose and was directed, not to a shared privy, as it was in Tully Court, but upstairs to a small, private closet in which was a flush lavatory and a wash basin with running water. Aggie had never seen such luxury. There was even a mirror on the wall, which enabled her to tidy her hair and put on some of the lipstick she’d brought with her.

  Back downstairs, Harold leapt to his feet as she entered and she could tell that he was nervous as tiny rivers of sweat were running down his round cheeks into his collar. Aggie cast him what she hoped was a shy smile of encouragement and settled herself daintily on the sofa, as directed.

  He’d removed the table and cleared away the cups and saucers while she was absent, which seemed to prove that he was handy about the house, and now they sat side by side, stiffly to attention like soldiers waiting to be court marshalled. Aggie experienced an almost uncontrollable desire to giggle but then Harold cleared his throat and slipped an arm about her waist, giving it a little squeeze. That’s better. He was starting to relax.

  ‘I’m that glad you came, Aggie. I can’t tell you how pleased I am. I wanted everything to be perfect for you. I hope you enjoyed your tea.’

  ‘I certainly did. It was a proper treat, Harold. Lovely.’

  Again an awkward silence fell between them: Aggie hoping the hand resting heavily upon her waist would do something more exciting soon and Harold allowing himself a small sigh of relief that she was pleased, privately hoping that the large sum the shop delicacies had cost him would prove to be a worthwhile investment. Harold enjoyed his food but, if all went well, he’d have home baked cakes in future, which would be even better and far cheaper.

  He couldn’t quite make up his mind whether to try and kiss her or go down on one knee and get the proposal out of the way first. He’d never got this far with a woman before, always feeling rather shy and awkward with them. But Aggie was different. And if he didn’t get her up them wooden stairs and into his bed pretty damn quick, he’d die of apoplexy. He could barely sleep at night for thinking about her and when he finally did, from sheer exhaustion, his dreams were lurid to the point of erotic. He’d wake up drenched in sweat and other unmentionable fluids, and he’d have to change the sheets. It was all most embarrassing.

  Aggie decided that she’d waited long enough through this long, agonisingly thoughtful silence and gave him a gentle prompt. ‘Was there something you wanted to say to me, Harold? The reason you asked me here.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Aggie, you know there was.’

  She blinked at him and waited hopefully. ‘Well?’

  Harold drew in a sharp breath. It was almost as if, in his nervousness, he’d quite forgotten what it was. But he knew that he must get it right. If he said the wrong thing, which he was quite capable of doing, he might never get another chance. Aggie Tomkins had any number of admirers and he could hardly believe she was sitting here, in his front room, on his sofa, letting him hold her hand and put his arm about her. But how to get started, that was the puzzle!

  Aggie cast him a sideways glance and pressed her lip
s into a mischievous smile. ‘I’m beginning to think you just want your wicked way with me, Harold.’

  ‘Oh, I do want that an’ all. I do, Aggie.’ Realising what he’d said, he flushed scarlet and looked at her, appalled. Now he really had blown it. Trust him. Now she’d be off out of here faster than a bullet shot from a rifle. But then he saw to his great amazement that she was laughing. She had her hand in front of mouth and was chortling with glee.

  ‘Harold Entwistle, what a thing to say! What would the mill operatives think if they could see you here with me, like this, and hear you saying such things?’

  Her giggles were infectious and he found himself chuckling too. ‘Ooh, Aggie, you’re a good sort, you are really.’

  ‘You haven’t gone off me then? You still fancy me?’

  ‘Like crazy!’

  ‘Well, why don’t you put that spare hand of yours wherever it fancies, give us a kiss and see where that takes us. Then you might remember what it was you wanted to ask me.’ Whereupon, she removed his spectacles and planted a warm, moist kiss full on his eager mouth.

