To Polly a carpet represented luxury and money, so for that reason alone she was keen to get her hands on it. Except she feared that at any moment the housemaid, or worse still, a great lumbering male servant, would be called upon to throw her out of the house. ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I chanced to see a roll of carpet propped up by your back door.’
‘Well, indeed, that is true. What a coincidence! This new one, upon which you are standing, was delivered only this morning.’ And she indicated the glorious square of patterned red carpet. Polly took a step backwards to stand on the linoleum surround instead. She felt much more comfortable there in her boots.
‘It’s a fine piece. Oriental, I’d say.’ Hazarding a guess, since she felt she ought to sound knowledgeable. It proved, luckily, to be accurate.
‘Quite.’ Mrs Eckersley actually smiled. ‘So I threw the old one out.’ She gave a dismissive gesture, to prove it was no longer of any account and she was well enough placed to change her carpet whenever she’d a mind. Then her eyes narrowed speculatively. Doris Eckersley had married well, and her husband was justifying her faith in him by the steady acquisition of a chain of shops selling fine porcelain and tableware to the well-to-do. They still had a long way to go in their climb to the top, this house but a stepping stone along the way. Even so, Doris meant it to be so smart that well-worn carpets could not be tolerated in it. At the same time, money was not yet so easily come by that she wasn’t able to see a deal when one was offered to her. This hawker woman was of the poorest class, without doubt, but appeared clean and honest.
‘I’d want something for it, naturally.’
‘Naturally, ma’am.’ Polly’s heart skipped a beat with joy. She’d done it! In no time at all a price was agreed which proved acceptable to both parties.
‘And it must be collected without delay. Can you arrange that?’
Polly thought quickly. She still had to arrange the finance, and would need help in carrying the carpet. ‘I’ll have it collected later in the day. How would that be?’
Mrs Eckersley took a moment to consider. It wouldn’t do for this street hawker to come calling during the afternoon. but then none of her friends were expected today. She’d made a point of explaining the reason why visitors would be an inconvenience on this day to as many as were prepared to listen. They’d all be here tomorrow quickly enough, to view the new carpet. ‘Very well,’ she agreed. But if you are not here by nine, I shall have it taken away by the Dolly Varden men, and that’ll be your chance gone.’
‘Right you are,’ Polly agreed. And yours too, she thought. not entirely fooled by the gloss of respectability. Sure and wasn’t her husband probably a rogue of the first water, building his fortune on the backs of his workers? The details agreed, she took her leave and hurried at once to ‘Uncle’ Joseph. If he didn’t agree to her plan, the idea was dead in the water before she’d begun.
The old pawnbroker thought she had gone clean off her head. ‘Is it deaf I am, or are you speaking these words into my ears and they are coming out wrong in my head? Or is it mad I’ve gone, at long last?’
Polly giggled. She liked Joseph Malachi. He was a gentle, kind old man who went out of his way to help people. He’d even been known to loan back an unredeemed suit for nothing for some family event such as a funeral when its owner did not have the wherewithal to pay him back. ‘To be sure, you hear me right, and yes, I’m as sane as yourself. Which isn’t saying much, admittedly.’
The pair grinned amicably at each other. ‘Ah, well, it’s a visit to Prestwich we should both be making. But then, if they’d made me right in the head, how could I go on running a shop in this Godforsaken place?’
The banter continued, taking longer than Polly had hoped. She had to convince the old man that she was indeed serious. When she had done, he sadly shook his head. ‘I see what it is you are about, little one, but I am not the man to help you. Would that I were. I have not the funds for such a grand plan.’
Polly’s heart sank. ‘But you must help me! It would work, I’m sure of it.’
‘Such faith you have. Such ambition. I remember when I was young feeling just as hungry for success, for a new world for myself and my lovely Ruth.’ Joseph scratched at his beard, polished his glasses and set them carefully back in place, winding the wires around his ears. Polly could hardly breathe as she watched, sensing the hard thinking behind this little ritual. After what seemed an age he looked up at her, placed the tips of his forgers together, and smiled. ‘I will do what I can. As for the rest, you could always try talking to my friend Izzy. Now there is a man with more money than sense. He might very well help since he was born a fool and is now a rich one.’
