by Nancy Carson
She laughed self-consciously and wiped the top of the counter with a cloth. ‘How can you forget what I look like?’
‘By trying too hard to remember, I reckon. I think about you a lot, Lucy … Anyway, you can have a copy of my likeness when its done. You never know, you might take to it.’
She smiled, endeavouring to hide her conscience at both her inability to reciprocate his feelings and her eagerness to yield hers to Dickie Dempster, should he ever ask. ‘Look, I’m getting busy, Arthur,’ she entreated. ‘I can’t talk now, or I’ll get into trouble. I’ll see you later.’
Haden Piddock appeared just at that moment, accompanied by another man. ‘Why, it’s King Arthur.’ He turned to his companion. ‘Arthur’s a keen cricketer, you know, Enoch. You know what he calls his bat?’
‘What?’
‘Excalibur …’
The two men guffawed.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, shall I?’ Arthur suggested as he and Lucy stood outside the Piddocks’ cottage after walking her back.
‘Oh, Arthur, I don’t know …’
‘What d’you mean, you don’t know? Don’t you want to?’
‘I need to set one or two things straight …’
They were standing about a yard apart and Arthur was itching to get close to her, to take her in his arms.
‘About what?’ he said quietly, dreading hearing what she was about to say.
Lucy shrugged, sighing profoundly. ‘It’s just that … I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on, Arthur,’ she whispered guiltily. ‘I know that you’re keen on me …’
‘I am keen on you. So?’
‘Well … I think you’re keener on me than I am on you.’
‘Then you should be flattered,’ he said, outwardly undaunted by her reticence, but inwardly agonised.
‘But I don’t want to hurt you, Arthur. It’s the last thing I want. You’re such a decent, gentle chap.’
Arthur emitted a great sigh. ‘Well, you’re hurting me just by saying such things. If I’m such a decent, gentle chap why are you holding back from me? I don’t understand, Lucy. I think the world of you …’
‘I know you do, Arthur. That’s what makes it all so difficult … But I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a bit.’
‘Why?’ he protested. ‘I only see you a couple of nights in the week and Sunday afternoons as it is. It’s not as if I get the chance to get fed up of you … or you of me, come to that.’
‘But it might be best for you,’ she said, his best interests at heart. ‘If I find myself missing you, I’ll know I’ve only been fooling myself. I’ll know better how I feel.’
‘Are you sure there ain’t somebody else you’m seeing on the quiet, Lucy?’ he said perceptively.
‘I swear, Arthur. I ain’t seeing anybody but you.’ It was actually no lie, but how could she confess she was preoccupied with another man who actually knew nothing about her devotion, and possibly cared even less. She would seem so stupid.
He plucked up his courage and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to him. To his relief and encouragement she snuggled to him like a kitten, laying her cheek on his shoulder.
‘You poor, mixed up madam,’ he said softly, accidentally tilting her bonnet as he nestled her to him.
‘Careful, Arthur,’ she complained. ‘You’re knocking me bonnet askew. Oh, that’s typical of you.’ She straightened it, tutting to herself at his unwitting clumsiness, which marred even his feeblest attempts at romance.
‘Sorry.’ He could have kicked himself for his ineptitude. ‘I didn’t mean to knock your bonnet over your eyes. Are you all right now?’
‘Yes,’ she said stepping back from his awkward embrace.
‘Good … Well, if you ain’t seeing anybody else, what do you do on Saturday afternoons?’ he asked, returning to the problem in hand. ‘I mean, even Saturday afternoons you don’t want to see me.’
‘I generally see my friend Miriam …’
‘I don’t know this Miriam, do I?’
‘Not that I know of, but you might.’
‘What do you do when you see her?’
‘We go somewhere. Generally Dudley. We went to Wolverhampton today on the train.’
‘Wolverhampton? What’s the point of going there?’
‘To have a look round. I bought a new Sunday frock in Wolverhampton.’
‘Oh, a new Sunday frock.’ He grinned hopefully. ‘Then you’ll have to meet me when you’re wearing it, so’s I can have a gander at you.’
