by Nancy Carson
That Alfred … He must be married. She would bet any money on it. A married menace. James too. No doubt, they had sons and daughters of a similar age to herself. And yet Minnie was all too ready to go with them. No reluctance, no apprehension, no aversion, no fear. It was hardly bravery. Rather, it was stupidity, naivety. And yet Poppy felt little anxiety over her friend. Whatever else she was, Minnie was artful, knowing and confident with men … She knew how to take care of herself. No doubt they would all be swigging whisky now, laughing at Poppy’s dissent and reluctance to engage in whatever shameless antics Minnie was content to go along with. Well, if Minnie wanted to be like that, it was up to her.
Poppy hastened on, listening for the sound of the carriage and the horse’s hoofs. All was quiet. She was quite alone. The only sound was the squelch of her own footsteps on the sopping ground. Follow this lane … She hoped nobody else was abroad to induce her heart to leap into her throat.
After hurrying for about ten minutes she came to a sort of crossroads where the toll gate stood. Signs of life. She tried to remember from which direction they had come in the carriage. Facing her was a squalid-looking alehouse with a crooked railing in front of it. She recalled seeing it when she had travelled, uneasy but dry, in the carriage. Of course she must take the road to the right. What if she took the wrong turning and found her way back to the Blowers Green encampment? No, that would never do. Everybody would think she was incapable of making the break. She would never go back. Not now she had come this far.
That big house again on the right-hand side … the one she had noticed during the drive … Such an imposing place, set well back from the road as it was, with a sweeping in and out drive. It was well lit inside, if the light spilling from the windows was anything to go by. At each side of the front door lamps burned, throwing a dancing yellow light onto a pair of horses and a black carriage that glistened with wetness. The front door opened … Poppy hesitated, curious. She watched a young woman step out wearing a dark mantle and bonnet. It was difficult to ascertain her age in this light, or what she looked like, but she was probably about twenty years of age, judging from her bearing. With audible farewells, the girl waved goodbye to the middle-aged couple who remained inside, while a footman opened the door to the carriage. Poppy watched as the girl stepped up into it and the footman closed the door. Then, as it was driven round the circular drive towards the front gate, she turned so as not to be seen and went on her way.
Such an elegant life some girls lived …
Poppy found her way back to Dudley town. She decided to walk in the middle of the road where she could be seen, with less chance of being accosted by drunken youths, and eventually returned to The Old Bush Inn soaked through, a little wiser, but none the worse for her adventure.
She found a maid and asked for a candle to light her way to her room. There, she undressed and put her new clothes to dry over the back of a chair, which she placed in front of the fire. She unpinned her hair, brushed it and put on her nightdress. Then she took the candle, along with the book Robert Crawford had given her, and continued reading from where she had left off a few days ago. If only he were still here she could ask him what some of these long words meant that were so difficult to build up. But she could read more fluently now, as Robert promised she would.
Reading, she fell asleep …
She had no idea what time she was awakened, but the candle had burned down a couple of inches. Minnie was taking off her dress in front of the fire, casting large, swooping shadows on the opposite wall.
‘Minnie … You’re back. Are you all right? What happened? I’m sorry I left you like that, but I was frit to death of what that man was going to do to me.’
‘Who, James? Oh, he was all right.’
‘So what happened after I’d gone? I thought they might come after me.’
‘You kneed him in the taters good and proper.’ Minnie laughed as she recalled it. ‘He couldn’t move for ages, cursing after you he was. By the time he could move, he’d decided he wasn’t gunna waste his time and money on somebody what wasn’t interested. So we drank that bottle of whisky between us …’
‘And then what?’
‘I made another two shillings out of ’em.’ Minnie chuckled contentedly. ‘Both of ’em. Honest, Poppy, this doing it for money is a lark. I’ll be rich in no time. Men are such fools – dead keen to part with their money for a quick poke.’
Poppy sat up. ‘But you’re not going to do it regular, are you, Min?’ she asked apprehensively, concerned more for her friend’s morals than for her safety.
