by Nancy Carson
‘You have no idea,’ Arthur replied. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Richard Dempster. Folks call me Dickie.’
‘Well, thank you for taking care of me, Mr Dempster. I take it you work for the railway.’
‘Yes, I’m a guard. It was me that found you. Look, here’s the tea room. Let’s sit you down and I’ll get you a cup of tea, eh? I could do with one meself as a matter of fact.’
‘You’re very kind, Mr Dempster. Not a bit like that rude chap. Who was he?’
‘Only the coroner.’ Dickie laughed as the farcical nature of what had happened dawned on him. ‘You were a bit of a celebrity for a while this afternoon, Mr Goodrich,’ he went on, guiding Arthur to a table. ‘You could have been world famous. Christ, there was a hell of a flap when we thought we’d got a corpse on our hands. Sit down, eh, Mr Goodrich? How do you feel now?’
‘A bit drowsy, to tell you the truth.’ Arthur sat down. ‘You would as well, after a dollop of laudanum. I took it ’cause I’d got toothache.’ Arthur exercised his bottom jaw up and down and from side to side experimentally. ‘It seems to have cured it … for the time being, at any rate.’
‘Fancy something to eat as well?’
‘I wouldn’t mind, to tell you the truth. I’m feeling a bit peckish. It’s a while since I ate.’
‘How about some pork pie?’
‘Perfect.’
Dickie called a waitress who took their order, then turned his attention to Arthur. ‘You was supposed to see a cricket match this afternoon then?’
‘I was supposed to play in one. I’m the stumper in our local team. I hope I haven’t lost me team place because of it. I feel bad about letting the lads down.’
‘Never mind. You didn’t do it intentional, like, did yer?’
‘Course not.’
‘Besides, laudanum makes you drowsy, and I reckon you wouldn’t have been in any fit state to play cricket. Especially as stumper.’
‘No, maybe not,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I’d be black and blue where the ball kept hitting me. To tell you the truth, everything seems distant. I feel as if I’m in another world, detached from this one but still a part of it. Maybe I am dead after all, Mr Dempster. Maybe I’m in that nether world between this one and the next.’
Dickie laughed amiably. ‘That’s the laudanum, I expect.’
‘I shan’t do it again – take that stuff when I’m travelling by train. I feel such a fool now … But I was in such agony with toothache.’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Dickie Dempster said. ‘I don’t suppose the coroner had much else to do this afternoon, bar tending his roses. The important thing is, you’m all right. You ain’t dead after all.’
They fell silent for a few seconds, during which time the waitress brought their pot of tea and wedges of pork pie. Dickie poured the tea while Arthur tucked into his food ravenously. He finished it before he spoke again.
‘I enjoyed that.’
‘Want some more? It’s on the railway.’
Arthur shook his head. ‘No, I’d better not, thanks. I’ll just finish me cup of tea, then I’ll get out of your way. You’ve been very kind, Mr Dempster. Thank you for that.’
‘Oh, I’ve done nothing,’ he replied dismissively. ‘Anybody would do the same.’
Arthur sugared his tea and stirred it. ‘You say you’re a guard on the railway, Mr Dempster?’
‘Yes. I’ve worked this railway ever since it opened in fifty-two.’
‘Then there’s every chance I might see you again. If you ever get the chance, call in to see me at Jeremiah Goodrich and Sons, Monumental Masons and Sepulchral Architects.’
‘Struth, that’s a bit of a mouthful. I’ll never remember that.’
‘Stonemasons, then. We’re up the Lower Delph in Brierley Hill.’
‘Is that what all them tools are in your bag, then? For working masonry?’
‘Course. What did you think they was?’
‘The policemen what came thought they was for picking locks. They thought you was a burglar. If you’d bin alive, they’d have nicked you.’
‘It’s a good thing I was dead then, eh?’ Arthur said, and grinned impishly. He finished his tea. ‘Just goes to show how stupid our policemen are. Hardly blessed with the finest brains.’
‘Which is why they’re only policemen, eh, Mr Goodrich?’
Arthur nodded his agreement with a grin. ‘I’ll be off then, Mr Dempster. Thanks again for taking care of me.’