  After that it was what Harold would describe as plain sailing. Not only did she let him kiss her, but made no objection when he began to fondle her breasts, albeit on the outside of the navy serge dress. He did consider asking her to remove it but decided that prudence was the better part of valour. The last thing he wanted was to risk losing her. But yet again she startled him out of his indecision.

  ‘Since we’re now betokened, as it were, soon to be engaged, Harold Entwistle, we could go a bit further. So long as we stayed above the waist, that is.’

  The prospect of seeing those pert breasts, of rubbing his hands over the rosy nipples, brought him out in such a sweat that although he had no recollection of actually popping the question and asking her to be his wife, or fiancée, he was more than delighted to go along with the plan. He had that dreadful frock pulled down to her waist in no time, even found no difficulty with the mysteries of her camisole top and when she was finally in his arms, semi-naked, she was everything he’d ever dreamed of. For a long moment he gazed at her in reverent awe, and it was Aggie again who urged him to ‘Get on with it and do something for God’s sake, before I die of pneumonia.’

  Oh, and he did get on with it. He did indeed. He kissed and fondled her till his head was spinning with desire, and most delicious it was too. Aggie Tomkins was proving to be quite a revelation, spicing up his life and enlivening his education no end. But then he made the mistake of touching her knee and she very swiftly called a halt. Harold thought he might go crazy he was that worked up, though perhaps it was just as well. A proper spectacle he was making of himself.

  ‘Aggie love, the sooner we call the banns the better,’ he gasped, his body giving a telling little shudder.

  ‘Ooh, Harold, what can I say but yes!’

  Chapter Eleven

  Wasting no time, as she didn’t want to take the risk that he might go off her, Aggie introduced her ‘intended’ to her surprised family the very next week.

  ‘While I’ve no wish to cause offence by robbing you of your usual rights,’ Harold told her astonished mother, ‘I shall be more than happy to pay for this wedding.’

  ‘And I’ll be more than willing to let you, lad’ said Maisie, wondering if she should feel insulted that the man involved in her husband’s final moments, was about to become her son-in-law. Or was she relieved that she’d soon have Aggie off her hands?

  Within days he’d bought a ring, small admittedly, but with a dear little sapphire heart set in a cluster of tiny diamonds. Riches indeed. Before the week was out, he’d posted the banns at the chapel and Aggie was planning her wedding frock. It would be cream crepe de Chine, with pink rosebuds all around on the hem, cut to precisely on the knee. She’d seen a picture of such a gown in a magazine. All she had to do was persuade her mother to make it for her. She meant to fashion the satin headdress herself, and purchase cream satin shoes to match. The reception was to be held at the Co-operative rooms and afterwards Harold had promised to take her to Lytham St Annes for their honeymoon. Aggie felt quite sick with excitement.

  ‘Now if there’s anything you don’t like about my little house, you only have to say the word, Aggie love, and it can be changed.’

  ‘I will admit, Harold, that it does look a bit old fashioned.’

  Harold glanced about his family home, the house where he was born and had lived all his life, in some surprise. Blinking behind his spectacles, he saw it with new eyes. My word, of course it was old fashioned. Nothing had been changed since his parents had died years ago, and probably since his grandparent’s day. ‘Then we must have new,’ he decided. ‘We can start afresh. I’ll get rid of all this lot and you can go round to the Co-op on Saturday, Aggie, and choose whatever you fancy, the very latest in house furnishings.’

  ‘Ooh, Harold, can I really?’ She fell into his arms and began to kiss him wildly, so that Harold’s head started to spin and he felt that familiar, pleasantly painful movement in his trousers. ‘Aye, why not? They’ll fetch it round in the van next week and we can start our married life with new stuff, with whatever your heart desires, my little love.’ And as Harold gave himself up to Aggie’s frantic kisses, he was mentally struggling to recall the exact sum in his savings account.

  But Aggie was deeply content. Everything was progressing exactly as planned. She had big plans to put new life into that old fashioned house, and her own future. It was all most satisfying. Her only moment of doubt came when she was on her way home from work one day and chanced upon Sam and Matt leaning on the wall by the wharf.