‘It’s easy money, Poppy. You should think about doing it as well. We could make a fortune on the game, you and me. There’s plenty of men about daft enough to pay. And you know me, Poppy … I love it anyway …’
‘You’ll catch something, Minnie, I swear. If not a baby, then something you can’t get rid of.’
Minnie shrugged. ‘It’s a chance you take. If I do catch anything it won’t kill me. Not right away any road. I’ll have had me fun by the time it does.’
‘Well, I want something better out of life,’ Poppy declared. ‘I don’t want to go flitting from one man to another. What if they knock you about?’
‘I’d hit ’em back.’
‘It’s your concern, Minnie …’ Poppy lay back on the plump pillow again and sighed. ‘Night-night, I’m going to sleep now. I’m glad you’re back all right.’
Poppy was dozing when Minnie slipped into bed beside her.
‘Are you still awake, Poppy?’
‘No.’
‘I’ve bin thinking. If I’m gunna go on the game regular I’d better find me some lodgings. Somewhere I can take men back to. Shall you want to come with me?’
‘To look at lodgings, you mean, or to live with you?’
‘Both.’
‘I’ll look at lodging houses with you, if you want, but you’ll need money to pay rent in advance. That’s the way landlords work.’
‘Oh, I’ll soon get money, Poppy. Believe me.’
On the Monday morning, Poppy and Minnie went to look at a back-to-back house Minnie had been told about. It was in Gatehouse Fold, a development of terraces which had been built for the influx of workers from the countryside to fill the jobs in the pits and ironworks. A miserable huddle of dwellings, it lay physically, but by no means spiritually, close to the church of St Edmund. A channel of slurry, that stunk like the open sewer it was, bisected a squalid courtyard. Poverty-stricken garb fluttered faded and dingy in the chill October breeze, strung out across a propped line that spanned the fold. Barefoot children with running noses and faces as dirty as their feet played, oblivious to the squalor, while others skulked, blatantly scheming. Poppy shuddered. It was no better, and in some ways worse, than the Blowers Green encampment.
It had been arranged that the landlord’s agent should meet them there, a weasel of a man with unkempt curls strategically trained to cover his balding pate. Inside, the only downstairs room was bare. The unplastered walls needed a fresh coat of whitewash and the quarry-tiled floor needed a scrub. Several windowpanes were cracked. A door next to the fire grate led upstairs via a steep, narrow staircase. In the solitary bedroom the floorboards needed a sweep and a coat of woodstain, and the windows a clean. Cobwebs hung in tacky threads from the ceiling, and Poppy noticed a pair of woodlice sneaking into a crack under the window frame.
‘All we need is a mattress to sleep on,’ Minnie said, undaunted. ‘A mattress shouldn’t cost much.’
‘What about furniture downstairs?’ Poppy prompted. ‘A table, a couple of chairs, a settle …’
They descended the stairs. Poppy noticed another door and asked where it led.
‘To the cellar,’ the landlord’s agent informed them.
‘It’s not much of a place, is it?’ Poppy said, unimpressed.
‘What do you expect for the money? Buckingham Palace?’
‘I don’t mind it,’ Minnie proclaimed. ‘It’s handy for the town
… And as it’s me what’ll be paying the rent, I’m the one to decide. I’ll take it, mister.’
‘Three months’ rent in advance, if you please.’
‘Three months? Lord! How much is that?’
‘Nineteen shillings and sixpence.’
Minnie looked at Poppy beseechingly. ‘Poppy, I ain’t got that much on me … Can you lend it me? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.’
Poppy looked around the walls with distaste. ‘Are you sure you want this place?’
‘Yes. Like I said, it’s handy for me work. Anyway, it’s a start. I can always get somewhere better later.’
‘All right, Minnie, I’ll lend you the money.’ Poppy fished out of her pocket the small soft leather bag that Buttercup had handed to her and counted out nineteen shillings and sixpence into the man’s hand. ‘Can I have a receipt or something, please? To say you’ve had the money.’
The man smiled. ‘That, you can, miss.’ As he wrote it out, she said, ‘How soon can she move in here?’
‘The place is vacant. She can move in today.’
Minnie grinned with pleasure. ‘Oh, Poppy, we’ll have to go and buy a mattress straight way.’