It took another hour to find Izzy Barnard, and more precious moments to explain her scheme all over again and capture his interest, but Polly finally felt success was within her grasp. Then it was back to her house, with many preparations and arrangements still to be made. She was in a lather of anxiety that the task be completed before Matthew’s return. Finally the money was being counted into her hand, Polly found two likely lads in the street, and at long last the roll of carpet was propped up in one corner of her own front parlour. She had done it!
But that was the only item in the room.
Everything else, every other stick of furniture the family owned, had been sold in order to provide the necessary capital to pay for the carpet and set up her business. Every single chair, the deal table, the horse-hair sofa, even the beloved sideboard, had gone. The only item Polly had not sold was a small but battered tin trunk in which she kept a few family mementoes such as Benny’s first pair of clogs, a lock of Lucy’s hair, and a photograph of her mother. Upon this she laid out their frugal meal that night, and around it placed four orange boxes she’d got from the market. All she had to do now was wait for Matthew and the children to come home.
For the first time in his life, Matthew was struck speechless. He stared at his wife and then at his empty home, appalled disbelief on his face. Polly, watching her husband’s reaction, experienced the first stirrings of doubt.
‘Don’t fret, it’s me what’s done this, not the bailiff.’ She turned to her children, hoping to win Matthew round if she had him on her own for a minute or two. ‘Would you two like to go out and play?’ But for once neither had any desire for freedom. Whatever madness had beset their mother today, they wanted to hear of it.
‘Well then, will you all sit down and eat yer supper while I tell you what I’ve done and why?’ A hint of trepidation had crept into her voice, yet Polly struggled to remain resolute in spite of the dark fury that tightened Matthew’s jaw as he listened to her halting explanation.
She went through the whole story twice, so great was her nervousness and so anxious was she for them not to miss the significance of it.
She explained how she’d come by the idea from Benny’s tittle-tattle. She told of her visit to the house, the deal she had struck with Mrs Eckersley, and how she had managed to get a good price for their furniture from Joseph and his friend Izzy. ‘And I still have a bit o’ money left to buy more carpets and set us up in business.’ When her voice finally faded into silence, the expression on her husband’s and children’s faces were indeed a sight to behold.
Benny’s mouth had dropped right open and was evidently fixed there. Lucy’s blue eves seemed to have grown to twice their size, and as for Matthew - one glance at her husband told Polly that Eileen had been right. Never had she seen him in such a terrible rage. Perhaps she had put her case badly.
Haltingly, she began again but he had heard enough. With a kick from one heavy clog he sent the tin trunk toppling. Its lid broke off and clattered over the stone-flagged floor, sending baked potatoes rolling to each corner of the kitchen. But not even the ever-hungry Benny dared make a move to pick one up. His father rarely, if ever, lost his temper, but the lad was sure that if he moved a muscle it would be him that Dad would kick next, right into the middle of next week.
‘I’ll
not eat my tea off a tin box, nor sit on a bloody orange box!’ Matthew shouted, loud enough for the whole street to hear if they’d a mind to listen. Then he was striding from the house and the only sound was that of the front door slamming shut and the striking of his clogs on the setts, sending sparks flying all the way up Dove Street.
Peace descended uneasily upon the small house. Polly drew in a trembling breath, gathered up the baked potatoes and gave them a quick rub with a clean cloth. She set them back in their dish. Lucy had righted the tin trunk and Benny was struggling to fit back the lid, a terrible sinking sensation in his stomach.
‘Now isn’t this a grand lark?’ she said to her children with a wide smile, as she took her seat on an orange box. ‘It’s like a picnic in our own home. Eat the spuds while they’re hot. We’ve even a dab of marg to put on ‘em today. Aren’t we the lucky ones?’
And Polly and her children steadfastly ate their dinner in what passed for a contented silence.
