The Blacksmith's Girl

by Rosemary Aitken

  Will sighed. She was only saying what he’d thought himself, though he didn’t welcome hearing it. Even with the war, most police work locally was disappointingly routine: looking for missing animals, pacifying warring neighbours, or catching up with children who were minching school. None of it the sort of thing that made for headline news. Even the scuffles outside the Tinner’s Arms were rarer nowadays, what with the shorter hours, the government directive to water down the beer – and fewer men around to drink it anyway.

  Martha had obviously heard the sigh. She flashed him a brief smile. ‘Well I’m sorry, Will, I’d love to set the kettle on and stop and have a chat, but if there’s nothing special that you want me for, I’d best get on with this. Should have got the ironing finished yesterday, but we’ve had a bit of excitement in the house. Might as well tell you – they’re publishing the banns so it will be common knowledge round the village very soon. Ephraim Tull has asked for Pattie’s hand, and she’s agreed to have him.’

  ‘Ephraim Tull!’ Will could not keep the astonishment from his voice. ‘Near old enough to be her father, isn’t he?’

  Martha turned away to test the iron by spitting on the base. ‘He’s a Strict Adherent, and that matters to her pa. Ephraim’s a decent man and she won’t be in want. It didn’t seem to suit her down the factory anyway, she came home feeling cheevy yesterday and she’s worse today – in fact Pru’s taken a note to them today, asking permission for Patience to resign.’

  Will could think of nothing sensible to say, except, ‘They won’t be very pleased. Your girls are all good workers – Mr Grey was telling me.’

  Martha shook her head. ‘Once she’s better they’ll want her back to work out the fortnight, I expect, but t’isnt sensible. You can’t be too careful when it comes to food, though no doubt they’ll hold back her last week’s pay in lieu. Won’t matter much to Pattie, any road – they’re going to wed as soon as Ephraim gets a licence through.’ She began to iron a pillowcase with ferocity, re-damping it by flicking water from a cup.

  Will said, ‘Bit sudden isn’t it?’ He then wondered if he should. Any other girl you would have questioned it – getting married in a hurry – but not this one of course. Toby was more likely to disown a girl who got herself in trouble, than try to hide her shame. And as for Ephraim, he was stricter still! ‘Him being interested in getting wed again,’ he added hastily.

  Martha was paying close attention to her task. ‘Nothing new about it. Ephraim’s offered for her several times. Only this time she’s said yes. Just as well. He’s not getting any younger and Patience don’t want to end up a spinster, after all. As Ephraim says – so many young men are being killed these days, there’s going to be a lack of husbands, by and by. Lack of everything, in fact. There’s a question now where we’re going to get the extra bread, even to make a sandwich for the witnesses. Man like Ephraim will expect a wedding tea. So, excuse me for not stopping to offer you some crowst, but there’s things to plan and Toby will be home.’

  The Sergeant nodded, but still he didn’t leave. He hovered at the door. ‘I’ll call again, perhaps! Let you know how the enquiry’s getting on?’

  ‘You do that, Will,’ she smiled. But she did not say it with her usual warmth and as he free-wheeled down the hill he couldn’t shift the feeling that she wished he hadn’t come.

  So it was quite a pleasure to see Effie Dawes waving and smiling from outside her cottage gate. Looking pretty as a picture and dressed up to the nines.

  Effie had put on gloves and hat, of course, as she was going to town – though she’d decided on her second-best coat and old-fashioned button boots instead of modern shoes. Crowdie had promised yesterday to give her a ride into Penzance, and that would mean his cart.

  ‘Course I will my ’andsome – it’s market day, I’m going in any case. Bring you back again, as well – save you the horse-bus fare – just so long as you don’t mind budging up a bit! I already promised someone else that I would fetch them home.’ And when she nodded gratefully, he said, ‘Pick you up outside your cottage, then – round about five past tennish, if that suits?’

  And here it was already ten o’clock. It was a chilly day, and she was grateful for the gloves, but it wouldn’t do to keep Crowdie waiting when he’d been so kind. Then she saw Sergeant Jeffries cycling down the hill – and she’d been specially wanting to have a word with him! It was not the most convenient of times, but she smiled and waved and he drew up beside the wall.

