by Nancy Carson
Jericho calmed down and the youth, with a swollen eye and his face smeared with blood, struggled to his feet and slipped into the crowd, out of reach. ‘Next time, I’ll marmalise yer,’ Jericho yelled, shaking his fists. He turned to Poppy, who had turned pale with apprehension. ‘Are you all right, my pet?’
‘You didn’t have to hurt the poor chap like that,’ Poppy responded. ‘I could’ve handled him all right.’
‘Jesus! Is that all the thanks I get? I could see you was trying to get away from him. I could see he was being a bloody pest. Who knows what might have happened? You should be grateful I was there.’
Poppy smiled reservedly, unsure how to react to Jericho’s violent gallantry.
Minnie appeared, having seen the wisdom in breaking free of the lad she had been promising so much to. She smiled at Dog Meat and took his arm. ‘I’m glad you come, Dog Meat,’ she cooed. ‘We was just going to the Grin and Bear It to find you, till that chap tried to get Poppy. But you can buy us a drink here, if you’ve a mind.’
‘Nah,’ Dog Meat replied. ‘If that chap fetches a bobby we could be in trouble. Let’s clear off and have a drink somewhere else. There’s plenty places.’
So the foursome left the fair. Dog Meat and Minnie walked arm-in-arm, with Poppy and Jericho behind. They stopped at a public house called The Woolpack in the town and drank outside in the warm summer evening air till closing time. Jericho was successful in occupying Poppy entirely and she told him of her father and how he had been forced by circumstances to leave the encampment. Jericho listened attentively and uttered sympathetic comments.
‘And now if he comes back Lord knows what will happen,’ Poppy said.
‘Oh?’ Jericho queried. ‘What makes you say so?’
‘Oh, because Tweedle Beak has wormed his way into my mother’s bed.’ She saw no harm in mentioning it. He would know tomorrow anyhow, when the wheels of encampment gossip began turning. And besides, she felt the need to talk to somebody, to get it off her chest and gain another opinion.
‘’Tis nothing out o’ the ordinary,’ Jericho said consolingly. ‘’Tis likely anyhow that Lightning Jack has bunked up with some woman, wherever ’tis he’s got to.’
‘But he’s my dad,’ Poppy argued. ‘And I don’t like the thought of him being done the dirty on. Oh, I know me mother was worried about being turned out and having to go on tramp, but I would’ve rather gone on tramp if I’d been her. I wouldn’t have sold meself for the price of a few weeks’ rent, ’specially to the likes of hook-nosed Tweedle Beak. I don’t admire what she’s done, Jericho.’
‘Well, like as not, they ain’t been to bed yet, eh? Like as not, Tweedle Beak’s still swilling beer down his throat.’
‘Like as not,’ Poppy agreed. ‘But when he gets back, my mother’s gunna be lying with him.’ She shuddered at the thought.
‘Jesus, you’re a sensitive soul, Poppy,’ Jericho said. ‘I ain’t never knowed anybody like you afore.’
She smiled up at him. ‘I told you that already. I told you I ain’t like the others.’
‘Nor you ain’t. But what does it matter? Life’s life. Men are men and women are women, and they’ll never be no different.’
‘I don’t know what it is.’ She shrugged and sipped her beer. ‘Maybe it’s ’cause I see too many women giving themselves to men who ain’t worthy to lick their boots. And what do they get for their trouble? A belly full of babby that they’ve got no alternative but to rear. And do the men care? No. The more babbies, the better. “Keep the women babbied,” they say. It keeps ’em out of harm’s way, and shows their mates how fertile they are. Men are like kids, Jericho. I never met one yet who’s grown up … Save for one, maybe …’
‘You mean me?’ he said.
She smiled but didn’t answer him.
‘Oh, you mean that engineer chap who you’m took with?’
‘I never said as I’m took with him … Any road, he ain’t ever likely to be took with me, is he? A navvy’s daughter?’
‘But you like him …’
She shrugged. ‘What girl wouldn’t? He’s a gentleman, good and proper. He’s got good manners and he’s polite. There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘What’s polite? In this world you gotta take what you want while it’s going, and never mind being polite. When folks are polite to me, I might start being polite to them. But there ain’t much fear on’t.’
