by Nina Bawden
‘What’s investment?’ Poll asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Mother said quickly. ‘Never you mind.’ Poll said, ‘We aren’t poor.’ She thought of Annie Dowsett who wore a woman’s cut-down dress and cracked boots and was one of the children Aunt Harriet baked a potato for every day. She wondered if she should tell Mother what Annie had said about how babies were born and decided against it: children were not supposed to know that sort of thing. She said, ‘Annie Dowsett’s poor.’
‘There are degrees,’ Mother said, speaking absently, and with the creased, worried look on her face that was often there now and that the children had come to recognize as a sign to keep quiet and not ask for anything.
Even letters from Father did not seem to cheer her up as they should have done. Uncle Edmund had left the fruit farm in California to run a saloon in Colorado, and Father had gone with him. The saloon belonged to a woman called Bertha Adams, and for some mysterious reason Uncle Edmund was calling himself Adams, too. ‘I don’t like it,’ Mother said to Aunt Sarah. ‘It smells fishy to me.’
‘How can Colorado smell fishy?’ George asked. ‘It’s nowhere near the sea, is it?’
Aunt Sarah gave him a look and he went back to his book.
‘It seems the fruit farm didn’t belong to Edmund after all,’ Mother said. ‘James says he was manager, but there had been some trouble.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ Aunt Sarah said. ‘It’s an old story, isn’t it? What I don’t understand is how James let himself be taken in. He knows Edmund! And whatever else you might say about James, he has a good head on his shoulders.’
‘And a hopeful heart in his breast,’ Mother said. ‘The two organs are often at war with each other.’
She put Father’s letter behind the clock on the mantelpiece, looked at her reflection in the mirror above it and ran her hands through her short, crisp curls. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Well. If James isn’t going to make our fortune just yet, I had better do something about it.’
She went to Mullen’s shop in the Market Square, dressed in her best coat with the jet trimming and her best hat. When she came back she looked smaller than usual, and tired. Poll and Lily watched her as she unpinned her hat and took it off with a sigh.
Lily said, ‘Are you going to work at Mullen’s, Mother?’ She shook her head and sat down by the fire. Johnnie came and leaned against her and she pulled his ears gently. She said, ‘There’s my good pig.’
Lily said indignantly ‘Why not? He said he’d give you a job, didn’t he?’
‘He offered me one. He wanted me to take charge of the workroom, set me over Marigold Bugg. I didn’t like that idea for a start, bound to make trouble, but that wasn’t all in his mind. When we went into it, I saw what he meant to do. He didn’t say so outright, but I know the old devil! He doesn’t like Marigold – she hasn’t the grit to stand up to him and though she’s a good worker, best cutter he’s got, it makes him look down on her. Once he’d got me in to do the cutting and fitting, he’d get rid of her, and what would she do then, the poor creature? That great boy to care for, and her old father who’d be in the workhouse if she couldn’t keep him, and not a soul in the world cares for her.’
Poll said, ‘But you don’t like Mrs Bugg, Mother? You couldn’t possibly like her!’
‘Since she counts me her friend, that makes it worse, doesn’t it? I’d be letting her down twice over, if I took her place.’
Lily said, ‘Poor Mother,’ and went over to hug her. Poll wished she had thought of doing that and sat feeling left out while Mother held Lily’s hand against her cheek and smiled up to her.
‘Oh, Lily’ she said, ‘whatever Marigold is like now, we were girls together and I can’t forget that. She wasn’t so pursed-up then, she still had a bit of spunk in her. When we were apprentices, we lived in, you know, and old Mullen was mean about food. Many a time there was just spotted dick for dinner and we threw it out of the window for the hens to pick over and crept down the back stairs to the grocery to get bread and cheese from the young man on the counter. “You’ll have me hung,” he’d say but he always stumped up and back we’d go to the workroom, aprons bulging. One time Marigold almost got caught. She came face to face with old Mullen and he said, “What are you up to, Miss? What have you got in your apron?” I was behind her, nearly dying of fright, but Marigold stuck her nose in the air and said, “I’m surprised at you, Mr Mullen, asking a lady such an indelicate question,” and swept straight past him, oozing outrage and virtue! Oh, it doesn’t sound so funny perhaps, but we had a good laugh over the look on his face and it makes me sad to see the meek way she speaks to him now…’
She gave a long sigh, looking into the fire, and then her face twisted suddenly and she turned to Lily and said, almost desperately, ‘Remember, Lily, that’s the worst thing about poverty! Not hunger or leaky boots but the way it drains out your spirit! However things turn out, you must never let that happen to you. Promise me!’
