Poppy's Dilemma

by Nancy Carson

  Poppy looked into the fire to avoid Mrs Newton’s gaze, and smiled, thrilled at this more than adequate reference that Robert had given her.

  ‘Evidently, he thinks you are worth it. I presume, therefore, that you have had no formal schooling.’

  ‘None, Mrs Newton.’

  ‘But it has been some weeks now since the request was made, and I’d more or less given up hope of you ever arriving.’

  ‘Oh … There’s been a lot going on, Mrs Newton … This is the first chance I’ve had. I hope it’s not a funny time for you, me coming today … Have you heard from Robert, by the way, since he went away to work?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t expect him to write to me. He has enough work to do, I’m sure … and enough letters to write. Do tell me how you both came to know each other.’

  ‘Well … me dad was working for Treadwell’s, the contractors for the section of the Oxford, Worcester and Wolverhampton Railway what runs to Dudley, what Robert was working on,’ Poppy began. ‘He got killed last summer in an accident … me dad, that is. I think Robert sort of took pity on me. Anyway, he seemed to go out of his way to be a friend to me—’

  ‘I don’t wonder at it, Miss Silk,’ Mrs Newton said with a knowing smile. ‘You are an exceedingly pretty girl.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Poppy smiled graciously.

  ‘Robert did mention the death of your father. I was so sorry to learn about it. Wasn’t your father a navvy?’

  ‘A ganger.’ Ganger sounded so much more elevated than navvy. ‘He was in charge of a gang o’ navvies.’

  ‘Of course, we hear so many horrific tales about navvies and their antics. The newspapers are full of their criminal acts up and down the land. I can only hope such reports are exaggerated.’

  ‘Well, they ain’t all rogues and vagabonds,’ Poppy replied, trying to stifle the defensive edge in her voice. ‘Some have the kindest hearts …’

  ‘Of that I’m sure. To my mind, there are good and bad in all walks of life …’ She adjusted the lie of her spectacles. ‘You were telling me how you got to know my nephew. How did your friendship progress?’

  ‘Oh, yes … Well … we used to stop and talk a lot, Robert and me. We would bump into each other as I went to the tommy shop and he went about his business. Once, he took me for a ride on that two-wheeled machine he’d made.’ Poppy laughed as she recalled it.

  ‘That infernal hobby horse …’ Mrs Newton rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

  ‘Oh, but it was a lot o’ fun, Mrs Newton. We seemed to have fun together whenever we met, Robert and me.’

  ‘I take it you met unchaperoned?’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘You realise, of course, that he is engaged to be married?’

  ‘Yes, I do know …’ Poppy felt reprimanded. Maybe she had said too much, appeared too enthusiastic about her meetings with Robert.

  ‘So how old are you, Miss Silk?’

  ‘Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen next April.’

  ‘A lovely age, to my mind … So tell me – are you keen to resume your learning?’

  ‘Yes. If you have time, Mrs Newton. Depending on how much you charge.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t intend to charge, Miss Silk. The privilege would be mine. I used to be a teacher, as Robert must have told you. I continued to teach long after Mr Newton and I were married. I didn’t need to, of course, and Mr Newton would have preferred it if I hadn’t. But I wanted to. I felt I was doing some good. Regrettably, my husband died four years ago. He owned a metalworking company, you know, which has prospered over the years. It fell to me to maintain the business. It’s still functioning, run by a manager now. I have no family – children, I mean – much to my regret. It was always my dearest wish that I would have a daughter, but it was not to be. I tended to regard my pupils as my children …’ Poppy detected a wistful look in Aunt Phoebe’s eyes. ‘So … as you can imagine, Miss Silk, nowadays I have plenty of time on my hands. I rather miss teaching. I enjoyed it, and I was rather good at it, although I say so myself.’

  ‘I can imagine you was,’ Poppy said with a smile.

  ‘My nephew did tell me that you are a very quick learner. He said you have “limitless potential”. His very words. He felt it would be a great sacrifice if your abilities were never developed. Praise indeed, you know, Miss Silk.’