‘I hope you’ll always be polite to me, Jericho,’ she said earnestly.
Jericho guffawed. ‘Oh, you don’t half fancy yourself as the lady … I’ll treat you like a woman, Poppy, and no different. Either way, I’ll bed you. And when I do, you won’t be putting on airs and graces …’
Minnie was only half listening to what Dog Meat was saying. She was standing a couple of yards from Poppy and Jericho and she had an ear cocked towards them, trying to catch their conversation. She was feeling peeved that Jericho seemed absorbed in Poppy. Minnie’s face, to anybody who could read it, manifested her jealousy.
After they had left The Woolpack, the four made their way back to the encampment. Jericho continued to monopolise Poppy and walked with his arm around her waist, to Minnie’s annoyance. Drink had made him talkative and Poppy even found him amusing.
‘Am yer comin’ in with us now, Jericho?’ Minnie asked as they stopped close to Rose Cottage, anxious to part him and Poppy before it was too late. They had been far too friendly for her liking.
‘In a bit,’ Jericho replied. ‘When I’ve said goodnight to Poppy.’
‘We’ll wait, if you like.’
‘He don’t want us to wait,’ Dog Meat scoffed. ‘He wants his ten minutes wi’ Poppy. Come on, let’s have you in bed.’
Minnie turned away sullenly and went with Dog Meat.
‘I ’spect you don’t wanna go in yet,’ Jericho suggested. ‘On account o’ Tweedle Beak and your mother, I mean.’
Poppy sighed. ‘What if I do and they’re … you know?’
‘Then don’t go in. Come and sleep with me at Hawthorn Villa.’
‘I’m not sleeping with you.’
‘You will sooner or later. Why not now? The offer’s there … Come a little walk wi’ me then, eh? To pass the time.’
Rather than go into Rose Cottage too soon, Poppy felt it was better to take advantage of Jericho’s company and let him keep her out late. She did not want to be faced with the awful truth of her mother and Tweedle Beak cavorting in bed. It was inevitable, of course it was, but she wanted to delay for as long as possible the dreadful, disgusting moment when she would have to witness it. If luck was with her, she would be able to keep Jericho at bay and return home between Sheba’s and Tweedle’s unspeakable love sessions … and fall asleep before they recommenced. As they started walking again, Jericho reached for her hand and she gave it compliantly.
A three-quarter moon emerged from behind clouds of smoke that issued out of the clutter of chimney stacks, and lent an eerie silver glow to the unnatural landscape. Then all at once the sky glowed red and angry, reflecting the blaze and searing heat from furnaces spewing out white-hot iron, and from cupolas vomiting flame. Set against this bloodshot firmament, those same chimney stacks stood out stark and black, like sentries guarding the headgear of the adjacent coal pits, whose turning cranks and wheels rumbled and clanked, while the steam engines that powered them hissed and sighed in their endless toil. The air was filled too with the penetrating roar of blast furnaces, a sound which was constant, however distant.
Jericho led Poppy down the path towards Cinder Bank, the same path she had ridden along as a passenger on Robert Crawford’s two-wheeled bone-judderer. Poppy thought about Robert, and wondered what he was doing at that very minute. She had no idea of the time; perhaps he was asleep in bed, perhaps he was reading a book on engineering.
Reading … Oh, soon, she would be able to read … but not soon enough.
They stopped walking when they reached the bridge under the railway, and Jericho pressed her
against the wall.
‘I don’t half fancy you, Poppy,’ he whispered. ‘I want you to be my wench.’
‘I don’t want to be anybody’s wench, Jericho.’
‘I’ll make you change your mind,’ he murmured. ‘Just give us a kiss.’
She felt obliged to let him, since he had saved her from that overbearing lad at the fair and had seemed sympathetic to her anxiety over her mother. She tilted her head back and tentatively offered her lips. Jericho was upon her like a hog at a sweetmeat and Poppy did not particularly enjoy the experience. His kiss was too wet, his lips slack and slavering through too much alcohol, and his rough tongue, which she imagined as some unutterable, eyeless water vole crazy for entry, invaded her mouth. Without wanting to seem too ungrateful, she tolerated it for a second or two, then had to break off, turning her face away.