Poll said, bewildered, ‘I would hate to be hungry,’ and her mother gasped and jumped up from her chair and put her arms round her, holding her so close and tight that Poll could feel her heart fluttering.
‘Oh my lamb, of course you’re never going to be. Did I frighten you? That was stupid, there’s nothing to be frightened of. Everything is going to be quite all right, you must believe me.’
Lily laughed. ‘Poll knows Aunt Sarah wouldn’t let us starve. She’s just acting up, you know what she is! Don’t worry, Mother.’
Poll heard her mother’s stays creak as she drew a deep breath and released it slowly. She let Poll go, smiled at Lily and said in a quiet, even voice, ‘Yes, of course, dear. Of course we all know that. I was just being silly.’
She had a notice printed to send to old clients and stuck one in the window.
EMILY GREENGRASS
Begs respectfully to inform the Ladies of this
District that she has Commenced
DRESS AND MANTLE MAKING
and hopes, by strict personal attention, to merit
a share of their Patronage and Support.
Having been sole manageress of the Dressmaking
Department of a well-known local store for a number of
years, she feels confident of giving satisfaction to her
Customers in all orders entrusted to her.
A GOOD FIT AND LATEST STYLE
GUARANTEED
No one answered, or came for several days, and then one afternoon old Miss Mantripp, who lived in the cottage at the end of the terrace, knocked at the door and asked if Mother could make her a blouse out of some lace she had ‘put by’ for a special occasion.
‘It’s very good lace, Mrs Greengrass,’ she said. ‘The end of a bolt brought from Paris that her Ladyship gave me. I would have made it up myself but my eyes are too bad now for delicate work. I hope you’ll take good care of it.’
Miss Mantripp was about four foot six inches tall and bent over so that she appeared even smaller. She was a retired lady’s maid, living on a tiny pension her employers had given her, and the children thought she was an extraordinary person. If anyone spoke to her early in the day, when she was shaking her rug at the door, or shuffling along to the shops in an old coat and slippers, all she would ever say was, ‘Don’t talk mornings,’ in a gruff, grumpy voice. But as soon as midday had struck she took off her shabby clothes, put on a black dress with pearl buttons and sat in her window with the curtains drawn back, looking out at the Square and waiting for visitors.
No one ever came. Miss Mantripp was quite alone in the world, Mother said, and when the old woman called that afternoon, bringing the lace, Mother greeted her in her gentlest voice and sat down by the fire.
Miss Mantripp was wearing her black dress and a huge, ancient straw hat that was nibbled into small holes round the edges as if the mice had been at it. Standing behind her chair, Poll nudged Lily and giggled, but Mother froze them both still with a look.
The lace might have been good
once but it was now just very old lace and rotten in places. Mother rolled it up very carefully and said it would be a shame to cut into lovely material but she had a good piece of grey washing silk upstairs, and if Miss Mantripp would like a blouse she would only charge her a shilling to make it.
The old woman looked pleased. ‘That would be very nice, Mrs Greengrass. To tell you the truth, I only brought you the lace because I thought you could do with the work, but it would really have broken my heart to see it cut into.’
She beamed at them all very sweetly and graciously and Mother said, with a catch in her voice that was either held-back laughter or tears, ‘You’re very kind, Miss Mantripp. Would you care to stay and have tea with us?’
‘I wouldn’t want to intrude, Mrs Greengrass.’
‘It’s no intrusion, Miss Mantripp. We would all be delighted.’
