by Nancy Carson
‘How many tickets hast thou bought, Dog Meat, me old mate?’ Buttercup asked, rubbing his fingers through his whiskers.
‘Just the one,’ Dog Meat replied. ‘Tipton Ted lent me the money after all.’
‘Aye, well, p’raps he wants to get shut of thee. Did you have any luck wheedling any more out of Jericho?’
Dog Meat shook his head. ‘No, and I wasn’t about to argue with him either. He gets nasty when he’s offended. I din’t fancy a broken mush.’
Buttercup looked at Jericho. ‘How many tickets has thou bought, Jericho?’
‘Enough to put me in the reckoning.’
‘Dandy Punch has bought ten, I hear.’ Buttercup turned to Tweedle Beak whose nose was in his tankard. ‘Is that right, Tweedle? Has Dandy Punch bought ten tickets?’
‘Ask Dandy Punch, why don’t you?’ Tweedle replied off-handedly. ‘It’s his business how many tickets he’s paid for. It ain’t for me to tell you his business.’
Buttercup looked at Tweedle with distrust. ‘I reckon we need a scrutineer to check the tickets in that hat o’ thine there. Seeing as how I got no interest in the matter, I reckon it should be me.’
‘Sod off, Buttercup,’ Tweedle Beak rasped, piqued as always by Buttercup’s goading. He took the floppy hat, which was occupying pride of place on his lap, and closed it up protectively. ‘There’s no need for e’er a scrutineer. This lottery’s being run fair and square.’
‘So how long have we gotta wait afore we know who’s won it?’
‘We’ll be doing the draw in ten minutes.’
‘And who’s gunna draw it?’
‘Selina, the gaffer’s daughter.’
‘I bet if you’d put Selina up as a prize, you wouldn’t have sold many tickets, eh, Tweedle?’ Jericho suggested.
Tweedle looked Jericho squarely in the eye. ‘Say what you like about Selina, she’s a decent wench.’
‘Tell me, Tweedle,’ Buttercup interjected. ‘How is this stopping o’ the work likely to affect thee? D’you intend to stop on through October, or bugger off early?’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Tweedle asked defensively.
‘I was just trying to be friendly. Either road, it’ll be a tidy tramp for Sheba and her kids, wherever you go, Tweedle.’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘I’m just commenting, me old mate. You mustn’t forget as she’s a-carrying.’
‘It’s in the forefront o’ me mind, Buttercup.’
Jericho nudged Dandy Punch who was sitting on the stool next to Tweedle. ‘How many tickets have you bought for young Poppy, Dandy?’
‘None o’ your business, lad. Who says I’ve bought any?’
‘Buttercup reckons so. Any road, I’ve bought six. Tell me how many you’ve bought,’ he persisted.
‘All right … I bought six. Same as you. So me and you have got equal chances.’
‘Well, if I win I shall take her to live in Chippenham, now as the work here is shutting down. I shall go back to being a farm worker. I’ll rent a cottage and who knows, I might even have me own smallholding someday.’
‘Noble ambitions, Jericho. Who’d have thought it from you?’
‘And what about you, Dandy? What’ll you do if you win the wench?’
‘I’m assured of work with Treadwell’s, Jericho. Next job, wherever that might be, I shall rent a house. Me and Poppy will have a proper wedding and we’ll settle down and raise a family. I always wanted a family.’ He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the certain prospect. ‘I’ve got it all planned out.’
Their attention was drawn to Tweedle Beak, who was beckoning Selina.
‘Lads!’ he cried, and stood up. ‘Can I have your attention …?’
He looked about him at the unsightly collection of expectant faces. Selina meanwhile shuffled through the crush of navvies who were all intent on watching the proceedings. As she approached, she felt in the pocket of her apron for the ticket that was to win.
‘We’ve all had a month to ponder the prospect o’ winning the beautiful young Poppy Silk in this raffle,’ Tweedle Beak was saying, enjoying the moment. ‘Well, now’s the time to make the draw …’
Selina was standing close to Tweedle Beak now, but was still fumbling in her pocket, suddenly hot with panic. She pulled out a rag and pretended to wipe her nose with it while she felt about with her other hand. But the ticket had attached itself to the rag and fluttered to the floor at the feet of Buttercup, who leaned forward and picked it up. Tweedle Beak viciously tried to snatch it away, but Buttercup had it in his closed fist. He opened it.
