A Family Affair

by Nancy Carson

  ‘Ramona!’ he called over the rumble of the mill. ‘Brought me a cup of tea, have you, my flower? God bless you.’

  ‘Here…And I hope it chokes you.’ She narrowed her eyes to let him see her pique.

  ‘Christ! What have I done?’ He stopped his grist mill and took the mug from the tray.

  ‘You know very well.’

  ‘Do I?’ he responded, obviously puzzled. ‘As a matter of fact, our Ramona, I ain’t got a clue.’ He sat down on a sack that was part of a group. ‘You’d better tell me.’

  She hesitated, poised at the top of the stairs her back towards him, her hand on the shiny unpainted hand rail. She turned to look at him again with as scornful an expression as she could muster. ‘Clover…I never would have dreamed that you and Clover…’

  He let out a laugh, induced by the absurdity of Ramona’s allegation. ‘Clover? What about me and Clover?’

  She shrugged. ‘Do I need to spell it out?’

  ‘I think you do. This is all news to me.’

  ‘Last night…’ She hesitated, having perceived from his genuine surprise that maybe she had got this all wrong.

  ‘Go on…’

  ‘Last night, I saw the two of you in the yard, your arms about each other. I only saw you for a split second and I rushed off. But you were both laughing and there was no mistaking what was going on.’

  He sipped his tea. ‘Well you are mistaken, Ramona,’ he said, his voice low. ‘There was nothing going on.’

  ‘Mary Ann told me you’d gone to the brewhouse with her.’

  ‘To help her lay the fire under the boiler for the washing today. Clover didn’t want to get dirty and I don’t blame her. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Clover didn’t want to get dirty!’ she scoffed. ‘Who does she think she is? Miss Prim and Proper…Well, I saw you with your arms about each other…’

  Elijah laughed when he realised what it was she’d seen. ‘Bloody hell, Ramona…’ He held his hand out towards her.

  ‘I don’t think it’s funny after what we did the morning before. I thought that meant something to you.’

  Elijah shook his head, still amused by her wrong interpretation of the scene. ‘Come here and sit on me lap and I’ll tell you what really happened.’ Ramona wanted to comply, but wanted also to make a stand on this thing that was a matter of vital importance when she felt so slighted. Elijah still held his hand out invitingly. ‘Come on, I won’t bite. Sit on me lap and I’ll tell you what really happened.’ Acquiescently, she walked over to him and sat on his lap. He put his arm around her waist and gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘What you must’ve seen happened just as Clover stumbled over a cobble while we was walking back across the yard. I caught her and I suppose, because she felt she was about to fall, she clung on to me. Simple as that.’

  Ramona made no response. It sounded very plausible. But she must not give in too quickly.

  ‘Listen, Ramona, I don’t have to explain to you what I do, but there’s nothing going on between me and Clover. Clover ain’t interested in me. She’s got Tom Doubleday to keep her happy.’

  She shook her curls, requiring more convincing, needing to be fussed. ‘I don’t know whether to believe you or not,’ she pouted.

  ‘Well, that’s up to you, my wench. Ask Clover. See what she says.’

  ‘I might,’ Ramona said and got up from his lap. But she didn’t move away. She had no wish to alienate him over this thing that seemed so trivial the way he explained it. So she stood there, one leg still lightly touching his knee, waiting to be enticed back.

  ‘You’d look a right fool if you did ask her though,’ he remarked as an afterthought. ‘And it could give the game away between us two.’

  She sighed heavily and dropped onto his lap again with resignation. She put her arm around his neck and looked longingly into his eyes. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ she whispered earnestly. ‘I can’t stop thinking about yesterday morning, how we…I nearly came to your room last night…And I can’t stand the sight of that snotty cow Dorcas…Oh, kiss me, Uncle Elijah…’

  He kissed her and they both knew at once where they were headed. He ran his hand up her skirt and felt the smooth warm flesh of her thighs above her stockings.

  ‘You must never come to my room at night, Ramona,’ he whispered. ‘It’s too dangerous. We can meet here in the brewery…’

  This new, more definite arrangement was just what she wanted to hear. Her response was to kiss him with more passion, so he shifted her off his knee and rolled her onto the pile of sacks that were stacked like a bed. She uttered a soft vocal sound to register her feigned surprise but allowed him to take a handful of hem and lift her skirt above her waist.