Mother put the best damask cloth on the table, eggs to boil on the hob, and cut thin bread and butter. Miss Mantripp sat primly at table, huge hat bobbing slightly as she made polite conversation. ‘Have you settled in comfortably Mrs Greengrass? The cottages are very small, are they not? Although I suppose it depends what you’re used to. After all the years I spent with her Ladyship I find it most strange to have no indoor sanitation. The arrangements here are most upsetting to a refined person. Each outside privy backing on to the one that belongs to the cottage next door! I am sure that you find it as distressing as I do, Mrs Greengrass?’
‘Well,’ Mother began, doubtfully smiling. ‘I’m not really sure what you mean.’
‘People sitting back to back,’ Miss Mantripp explained in low, horrified tones. ‘Back to back and – NO RELATION!’
Theo, who was ladling eggs out of the saucepan, gave a strangled cry and dropped one. He said, ‘Oh Mother, I’m sorry.’ His face was scarlet, not because of the dropped egg, but with the struggle to prevent himself laughing.
Mother said, ‘Never mind, Theo. Johnnie will clear up the egg.’ Her voice was almost natural but the wild smile she swept in Miss Mantripp’s direction was not. She turned it into a gasping laugh and said, ‘So useful having a pig in the house! It saves so much bending.’
Theo said, ‘I’ll put another egg on to boil.’
‘No thank you, Theo…’ But he had already vanished into the scullery, closing the door after him. Mother said, ‘Drat the boy. Poll, go and tell him there’s no need to bother. I don’t really want an egg.’ Then, as Poll got down from the table, she added, ‘Make sure you tell him that, won’t you?’ speaking emphatically as if this was a very important message Poll had to deliver.
‘Yes, I’ll tell him,’ Poll said.
Theo was leaning against the wall in the larder, wiping his streaming eyes. ‘I thought I’d die laughing,’ he said. ‘I expect I will die, next time I sit on the privy! Of course we sit back to back with our aunts so I suppose she would think that wasn’t so dreadful since they’re our relations. Though I’m not sure it’s not worse. Can you imagine Aunt Sarah…’
‘Don’t be rude,’ Poll said coldly.
Theo pulled a face. ‘I didn’t start it… There’s no more eggs in the bowl. Mother better have mine.’
‘She doesn’t want one. She told me to tell you.’
‘But that’s silly. It was me broke the egg. So it’s only fair…’
Poll said, ‘No.’
Theo looked at her. ‘What’s up?’
She said slowly, ‘I don’t think Mother would like that. You making a fuss over who was to have the last egg. I expect there aren’t any more because she could only afford to buy half a dozen. But she wouldn’t want Miss Mantripp to know that because she might feel bad, being a visitor.’
Theo shrugged his shoulders. ‘If you say so. But it seems a bit daft. She’s daft, isn’t she? Going on like that about privies. At the tea table! I really don’t think I can sit there, eating an egg, she’ll just start me off again, laughing.’
‘Don’t be so mean!’ Poll felt very sad, suddenly, she wasn’t sure why. A mixture of no more eggs in the larder and little Miss Mantripp being so funny and kind. ‘It was nice to bring that old lace along, even though it was rotten. It’s awful to make fun of her.’
‘Hey!’ Theo said. ‘Hey! What’s got into you, all of a sudden?’
Saturday was market day. Mother had started on Miss Mantripp’s blouse and was anxious to get it finished and out of the way before other customers came. ‘Although it would be a good thing for them to see I’ve got something to do,’ she said. ‘People are quicker to place orders if they know someone else has already done so. I think I shall sit sewing in the front room all morning, looking busy. Poll and Theo, you can go shopping. There’s not much we need, just two loaves of bread and perhaps half a pound of butter from the market stall near the church. It’s always nice and fresh there.’
‘We’re out of eggs,’ Theo said.
‘Are we? Well, eggs are dear just now. But you can have a penny for sweets.’
Theo frowned. Poll said, ‘Can we take Johnnie? He loves market day.’
The pig grunted, hearing his name, and trotted along at their heels as he always did behind Mother when she went shopping. In the baker’s he sat patiently while Poll bought the bread and the baker came round the counter and patted him and said what a good pig he was, just like a dog. ‘He’s better than any old dog,’ Poll said scornfully. ‘Pigs are more intelligent than dogs, that’s a scientific fact,’ and the baker laughed and gave her a sticky bun, free.