‘It’s no trouble. I’ll see you safely to the train. I’ll get you a ticket first, though.’
‘It’s all right, I’ll get me own ticket.’
‘But it’s on the company this time, Mr Goodrich.’ Dempster winked. ‘Their treat. Let’s make sure it’s first class, eh?’
‘Good Lord,’ Arthur grinned once more. ‘First class … Well …’
Chapter 10
‘You damn fool. Fancy taking laudanum just as you’ve boarded a train. It stands to reason as you’ll fall asleep.’ Jeremiah Goodrich had just been told of his son’s misadventure on the way back from Kidderminster. ‘Pity they didn’t leave yer overnight in one o’ them big long sheds with all the rats and mice. That might have brought you to your senses at last.’
‘But I had toothache,’ Arthur argued. ‘It was murder.’
‘Murder!’ Jeremiah scoffed. ‘There’ll be murder done in this house unless you pull yourself together. I’ve never known such a useless muff in all my born days. To have had the police and the coroner out …’ The old man shook his head in derision. ‘Did they have e’er a doctor out to thee?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Ah, well, stands to reason,’ he scoffed. ‘If they’d had e’er a doctor to you he’d have had you certified for sure, and they’d have locked you up in the workhouse … And it’d be the best place for yer.’
It was always the same. Sunday morning in the Goodrich household and Arthur had just returned from the Bell Hotel after church. Dinah had returned before him and related Arthur’s tale to Jeremiah meanwhile, and he had huffed and tutted as the story unfolded.
‘If I didn’t have to go and work in damned cold churchyards all the time, there’d very likely be no need for laudanum, nor anything else for that matter,’ Arthur complained spiritedly, ‘’cause I doubt if I’d get all the toothache and chills as I get. Working in graveyards is affecting my health.’
‘Poppycock!’ Jeremiah rasped angrily. ‘Working outdoors is healthy. It’s good for the constitution—’
‘Yes, look what it did for you, Father. Ill all the time. I don’t want to be like that. I hate feeling bad.’
‘You should be grateful. You should be grateful you’ve got work that’s light and easy. You should be grateful as you ain’t digging coal or fireclay, or navvying on the railways.’
‘You reckon? I might earn more money doing that.’
‘Y’ain’t worth more money,’ Jeremiah hissed. ‘You bone-idle bugger.’
Arthur looked his father squarely between the eyes. ‘Then, if that’s the case, find somebody else to do your graveyard work, and see if they’ll do it for the same money. I’ve had my fill.’
‘Listen to him, Dinah. He never stops moaning.’
‘I do wish you two would stop arguing,’ Dinah intervened. ‘You’m like cat and dog, the pair of you, at each other’s throats all the while. I get no peace in this house when you two am together.’
‘Well, you’ll have all the peace in the world soon, Mother, because I’m going. I mean it. I can’t stay here and have to put up with this all the time.’
‘Going?’ she queried. ‘You can’t go. You ain’t got nowhere to go to.’
‘I’ll find somewhere. I’ll find lodgings … and work. Somewhere they’ll appreciate me. Somewhere they’ll appreciate what I do.’
Dinah turned to her husband angrily. ‘See what you’m doing, Jeremiah? You’m driving him away with your cantankerousness.’
‘Oh, he
won’t go nowhere, Dinah – more’s the bloody pity.’
‘Oh? Then we’ll see,’ Arthur said defiantly and left his mother and father to argue it our between them.
He really had had enough. It was time to move on, time to get away from his father’s oppression and exploitation. Never had Jeremiah acknowledged that Arthur was anything but a lackey in the family business. Never had he shown him affection, only ever derision. Never had he thanked him for work he’d done, never had he praised him when praise was deserved and indeed appropriate. It could have made all the difference. Even when he was a little lad his father was always remote, distant. The old man seemed to treat Arthur as a nuisance, somebody he was responsible for, but accepting the responsibility with immense reluctance. It was no wonder that Arthur was lacking in confidence, that he found it difficult to make friends, that he was always afraid people would react off-handedly towards him. He’d had a lifetime of being shunned, turned away, ignored. Well, it was time to let the miserable old bugger see that his younger son could make his own way in the world, that he did not have to rely on the family firm, that he did not have to rely on an antagonistic father for a roof over his head and for money in his pocket.
