by Nancy Carson
‘I’ve thought about it, Miriam.’
‘And what conclusion did you come to?’
‘None.’
‘Well there’d be no shame if you did think it. Not compared to the shame he should feel at putting you in the family way when he’s already wed. He should be locked up in the workhouse for it, out of harm’s way.’
Lucy shrugged. She could understand her friend’s point of view, even though she dare not subscribe to it.
‘They reckon Arthur’s courting though now,’ Miriam went on. ‘So you’ve missed your chance there anyway. They say as how pretty she is. Them as saw her walking behind the hearse yesterday said as she looked really beautiful dressed all in black.’
‘Oh, she did and no two ways, Miriam. And it makes you realise that if a chap can win a girl as pretty as that, he must have something about him after all. Mind you, she knows she’s pretty. I’ve never met anybody so vain.’
Miriam regarded her friend suspiciously. ‘I never thought as you’d be catty, Luce.’
‘I’m not being catty. It’s the truth.’
‘You met her then?’
‘I went to the funeral as well, just to pay my respects. Arthur introduced us … He’s been as good as gold you know, Miriam. He’s been like a brother to me these last few days. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. I’ll miss him now he’s gone back to Bristol.’
Hannah delivered two mugs of tea and put them on the step next to the girls. ‘Did I just hear Arthur’s name mentioned?’
‘I was just saying, Mother, as how I couldn’t have done without him these last few days.’
‘It’s a pity as you tried to do without him in the first place, our Lucy. Things might have turned out different. Because you didn’t want him, he’s took up with another young woman now, a bobbydazzler an’ all, by all accounts.’
‘He’s coming back next week for the inquest. If I know Arthur he’ll come and ask how I am.’
‘Yes, at least you know you can count on him. Not like that other sod … I got no sympathy at all for that other sod, you know, Miriam.’
As the adjourned inquest was not due to resume till one o’ clock on Wednesday 1st September, Arthur commenced the journey early that same morning, having consulted his copy of Bradshaw to ascertain his rail connections. He arrived in good time to say hello to his mother and enjoy a sandwich. He and Talbot walked to the inquest together and resumed their discussion on the proposed partnership.
‘I need you Arthur,’ Talbot said. ‘I’ve got so much work, even before Father took ill, that I need at least one extra pair of hands. I take it you discussed it with Dorinda?’
‘Yes, we discussed it.’
‘And?’
‘In principle I think I’m for it,’ Arthur said. ‘But I refuse to spend my life in draughty churchyards like I did before. We can get some younger chap just out of apprenticeship for that. We should start an apprentice of our own as well.’
‘I told you I wanted to make amends, Arthur. I won’t ask nor expect you to spend your life in draughty churchyards any more than I would myself.’
‘Well, if we can agree on how much money we can afford to pay ourselves and draw up a suitable deed of partnership, then I’m prepared to give it a go.’
‘Oh, Arthur, you’ve taken a load off my mind. You belong in the business anyway. It’s half yours by right of inheritance. That you should not be getting the benefit for the sake of working in Bristol is plain stupid. I’m glad Dorinda’s been able to talk some sense into you. Let’s shake on it.’
They shook.
‘But it ain’t Dorinda’s doing, Talbot,’ Arthur protested. ‘Oh, she’s all for it, but I agree with you. Half of the business is mine by right of inheritance, and it’s the only way I’m ever likely to get anything out of the old bugger. I never did when he was alive.’
‘So you’ll give in your notice with Pascoe’s?’
‘Course. When I get back. While I’m away, if you can get Mr Burbury to draw up a deed of partnership … If he ain’t too busy looking after the claims of clients hurt in the accident.’
‘We’ll very likely see him at the inquest,’ Talbot said. ‘We’ll ask him then.’
It was announced at the inquest that another life had been lost due to injuries sustained as a result of the accident on Monday 23rd August. Mr Richard Dempster, a servant of the Oxford Worcester and Wolverhampton Railway, employed as a guard, passed away the previous evening after a valiant fight. He had been off-duty at the time of the accident. His loss would be felt by his family and colleagues and deep sympathy was expressed for his widow and their two children.