  They heard the chink of crockery on a tray and the click of footsteps on the hall floor. The maid tapped on the door, and Mrs Newton bade her enter. Esther gently laid the tray on the occasional table that stood between host and guest.

  ‘Thank you, Esther, I’ll pour … Milk and sugar, Miss Silk?’

  ‘Please …’

  When the maid left them, Mrs Newton said, as she poured the tea, ‘So tell me, my dear, when will it be convenient for you to come for lessons?’

  ‘The way things am at the moment, I could come any time. But I intend to find work in service as soon as I can. Work on the railway has been stopped till they sort out all the problems, you see. So me family have moved on, and I left them so as I could make me own way in the world. I want to earn me a decent, honest living, Mrs Newton … I don’t want to end up a street wench if I can help it …’ She said it as though prostitution were the most natural progression. ‘So me intention was to ask you if you knew anybody what needed a maid. I’m a good worker. I can do most things.’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ Mrs Newton said pensively as she handed Poppy a cup and saucer.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Newton …’

  ‘So if you’ve already left the bosom of your family, where are you living?’

  ‘At a place called Gatehouse Fold … with me friend who just rented a house there. It’s not the best place for a young woman trying to make her way decently in the world.’

  A look of apprehension clouded the older woman’s face. ‘I take it you are not living with a man.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mrs Newton. With Minnie Catchpole. We’ve known each other years.’

  ‘Gatehouse Fold …’ Mrs Newton ruminated earnestly over the name. ‘Yes, I recall … Gatehouse Fold is certainly not an ideal place for any decent young woman. It’s surrounded by some awful public houses. Dens of iniquity.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do about it till I find a job as a live-in maid, Mrs Newton.’ Poppy shuffled self-consciously and spilled some tea into her saucer, which she tipped back into her cup.

  Mrs Newton suffered the impropriety and smiled tolerantly. ‘May I be frank with you, Miss Silk?’

  ‘Oh, yes, o’ course. I always think it’s better to be honest, and say what you think.’

  ‘Well, when my nephew mentioned you I did not know what to expect. When he said he had met you on the navvies’ encampment, I was horrified at whom he might be associating with. However, I feel bound to say you are not in the least what I expected. I see before me an intelligent girl, polite, decently dressed. In all honesty – and you must not take offence at this – I see some rough edges too, but nothing that could not be smoothed out with a little more education and regular lessons in etiquette and elocution. I would consider it my crowning achievement to render you a respectable young lady fit to grace any company. To my mind, you certainly have looks and demeanour in your favour.’

  Poppy smiled demurely, uncertain how to respond to this assessment.

  ‘So come tomorrow morning and I’ll assess your reading and writing. We’ll take it from there. It will also give us a chance to get to know each other a little better, don’t you think so, Miss Silk?’

  Poppy grinned happily. ‘Yes, Mrs Newton. And thank you.’

  Chapter 18

  Poppy attended her lesson, and several more besides, over the days that followed. During that time, she and Mrs Newton did get to know each other better and their easy accord was confirmed. But it was not only Mrs Newton that appealed. Poppy was fascinated with the library where she took her lessons. Because she had seen nothing like it before, it provoked no memories, only discoveries. There were books galore. Sh
e looked at the rows neatly lined up on shelves, and craned her neck to read the titles on the spines. She ran her fingers across them with a touch that was almost sensual, occasionally pulling one out, opening it with extreme care and reading a few lines before replacing it exactly as she had found it. On a chest of drawers a globe of the world stood, curiously tilted, Poppy thought. She put her fingers to it and gently turned it, wondering what the oddly shaped blobs of colour represented. On one shelf stood the alabaster bust of a man. She liked his face, whoever he was, and traced the carved features with her fingers, enjoying the surprising smoothness of the cool stone.

  Under the window that looked out onto the back garden was a highly polished desk, on top of which lay a writing pad, a blotter and an ornate glass inkwell. A robust wooden chair upholstered in dark green leather accompanied the desk. In one corner a grandfather clock chimed the hours and steadily ticked away the years, and on the chimney breast hung a watercolour painting of men and women gathering in a harvest. Poppy looked at it intently and marvelled at the way the artist could produce something as lifelike on paper, using only ink and a few splodges of watery paint.