Chapter Ten
Big Flo sat in Polly’s kitchen, her back as rigid as her morals. Apart from a starched white pinafore, she was clothed all in black from her shawl to the clog tips that peeped out from under her long black skirts. And the dour expression on the old woman’s lined face seemed perfectly in accord. Florence Pride knew more commandments than the Good Lord had ever thought to give Moses. There were the usual ones about never complaining, making do, and standing on your own feet. Being clean in thought and tongue was one of her favourites. ‘Wilful waste brings woeful want’, was another. ‘Idleness addles the brain’ was one she was particularly fond of, along with ‘Hard work never killed anyone’, even though it clearly did, judging by the number of miners and cotton workers dying of consumption from the muck they breathed in at their places of employment.
‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be’, which must include popping the furniture without your husband’s permission, was the one she was airing at the moment.
‘I’ve never seen him so cut up! The poor lad doesn’t know which way to turn.’
Polly admitted that it must have come as something of a shock. It had been well past midnight when Matthew had slid between the blankets beside her, and a great relief to her that he’d come home at all. But neither of them had spoken. Even at breakfast his silence had lain heavily between them. Now she confronted her mother-in-law with face set and fists clenched. ‘That being the case, it’s even more important I should make it work.’
‘Aye, I can see it would be. Our Josh told him he was a fool to marry you, an Irish Catholic, and that it served him right if you’d gone and lost every decent bit a’ stuff you ever owned. Reverting to type, he called it.’
Polly felt her cheeks start to burn. How dare Joshua say such a thing? He’d always made it plain he disapproved of their marriage but it had never mattered before because she and Matt were happy and the two brothers not even close. But never had Joshua spoken so plainly against her and for once, it seemed, Matthew had agreed with him. It made her heart ache to think of it.
‘Will you help me?’
‘Me?’ Big Flo’s white eyebrows climbed to the heights of her wrinkled brow. She was ready to flounce out of this mad Irish woman’s house for good. From the start she’d created discord between her precious sons; now she’d gone completely off her chump and thrown away everything Matthew had built up over the years. Talk about hitting a man when he was down! She’d have nowt to do with the floozy ever again, Flo decided, yet curiosity kept her on the seat, for all it was only an orange box that could break beneath her weight at any moment. ‘Help you do what?’
‘I mean to sell on the market. No one can afford to buy a big carpet like this, not round here, but cut into smaller pieces it’d sell, if only because it’d save the work of hooking a rug and look much better. So, will you help me clean and cut it up?’
Big Flo looked as if she’d been asked personally to pay off the National Debt. ‘By heck, that’s a tall order.’
‘Why? It’s a simple enough task.’
‘You’re asking me to take a stand against me own sons?’
Polly tilted her chin. ‘If it works and I get a good price for the pieces, I’ll be in profit. Then I can get some of our furniture back. All of it maybe, in time.’
The old woman shook her head in sadness. ‘Our Matthew was right fond of that sideboard. It represented why he’d worked so hard for his family.’
Polly felt a constriction of emotion tighten her throat. ‘I feel exactly the same. I did try to avoid selling it, but there wouldn’t have been enough money otherwise. I doubt I could manage to get it back, not for a while anyway, but I might manage a chair or a table fairly quickly, if I can sell some pieces of the carpet.’ Then she leaned forward, eagerly grasping Big Flo’s work-worn hands. ‘Don’t you see? I had to do it once the idea was in me head. It could be the answer. Not simply to give us something to eat tomorrow but to provide us with a future away from this God-awful place. Wouldn’t that be grand?’
‘Aye,’ said Big Flo, consideringly. ‘I can see you’d think so. I were born and brought up in Ancoats and, I’ll tell you, there’s worse places though I can’t offhand name one. Folks are good here. But I can see you’d happen want summat better for them childer.’
‘So?’
‘So them’s only dreams, and the likes of us can’t afford to believe in dreams.’
‘Why not?’
It took two pint-sized mugs of tea and a great deal more persuasion before Big Flo agreed. ‘Aye, go on then,’ she said at last, ‘I’ll help you sew this lot, but no more mind. You manage the rest by yerself.’