The witnesses that day were largely confined to employees of the railway and definitions of their duties – who was responsible for checking the state of shackles and chains. One of the witnesses, Mr Adcock, secretary and superintendent of the railway, denied that the train had been split into two at Worcester for the return journey because of chains and shackles breaking under the strain on the outward journey. It made sense to draw a lesser weight in order to avoid similar occurrences on the way back. The reason the train was divided so unequally, he said, was because one of the engines was a six-wheel coupled engine, and was capable of hauling more than the other less powerful one. There were more technical questions and answers regarding shackles, and the duty of the chief guard, Frederick Cooke, in respect of them.
But all this technical talk was of no interest to Arthur. He was shocked yet hardly surprised to learn of Dempster’s death, and his mind was filled with sympathy for poor Mrs Dempster. He would make it his business to visit her and express his condolences tomorrow, rather than return to Bristol straight away. Tonight he would visit Lucy. It was entirely possible she had not heard of Dickie’s demise, yet he did not relish the prospect of telling her in case she hadn’t.
Eventually, after a day of bone-dry technical evidence and even drier opinions, the inquest was further adjourned until the following Tuesday, 7th September.
After he had eaten and freshened up, Arthur made his way to the home of the Piddock family to see Lucy. As usual they made a great fuss of him, which was all very gratifying. He thought Lucy still seemed greatly troubled, but it was early days yet.
‘Do you fancy a walk?’ he asked her. ‘It’s a pleasant enough evening out.’
‘Yes, all right,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘Give me a minute.’ She trotted upstairs.
‘How’s the inquest gone today?’ Haden asked. ‘Anything fresh come up?’
‘One or two interesting bits … Plenty of technical stuff today, Haden.’ He related briefly the thrust of the inquest, but could not bring himself to say that Dickie Dempster had passed away. The Piddocks might not have been Dickie’s most ardent admirers but if they knew, they would of course tell Lucy, when he would prefer that such news was broken to her gently, and possibly withheld until the initial pain of heartbreak had eased or been mollified. If she must learn of it, let it be from somebody else. No doubt if they took the trouble to buy the Birmingham Daily Post tomorrow they would see an account of it, but he doubted whether they would.
Presently Lucy came down and looked altogether very presentable. She’d changed her dress, and brushed and tied up her hair. He looked at her agreeably.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
Arthur bid goodnight to Hannah and Haden and stepped outside with Lucy.
‘It’s good of you to come and see me while you’re up here for the inquest,’ she said.
‘It’s the very least I can do,’ he answered with a smile.
They crossed the street, heading towards Brettell Lane, as if to walk downhill in the direction of Hawbush Farm and Audnam, the route they took the very first time they walked out together.
‘Have you heard how Dickie is?’ she asked.
‘Have you?’ he said, returning the question.
‘No.’
‘I’m going to visit Mrs Dempster in the morning before I go back
to Bristol.’ He sidestepped her question, and thus avoided a lie. ‘I’ll report back to you, but it’ll have to be by letter, because I’ll travel directly to Bristol from Wolverhampton.’
‘Back to Dorinda …’
‘Back to Mrs Hawkins, my landlady, to be more accurate. But she won’t be my landlady for long …’
‘Oh?’ Lucy looked up at him as she walked alongside. ‘How come? Are you getting wed then?’
‘No, it’s because I’m leaving Bristol. I’m coming back to Brierley Hill to set up in partnership with our Talbot.’
Lucy’s face lit up like a lamp and her eyes, which had been so lacklustre of late, sparkled again like they always used to. ‘I’m happy for you, Arthur,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m happy for myself as well. I might see a bit more of you. I expect Dorinda will be sorry to lose you for weeks on end.’
‘Oh, I’ll go back most Fridays or Saturdays, depending on what work there is. She’ll only miss me for a few days at a time. I’m sure we can both endure that without too much hardship.’