  The moment he spotted her, Sam broke away from Matt and came over. ‘Hey, it’s our blushing bride. Is it true that you’re to wed Harold Entwistle?’

  ‘What if it is?’

  ‘By heck, Aggie Tomkins, you give a chap a hard time. Is this some ploy to make me pop the question, because if it is…’

  She didn’t even let him finish but tossed her curls and stuck her nose in the air. ‘You can be absolutely certain that marriage to you is the last thing on my mind, Sam Clayton. Why would I live in a shabby old court with you, when I can have a fine house on Quay Street, with all new furniture?’

  Sam raised his eyebrows in mock surprise and considered her for a moment before smiling his wide, crooked smile. ‘I can see that a fancy house and such fol-de-rols will make you very happy, Aggie, but does he make you happy?’

  ‘Course he does.’

  ‘So you no longer fancy me then?’

  ‘I certainly don’t.’

  ‘Are you sure? Can you be absolutely certain?’ Taking hold of her, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, pushing open her eager mouth with his tongue.

  Aggie couldn’t help herself as she melted against him. Everything she’d ever learned about sex, she’d learned here, in Sam’s arms. Oh, and with those lips, and those strong muscles holding her tight, what a fine teacher he was. She felt quite unable to control the surge of excitement that jolted through her as his tongue caressed and circled her own. She was whimpering with need when he released her, quite abruptly. Aggie staggered a little, so dazed with longing she almost lost her balance.

  Laughing softly, he turned his back on her and began to stroll away. ‘Just as well I no longer fancy you then, isn’t it? Happen I should give your Dolly a chance, instead.’

  Aggie flounced off in high dudgeon, swinging her hips provocatively, as if hoping to remind Sam that he would miss her. Frowning, he watched her go, wondering if he would.

  ‘You must be disappointed,’ Matt said, coming to join him. ‘You and Aggie have been together for years.’

  ‘There are other fish in the sea.’

  A small silence, and then, ‘You didn’t mean it about her sister, did you? Dolly isn’t your sort at all.’

  ‘Whose sort is she then? Yours? Don’t make me laugh. You couldn’t catch a woman in a million years, not even Dolly.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Matt
conceded. ‘But I think Dolly is cute.’

  ‘You always were smitten, but she’ll never look your way.’

  Matt was frowning, not liking where this conversation was leading. ‘That doesn’t mean she’d look at you any more favourably.’

  ‘Oh, aye, she would. She’s been hankering after me for years. If I put my mind to it, I could have her easy-peasy. But you’re probably right. I don’t reckon she’d be worth the candle. Bit too complicated, our Dolly, and there are better prospects on the horizon.’

  ‘What sort of prospects?’

  ‘Never you mind. Meanwhile, let’s see what talent there is in the crown.’

  Matt fell into step beside his best mate, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

  * * *

  Dolly was determined to make the best of things. It would all be worth it in the end when the debt was settled. The good thing about her new role as housekeeper was that Nifty had kept his word, she was well fed and did indeed have a lovely room for herself. It worried her slightly that there was no lock on the door and each night she would jam a chair under the handle. So far he’d given her no reason to be alarmed and she was growing used to the routine and her new life.

  Most of the day and often well into the evening, Nifty would be out collecting, or off down the pub and so, in a way, the worst aspect of this job was the loneliness. Dolly missed her mates at the mill, the routine and feel of the cotton in her hands. Whenever she called at Tully Court, as she often did to see her mam, she felt quite jealous of Aggie’s ability to carry on working at Barkers, found herself desperate for any bit of mill gossip, even about the hated Betty Deurden, who had apparently been attacked while walking home one night. No one knew who did it, though gossip pointed the finger at one of her no-good boyfriends. Betty wasn’t saying. She hadn’t been to work since and rumour had it that she was pregnant.