‘Aw, bless you, Flo.’ Polly would face that problem when she came to it.
`Bit you sell ‘em yerself.’
‘Agreed.’
They unrolled the carpet square and laid it out in the empty front parlour. The room was so cold there was a rime of frost on the inside of the windows. The parlour had rarely been used, save at Christmas and Whit Week. Now it looked forlorn and damp as well as empty. The two women automatically reached for their shawls, wrapping them tight around themselves and tying them in a knot at the back. Even so they were chilled to the bone, their breath cloud the freezing air.
‘I’ll light a fire,’ Polly said. ‘We can’t work in this.’
‘Don’t waste the coal. If we work fast we won’t be in here long. Once it’s cut up we can take a piece at a time in the kitchen to bind the edges.’
It took longer than they expected. They rubbed the stained carpet first with the used tea leaves Polly had kept specifically for the purpose. Then they left it for an hour or two while they went to warm themselves over a mug of tea by the fire. After that, they swept it vigorously with stiff brushes to make the pile stand proud, and were delighted to see the rich browns and beiges revitalised by the treatment.
‘It has a good all-over pattern, which is important since we’re to turn it into small rugs.’ Polly could feel a glimmer of excitement inside her. It would work, she was sure of it.
Cutting the carpet proved to be more difficult than she’d imagined. Even though she’d spent some of the precious money on a large pair of scissors for the purpose, she simply did not have sufficient strength to cut through the thick wool. After watching her for a minute or two, Big Flo took the scissors from her hand.
‘Give ‘em ‘ere. You couldn’t cut butter.’ And the old woman, crawling about on all fours, revealing more of next week’s washing than she realised, cut through the carpet with her ham-like hands as if it really were butter. When they were done they had nine smaller rectangles instead of one large square.
‘All we do now is bind and sew them. Still, I have the time, do I not, since there’s no furniture left to dust,’ Polly said, with a touch of wry humour.
‘Nor a comfy spot to sit while we sew,’ Big Flo pointed out, eyeing the offending orange boxes with distaste. Taking a couple of the carpet pieces with her, she marched off to her own snug kitchen.
Thi
s task was to keep them busy for days. Polly continued to work at the temperance tavern, but in the afternoons and evenings she sat on an upturned box and stitched the strips of hessian she had bought to the edges of each rectangular piece of carpet, turning it into an attractive rug.
Lucy was late home from school a few days after the cutting of the carpet, but before Polly had managed to draw breath to scold her for idling, the girl took the wind right out of her sails.
‘I start work tomorrow on Dorrie Glynne’s tripe and trotter stall on the market. And before you say anything, I don’t care any more about Paulden’s or the fancy shops on St Anne’s Square or King Street, I just want us to be happy and have enough food on the table, and for Dad to come home. So I’ve left school and I’m not going back.’
Polly sat down hard on an orange box, every vestige of colour draining from her face. Was this what they had sunk to? In pursuing her own dream, she had robbed her daughter of hers. ‘Oh, Lucy! But you should stay on, then you’d have a fine certificate to show at the end of it.’
‘Things have changed. I don’t care about any of that.’ The tremor of her daughter’s lips gave the lie to her brave words and Polly held out her arms to comfort her. Lucy came and knelt by her mother’s side while the pair of them hugged and cried together, letting the tears of disappointment flow.
‘Ach, this won’t do,’ said Polly, pulling out a hanky and starting to mop up their tears, staunchly smiling as she did so. ‘You know this isn’t what I wanted for you, m’cushla.’
‘It’ll be all right, Mam. I’m not a child. I want to pay my way, whatever you say. I can earn a bit of brass, and one day - one day I will work in a fine shop, see if I don’t!’
‘Of course you will,’ Polly assured her, blinking back fresh tears. ‘And won’t that be grand? Now come and see how much I’ve done today.’ And as mother and daughter continued the laborious hemming of the carpet rugs, they began speculating about the future.
Polly's Pride Page 11