‘Don’t you like the way I kiss?’ Jericho asked.
‘It’s not that …’
‘What then?’
‘It’s as if you’re trying to rush me into something, Jericho. I don’t want to rush into anything,’ she said beseechingly. ‘Not with anybody. You’ll just have to give me time …’
‘Time?’ he scoffed. ‘I ain’t got time. I might be dead tomorrow. You know how many men get killed digging cuttings and blowing tunnels. What about if some bastard knocks the legs too soon from under an overhang and a hundred ton of earth and rocks come tumbling down on me and bury me? What then? No, I ain’t got time, Poppy. Don’t ask for time. I want you now.’
He bent his head to kiss her again and she allowed it. Certain that she had submitted, he put his hands to her backside and began hitching up her skirt. At once, she pulled away from him.
‘No, Jericho! Please have some respect for me. You have to respect my feelings.’
‘Respect you?’ he gibed. ‘Bugger me, Poppy, anybody’d think you was that Lady Ward, whose husband owns the Pensnett Railway back there – him as has got the ironworks and the collieries all over the place …’
‘I need time, Jericho,’ she pleaded. ‘Let me get used to the idea first.’ Thoughts of Robert Crawford and her meeting with him tomorrow were more important. What if he wanted her to be his girl? She had to stall Jericho, even though she knew that he was stronger than her and could easily take her by force if he felt so inclined. ‘I need to know you better before I can do what you want.’ She took his hand gently, gambling that she could ensure her safe conduct by seeming helpless; humouring him and promising him all in the future, but delivering nothing. ‘It could be worth the wait, Jericho,’ she whispered tantalisingly, as she led him away. ‘I just ain’t ready yet …’
‘Ain’t you ever been with anybody afore?’
‘No. Never.’
‘Bloody hell … You’re a virgin …’
‘Course I am. Come on, Jericho. Take me back to the encampment.’
‘But what about your mother and Tweedle Beak?’
‘I think I can cope with that now,’ she said, with an assurance she certainly did not feel.
Chapter 7
Poppy waited beneath the old red-brick tower of St Edmund’s church, scanning Castle Street for signs of Robert Crawford and his boneshaker, her head full of the events of last night. Jericho and his amorous advances had set her thinking more about him. There were things about him she liked, but also things she didn’t. She liked his sympathetic nature, and the fact that he was easy to talk to; he had a lusty sort of charm and she could understand why he’d had success with girls. What she didn’t like was his heavy drinking and the readiness for violence manifested in his fighting, which suggested a short temper and instability. Neither did she like his kisses, but maybe she could get him to alter how he kissed if she became his wench.
A string of children all holding hands and dressed in their Sunday best were being shepherded to Sunday school. Some of them looked with curiosity at Poppy, but she smiled back at their innocent faces and stood back to let them pass.
When Poppy had returned to the hut last night all was quiet, but her mother and Tweedle Beak woke her twice with their vigorous antics in that squeaky bed they were now sharing. Poppy had tried her usual trick of pulling her pillow over her head, but she had not been able to shut out the shaking of her own bed, transmitted from theirs. Maybe when the novelty had worn off a bit she might get an undisturbed night’s sleep, but the Lord knew how long that might be.
There was also Robert, of course. Oh, she liked him more than anybody, but she realised she was wasting her time and emotions if she thought he was going to stoop to her level. Yet of all the men she had come into contact with in her limited social world, he was the one with whom she felt she had a true bond. They did not know each other that well, but there was an undeniable rapport, an understanding between them. As yet it remained unspoken – maybe it always would – but it existed. Perhaps it was best left unspoken; the consequences of acknowledging it might present too many insurmountable difficulties, as well as a broken heart.
She scanned Castle Street again and saw him. Today he was without his two-wheeled contraption. He walked towards her with a smile on his face, as usual, and her heart flipped over in a somersault.
‘Have you been waiting long?’ he asked, looking her up and down.
‘No, I only just got here. I got my paper and blacklead, look.’
‘Excellent.’