  ‘You’ve got a fine pair of legs, our Ramona,’ he said, running his fingers over the exposed parts of her creamy textured thighs. ‘I’d love to see you in the buff again. You look a picture.’ Deftly, he removed her drawers, feasted his eyes on her, then kissed her belly while his fingers probed skilfully between her legs. When he had lowered his trousers below his knees, he rolled on top of her and pushed into her without further ceremony, and their bodies began rocking in a mutual frenzy of desire.

  In the brewhouse, Zillah drained her mug and, with stays creaking, stood up again rubbing her aching back to continue with her washday exertions. She glanced across to the brewery. A pair of pigeons, that had been assiduously watching the world go by from the beam that jutted out above the loading door on the top floor, suddenly flapped and flew away as if startled. Zillah eyed the untouched mug of tea that Ramona had intended to drink. ‘What’s keeping her up there?’ she muttered to herself. ‘That tea’ll be cold if her don’t hurry up.’

  But it was another fifteen minutes before Ramona emerged onto the yard again. looking flushed. She would have forgotten her mug of tea had Zillah not called her.

  ‘You ain’t drunk your tea, Ramona.’

  Ramona changed direction and headed for the brewhouse, a smile on her face. ‘Blimey, Zillah, I forgot all about it. I was talking to me Uncle Elijah.’

  Zillah noticed she was looking far happier than before. ‘Where was you talking to him then? You’ve got all dust and husk stuck to the back of your ganzy. Come here, let me dust you off. You’m covered in it.’ She glanced up suspiciously at the loading door on the top floor.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Ramona exclaimed and blushed vividly. ‘I was sitting leaning against the sacks.’

  ‘Well you can’t go back in the taproom looking like this. Mary Ann’ll swear you’ve been sleeping somewhere when you’m supposed to be working.’

  When Ned Brisco answered a knock at his back door that evening he was surprised to find himself greeting the reporter from the Dudley Herald, whom he had met before.

  ‘Hello, Mr Oakley,’ Ned said, his astonishment evident. ‘What brings you here?’

  Julian smiled chummily. ‘How do you do, Mr Brisco?’ They shook hands. ‘I’m here on an errand actually. I need to talk to you in private. Can I come in?’

  ‘’Course you can.’ He stood aside and allowed Julian to enter. ‘I bet Mother will make us a cup of tea if you fancy one.’

  Julian took off his cap. ‘Oh, I’ll not trouble your mother if it’s all the same to you, Mr Brisco. I’m on an errand, as I say, and I’m anxious to get home.’

  ‘Come through to the front room then…Excuse us, Mother, Father…’

  Ned signalled for Julian to sit down, so accordingly, he occupied one of the bulky mock-leather armchairs that was becoming unstitched at the piping on one of the arms.

  ‘I hear you had a successful morning yesterday with your flying machine, Mr Brisco.’

  ‘I did. But who told you?’

  Julian tapped the side of his nose and winked. ‘It’s my job to get to know things. It’s what they pay me for at the Herald.’

  Ned sat down opposite him. ‘So what’s this errand?’

  Julian felt in the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a fat envelope, w
hich he waved in front of Ned. ‘I am the bearer of spondulicks to the value of two hundred pounds in five-pound bank notes, and I am requested to pass them on to you.’

  Ned was inclined to grab the money at once, but hesitated. There had to be a catch somewhere. He regarded Julian suspiciously. ‘What’s it for? Who’s it from?’

  Julian grinned. ‘I can answer your first question but not your second, Mr Brisco. The money is a loan. To be handed over to you only on the strict understanding that you use it to finance an engine for your flying machine.’

  ‘’Struth!’ Ned exclaimed and his eyes lit up.

  ‘It’s to be used for no other purpose, Mr Brisco, and you are to sign this document…’ he withdrew a piece of paper from another pocket, ‘to that effect, which is legally binding on you. The loan is interest-free and for an indefinite period but, obviously, it must be paid back as early as you are able to pay it back. It’s not a gift, you understand.’

  ‘’Struth!’ Ned remarked again. ‘And who’s lent me all this money? I mean – it’s a tidy sum.’

