Poppy's Dilemma

by Nancy Carson

  Poppy flashed daggers at Minnie, but Minnie merely smiled angelically, defying her friend to refuse. ‘The kettle’s boiling. I’ll make that tea.’

  ‘Which is your usual place of worship, Miss Silk?’ Virginia asked with genuine interest.

  ‘I normally go to St Thomas’s.’

  ‘Well, I have an idea. Why don’t all three of us go into a place of worship – one that none of us would normally attend – and pray together for Minnie’s salvation. Let us together ask God to guide her away from the path of wickedness on which she has so sinfully embarked. That is not to say that Minnie is the only sinner among us, of course. We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord. We could all benefit from His forgiveness.’

  ‘Oh, and how would I benefit?’ Minnie asked, tiring of repeated interference and personal disparagement of her life from this Virginia. ‘I feel no sin. And why should I? Sin is doing bad to other folk, not enjoying what you do. I don’t do nobody no harm. In what way do I sin? I just enjoy what I do. How is that a sin?’

  ‘Your sin is in the selling of your body for money,’ Virginia replied earnestly. ‘It is putting temptation in the way of men who might be married with families to look after. It is against God’s law. I want to bring you into the light, Minnie, so that you can freely acknowledge this sin. Then you will feel the forgiveness, the joy of salvation. Salvation is the gateway to eternal life, Minnie.’

  ‘And Gatehouse Fold is the pen what holds me back, is that it?’

  ‘Since you put it like that … Look, meet Miss Silk and myself one morning—’

  ‘It would have to be an afternoon,’ Poppy interjected.

  ‘One afternoon then,’ Virginia assented. ‘We’ll find a quiet place to pray together.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Minnie said reluctantly. ‘Anything for a quiet life …’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Virginia said, and they arranged it together.

  Poppy and Virginia met a week later, at three in the afternoon of the first Monday in May. The venue was, as Virginia had suggested, neutral territory. She chose the Friends’ Meeting House in High Street, opposite the Old Bush where Poppy and Minnie had spent their first nights of freedom from the navvies’ encampment. As they waited in the clear May sunshine for Minnie to arrive, Poppy was reminded of it, and privately reflected again on how much had happened since then, how radically her life had changed.

  ‘Tell me something about yourself, Miss Silk,’ Virginia said, interrupting Poppy’s thoughts.

  ‘Why don’t you call me Poppy?’ she replied amicably. ‘And allow me to call you Virginia. Sometimes this formality is too much to bear.’

  Virginia smiled and touched Poppy’s arm in a gesture of companionship. ‘I do agree. It does tend to keep people at arm’s length who might otherwise be wonderful friends. Thank you, Poppy, for taking the trouble to suggest it.’

  ‘It just seems common sense to me.’

  ‘So are you from these parts?’ Virginia said, resuming her original line of enquiry. ‘I don’t think I know any Silks.’

  A cart rattled past, heading towards the Town Hall and its market.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t. Their business is elsewhere,’ she answered economically. ‘I am staying with an aunt.’ It was sufficient information, and not entirely an untruth.

  ‘How long have you known Minnie?’

  ‘Oh, a long time.’

  ‘What? Three months? Six months?’

  ‘Oh, more than six months.’

  ‘Sometimes, you have to work with these girls longer than that. You only hope that by the time you do reach them it’s not too late … I wonder how long Minnie’s likely to be? Is she normally late, do you know?’

  ‘I’ve always found her to be very reliable, Virginia, but she has got a funny fob watch that’s unreliable. Maybe she doesn’t know the right time … Minnie’s not all bad, you know. She’s as honest as the day is long, especially where money is concerned. She owed me a tidy sum once, but she quickly paid it all back. Her problem is that she’s too fond of men. She actually loves what she does. Nobody’s forced her into prostitution. And she does it on her own account, without a pimp.’

  Virginia could just see the clock of St Thomas’s church. ‘The sins of the flesh, Poppy. She’s a lost cause then, do you think?’

  Poppy shrugged. ‘In that sense, maybe. Unless somebody comes along who’ll sweep her off her feet.’

  ‘Do you mind if I make an observation, Poppy?’ Virginia asked gently.