‘Well, now … What’s this?’ he exclaimed to all, holding the ticket aloft. ‘Here, Dandy Punch …’ He showed Dandy the ticket, keeping Tweedle Beak at arm’s length. ‘What name does it say?’
Dandy adjusted his spectacles and peered through them. ‘It says “Tweedle Beak”.’
‘Is that so? Tweedle Beak, eh?’ He looked at Tweedle accusingly, then at Selina. ‘Was this a fix, Selina? Was thou supposed to pretend to pick this ticket out o’ the perishing hat?’
‘No … I never seed it afore.’
‘Fancy that … And yet I just watched it fall out o’ thy pocket. If thou never seed it afore, wench, how come it was in thy pocket? Well, let me hazard a guess … That weasel, Tweedle bloody Beak, gave it thee. Hear that, lads?’ All eyes were on Buttercup as he stood up and addressed the rest of the navvies. ‘Tweedle Beak has tried to fix this draw so as he wins young Poppy himself … And him already sleeping with the wench’s mother …’ Buttercup’s derision and loathing was amply manifest, not only in the way he prodded his forefinger at Tweedle, but in his scowl.
‘’Tis a lie,’ Tweedle protested. He glanced at Dandy Punch apprehensively. ‘I did no such thing. I wouldn’t … For the very reason Buttercup mentioned … Because o’ Sheba.’
‘It looks mighty suspicious to me, Tweedle,’ Dandy Punch said with bitter resentment, seeing his cherished plans doomed, but unable to further his complaint for fear of being perceived as the perpetrator of another fiddle, as yet uncovered.
‘Suspicious?’ Buttercup hissed. ‘I’ll say it’s bloody suspicious. Thou bist a shit heap, Tweedle bloody Beak.’
‘Aye, and more,’ Dandy Punch exclaimed, seizing the first chance to vent his anger and disappointment on Tweedle Beak. ‘You tried to fix this draw and run off with the daughter o’ the woman who’s already expecting your child? You’re worse than any shit heap. You’re lower than any slime that ever slopped about in a millpond.’
Buttercup then saw his opportunity to inflict the ultimate humiliation on Tweedle Beak and could not resist it. He took a deep breath and his chest swelled in anticipation. ‘Well, now,’ he said, addressing everybody. ‘I’ve got some information about the babby yon Sheba’s a-carrying … And I can tell ye all that it ain’t Tweedle Beak’s …’ A deathly hush fell among the men who had been jeering. ‘No, sir … It’s Lightning Jack’s child …’
There were cheers and guffaws from everybody. Tweedle Beak had gone suddenly pale. Never in his life had he looked such a fool. He had tried to cheat his fellow workers and had been exposed. He had tried to cheat Dandy Punch, who in turn had tried to cheat everybody else, and the plot had faltered due to Selina’s carelessness. Now he had been belittled beyond redemption. He was a laughing stock. Even if it was a lie about Lightning Jack being the father of Sheba’s child, he could never be sure and he would be forever taunted about it. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, to relieve him of his absolute embarrassment and shame. He saw only one possible way out …
He raised his hands, begging to be heard. ‘Lads, lads … All right, I admit I tried to fix this draw in me own favour, and it ain’t no fault o’ Selina’s. A good many of yer have paid good money for the chance to win Poppy, I realise that and I’m sorry. I reckon as we should mek the draw any road.’ He looked at Dandy Punch, seeking his acknowledgement of his desperate attempt to make amends. ‘So I’m asking Selin
a to mek the draw proper.’
‘Look in her hands fust to mek sure as her’s carrying ne’er another ticket,’ somebody yelled.
Selina, also acutely embarrassed at being seen as part of the treachery, held up her empty palms for all to see. Tweedle held up the hat and she thrust her hand into it, drawing out a white ticket. She opened it up slowly, fumbling a little in her nervousness. The men, especially Dandy and those others that had invested heavily, watched Selina with an angry intensity.
‘Whose ticket is it?’ Buttercup asked. ‘Thou canst read, eh?’
‘It says “Dog Meat”,’ Selina uttered quietly.
‘Dog Meat!’
The former enthusiasm, the avid interest, the intrigue was dead. Nobody cared about the draw after the sham of Tweedle Beak’s cheating. The lottery had lost its credibility. For all they knew, even the drawing of Dog Meat’s ticket could have been a fix. And so much hard-earned money invested as well.