  Poppy was actually invited to lunch on the Sunday. She sat primly at the dining table opposite Mrs Newton, taking her lead from her when it came to eating. Dining in a house like this was obviously a more genteel affair than gobbling food down in the hut on the Blowers Green encampment to the accompaniment of navvies belching and farting.

  ‘My dear, I have come to a decision,’ the older lady said as she pushed her plate away. ‘It is unthinkable that you should continue to live in Gatehouse Fold. It is a midden of down-and-outs, unless I am mistaken. Half the strumpets of Christendom live there.’

  Poppy regarded her with interest.

  ‘So, if you have no objection, Miss Silk, I have a proposition to put to you that should benefit both of us …’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I would like you to consider the prospect of taking up employment here in this house?’

  ‘As a maid, you mean?’

  ‘No, not as a maid.’ Mrs Newton smiled indulgently. ‘I mean as my paid and kept companion. It would be my intention to make a lady of you, and you cannot be a maid and a lady. You would continue your learning, of course.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Newton …’ Poppy sighed, touched by Mrs Newton’s extreme charity. ‘I don’t know what to say … I’m a bit took aback to tell you the truth …’ She put her hands to her face to hide her tears, a gesture that conveyed to the older lady the depth of Poppy’s astonishment. ‘I didn’t think I deserved such kindness …’

  ‘I want you to think about it carefully, my dear. You don’t have to make a decision now.’

  Poppy smiled self-consciously. She needed no time to think it over, no second asking. This would be infinitely preferable to working as a maid, beyond any dreams she’d ever harboured.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Newton,’ she replied. ‘If you’m sure, I’d like nothing better.’

  ‘Capital!’ The old lady laughed with joy. ‘Marvellous! Well, that’s soon settled.’

  ‘I just hope you can put up with me and me quaint ways, that’s all.’

  ‘I think quaint ways are more in my domain,’ Mrs Newton said kindly. ‘Not yours, my dear.’

  ‘So when would you want me to come?’

  ‘Just as soon as you like.’

  ‘Can I come today then?’

  Mrs Newton beamed. ‘Of course. Why not? I have a very comfortable spare bedroom. I can get Esther to light a fire in there straight away to air it. You are quite sure that your mother wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Oh, I think my mother would be relieved if she knew.’

  ‘Miss Silk, I am so pleased and delighted. I am, in some ways, a selfish old woman, always determined to get my own way. But you will be comfortable here, and I certainly hope you will be happy as well. Anyway, I see no reason why you should not be. I try to be fair, as my staff will attest, and you will learn that I am not ungenerous.’

  ‘So will you please call me Poppy, Mrs Newton? Everybody else does.’

  Mrs Newton laughed contentedly and her eyes twinkled as they reflected the firelight. ‘Very well, Poppy. Then why don’t you call me Aunt Phoebe?’

  ‘All right, I will. Thank you … Aunt Phoebe.’

  ‘Will it take you long to get your things?’

  ‘I ain’t got much. I can be there and back in an hour.’

  ‘You’ve fell on your feet and no mistake,’ Minnie said, when Poppy returned to Gatehouse Fold for her things. ‘I never met anybody in my life as lucky as you. I bet I’ll never see you again, living the life of a lady.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll come and see you, Min. Just ’cause I’ll be living in a big house, you’ll still be me friend. You’re me only friend, remember. I shan’t forget you. Ever.’

  ‘Come and see me from time to time so’s I know you’m all right. Anyway, I have to pay you back what I owe you.’

  Poppy’s new bedroom was large and pleasant, clean, tidy, and luxurious compared to the jumble and scatter of Rose Cottage and the damp austerity of Gatehouse Fold. The bow window, hung with cream calico curtains printed with pink flowers, looked out onto the front garden and Rowley Road. Against the wall furthest from the window stood a wardrobe and, next to that, a tallboy with a glass vase and crocheted doily sitting upon it. There was a dressing table with mirrors that were adjustable so you could see the side of your head. On it stood a trinket box, also made of cut glass, a silver-backed hand mirror and hairbrush, and more crocheted doilies. There was a washstand with a bowl and ewer in a floral pattern. But the bed … Poppy sat on it, bouncing up and down like an excited child, making the bedstead creak, it was so soft and springy and inviting.