The man left them with a key and went on his way.
‘There’s tons of things we’ll need,’ Minnie said, looking around her with pride at this dubious acquisition. ‘We’ll need bedclothes, candles, pots to cook in, cups to drink out of, plates to eat off, curtains up at the windows, as well as new furniture. We’d better go to the shops.’
Poppy nodded, but without enthusiasm. It was curious how Minnie had already assumed that Poppy was going to share the house, when Poppy herself was reticent. Certainly, it would mean that Poppy would be paying for everything, since she was the one with the money.
‘Let me make one thing plain, Minnie,’ she said, in an effort to set the record straight. ‘This is your house and you’re the tenant. I’ll stay here with you till I find work, then I’ll go. I don’t mind lending you the money for things to help you get started, but you’ll have to pay me back as soon as you can afford to.’
‘Course,’ Minnie agreed. ‘I’ll be able to pay you back in no time. I know I will.’
‘Well, my money won’t last for ever.’
The two girls walked the town for things they needed. Items that were too big to carry, such as the mattress and furniture, were to be delivered the following afternoon. The rest of the stuff, things that were easy to carry, they took themselves. They would sleep at the Old Bush that evening, settle up their bill, and move to the house in Gatehouse Fold tomorrow.
That night Minnie decided she was going out to ply her new trade. When she returned to the inn she recounted her experiences.
‘I only had one chap,’ she said, taking her bonnet off for the second time that evening. ‘He said his name was Jack. He took me to this big house where you could rent a room by the hour – a bawdyhouse, I think he called it. It was lovely and warm in there, with nice furniture and velvet curtains and things. The toffs there seemed to know this Jack. We had a lovely soft feather bed and we drunk brandy together. I got ever so tiddly.’
‘How much did you charge him?’ Poppy asked, disapprovingly.
‘Two shillings. It was a fair price, considering how quick it was all over – the first time any road … It just goes to show again how easy it is to make money on the game. You ought to try it, Poppy. Anyway, he wants to see me again, this Jack.’
‘Minnie, I really wish you wouldn’t do this whoring lark. It can only lead to trouble.’
‘No. Not trouble, Poppy. The life of a lady. That’s what it’ll lead to. You’ll see.’
The next day saw the pair move into the little house in Gatehouse Fold. Minnie trudged to the nearest coal yard and three-hundredweight was later delivered by a young man whose features were unidentifiable because of the black dust on his face. That was but a minor impediment to Minnie, who gave him sufficient encouragement to visit that same evening, cleaned up. His name was Arthur. The couple went out walking, but Poppy tactfully went upstairs to bed when they returned.
The next night, Minnie came back to the house with the same Jack who had previously taken her to the bawdyhouse but, seeing the opportunity to save himself the price of a room, suggested they use hers. Poppy was disgruntled; she had to stay downstairs looking at the burning coals in the fire grate, her chin resting in her hands, glumly listening to the grunts and antics of Minnie and this Jack as they cavorted in the bed she was supposed to sleep in. When he came down, Jack looked at Poppy covetously and asked what she charged. With glinting, hostile eyes, she told him he would never be able to afford her.
These events were typical of the pattern that was developing over the week, and Poppy resented it intensely. Even though she was not participating, she felt tainted and degraded by it all. She had the feeling that neighbours were looking at her disparagingly, and it was obvious to her that they imagined she was also involved in prostitution with Minnie. She just had to get away and leave Minnie to her own fate. Minnie, in her wild abandon, was already beyond redemption.
Poppy had seen no news-sheets advertising jobs, so she didn’t know where to start looking for work. Oh, she could go and knock on the front doors of some of the grand houses, and even those not so grand, and enquire within if there were any situations vacant, but she feared the prospect of rejection.
Then, the following Sunday morning, while sorting through her things, she found the note that Robert Crawford had given her just before they parted, bearing the name and address of his Aunt Phoebe at Cawneybank House, Rowley Road. He’d urged her to present herself soon to this lady. That was more than six weeks ago. She peered out of the window. Gatehouse Fold was quiet for once, save for the peal of bells calling the believers to worship at St Edmund’s. Well, this afternoon she would make her way to the address and introduce herself. She had little to lose and, even though she had little to gain either, it was an exercise she felt compelled to undertake, if only out of respect for Robert. It was just possible that Aunt Phoebe might know of a vacancy for a maid. In any case, she had to make contact in time for next year when Robert returned. She had to have somewhere to collect his message.