‘She’s very pretty, isn’t she, Arthur?’
‘Strikingly so, I always think. ‘
‘Fancy you ending up with a girl as pretty as that.’
‘I know. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s not all a dream.’ He seemed to say it with his tongue in his cheek, and she wondered whether he meant it.
‘She’s very blunt, though, isn’t she? But amusing with it.’
‘If you don’t know how to take her, I suppose she could easily upset you. I hope she didn’t upset you, Lucy. Actually, she was greatly troubled by what you were going through over Dickie.’
‘That was good of her.’
‘So how have you been this past week, Luce?’
‘Oh, a bit better. I’m getting over the shock a bit now. I still miss Dickie though.’
‘You’re bound to. You were in love with him. Your life revolved around him.’
‘I’m amazed at you, Arthur,’ Lucy said frankly. ‘The way you harbour no resentment at all over the fact that Dickie usurped you.’
‘Who am I to complain? You loved him more than you loved me.’ He was conscious of using the past tense with regard to Dickie, but hoped she wouldn’t read anything into it. ‘I didn’t see any point in competing.’ He smiled generously. ‘Anyway, I had other fish to fry in the shape of Dorinda. Once you released me, there was no point in grieving longer than need be.’
‘I can’t say as I blame you … I wonder how long I shall grieve, Arthur …’
‘It depends whether somebody else comes along to divert you, I reckon. They always say the best cure for a broken heart is to fall in love with somebody else. I heard somebody else say – I think it was Mrs Hawkins – that a broken heart lasts about three weeks in the town and five weeks in the country. Well, you live in a small town, so maybe a month in your case.’
‘So soon?’ She sounded surprised. ‘But why only three weeks in a town?’
Arthur laughed at her failure to understand the joke. ‘Because there’s more chance of meeting somebody else in a town to take your mind off things.’
‘Oh, I see … But there’s nobody else in this town that I’d be interested in …’ Lucy knew that to be a lie, but a deliberate one. She would certainly be interested in Arthur when she’d fully got over Dickie, if he were not so wrapped up in Dorinda … Oh … and if she were not carrying Dickie Dempster’s bastard child already, which would put any chap off.
‘Then it’ll take five weeks, as prescribed by Mrs Hawkins.’
‘Tell me more about this partnership with Talbot.’
‘He just wants to make amends for the way my father was with me. It’s a very noble gesture when you think about it. Dorinda and me talked about it and we agreed it would be the right thing to do. My mother, as well, will be glad of me living there, I think. I’ll be a bit of company for her. Somebody she can cook for. So, like you said, Lucy, you might be seeing a bit more of me.’
‘Well, that can only be a good thing, Arthur.’
‘So what do you intend doing about your job at the Whimsey? Shall you keep it on?’
‘Oh, yes. If I want my broken heart to last for only three weeks or less, I’d better.’
He noticed a sparkle in her lovely eyes when she said it. Maybe the hurt Dickie Dempster had occasioned her by his deception might, in time, significantly outweigh the pain of his loss. After all, Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned …
Chapter 22
Greatly looking forward to seeing Mrs Dempster again, Arthur took a hansom to Wednesfield Heath from Wolverhampton’s Low Level station. He was barely able to acknowledge that it was for the mere pleasure of seeing her, rather than a wish just to convey his condolences. He did concede, however, that he would almost certainly be encroaching on her grief at this time and, from that aspect, debated with himself the folly of his visit. Thus it occurred to him to ask the driver to turn around and return him to the station, so that he could be on his way to Bristol. But it was not in Arthur’s nature to turn his back on somebody who he thought might need his help, and perhaps even some support. If it was evident that Mrs Dempster was indeed sorely grieving and plainly did not want any intrusion he would quickly offer his condolences, then promptly leave. After all, the poor widow might be surrounded by other relatives, eager to comfort her and her two children.