He tried to hide his disenchantment with her red flannel frock. Not only was it a mighty step down from the pinnacle of fashion and inelegant, but it did not fit her particularly well. It was too big at the waist and the bodice rendered her chest shapeless and ambiguous. It was also too short and revealed the ungainly clogs and rough stockings that clearly signalled her background for all to see. She looked infinitely better in those plain working frocks; at least they fitted her, gave some form to her young figure, which he knew to be alluring enough. Why had he now put himself in a position where he would be seen accompanying this uncultured wench, who to any bystander would appear as nothing more than a whore he’d just picked up? Yet her face was as angelic as ever. Her beautiful eyes were clear and blue and exuded such a look of gentleness and honesty. Her hair beneath her bonnet framed her rounded cheekbones with untamed yellow curls, and her lips looked so gloriously tempting. In different circumstances he might fall head over heels in love with this girl; she had the makings. In their present circumstances – and her in that awful dress – that was impossible. Still, he could not help being drawn. She was truly something of an enigma.
‘Where shall we go?’ Poppy asked.
He wanted to save himself any embarrassment and get as far from the eyes of passers-by as possible. The castle grounds, the entrance to which lay just across the road, would be heaving with strollers in their Sunday best and well-to-do families out in their carriages on a fine afternoon such as this was.
‘I mentioned the Old Priory. I think it would be pleasant in any case to sit among the ruins and begin your lesson there.’
‘Is it far?’
‘No. A six and a half minute walk from here.’
She laughed at his preciseness as they began the short trek. ‘Six and a half minutes? Not five, or ten?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, surprised that she should have the temerity to mock him.
‘I suppose it comes of being an engineer,’ she suggested compassionately, at once taking the sting out of his umbrage. ‘You being so exact about the time it takes to walk there.’
‘Ah. I see.’ He laughed at himself when he understood. ‘You have remarkable perception, Poppy. Yes, I suppose it must be comical, put in that context – my engineering background.’
As ever, the town was littered with inebriates tumbling out of the public houses, staggering homewards. Here and there arguments flared over nothing, and Robert took Poppy’s arm as they hurried past The Hen and Chickens on the corner of Castle Street and New Street’s narrow confines, into which they turned. Several rough-looking men eyed them suspiciously as th
ey went by, commenting lewdly on the obvious incongruity that existed between the couple. Soon, however, Poppy and Robert were away from the rabble and the bustle of the area. In less than half a minute they were surrounded by gardens and fields. Over to their right, the keep of the old Norman castle loomed high on its wooded hill.
‘What did you do last night?’ Poppy asked Robert.
‘Last night? Oh … I was invited to dinner. In fact, there was a fair at Porter’s Field I had intended visiting, but in the end I was invited to dinner, as I say.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, very much. It was a very convivial evening.’
Convivial. What on earth did that mean? ‘I went to the fair,’ Poppy admitted. ‘Pity you didn’t go, Robert. I bet I would’ve seen you there.’
‘Who did you go with?’ Robert asked.
‘With my friend, Minnie Catchpole. You don’t know her, do you?’
‘Is her father on the OWWR workings?’
‘Yes, Tipton Ted,’ Poppy told him. ‘I bet you know Tipton Ted.’
‘Yes, I know Tipton Ted.’
‘Minnie is Dog Meat’s girl. Do you know him as well?’
‘Dog Meat? Yes, I know Dog Meat. Drunken lout. And your friend is his … his bed partner, I suppose?’
‘Yes, course.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Same as me. Sixteen. She’s been sleeping with him since she was fifteen.’
‘And Tipton Ted allows that?’ Robert asked, hardly hiding his disapproval.
Poppy shrugged. It was not her concern.
‘Good Lord! I wonder she’s not become pregnant before now. And she so young.’
‘Oh, Minnie says she knows how to stop getting pregnant. She goes off with other men as well.’
‘Good Lord!’ Robert said again. ‘Goodness, Poppy, I do hope you have more sense than to do things like that yourself. You do strike me as having a lot more sense.’ He looked at her questioningly, for reassurance.
‘Me? Oh, you got me to rights there. I wouldn’t do nothing like that. Mind you, I ain’t been short of offers lately.’