Neither would he dine with them today. He would go where he knew he could count on some genuine affection and hospitality, as well as a decent Sunday dinner. He would go to the Piddocks’ cottage. Besides, he had an apology to make to Lucy.
Lucy was sitting on the front step of the cottage peeling potatoes in the sunshine. Bobby, the ancient sheepdog was lying at her feet, paying scant attention to the frisky Tickle who was licking his ear attentively.
‘Well, look who it isn’t,’ Lucy said with some disdain when she saw him. ‘I thought you’d left the country.’
‘Sorry I didn’t see you last night,’ he said morosely. ‘I wasn’t well.’
‘Wasn’t well?’ she said, with mock surprise. ‘That’s unlike you, Arthur. So what was it this time? Ear-ache, toothache, backache, leg-ache or face-ache?’
‘I ain’t asking for sarcasm, Lucy,’ he replied, feeling sorry for himself, ‘and neither do I expect ill temper from you – I have enough of that at home. I had a really peculiar day yesterday.’
‘Oh, well I didn’t, I had a very nice day.’ Her tone held a defiant edge of truth. ‘And it was all the better for not seeing you.’
‘I came to apologise.’
‘You can apologise all you want.’
‘And something else …’
She looked up at him and rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘What?’
‘I’m leaving home. I can’t stand it there any longer. I’m moving out, Lucy …’
‘Moving out?’ Her eyes had an interested look in them now, a look that told him that there had been pretence in her impatience and she was concerned after all.
‘Yesterday was what triggered it. This morning was what decided it.’
‘I’ve finished the spuds now,’ she said, and stood up. She picked up the pan into which she had put her peeled and cut potatoes. ‘Pick up the bowl for me, please, Arthur. Let’s talk inside.’
He picked up the bowl of peelings and followed her inside. ‘Is your father here?’
She turned and smiled. ‘Don’t be daft, he’s gone to the Whimsey. Mother’s back from chapel, though.’
‘Morning, Mrs Piddock.’
‘Morning, young Arthur,’ replied Hannah Piddock. ‘How’s this? We don’t expect to see you of a Sunday dinnertime.’
‘He’s leaving home,’ Lucy advised. ‘Or have you left already, Arthur?’
‘I would leave today if I’d got somewhere to go.’ He hoped that it didn’t sound as if he were asking to be taken in, for that was the last thing on his mind. ‘I wouldn’t mind some Sunday dinner, though, if you can spare some.’
That amused Hannah. ‘Course you can have some Sunday dinner, my son. We got a bit o’ pork. Tommy Banks slaughtered one of his pigs in the week and he sold us a nice bit o’ pork.’
‘I like a bit o’ pork,’ Arthur said agreeably. ‘Thank you, Mrs Piddock.’
‘D’you want me to do anything else, Mother?’ Lucy enquired.
‘No, I can manage. Sit down with Arthur.’
So they sat together on the settle and looked at each other, each waiting for the other to say something. It was Lucy who began.
‘So what happened yesterday?’
‘I had toothache—’
‘You and your toothache …’
‘But it was really bad, Lucy. It was so bad I had to take some laudanum to relieve it …’ He told her what had happened.
‘So you woke up at Wolverhampton Low Level to find the stationmaster, a policeman and the coroner all there, thinking you were dead?’ She laughed at the absurdity of it all. ‘Only you could do all that, Arthur. I bet you looked a proper fool.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t care whether I looked a fool or not. I couldn’t help it. I fell asleep on the train. I would still have been there now, I bet, if they hadn’t been a-prodding me and feeling in me pockets to find out who I was … or to pinch my money.’
‘I never heard anything like it,’ Lucy said. She turned to Hannah. ‘Have you ever heard anything like it, Mother? He’s the limit.’
‘I remember your father once having too much beer one Sunday dinnertime and not waking up till the Tuesday morning. He missed a day’s work.’
‘But you didn’t get the coroner out, did you?’
‘Oh, no, there was no need. I knew he wasn’t dead. I could hear him snoring.’