  Their eyes met and Poppy smiled affably. ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘You seem very young to be volunteering for this type of work. Too young, I would have thought, to be confronted with such sin … And yet on the other hand, I suppose it enables you to approach and communicate more easily with those very young girls who have fallen into a life of prostitution.’

  ‘I am seventeen, Virginia,’ Poppy protested. ‘And I do other work. Anyway, how old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’

  ‘There. You’re not exactly old yourself then, are you?’

  Virginia smiled. ‘I suppose not … So what other work do you do?’

  ‘I work in a school.’

  ‘Oh, you teach?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Oh, I long to teach, Poppy. I’m sure I would be a very good teacher. I feel I could do so much good.’

  ‘Then why don’t you become a teacher?’ Poppy craned her neck, scanning the streets for sight of Minnie.

  ‘That would mean going against the express wishes of my father. I couldn’t possibly do that.’

  Poppy looked at Virginia with a puzzled expression. ‘Why should your father not want you to teach?’

  ‘Because in his opinion it would be too demeaning.’

  ‘Oh …’ Poppy was not sure of that last word’s meaning, but guessed it all the same and gave no indication that she could have felt slighted. ‘The way I see it, Virginia, if it helps somebody to get on in life, then there’s nothing wrong with it at all. If I were you, I would deliberately go against my father. I would stand up for what I believe in.’

  Virginia laughed aloud. ‘Oh, I do just adore your spirit, Poppy. Would that I had the courage.’

  ‘It doesn’t take courage. To me it’s common sense.’

  ‘Oh, Poppy. You have such an outrageous defiance about you that I so envy. Where have you been brought up? In the colonies?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter where I was brought up. I’ve seen so many children deprived of learning. They live in such poverty, and poverty makes them ignorant of the world. How can they better themselves without being given the opportunity to learn? The world would be a better place if all children were allowed to learn reading and writing, if somebody would open the door for them to the world of culture.’

  ‘Oh, such noble beliefs,’ Virginia enthused. ‘I do admire your attitude enormously.’

  ‘What’s so important about your father that you wouldn’t dare defy him?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘Well, his position.’

  ‘He’s so important?’

  ‘In his world he is very important. In his world it would not be seemly to have a daughter with an independent streak in her. No, I dare not fall out of line.’

  ‘And yet you mix with prostitutes,’ Poppy goaded.

  ‘He doesn’t know that.’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘None of my family are aware of it,’ Virginia went on to admit. ‘It’s something I do when time permits. I have this inner need – a compulsion – to try and do some good in this world.’

  ‘And you go to church regular … ly?’ Poppy almost forgot her grammar.

  ‘Oh, yes. But the Established Church is not evangelical enough for my tastes. Tell me, Poppy, when was the last time somebody from St Thomas’s, say, went out in an effort to save souls? Never, I suggest, with the exception of yourself.’

  ‘Well, I don’t really—’

  ‘No, they are too steeped in worthless tradition. The Anglican cler
gy are too complacent in their safe livings. They are sons of the wealthy and the well-to-do, almost to a man. How many of them go to the trouble of seeking to save the errant souls in the coal pits, the ironworks, or among the railway navvies, for instance?’

  ‘I’ve never seen one outside of church,’ Poppy agreed.

  ‘My mother, you know, was a Quaker,’ Virginia declared, and Poppy thought she sounded proud of it, whatever it was.

  ‘A Quaker?’

  Virginia smiled her kind, gentle smile. ‘I think I get my compulsive evangelical urge from her. Of course, when she married my father – who belonged to the Established Church – she was disowned.’

  ‘Disowned?’ Poppy queried with a frown. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course … If you’ve never had anything to do with the Society of Friends – which they like to be known as – then you wouldn’t understand. So I’ll explain … Anybody who marries out – that is, marries somebody who is not a Quaker – is disowned, excluded. A ridiculous policy, in my opinion, when you consider that membership is declining because of it. But then, I’m in no position to change the rules. Nevertheless, I admire the Quakers and what they stand for. I always have.’

  ‘So that’s the reason we’re standing waiting outside the Friends’ Meeting House?’