He caught her flattered smile in the spilled light from a window, and was again heartened.
She shrugged resignedly. Arthur was not going to be easy to shake off. ‘But what about your poorly back?’ she asked.
‘It don’t stop me walking, does it? Nor will it stop me working next week either … more’s the pity.’
‘All right,’ she agreed softly, relenting.
‘And you’ll wear your new frock for me?’
‘Yes, all right. Where shall we go?’
‘Depends on the weather, I expect. If it’s fine we could walk to Kingswinford over the fields.’
‘But not if it’s cold and raining.’ There was a plea in her voice.
‘Then I’ll take you to a few graveyards so you can see what it’s like working there in the cold and wet.’
‘No, you won’t,’ she declared emphatically. ‘So where will you take me?’
‘I’ll think of somewhere.’
Arthur spotted an opportunity to inveigle himself into Lucy’s heart as he sat in the Bell Hotel after church the following Sunday morning. A man, whom he knew vaguely, was showing a very young mongrel pup to another customer, and they were bartering for it.
‘I’ll give thee a shilling,’ Arthur heard the second man say.
‘Two and a tanner and the mutt’s yourn,’ replied the first man.
‘Two and a tanner for a mutt? No, a bob’s me limit.’
‘But it’s mother’s got a lovely nature.’
‘So’s mine. But what d’you know about it’s fairther?’
Arthur stood up with his tankard of beer and made his way towards the men. ‘Excuse me, but if this gentleman don’t want the pup, I’ll give you a florin for it,’ he said hesitantly.
The second man looked at him curiously. ‘If yo’m saft enough to pay that much for a mutt, then yo’m welcome.’
‘Two and a tanner is what I’m asking,’ the seller reaffirmed, instantly able to recognise somebody bent on making a purchase. ‘I’ll not budge on that.’
Arthur sighed. Two shillings and sixpence was just too much, especially in view of the extra expense he was committed to because of the two wrongly inscribed headstones he’d had to pay for. Besides, he would look a fool if he bid higher when the other man was only prepared to spend a shilling. ‘Ah well,’ he said. ‘That’s all I’m prepared to pay.’ Disappointed, he moved away from the two men to resume his seat.
‘Fair enough,’ the seller called after him. ‘I’ll tek the little bugger home with me then and drown it, like I drowned the other four out the litter. I kept this’n ’cause it was the strongest, but if nobody wants it …’
Arthur turned around, a look of astonishment on his face. ‘You wouldn’t drown it, would you?’
‘It’d cost money to keep it. Course I’d drown it.’
‘But then you’d have neither the pup nor any money for it,’ Arthur argued logically.
The man shrugged. ‘That’s up to me. Why should it concern you?’
‘Because there’s no logic in it. I’ve just offered you two bob, but rather than accept it, you’d rather drown the poor little mite. I hope you can sleep in your bed at night,’ he added indignantly
‘I hope you can sleep in yourn,’ the man replied with equal resentment, ‘when for an extra tanner you could have saved it.’
Arthur smiled in acknowledgement of the way the owner of the puppy had turned the tables on him. He felt in his po
cket and pulled out a handful of coins, counted out two shillings and sixpence, and offered the money. ‘Here … I couldn’t have the poor little thing on my conscience for the sake of another tanner.’
The exchange was made, the man pocketed the money and, with a self-satisfied grin, turned to the second man. ‘It generally works, does that ploy,’ he said quietly.
Arthur held the little bundle of fur in one hand and stroked its head gently with the other. ‘I know somebody who’ll just love you,’ he said softly to the puppy.
That afternoon, he put the puppy in his jacket pocket and walked to Bull Street, trying to imagine Lucy’s delight at seeing it. As he approached the Piddocks’ cottage, Bobby their sheepdog sauntered up to him sniffing suspiciously.
‘I got a little pal for you,’ he murmured to the old dog. ‘Just you wait and see.’
He tapped on the door and Lucy opened it with a smile. ‘I thought it would be you,’ she said. ‘Come on in.’
‘Is that your new frock?’ he asked, stepping over the threshold.
‘Yes,’ she answered expectantly. ‘Do you like it?’