  ‘It is a tidy sum, I agree, but I’m not at liberty to tell you who the benefactor is.’

  ‘Somebody who can evidently afford it,’ Ned said. ‘Somebody who evidently believes in what I’m doing…Somebody who evidently wishes me well.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  ‘I can probably guess who…’ Ned smiled knowingly. ‘Joseph Mantle, I bet. He was asking me only yesterday about engines.’

  Julian grinned and took out his cigarette packet. ‘I’m sworn to secrecy, Mr Brisco. I daren’t confirm it one way or the other…Smoke?’

  ‘Nah. Never bothered, thanks.’

  ‘If you decide to accept the loan, you must sign the document…’ Julian lit his cigarette.

  ‘Oh, I accept it all right. I’ll get a pen and ink.’ Ned got up and went into the scullery. He returned with an old wooden pen and a bottle of ink. ‘Where do I sign?’

  ‘Just here…’

  Ned placed the document on the table and signed.

  ‘And I witness it just here…’ Julian stood up and appended his own signature. ‘Now, you’re sure you understand the terms, Ned?’

  ‘Yes. It’s to be used strictly for an engine for my Gull and I pay it back when I can afford to. Without interest.’

  Julian handed over the envelope. ‘I suggest you count it…’

  Ned duly counted it. Forty white, five-pound notes.

  ‘I wish somebody would lend me that much money on the same terms, Mr Brisco.’

  Ned grinned, unable to comprehend his good fortune. ‘So when I do pay it back, presumably I have to pay it back to you, and you’ll hand it over to Mr Mantle or whoever it was.’

  ‘That’s the arrangement, Mr Brisco.’ Julian drew on his cigarette then exhaled the smoke in a blue cloud that drifted hazily round his head. ‘Look, I’d better go. Before I can go home I have to deliver this document you’ve signed.’

  ‘Won’t it do in the morning?’

  ‘’Fraid not. Well, the best of luck, Mr Brisco. I hope you achieve what you’ve set out to do.’

  ‘Thanks Mr Oakley,’ Ned replied. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Keep me informed. We can run another piece on you in the Herald.’

  Ned lay in bed that night unable to sleep, unable to believe his good fortune. Two hundred pounds. Jesus! Of course he would use it on an engine, as stipulated. And pay back the loan just as soon as he could. But what engine could he get? It was a handsome amount of money, but two hundred pounds wouldn’t buy him an Antoinette, even if there was one available. Of course, he could always build his own; one of the pattern-makers at the foundry would make a set of patterns, once he had designed the thing; then he could cast his own engine block and cylinder head and get them machined in the pattern shop. Pistons, piston rings, bearings, connecting rods and crankshaft he could acquire from an existing engine and design his block and cylinder head around them. It was a daunting task but he could do it. It would take time, but it would be time well spent. At least he had a knowledge of the power output that was needed, of the extra weight the craft could tolerate. All this could be designed in from the outset.

  And he could afford it now.

  But then there was the question of an efficient airscrew…He would have to design and build his own airscrew…That was a daunting task.

  The problems never stopped mounting up.

  The next day, Tuesday, the weather was unsettled. It had rained again during the night and when the sun broke through the silver-topped clouds it all looked rather false and watery. As Ned walked briskly along Cromwell Street in his best Sunday suit and overcoat, the sun glistened off the wet cobbles and the blue clay paving stones.

  Deliberately, he took the route down George Street past the Jolly Collier, in half a mind to call for Clover. He knew she left at about this time to walk to her new job in High Street in the town. They could keep each other company this morning; he had so much to tell her. The Jolly Collier was already open for business and Ned couldn’t resist the temptation to poke his head round the door; he might see Ramona as well. Mary Ann was wiping shelves.

  ‘Morning Mrs Tandy…I just wondered whether Clover had left for work yet.’

  No greeting. Mary Ann stuck her head through the hatch and called her daughter. It took a minute for Clover to present herself while Ned, in his smart suit and overcoat, nodded self-consciously to those men in soiled working attire who were already supping.

  ‘Ned!’ Clover greeted with a smile. ‘What brings you here – and looking so smart in your collar and tie?’