  ‘Yes, I confess it,’ Virginia said with a broad smile that showed her crossed front teeth. ‘Anyway … It seems that our friend Miss Catchpole is not going to keep her appointment with us, Poppy. A pity. I had the feeling she was a candidate for repentance.’

  Poppy glanced at St Thomas’s church clock. It said twenty past three. ‘No, I don’t think she’ll come now. Even if her fob watch is ten minutes slow. She’d have been here by now.’

  ‘Could I invite you, Poppy, to join me sometime at one of the Society of Friends’ Meetings?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Well … As a regular churchgoer in the Anglican tradition, you might find the difference uplifting. The Friends’ Meeting House is not like a church. There are no ministers as such. Nobody preaches. They worship in silence … and yet they feel the benign ambience of God’s love in their collective silence. When somebody feels moved by God to speak, they speak.’

  Poppy sighed frustratedly. ‘I have to tell you, Virginia, that I am not the religious person you think I am.’

  ‘All the more reason to join me then,’ Virginia replied without hesitation. ‘I am driven by God’s love, by his desire to save souls.’

  ‘I am driven more by common sense, Virginia.’ Poppy hoped she did not sound disparaging or impatient.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, for instance … Is your father’s refusal to let you become a teacher based on religious grounds?’

  ‘More the principle of respectability, I suspect.’

  ‘Ah … Respectability …’ That word again. ‘So this respectability, which we are all supposed to strive for, does not reach out to benefit the poor and underprivileged? Those illiterate souls such as the miners, ironworkers and railway navvies you mentioned earlier?’

  Virginia looked thoughtful for a few moments and, finding it hard to read her expression, Poppy wondered whether she had gone too far, expressed too much disapproval.

  But Virginia sighed. ‘The way you put it makes him sound so hypocritical. I confess that such thoughts as you have expressed have been taking shape in my own mind. Your direct way of interpreting it has indeed given form to such thoughts. Your notions would certainly be embraced by the Quakers, and that’s why I think I am so drawn to them. Will you not reconsider, Poppy, and join me here one First Day at the Friends’ Meeting House?’

  ‘First day?’

  ‘Sorry. The Friends’ parlance for Sunday.’

  ‘I don’t know, Virginia. I always go to church with my aunt …’

  ‘I beg of you. You have a fresh way of thinking. You are clearly unfettered by the shackles of conventionality, and certainly not inhibited by it. For myself, I feel I could benefit greatly from your way of thinking. Not that I wish to become a rebel. Merely to be shown and to appreciate another point of view. I have the strongest feeling we could be close friends, Poppy. We are opposites, aren’t we? And opposites do attract …’

  When Poppy left Virginia that afternoon, she decided to call on Minnie. It was unlike her to miss meeting somebody when she had agreed the arrangement, and Poppy wondered whether she was ill. So she walked through the town towards St Edmund’s church and made her way to Gatehouse Fold. Even on this warm, sunny day, she felt a chill as she entered the courtyard, as always feeling that unseen eyes were watching her. She looked around apprehensively as she reached Minnie’s door. She tapped it with her knuckle and waited. There was no answer. She stepped back and looked up at the upstairs window, anticipating Minnie opening the sash and peering out. But there was no curtain up at the window. There was no curtain at the downstairs window either. How peculiar. Minnie must have gone. She must have left the house for good.

  Chapter 23

  Poppy was uncertain about Virginia Lord. The girl meant well, she was obviously concerned for the well-being of anybody in moral jeopardy, but her religious fervour was too intense. Poppy, too, cared about anybody who was less fortunate than herself, but it did not mean she had to have the imagined support of the mythical God everybody expected her to believe in. Most people, she believed, were innately good. Even the majority of the railway navvies she had lived among and knew so well were not evil. So what if they relished a good brawl and drank themselves to oblivion, seduced each other’s women and stole the occasional pair of boots? That did not mean they were evil. They were merely ignorant; ignorant of the finer things of life, of culture, of refinement, of the other more satisfying existences the great wide world had to offer; even the limited amount she had seen. They had no idea of the wonderful things they could aspire to because, as she had said to Virginia, they were the poor unfortunates who had never been allowed exposure to them. Her own mother, Sheba, was certainly not an evil woman and she had never been near a church. Virginia, however, might perceive her as such, since she’d had several bed partners in only a few weeks. Virginia, in her narrow, moralistic conviction, would doubtless never be able to grasp why it had been necessary. Well, maybe Virginia should be aware of the unpalatable truths that constituted raw life which existed outside the drawing room. It would do her good to live in a navvy encampment for a while.