The driver took Arthur to the house in Frederick Street and was asked to wait. Frederick Street, which adjoined the Wolverhampton Road, was lined with recently built terraces of houses. Everywhere was as yet unpaved, pock-marked with holes and bumps and littered with unkempt children who were hurling house bricks and any other debris they could lay hands on at a cat, to occupy themselves. Wednesfield Heath had all the characteristics of a village whose heart and pleasant pastures were in the process of being swallowed up and regurgitated by its rapidly expanding industrial neighbour, Wolverhampton.
The curtains were drawn as the mark of a house in mourning, and Arthur hesitated to go further lest it really was a bad time to call. But then he reminded himself that he should be trying hard not to be the tentative, hesitant person he was; he’d come all this way on a visit, he would show his face, whatever the outcome. So he rapped on the front door.
He heard footsteps in the entry at the side and craned his neck for a glimpse of who it was. Mrs Dempster presented herself before him with a smile of surprise and welcome.
‘Mr Goodrich!’ She looked and sounded pleased to see him. ‘It’s good of you to call, I’m so glad you haven’t forgotten me. Forgive me for coming down the entry to greet you, but I don’t want to open the front door. Do come in and let me brew you some tea.’
‘That’d be very acceptable, Mrs Dempster. Thank you.’ Having been so welcomed, he followed her with a broad smile into the entry feeling greatly relieved. At the top, it opened up into a party yard with a brewhouse and a privy.
‘Come in, Mr Goodrich.’
He stepped inside. Everywhere was clean and tidy, and very neat.
‘I heard about your husband’s death at the inquest yesterday,’ he began. ‘I came to offer my sincere condolences, to tell you how sorry I am. It must be a bitter blow for you.’
‘That’s very thoughtful, Mr Goodrich.’ She gestured that he should sit down.
He perched himself on the settle facing the fire grate. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, Mrs Dempster, just say the word. I realise how hard it must be at the moment with two children to care for, on top of all the other considerations.’
‘Oh, I’ll manage, Mr Goodrich … There’s already some water in the kettle, enough for a pot of tea, I think …’ She shifted the kettle from the hob, assessing the amount of water in it, and hung it over the fire from a gale hook. ‘It won’t take long to boil, it’s hottish already.’
Arthur had expected her to be a picture of misery and grief, but although she conducted herself with solemnity and gr
ace, she seemed hardly miserable. ‘So this was Dickie’s home,’ he mused aloud. ‘Aren’t your children here?’
She sat down primly at the other end of the settle, inclining herself towards him. ‘My mother’s taken them for a few days. While Dickie’s body is resting here I think it’s sensible, because they’re too young to understand what’s going on. Dickie’s in the front room, which is the reason I didn’t want to open the front door, in case you didn’t fancy the idea of seeing him. Would you like to see him, Mr Goodrich?’
‘If you don’t mind, Mrs Dempster, I won’t … I’d prefer to remember your husband as the helpful chap I met at the station … So when is the funeral arranged for?’
‘Next Monday at noon.’
‘I’ll try and arrange to be there. I imagine there’ll be lots of people from the railway company … Relatives as well. Did Mr Dempster have many relatives?’
‘A few brothers and sisters, but they weren’t particularly close. I expect most of them will be there, though.’
‘Have you had any further contact from the railway company?’
‘Yes, Mr Humphries the stationmaster called only yesterday, as soon as he’d heard of Dickie’s death.’
‘I imagine he was upset,’ Arthur suggested.
‘He was very sympathetic.’
‘No doubt they’re looking into the question of compensation.’
‘Well … It’s strange that you should mention that, Mr Goodrich—’
‘I’d much prefer it if you called me Arthur, you know …’
She smiled, and for a second those expressive eyes lost their look of solemnity and actually twinkled. ‘Thank you … Arthur … Then would you please call me Isabel?’
He returned the smile and their eyes met. ‘Thank you, Isabel. It makes life so much easier if you’re less formal, I always think.’
‘And I agree.’
‘Anyway, you were saying …’
‘Yes, the question of compensation … There might be a problem. Since you’re here … Arthur … perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I asked for your opinion.’
‘What sort of problem?’