  ‘Marning, Mrs Dawes!’

  ‘Ah Sergeant Jeffries. Here’s a happy chance. I was thinking of coming to find you in the police-house later on. I can’t stop long now – I’m going into Penzance – but there’s a little matter on which I’d value your advice.’

  He was absurdly flattered, you could see that in his face. ‘Pleased to be of any help I can!’

  ‘It isn’t a matter of great consequence,’ she went on hastily. ‘It was only, I was wondering – with this war and everything – do you know where one could obtain a bicycle, and how much it would cost? One suitable for a lady bicyclist, I mean? Would they have one in Penzance do you suppose? I know it’s difficult to get things nowadays. I wouldn’t need a permit or anything like that?’

  The Sergeant was staring at her as though she were completely mad. ‘Who would that be for, then? Surely not yourself?’

  ‘Why ever not?’ She forced herself to smile. ‘Lots of ladies ride bicycles these days. I was reading about it in a magazine.’

  Sergeant Jeffries pushed his helmet back and smoothed his long moustache. ‘Lots of men get drunk down at the Tinner’s Arms,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t follow that it’s respectable. And no more’s a bicycle – not for a decent married lady like yourself. Whatever put such an idea into your head? I don’t know what your Alex would say if he found out!’

  He sounded so certain that she wished she’d held her tongue. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said, contritely. ‘Perhaps it’s not appropriate for me. Only I saw a vicar’s daughter riding round the lanes the other day …’ She trailed off.

  ‘And you thought you’d like to try?’

  ‘I merely thought how convenient it would be for me to go and visit my relatives that way, since I don’t have a horse available!’ And would not ride it if I did, she added privately, but she didn’t say that to Sergeant Jeffries of course. But unaccompanied matrons rode horses nowadays, or even drove themselves in little traps, and no-one seemed to think that it was unsuitable at all! She sighed. ‘But I wouldn’t want to vex my husband for the world – if you think he wouldn’t like it …’

  ‘I’m quite sure he wouldn’t!’ The policeman’s face had softened to an indulgent smile. ‘It’s one thing for a single girl to ride around, perhaps – though I aren’t so certain even about that – but a lady of your station, that is something else. Now if you were looking for something for your maid …’

  She shook her head. It still surprised her that she had a maid at all. She had never really wanted household staff – after all, she’d been in service once herself – but Alex (and his mother) had expected it. He’d arranged it all the moment they were wed. So now there was young Amy who came in to cook and clean each day, just for the mornings, though there wasn’t really much for her to do. (Effie had thought of urging her to put her name down on the Women’s Register, to be available for war work – but Amy, at fifteen, proved not quite old enough.)

  ‘I don’t think Amy needs a bicycle,’ she said. ‘She hardly even leaves Rosvene. But I do – in fact I’m just about to now. Look, here is Crowdie, coming down the road!’ Even as she spoke the cart came lurching down the hill and came to a gentle halt beside the gate.

  She permitted Sergeant Jeffries to help her up, and she took her place by Crowdie as he flicked the reins and urged his ancient horse into a shambling walk again. ‘Not the fastest transport, my ’andsome, I’m afraid,’ the farmer said. ‘But the blessed army’s took my younger ’orses months ago. Still – if it helps our boys
in France, I can’t begrudge that, I suppose. Speaking of which, what news of Major Dawes?’

  So she told him, happily, all the way to town and he listened – as he always did – as if her story was the most important in the world. It seemed no time at all before they reached Penzance.

  Crowdie drew up at the cattle market at the top of Causeway Head. ‘This is where I’m stopping, my ’andsome,’ he said, jumping from the seat and coming round to help her down. ‘Due to see a man about a bull. And there he is. Now, s’pose you meet me here again at four o’clock or so? Gets dark so early we should be setting off by then. That give you time to do everything you need?’