  Poppy had agreed to meet Virginia again. She had consented to go with her to a Quaker Meeting, their equivalent of a church service. Virginia had said how close her views – Poppy’s views – were to her own and the Quakers’. Well, however close, such closeness was unwitting, but she was flattered and curious to hear it, so the arrangement was made.

  She was surprised to see Virginia driven to the Friends’ Meeting House in a shining black brougham driven by a man in livery. Her family must be really something if they rode around in a contraption like this. The liveried driver stepped down, opened the door and obsequiously helped Virginia to alight.

  ‘Thank you, Homer,’ she said graciously and flashed a broad smile at Poppy as she approached her. ‘Poppy … I’m so happy you were able to make it. Did you have any difficulty?’

  ‘Oh, my aunt was none too impressed when I told her I was going to a Quaker service with a new friend.’

  ‘Oh, what did she say?’

  ‘Her very words? You don’t want to hear them, Virginia.’

  ‘It’s so strange how so many people are still prejudiced against Quakers. I don’t understand it. So many big and successful businesses are founded on Quakerism. They do so much good. They’re so generous to the people they employ.’

  ‘Well, my aunt said something about the way they talk and the way they dress. “Don’t come back here with their quaint talk and big white collars,” she said. I told her you didn’t talk funny nor wear a funny collar.’

  Virginia laughed. ‘Peculiarities. Quakers have always been proud of
their Peculiarities. In the past, Peculiarities set them apart, made them instantly recognisable to each other. So they flaunted them. But all that’s changing, Poppy. There aren’t so many thees and thous nowadays, except among the older ones who still embrace the old ways. And most Quakers are starting to wear the clothes they feel comfortable in, not necessarily the Friends’ uniform.’

  ‘So do you know many of the folk who come here?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘None,’ Virginia replied. ‘I have never been to the Dudley Meeting before. Shall we be brave and go in?’

  Poppy was chilled by the silence. A few people, soberly dressed, were already seated, silent, their upright wooden chairs facing one way in that plain, unadorned room. On tiptoe, so as to be as quiet as possible, Virginia took one of the chairs that lined the room and placed it behind the group that was already seated, careful not to scuff the floor and make a noise. She signalled Poppy to do likewise. Then they sat down, and the rustle of their skirts was deafening. The seconds and the minutes passed to the slow, rhythmic ticking of a large wall clock. Another couple entered and, equally silently, took chairs and sat on them while Poppy glanced up at them briefly. One of the chairs creaked, like the groan of an injured cat, as somebody shifted position. Quiet again … but for the insistent tick-tocking … The sound of breathing, a faint snore and somebody being nudged. A cough that was smothered quickly. It seemed to go on for ages.

  ‘When does worshipping begin?’ Poppy whispered, peering round her bonnet at Virginia and nudging her gently.

  Virginia opened her eyes. ‘When you begin to worship.’

  Poppy shuffled about on her chair to relieve the numbness in her bottom. She could see no point in this. She would have been better entertained going to St Thomas’s with Aunt Phoebe. At least there you stood up regularly so your bum didn’t go to sleep, except maybe in the sermon. At least in a church they sang hymns and she was getting to know a few of them, pleasant stirring tunes with words that made sense. She could never get the hang of psalm-singing, though. There had to be some arcane rules that were denied the congregation when it came to singing psalms. Nobody seemed to know which words to stress, on which words or syllables the notes of the tune changed. Except the choir. Only the choir had access to such secrets … And Reverend Browne would read the lessons. She couldn’t always understand what the lessons were supposed to teach, but some interesting sounding names like Nebuchadnezzar and Shadrach, rich words like frankincense and omnipotence sometimes spilled from his mouth, which she repeated to herself, mouthing them silently. But where were the words here? Nobody spoke. Not even prayers. Where were the hymns, the psalms? Nobody uttered a word. Nobody sang a note.