‘The colour I like, it matches your eyes. I like the shape of it as well, but it could never outdo those blue eyes of yours, Lucy.’
‘But do you think it looks nice?’
‘I think you look lovely in it, yes.’
‘You do say lovely things sometimes.’
Inside, the smell of dinner still lingered, but as usual, the place was clean and tidy. Haden came in from the privy, greeted Arthur and sat on the settle.
‘How’s your back?’ Hannah enquired of Arthur.
‘Tolerable, Mrs Piddock, thank you.’
‘Would you like me to rub it with some goose grease? That would ease it, I reckon.’
‘That’s very kind, Mrs Piddock, but I’d better not. I’ve got a clean vest on today.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘I brought you a present, Lucy,’ he said proudly and felt in his jacket pocket. With a broad grin, he pulled out the warm bundle of fur.
‘Oh, Arthur!’ she shrieked with delight, carefully taking the animal from him. She put it to her cheek and felt its soft fur warm against her face. ‘Oh, isn’t he beautiful? Oh, thank you, Arthur.’
Haden, facing the fire grate as he sat on the settle, could only hear what was going on behind him. ‘What’s he bought thee?’ he asked, turning around.
‘A puppy, look … and he’s beautiful.’
‘A puppy?’ Haden grinned. ‘Let’s have a look at him …’ Lucy handed the little dog over to her father. ‘This dog’s a bitch,’ he exclaimed with obvious disappointment.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lucy said with a laugh of joy, taking the puppy back. ‘I still love it.’
‘And in no time it’ll be in pup itself and we shall have a house full o’ bloody pups, most likely from that dirty bloody Bobby we got outside.’
‘Oh, I doubt that,’ Hannah countered. ‘Our Bobby ain’t got it in him.’
‘What are you going to call it, Lucy?’ Arthur asked.
‘I don’t know. I think you should choose a name, since you bought her. Can you think of anything?’
‘Well, she likes being tickled, by the looks of it. Why not call her Tickle?’
‘Tickle,’ Lucy mused. ‘Yes, I like that.’
‘Tickle!’ Haden mocked, rolling his eyes. ‘Fancy calling a bloody dog Tickle.’
Lucy sat down and played for ages with the puppy in her lap. Arthur watched, revelling in his newly won glory. Hannah, meanwhile, boiled a kettle and made a pot of tea while Haden and Arthur talked about the new fireclay works that were being built near Silver End and the increased employment it would bring.
As she fondled the puppy, Lucy was in her own world. She pondered her relationship with Arthur. Never had she met a kinder, more well-meaning man, and she felt guilty that she could not find it within herself to reciprocate his obvious devotion. She was fixed on her dream of eventually winning the love of a handsome young man. He did not have to be wealthy; she did not aspire to wealth. She would be perfectly content living in a little cottage, like her sister Jane did, romantically cuddled up with this handsome new young husband she craved, in front of a homely fire. And what did her ideal man look like? That was easy. He had to look like Dickie Dempster.
Try as she might, she could not purge her mind of Dickie Dempster and thoughts of them eventually being together. She lay awake at night and imagined him in bed with her, engaged in passionate embraces and hungry kisses, which almost left her breathless. She imagined the manly scent of him, his firm skin rubbing gently on hers. She stroked her inner thighs, her breasts, making believe it was his touch, and left herself ever hungrier for him. Dickie Dempster was becoming an obsession and it was not fair. It was certainly not fair on Arthur, for in every other way Arthur would be an ideal mate for a gentle soul like herself. He was not only kind and thoughtful, but he made her laugh with his unwitting antics. When he told her about adding the wrong epitaphs to the two graves in Pensnett churchyard she howled with laughter. And so did he; they laughed together so much. When he told her about the trials and tribulations with the horses she could picture him in her mind’s eye, and it tickled her for days afterwards. If only she could feel desire for Arthur, this same desire she felt for Dickie Dempster, he would be exactly right for her and she could make a commitment to him. But she did not feel desire so ardent, nor would she ever, so she could not commit herself. Arthur was not handsome, Dickie Dempster was. Dickie possessed a sort of animal magnetism that for her was overpowering, Arthur did not.