  Aunt Phoebe came in after allowing her time to get to know the room a little. She was carrying a bundle of towels.

  ‘I thought you might enjoy a hot bath.’

  ‘Yes, I don’t mind.’ Poppy had never been in a bath and the prospect was daunting, but she decided it was best to accept it gratefully.

  ‘Is the room to your liking, my dear?’

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely, Aunt Phoebe,’ she replied with a broad smile. ‘And this bed is so soft. I think I shall be very comfortable.’

  ‘Good. While you were fetching your things I asked Esther to change the bed linen. To my mind, clean bed linen is essential once you’ve had a hot bath. Oh, and if it’s too warm, you can open the sash, you know.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s just right.’ Poppy went to the window. The front garden below seemed more formally laid out than she had noticed when she had first arrived. The roses were colourful against the monochromatic lawn and the foliage of shrubs. The idea of tending to plants on a warm summer’s day had a sudden appeal; it conjured up images of contentment, of being civilised, of serenity. Then there was the view … ‘What’s that line of hills on the horizon?’

  ‘They are the Clent Hills, my dear. If you see it raining on the Clent Hills, you can be sure it will rain here within a few minutes … Well, Poppy … shall we put your things away?’ Aunt Phoebe opened the wardrobe door. ‘I’ll help you, while Esther fills the bath for you.’

  Esther poured another bucket of hot water into the tin bath that had been taken to Poppy’s room and set in the ample space between the foot of the bed and the dressing table. Poppy smiled at the maid apologetically for being the cause of so much extra work.

  ‘I ain’t got much to put away, Aunt Phoebe …’ She pulled out her old red flannel dress, one of her cotton working frocks, stockings and a chemise.

  ‘But my dear …’ Aunt Phoebe looked at them aghast. She picked up the stockings between her thumb and forefinger and let them drop to the floor with distaste. ‘I don’t think you’ll be wearing those again …’

  ‘That only leaves me with the dress I’m wearing.’

  ‘Then tomorrow we shall visit my dressmaker and have you measured.’

  Poppy smiled appreciatively. ‘Honest? But how much will it
cost? I might not have enough money.’

  ‘You are not expected to pay, Poppy.’

  ‘You’re ever so kind, Aunt Phoebe, but I’ve managed for ages with just two working frocks … and this flannel one was me best till I got me blue one.’

  ‘Your blue one is certainly quite presentable.’ Aunt Phoebe smiled kindly. ‘But one good dress is not enough. You need more. You cannot continue to wear the same dress all the time when you are visiting people, or when we are being visited.’

  Aunt Phoebe and Esther left Poppy to enjoy the bath with some privacy. She revelled in the warm, sudsy water, the sensation of lather caressing her skin. She liked how the thin film of soapy water made her skin look so glossy and feel so smooth. She sensually soaped her shoulders, the silky mounds of her breasts, the soft dimple of her belly button and the drift of downy hair below. Even the splashing sound was a novelty. She bent her knees up and lay back in the tin bath, basking in the water’s all-enveloping embrace. It ran in her ears, strangely deadening all sounds, seeped through her mop of fair curls to her scalp, and she shook her head gently to saturate every strand. She rolled onto her stomach and dipped her face in the water, screwing up her eyes. Surfacing again, she puffed out her cheeks and blew the bubbles away, stroking away the long tresses of hair that clung to her smiling face.

  Oh, yes, she was smiling. How lovely it was to take a bath, to experience the pleasantness of cleansing, to sense the stickiness and grime being magically lifted from you. It was a whole new set of sensations.

  Being taken in and cared for by a kindly lady, who obviously had her well-being at heart, was a new and unanticipated development, which Poppy had not yet fully grasped. Oh, these new permanent surroundings were different and entirely novel, the spectacular cleanliness of the place was astonishing, as was the cosseting warmth and cosiness. But the extent of her good fortune, and the changes that must inevitably ensue, she had yet not had time yet to speculate on, nor understand.