‘You damned Judas!’ hissed Dandy Punch through the hubbub. He had been sitting next to Tweedle Beak. ‘I want my money back.’
Jericho overheard the comment. ‘Aye, and if he gets his money back, I want my money back as well.’
‘We all want our money back,’ several others shouted.
‘Nobody gets their money back,’ Tweedle scoffed. ‘The draw was made. As agreed.’
Buttercup had been studying Tweedle Beak and his reaction to the events and accusations. He regarded him through despising, narrowed eyes, with an increasing sense of satisfaction at having humiliated him. But still he felt like killing the blackguard. He lunged at him, fists flying. ‘Thou shit heap! Thou doesn’t deserve to lick the boots of Sheba and Poppy, nor Lightning Jack. Any road, what gives thee the right to have a lottery for a decent innocent like Poppy Silk? Thou bisn’t her father. Thou bisn’t anything, other than a great heap o’ shit. As far as I’m concerned thy lottery’s a sham, and I’ll kill thee.’ Buttercup was about to land a second punch when Jericho pulled him away.
‘He’s mine, Buttercup.’
‘Nay, lad. I’ve been itching to do this vile bastard some damage. Take your turn.’
‘But he took six quid off me. Six quid!’
Glasses, bottles and tankards began flying. Beer was swilling over tables, spilling onto the sawdust-sprinkled floor. Men struggled one with another as the fighting instantly spread. Tweedle Beak, free of Buttercup’s unwanted attention for a second, saw his chance to escape. He turned round to pick up his hat, which contained further evidence of bias in the number of tickets bearing the name of Dandy Punch.
The hat had gone.
So had Dandy Punch, though nobody made the connection, for Dandy was not thought likely to get mixed up in any fighting.
‘What are you looking for, Tweedle?’ Jericho screamed at Tweedle. ‘The hat with the tickets in? Just when I want to see if my tickets was ever put in there.’
‘They was in there,’ Tweedle tried to reassure him.
‘I’ve only got your word, and that don’t count for much any more. You’re a sly, sneaky bastard. Now, if you can’t show me me tickets, I want me money back.’
‘That you won’t have, Jericho.’
‘Then outside.’
‘Aye, I’ll go outside with yer, you cocky young bastard.’ Tweedle had got nothing more to lose. He had lost his credibility and what friends he’d had. He might regain some respect if he could beat Jericho in a fistfight. If he couldn’t, he might win some sympathy as the loser.
The room full of angry men became quiet as the dispute between Jericho and Tweedle Beak flared. Those closest stood back to let the two men pass, then they all finished what beer still remained in their tankards and followed them outside. At once, Selina and her father set about clearing up the debris.
Buttercup felt robbed that he was not about to get a crack at breaking Tweedle’s jaw, but he was sufficiently content to let the swine suffer at the hands of Jericho, since there was no doubting the outcome of that fight. A trickle of blood appeared from Tweedle’s mouth as they fought. Buttercup turned his back on the struggle. There was a more important task in hand.
As Buttercup reached the encampment, the women were standing in the centre, gossiping and laughing with expectation. When they saw him strutting towards them looking agitated they fell silent.
‘Who’s the lucky chap then?’ Ma Catchpole enquired. ‘We’n got the broomstick ready and Poppy’s all dressed up, a-waiting.’
‘Good,’ he said and walked past them.
The women looked from one to the other with puzzled expressions.
‘Is it you, Buttercup?’ one asked. ‘Shall you be jumping the broomstick wi’ young Poppy?’
‘Not me,’ he called, and went inside Rose Cottage, slamming the door behind him.
Sheba, Poppy, and the other children were all waiting apprehensively for the result of the draw. Poppy was in her best red flannel frock and the boots that Robert Crawford had bought her. She was pale and trembling as she looked anxiously at Buttercup.
‘What happened?’ Sheba asked.
‘I’ll tell thee in a minute. I want a crowbar.’
Buttercup entered the navvies’ sleeping quarters and came out bearing one. At once he strode over to the line of lockers.
‘Which is Tweedle’s?’
‘This one.’ Sheba pointed it out.
‘He tried to fix it so as he won,’ Buttercup informed them as he shoved the end of the crowbar between the door and its stout frame. ‘That means as he was planning to leave thee, Sheba.’