  ‘I’m off to Wolverhampton. I thought I’d walk with you to the town.’

  ‘All right. I won’t be a minute…’

  Soon, they were out in the uncertain weather.

  ‘I never expected to see you this morning,’ Clover commented as they crossed over St John’s Street. ‘It’s like old times walking to work with you, Ned.’

  ‘Something’s happened, Clover. Something good. And I’m not going to let the grass grow under my feet.’

  She looked at him with eager anticipation. ‘What? Tell me.’

  ‘Somebody has loaned me two hundred pounds to get an engine sorted out. So I decided not to go to work today. I’m going to the Star Motor Company in Wolverhampton instead to see if they can help.’

  ‘Two hundred pounds? Who the devil coughed up two hundred pounds?’

  ‘I don’t know. Julian Oakley brought it round last night. He’s the go-between. He said he couldn’t tell me who lent it. He said he was sworn to secrecy. But I got a feeling it might be Joseph Mantle.’

  The rain started again and Clover hoisted her umbrella. Ned held the brolly and felt like a king when, as they walked beneath it, Clover familiarly took his arm.

  ‘I’m so pleased for you Ned. I hope this firm in Wolverhampton will be able to help.’

  ‘I hope so as well. I’ll know soon enough.’

  ‘What if they don’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll build my own engine…Like the Wright Brothers had to. If they can do it, I know I can.’

  ‘So how soon do you have to pay back this loan?’

  ‘When it suits. There’s no time limit. No interest to pay, either. Whoever lent it, they obviously believe in what I’m doing.’

  ‘Yes…’ said Clover enthusiastically. ‘I always knew somebody would.’

  Chapter 12

  Wolverhampton was the home of the Star Engineering Company that designed and produced motor cars. The concern was started around 1869 when Edward Lisle began building velocipedes. Foreseeing a decline in the cycle trade and a rosy future in horseless carriages, Mr Lisle decided to manufacture them and, in 1898, acquired a Benz Velo to see how it was done. He improved upon the design and ran around for months in the motor car he subsequently built. In 1899, the first commercially produced Star motor car was offered for sale at £198.

  Ned Brisco asked the conductor to put him off on Dudley Road at the nearest sto
p to Pountney Street. As he stepped down from the tram he pulled up his collar, tugged his cap on his head a little harder and frowned at the rain. He looked about him. The whole area was a hotchpotch of factories and workshops. After the whining of the electric tram as it pulled away, the first sounds he heard were the thuds of stamping presses forcing form into sheets of metal, the shriek of lathes turning brass and steel. Tall chimneys pumped dense grey smoke into the greyer sky while horse-drawn carts carried new consignments of goods both inward and outward. About to cross the road at Bell Place, he looked left and waited while a steam lorry chugged past, loaded with bundles of steel tube. That part of Villiers Street he could see in the distance was lined with fine houses, incongruous with the unkempt clutter of industry adjacent to it.

  From where he stood he could already see the Star Engineering Company. He quickened his pace and entered the premises through a wide entry, which opened up onto an open yard. He hesitated to go further when the thrash of a motor car’s engine boomed off the red brick walls and the raftered ceiling. Ned watched the vehicle pull up alongside him. A middle-aged man, wearing waterproofs from head to toe, looked him up and down then hailed him over the rattle of the engine.

  ‘I don’t know you, do I?’ he asked, lifting his goggles and giving them a shake to dislodge the water.

  ‘No, sir,’ Ned yelled back. ‘I came to see whoever’s in charge – the gaffer.’

  ‘Are you expected?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘So what’s your name?’

  ‘Ned Brisco. I want to see about an engine for an aeroplane.’

  ‘A what? Did you say aeroplane?’

  He nodded, uncertain of himself. The man would very likely think he was a lunatic and eject him forthwith. But he drove forward and beckoned Ned to follow. Ned watched nervously as he parked his motor car against the facing wall, jumped out and took off his gauntlets, still unsmiling.

  ‘Edward Lisle…How can I be of help?’

  Ned felt he should shake the man’s hand but, since no gesture was forthcoming from this Mr Lisle, he considered it might be inappropriate. ‘I want to buy an engine for an aeroplane.’ Ned smiled, telegraphing to the other man that he realised such a request might sound outlandish.