  Effie thanked him and assured him that it would. Then, conscious he was watching, she hurried down the hill into the town. In fact, she knew her business would not take long at all, but she was looking forward to a little time at leisure in Penzance.

  It was a treat she didn’t often manage nowadays. Lunch in a tea shop somewhere, possibly? Married ladies hardly ever ate out anywhere alone, but tea shops were respectable enough. But things were scarce and in the first two places that she looked there were notices declaring that there was no meat today.

  In the end she settled for some soup followed by a plate of fried flatfish with swede and chips, which – together with a pot of tea – cost her an eye-watering one and ten (though she declined the permitted two ounces of grey National bread). It made her feel a little sad, and very profligate – she could remember when sixpence would have seemed too much to spend on luxuries.

  Perhaps it was the thought of luxuries that led her to the shop, Westons’ Haberdashery, where she had briefly worked before she wed. She had not had occasion to come back ever since and it was sad to see how much the place had changed. Even the window looked dull and dreary now – rolls of bias binding and cards of hooks and eyes, instead of the former colourful displays of ribbons, lace and gloves – and the only millinery on display was black. The sole decoration was a swathe of draped black mourning ‘crape’, priced 2/6d (and spelt that way, as usual, to distinguish it from crepe material in more attractive hues.) The whole effect was more depressing than she could have dreamt.

  Of course Miss Pearl had never had the flair – that had been Miss Blanche, and she had married and left – but surely the change was not entirely the result of that? It must be partly the effect of war – there were obviously shortages, she thought, and so many people were in mourning nowadays, that perhaps the sombre colours were easiest to sell.

  She let herself quietly into the shop, smiling at the familiar ‘ting’ of the little bell that rang when the door was opened. But looking round inside, she shook her head. The whole place – which had always seemed a treasure cave of jewel-like colours – was as bleak inside as the window goods had been. The shelves were half-empty, the colourful racks of silks and trimmings had all gone and (worst of all) the rear portion of the shop – which had once been a lending-library, and Effie’s special joy – was turned over to a display of dismal hosiery. The books had disappeared.

  So too, had the assistants, apparently – for there was no-one in the shop. Effie went out again and – by opening the door – ‘ting-ed’ the bell more firmly, and a moment later Miss Pearl herself came bustling from the storeroom at the back, wiping her lips discreetly in a hanky as she came.

  ‘Can I be of service, Madam?’

  ‘Miss Pearl!’ Effie was surprised not to be recognized at once. ‘Don’t you remember me?’ But even as she spoke she realized that – in any other place – she might not have known Miss Pearl. There was the same long black dress and apron, naturally, (that was expected if you were serving in a shop), the stout form was just as firmly corseted, and the hair was still pulled back in its uncompromising bun. But the stern face was sagging and the shoulders stooped. It used to be said of the elder Weston sister, once, that she might have been handsome if her habitual expression had not been so severe – but she looked worried, old and shrunken suddenly. Even the eyes which peered at Effie now, were pale and anxious behind their wire-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t Effie Pengelly!’ Miss Pearl sounded almost pleased. ‘Or Mrs Dawes, as I suppose I should say now. Well, this is unexpected – and no mistake!’ This was as near to a compliment as Miss Pearl ever paid.

  Effie realized that. ‘I don’t get to town as much as I would like,’ she answered, with a smile. ‘But I got a lift today. I was hoping to pick up a bit of lace,’ she added – though it wasn’t strictly true. ‘But perhaps that isn’t possible?’ she looked around. ‘I hadn’t realized that things had got so scarce.’

  She gestured to the shelf above her head – where only a few rolls of ticking were displayed. There was a handwritten notice pinned to the lower edge, saying – in neat but shaky capitals – ‘The management regrets that buttons (all sizes, shirt and fancy) are in short supply and the limited range of sewing thread in stock is likely to be the last available. Regular customers only need apply.’

  Effie made a sympathetic face. ‘Things are clearly difficult to get?’