She offered to share it with Theo but he shook his head. He hadn’t spoken since they left home. Poll said, ‘Is your throat sore? Or has the cat got your tongue?’
She bought Cupid’s Whispers with the penny; little flat sugary sweets with rhymes written on them. Then they went to the dairy stall near the church. Poll asked for the butter while Theo stood, gazing at the things set out on display. Blocks of lovely yellow butter, oozing drops of water, round cheeses cut to show their creamy insides, pieces of bacon for boiling, a basket of big, brown, speckled eggs…
There was a faraway expression in Theo’s eyes as if he were lost in some dream. He put out his hand and took one of the brown eggs and put it in his pocket. He looked at Poll and saw she was looking at him, eyes round and startled. Theo grinned foolishly and her hand flew to her mouth to stop herself giggling. Theo felt his face growing hot. The woman who kept the stall smiled at the two pretty, fair children and said, ‘Have you got all you want now?’
‘Oh,’ Poll said. ‘Oh yes, thank you.’ Then, in a loud bustling voice like a scolding old woman, ‘Where’s Johnnie got to? There you are, you troublesome pig! Come on, Theo, stir your lazy stumps, we haven’t got all day you know.’
She set off at a great pace down the cobbled path that led to the church, through the gate into the churchyard, not stopping until she reached the flat tombstone everyone in the Town called the Soldier’s Grave, although the inscription was too worn to show who was buried there. Poll sank down on the stone, puffing her cheeks out and fanning herself with her hand as Theo and Johnnie came up to her. ‘Well,’ she said, still acting her old-woman part. ‘Well, I never did! Really!’
‘I feel quite faint,’ Theo said. ‘At least, I feel very peculiar.’
‘Then you’d better sit down. Be careful you don’t sit on the egg, though.’
Theo sat down. He took the egg out of his pocket and stared at it as if it was the first egg he had seen in his life.
‘I really don’t know why I did that,’ he said, and he sounded and looked so amazed that Poll started to laugh. He watched her for a minute and then began to laugh too. They swayed helplessly, clutching their stomachs and Johnnie sat looking up at them, intelligent, slitty eyes twinkling.
Several people, passing through the churchyard, saw the two Greengrass children sitting side by side on the Soldier’s Grave and laughing fit to burst with their pet pig watching them, head on one side, as if wondering what they were laughing at. Some smiled as if they wondered too, but onl
y one person stopped. He had followed them from the Square and was standing a little way off, hands in his pockets and a thoughtful look on his face. When Poll and Theo grew quieter, he sauntered forward, kicking a stone. It landed in a spurt of dust by Theo’s right foot and Theo looked up.
‘I doubt if your aunt would find it so funny,’ Noah Bugg said.
Poll and Theo sat silent.
Noah shook his head sadly. ‘Thievin’,’ he said. ‘Stealin’ from a poor market woman. What’s funny in that?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Theo said.
Noah laughed. Rooks flew with clapping wings out of the dark trees above them and cawed overhead.
Poll and Theo looked at each other. Then at Noah. They saw that his pale green eyes had darker green flecks round the pupils and that his gingery eyebrows above them were curiously bushy and stiff, as if he were a grown man, not a boy.
Theo looked at his boots. ‘Just one egg.’
‘One or a dozen, what’s the difference?’ Noah asked as if he really wanted to know.
Theo scuffed his boots in the dust and Johnnie got up from his haunches as if he thought it was about time they went home.
Noah’s gooseberry eyes gazed into distance. ‘’Course, we could ask Miss Greengrass. I reckon that’s the sort of question she’d find pretty interestin’.’
Theo sighed.
‘I mean, she took us in Sunday School last year. Sometimes the Bible and sometimes what she called Morals. About tellin’ lies and stealin’, and that. Mind you, I don’t know as she’d like it if I asked her, exactly. Not seeing as it was her own nephew.’ He looked at Theo, eyes bright and spiteful. ‘My mother says your precious family thinks such a lot of themselves. A cut above other people!’
Theo lifted his head. ‘Tell my aunt, then. Go on, go ahead! Or I’ll tell her myself. I don’t care!’