Poppy explained to Minnie what she was intent on doing. Minnie said she would walk with her. So, Poppy spruced herself up, pinned her hair up neatly and made sure her prized blue dress was presentable before they set off. At the end of Hall Street, she asked a kindly-looking woman if she knew where Rowley Road was.
It was a fair walk and Poppy found herself retracing steps. Once again she passed the fine house she’d admired on Dixons Green Road and commented to Minnie on how she’d seen a young woman get into a carriage on the night she excruciatingly quelled the ardour of that scoundrel James. This time she noticed there was an iron plaque adorning one of the stone pillars of the front gate and read it aloud: ‘Tansley House’.
The woman who had given her directions told her she was to take the right fork at the toll house. After that, she should take the left one, if she didn’t want to find herself among the brickyards, the clay pits and the Old Buffery Iron Works in the smoky hollow of Bumble Hole Road.
Cawneybank House was less than a quarter of a mile down Rowley Road. It looked nowhere near as grand as Tansley House, modest indeed by comparison, but it stood in its own neatly manicured grounds.
Poppy glanced at Minnie apprehensively. ‘Wish me luck, Min.’
Minnie smiled her encouragement and affection. ‘I wish you luck, Poppy. I’ll hang around here somewhere till you come out.’
Poppy took a deep breath, summoning as much poise as she could while she wandered up the drive to the house trying to summon some confidence. She checked her mantle and her skirt, pinched her cheeks, and knocked hesitantly on the door. A maid little older than herself answered it.
‘I’ve called to see Mrs Newton. My name is Poppy Silk.’
The girl looked at Poppy dubiously. ‘Is Mrs Newton expecting you?’
> Poppy shook her head. ‘I doubt it. But I’ve got a sort of invitation … from her nephew, Robert Crawford … Here …’ She handed the girl the note bearing the name and address.
The maid took it. ‘Wait there, miss.’
She closed the door unceremoniously, and Poppy stood in front of it, perplexed and a little disgruntled at being treated so off-handedly by a mere maid. Self-consciously, she looked over her shoulder to see if Minnie was watching, but there was no sign of her. Poppy had a fine view of a range of green hills, however, beyond the pit head gear and the brickworks’ chimneys that smoked profusely in the valley before her.
The door opened again.
‘Mrs Newton will see you, miss. Come in.’
Poppy summoned a smile for the girl and said thank you. She was ushered through an elaborately tiled hallway with an ornate cast-iron hatstand, a grandfather clock, and a tall table bearing a plant of some sort, which Poppy did not recognise. In a small sitting room to the right, a warm and welcoming fire blazed in a pristine tiled and blackened grate set low in its hearth. The mantelpiece was adorned with strange vases and a crucifix, and a huge mirror hung over it. On the floor was a thick green carpet.
At the fireside a neatly turned out woman of middle age sat, her hair taken back and set off with a mob cap, her bespectacled eyes curiously intent on Poppy. Phoebe Newton was plump, with a round and charitable face that exuded warmth and compassion as she stood up to greet her unexpected guest.
‘So you are Miss Silk. My nephew has told me something about you.’ She spoke in a kindly way, and at once Poppy was at ease. ‘Please sit down, Miss Silk.’ The older lady looked beyond Poppy at the maid who was hovering intrusively at her back. ‘Perhaps Miss Silk would like tea. Would you be so kind, Esther?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Esther duly disappeared.
‘I tremble to think what Mr Crawford has told you about me, Mrs Newton,’ Poppy ventured.
‘Very little, Miss Silk, yet, in a way, sufficient. He told me he had a young friend whom he had been teaching reading and writing. I gleaned, from the mere fact that my nephew mentioned you, that he must hold you in some regard, but especially so when he asked me if I would be prepared to advance your education.’