‘Does he know as it ain’t his child I’m a-carrying then?’ She showed little emotion.
‘He does now. But I reckon it meks no odds to him either way. The fact as thee bist a-carrying, whether or no ’tis his, meks no odds to him. He’s a bad un, Sheba. Yo’m well rid of the bastard.’
‘Does that mean as I ain’t got to jump the broomstick with anybody?’ Poppy asked.
‘When the lottery got drawn proper, Dog Meat’s name came out o’ the hat.’
‘Dog Meat!’ Poppy groaned. ‘I can’t stand him. Oh, tell me this is a vile nightmare I’m having.’
‘It’s a vile nightmare,’ Sheba agreed.
‘Fret thee not,’ Buttercup declared earnestly. ‘It was a fiddle from start to finish. Nobody’s having thee, Poppy. Not Dog Meat, nor Jericho, nor Dandy Punch. Least of all Tweedle bloody Beak. There’ll be nothing left of him any road once Jericho’s finished with him.’
‘Honest, Buttercup? You mean I’m free to do as I please?’
‘I’d never let anybody take thee as thou didn’t want, wench,’ he said resolutely. ‘Tweedle Beak had no right to do as he did. He wasn’t thy father. He was nothin’ to do with thee.’
‘But what about Dog Meat? He’ll come and claim me before long.’
‘Don’t worry about Dog Meat. I’ll sort him out.’ Buttercup had managed to break the lock and the door swung open. He reached inside and took the leather pouch that he knew contained most of the money Tweedle Beak had collected. He tossed it to Poppy. ‘Here … The money’s thine, Poppy.’
‘But that Tweedle Beak,’ Sheba said, the news impacting on her. ‘He was intending to run off with me own daughter and spared not a thought for me, or even the child I’m carrying.’
‘Aye, and he’s took money off a good many besides, knowing full well as he was gunna fix it for himself to win. But he was never clever enough to see it through proper. Well, he’ll be leaving tonight any road, if he can still stand. But not with his money.’ He turned to Poppy. ‘Take the money, my flower. Tomorrow, get theeself away from this camp and navvydom. There’s enough there to see thee through many a month. Even a twelvemonth. Tek theeself off and wait for that young engineer thou’st got thy eye on.’
Poppy looked enquiringly at Sheba, then at Buttercup. ‘If Tweedle Beak intended to cheat everybody, don’t you think we should give the money back to the men who’ve been cheated?’
Buttercup took his clay pipe
out of the top pocket of his waistcoat and put it in his mouth. ‘If we could be sure who’s paid what,’ he said, taking a stick of twist tobacco from his pocket and cutting a piece off it. ‘Somebody else must’ve been in on it besides, ’cause the hat suddenly went missing with all the damned tickets. And if we ask who paid money, every bugger will say he paid for two tickets when he only bought one. Nay, wench, have the money thyself and let it do thee some good. Besides …’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Everybody’ll think as Tweedle himself has sloped off with it. When word gets round, he’ll not be able to find work navvying anywhere. But that’s his own saft fault.’
Poppy looked at her mother again. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mother. What should I do?’
‘Before your mother says anything, Poppy,’ Buttercup said, stuffing strands of tobacco into his gum-bucket, ‘you should both know that work on the railway is being stopped. Some of the men am leaving right away to find other work. Them who’m stopping have on’y got till the end of October. Then we’ll all be on tramp.’
‘All the more reason for the men to have their money,’ Poppy said. ‘And for me to come with you.’
Buttercup reached down to the fire with a spill, ignited it and lit his pipe with it. ‘Nay, don’t worry about thy mother, young Poppy.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sheba asked.
‘I’ll look after thee, Sheba … And thy brood.’ He sucked on his pipe and blew out a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. ‘No strings attached, if that’s the way thou wouldst rather have it. On the other hand, I’d be honoured to be husband to thee, and father to thy nippers.’
Sheba and Poppy looked at each other and laughed with joy.
‘How did you know that’s exactly what she’d want?’ Poppy said, looking at her mother with love in her eyes.
‘I didn’t.’
‘I did. She never said a word, but I knew.’
‘I should just hate to see her go to waste, put in the workhouse and separated from her children. Besides, Lightning Jack would’ve wanted me to look after thee, Sheba. It’s what I want to do … if you’ll have me …’