It was nature’s way.
If she had never cast eyes on Dickie, then things between her and Arthur might already be vastly different. But they were not. She was aware that poor Arthur would believe she was hard and unemotional, but that wasn’t the way she was at all. Deep down she was as soft as this little puppy, which she was stroking in her lap. There were so many things about Arthur that she liked, that maybe she was even beginning to love, but she really did not relish the thought of serious physical contact with him. It held no appeal. But if Dickie Dempster touched her, she knew her heart would melt and run, like the cold hard iron ore as it melted in the Earl’s furnaces.
‘Have you fed the puppy?’ Hannah asked Arthur.
‘I gave it a saucer o’ milk afore I left home,’ he answered. ‘The poor little mite drank it all. It must have been thirsty.’
‘I’ll give it some more, and find it a bite to eat as well. I bet it’s hungry.’
‘Oh, no!’ Lucy suddenly exclaimed, and stood up, holding out her skirt.
‘What’s up?’ Arthur enquired.
‘It’s just peed over my new frock.’
Chapter 8
1857
Winter came and went, and those few months saw little change in the lopsided courtship between Lucy Piddock and Arthur Goodrich. She held back, unwilling to commit, saving herself for the elusive Dickie Dempster, who might at any moment come along and sweep her off her feet. She had seen him only a couple of times, and then only from afar when she had been walking either to or from the glassworks along the railway line, and he had been in the guards’ van of a passing train. Both times he’d spotted her and waved, and she’d watched his thrilling smile disappear into the distance. The second time he’d even blown her a kiss. But at no time had another opportunity to speak to him presented itself. Her Saturday trips with Miriam had produced no further encounters either.
So, as winter turned into spring and spring turned into summer, Lucy’s interest in Dickie Dempster actually waned, and she began taking Arthur a little more seriously, even though his minor ailments, whether real or imagined, were a continual source of irritation to her.
Arthur was not insensitive to Lucy’s greater amenability and it made him happier. Lucy agreed to see him more often and he became more relaxed with her. He made her laugh with little anecdotes of his working life and his contentious encounters with his father. His account with Lucy was greatly enhan
ced when, in the spring, he actually persuaded his father to employ Moses Cartwright as a general hand, grooming the horses, greasing the cart’s axles, cleaning up, tending the forge and sharpening chisels. This very act of kindness for a crippled war hero precluded any possibility of an increase in wages for himself, although Arthur made no mention of that to Lucy. He was content to help out somebody he liked and admired, who was becoming a sort of mentor with his infinitely vaster experience of the world and its ways. Moses and Jane, too, were grateful for his intervention, for their own existence was materially improved by this singular act of compassion.
But Arthur’s relationship with his father was one facet of his life that did not improve. Apart from the consensus over Moses, Arthur disagreed with every other deed and notion of the old man. It reached the point where Arthur dreaded getting up on workdays, he hated returning either home or to the workshop at night, for every encounter with Jeremiah ended up in an argument. What Arthur failed to realise was that he and his father were in many ways alike, both prone to complaining about their ailments, both lacking in patience with each other, both eager to denigrate the other.
Arthur had contemplated leaving home. It began to dawn on him that marriage to Lucy would serve him well in that respect, if she could be so persuaded. She would, after all, have to give up her two jobs to become his wife. He would rent a house and they would live under the same roof together. They would sleep in the same bed, and the prospect of that thrilled him. Marriage would also offer the ideal escape from the stressful conflicts with his father – at home anyway.
The problem was, it was as yet too soon to be contemplating marriage. Arthur had known Lucy less than a year and in those precious months their courtship had never been intense. Even kissing was hardly commonplace, so anything beyond kissing was distinctly out of the question, for the immediate future anyway. Not that Arthur was unduly concerned. He still considered it important to respect Lucy in that way, and not to assail her femininity with assaults on her virginity, even though the notion of what he might find under her skirts was utterly appealing, arousing, and caused him many a sleepless night. But her father had threatened unspeakable things, should anything untoward result from any such immorality.