‘Anyway,’ Arthur went on, ‘there was one chap who worked on the railway as a guard and he looked after me. A chap name Dickie Dempster—’
‘Dickie Dempster?’
‘Yes.’ He looked up at her questioningly. ‘Why? D’you know him?’
‘No, no, I don’t know any Dickie Dempster …’ Lucy was glad that Arthur seemed not to notice her blushes at hearing the name.
‘Well, he was kind. He took me for a cup of tea and something to eat in the tea room after. He seemed a decent chap. I was grateful to him.’
‘Oh …’ Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, he sounds a decent chap … whoever he is …’
‘Anyway, Lucy, when I got back home late yesterday afternoon, I still felt groggy from the laudanum, so I went to bed to sleep it off, and I didn’t wake up till early this morning. That’s why I didn’t get to the Whimsey last night. That’s why I didn’t come to walk you home after.’
‘Oh, it’s all right, Arthur,’ Lucy replied absently. Suddenly she was immersed in thoughts of Dickie Dempster and how she was to meet him next Saturday.
‘Then, it all blew up this morning,’ Arthur continued, oblivious to her thoughts. ‘Me father called me all the silly buggers under the sun. We had a right argument. I told him, if I didn’t have to go working in all these cold and damp graveyards I wouldn’t be suffering with colds and toothache and everything else that afflicts me. He never says thank you, well done our Arthur, kiss my arse, nor nothing … Sorry, Mrs Piddock, I didn’t mean to swear—’
‘Don’t worry, Arthur, I’m used to it,’ Hannah replied, prodding cabbage leaves into a pan of water.
‘I could earn double what I get working somewhere else. So I’ve decided I’m leaving, Lucy.’
‘So where will you go?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘Oh,’ Lucy said, half in shock, half in relief, for if he were not around she could openly conduct an affair with Dickie Dempster, if things were to progress that far.
‘Anyway, I was thinking,’ Arthur continued. ‘It’ll be your birthday in early September. You’ll be twenty-one. It only wants six weeks. I thought that in six weeks I would’ve found work and a house to rent, wherever I end up. I thought we could get married and you could join me …’
‘Oh, that’d be nice, our Lucy,’ Hannah proclaimed as she hovered over the hot cast-iron range, before Lucy could get a word in. She dried her hands on a cloth and stood in front of the
couple, smiling gleefully. ‘Twenty-one’s a lovely age to get wed, you know. Neither too old nor too young. You’d make a lovely bride.’
Lucy stood up, as if to unshackle herself from the confines of marriage to a man she was by no means sure she loved sufficiently. ‘I don’t know as I want to get wed, Arthur,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s nice to know you think so much of me, but … But I don’t know as I want to get wed …’
Arthur flashed a look at Hannah, a plea for help. ‘What do you think, Mrs Piddock?’
‘I think you’d make a lovely husband for our Lucy, Arthur … But it’s up to her whether she accepts you or not.’
He looked intently at Lucy. ‘So why don’t you want to wed me, Lucy? I’d be a good husband. I’d look after you.’
‘Yes, you would,’ Lucy responded sincerely. ‘I know you would. But I’m not certain I’d be a good wife.’
‘You’d be the best wife any man could have.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘If I was sure I loved you … I’m not sure that I love you …’
‘But we’ve been courting nigh on a year.’
‘Ten months … on and off.’
‘So you must feel something for me, else you wouldn’t have wasted ten months of your life.’
Lucy shrugged and her expression was one of painful regret. ‘I’m just not sure, Arthur. Even after ten months I’m not sure. Oh, I like you – course I like you. I think the world of you … But that isn’t enough. It isn’t enough to get wed on.’
‘I intend to go miles away from here, Lucy,’ he said, as if it were a threat. ‘That’s why I ask you to marry me. So as we can still be together.’
‘It makes no difference how far away you go.’
‘Oh, I bet it will,’ Hannah asserted with some confidence. ‘She’ll miss you if you go, young Arthur. When you’ve been gone a week or two she’ll soon realise how much she misses you.’
‘But I’d like her answer now, Mrs Piddock.’
‘I’ve given you my answer,’ Lucy said quietly.
‘But it ain’t the answer I want, Lucy.’