  Miss Pearl compressed her lips. ‘You can buy some things, Blanche tells me, if you know where to look, but prices are twice what they were before the war. People can’t afford it, things being what they are, so I don’t have the turnover we used to have – and suppliers won’t give you credit any more. So I couldn’t get the stock, if there was any to be had.’ She gave a disapproving sniff. ‘But it’s possible that I might have a bit of lace put by, that I might see my way to parting with – seeing how it’s you. But don’t you go telling anybody else, or they’ll all be in here asking for the same.’ She looked around as though there might be hordes of listening customers hidden in the shop, instead of it being as empty as the tomb. ‘Come out the back and I will see what I can do. How much were you after?’ She led the way into the little store and office at the back.

  To Effie’s surprise, given the empty shelves outside, the storeroom was as crowded as it had always been, with piles of wooden boxes everywhere, leaving just room for a table and two chairs beside the fire. It was a meagre fire – Miss Pearl had always been the careful one – and the woman had clearly been huddled over it. There was a kettle on the hearth, and a teacup and half-eaten sandwich on the table showed that she’d been eating when the shop-bell rang.

  ‘Oh, I’ve interrupted your bit of lunch!’ Effie exclaimed.

  Miss Pearl put on her long-suffering face. ‘It doesn’t signify. The customer is always more important than the staff. My meal will have to wait,’ she added in a martyred tone, as if the ‘meal’ in question was a hot cooked lunch. But Effie did not smile.

  ‘But haven’t you got an assistant in the shop? What happened to that girl who came to help you when I left?’

  The thin lips pursed again. ‘Left to get married when the war broke out – all in a hurry when her young man volunteered!’

  She sounded so bitter that Effie gazed at her, and realized suddenly that Miss Pearl was close to tears. That compression of the lips was to hide their trembling. ‘But you are managing?’ she said, with genuine concern.

  The other woman drew herself upright, and then – as if defeated – let out a sigh. ‘Tell you the truth, Effie … Mrs Dawes, I mean, I sometimes wonder how I will carry on. What with the shortages, and these heavy boxes that want storing somewhere else …’ She waved a hand towards the crates and Effie realized what she should have guessed at once.

  ‘The books?’ she murmured.

  Miss Pearl nodded. ‘No call for a subscription library any more – people can’t afford it, they use the public library in Morrab Road or – if they don’t care for charity – they go to Boots. For 10/6 you can sign up for a year, that entitles you to borrow any book – or you can pay extra and have more than one. And they’ve got hundreds more titles than we ever had. Who’d pay sixpence these days to subscribe to us – with food the price it is?’

  She was clearly expecting Effie to say something comforting, but
Effie’s thoughts were running on a different track. ‘Your books, though, aren’t they? I mean you paid for them? Or, any rate, they are the property of the shop?’

  The other woman stared at her. ‘Well, course they are! I’d have returned them else, not have them cluttering up the place and getting in the way. I’ve even thought of throwing them away, and one or two I’ve torn the covers off and used to light the fire, but it goes against my nature. My father tied up a lot of money on those books, and I don’t want them to waste, though I can’t see how there’ll ever be a library here again.’

  ‘So, how don’t you sell them?’ Effie was so intent on her idea that for a moment her carefully acquired policeman’s wife grammar had deserted her.

  Miss Pearl went on staring. ‘But how could I sell them? You can see they’ve all been read. Tea-stains and everything. And most of them are old. Battered corners to the covers.’ She shook her head. ‘It isn’t possible! Let’s stop talking nonsense. How much lace did you require?’ She pushed aside a heavy carton full of books and pulled out a little cardboard box containing several ends of lace, wound onto little cards. ‘This is all I’ve got. Would any of it suit?’ But she was thinking about her visitor’s proposition, anyone could see.

  Effie went on urging: ‘Course you couldn’t sell the books full price – that would be fanciful. But people gave you sixpence just to borrow them – in that condition, exactly as they are. And there was a fine if they returned them late. Suppose that same sixpence bought you one or two? Don’t you think subscribers mightn’t jump at that?’

  Miss Pearl had stopped fidgeting with the bits of lace. She shook her head. ‘But they’ve got our stamp on them. People wouldn’t care for that. Look like they’d been stolen, wouldn’t they?’