The Blacksmith's Girl

by Rosemary Aitken

  ‘Then put another stamp in, saying something like “withdrawn due to the war”. You’ve got that stamp where you can move the letters round – make it say any word you like – or you had, when I was here.’

  ‘It would take hours …’ Miss Pearl almost wailed, but she was warming to the project, you could almost see. ‘You’d have to change the stamp each time – it only does one word – and every book would need stamping twice, at least!’

  ‘Better than sitting shivering in here by yourself. And you don’t have to do them all at once. Just a carton every week would do – make yourself a bit of space. And earn at the same time. Even a few pence a time would soon mount up. Put a notice in the window, too. People who used the library before might come in to buy a book they specially liked.’

  Miss Pearl looked disbelieving. ‘Who d’you suppose would do a thing like that? Most of my subscribers could easily buy new.’

  That was true, of course, as Effie realized. Perhaps she’d let her notion run away with her. But she said stoutly, ‘I would have done, for one! And I’m can’t be the only person who likes a bargain, I’m sure. Specially now – when prices for everything are rising all the time and affordable little treats are getting hard to find.’

  The shopkeeper said slowly, ‘Well, perhaps you’re right, at that. Couldn’t do me any harm to try, I don’t suppose. But there’s so many of the dratted things, where d’you think that I should start?’

  ‘I should start with this one,’ Effie said firmly, indicating the carton which had been moved to reach the lace. ‘Then, at least, it won’t be in the way. In fact, if you’d like to serve me with that lace, I’ll stop and help you set the stamp up and do a few of them. At least until another customer arrives.’

  And that is exactly what she did, though it was another hour before the doorbell rang again and someone came in wanting darning wool. Effie watched from the storeroom – just in case – but the woman did not even glance towards the little pile of books with the sign: ‘Withdrawn from the subscription library. Any two for sixpence’ on the counter at the back.

  ‘Just needs displaying a bit more,’ she murmured as she left.

  ‘I’ll put a notice in the window when we close,’ Miss Pearl agreed. But clearly it would take more than that to save the shop.

  Four

  Peter was waiting at the top of Causewayhead, wishing that he’d settled for the horse-bus after all. There was no sign of Crowdie or the cart and standing here, dressed up like Sunday tea, he felt conspicuous.

  The cattle–market was over for the day, but there were lots of farmers still around the pens, engaged in private hagglings of their own and casting looks at him. They, of course, were all in going-to-market clothes – most with battered caps pushed back upon their heads, leather aprons tied around their waists, and their thumbs hooked round their braces or the pockets of their coats, though a few still wore old-fashioned floppy hats and working smocks. He felt already out of place in his best jacket, shirt and tie – as if ‘I don’t belong here any more’ was written in large letters and hung around his neck.

  But here was Crowdie and the cart at last, making its way from further up the hill. The farmer caught Peter’s eye and gave a friendly wave. ‘Had to leave this blamety thing up to Trevarnon farm,’ he called. ‘Took me longer than I thought to bring it down.’ He drew up beside Peter. ‘How d’you get on then? Still wanting a lift back?’

  Peter nodded. ‘But they’ve signed me on.’ He put his hand onto the cart to clamber up.

  ‘I should damty think so,’ Crowdie said. ‘Half bit your hand off, I shouldn’t be surprised …’ He broke off and gestured with his hand. ‘But here’s my other passenger. Help her up, there’s a good fellow, and we’ll be on our way.’

  Peter turned to look, and almost fled. Coming towards them was Effie Dawes herself, looking a picture as she always did. He tried to say, ‘Good evening,’ but his mouth went dry.

  She looked as shocked to see him as he was himself, and he realized that she hadn’t known that he’d be there.

  ‘Heard there was someone else to come. Never dreamt that it was you!’ he muttered, mortified – and knew that his cheeks were turning that vivid shade of red which made the colour of his hair look worse than usual. How could Effie’s chestnut locks look so becoming when she blushed – as she was doing now?

  ‘Crowdie mentioned that he had a passenger,’ she replied, putting only the faintest pressure on his hand as she climbed up into the seat. ‘But he didn’t mention who it was …’ She tailed off. But there was no help for it – he had no money for the horse-bus now, so he had to climb up beside her on the seat, and hold himself against the side to stop from touching her.

  ‘Sorry, my doves,’ the farmer said, obviously surprised, as he urged the aging horse into a walk. ‘Never supposed there would be awkwardness. I thought you two were friends.’

  Effie laughed, that strained little laugh which she seemed to have adopted recently. Part of her being a fancy policeman’s wife, perhaps – instead of the natural Cornish girl he’d known at school. ‘Of course there is no awkwardness, Crowdie,’ she said. Her voice had got all la-di-dah as well, ‘proper elocution’ as her pa had proudly said, but it was still as sweet to Peter as it had ever been. ‘Peter and I have known each other years. It’s just that we were both a little bit surprised.’

  It wasn’t true, of course, though Crowdie couldn’t know. There was an awkwardness. Bound to be, when he had loved her all his life and she hardly noticed these days that he was there. She was happy with that policeman and he was glad of that – if she hadn’t been, he’d have found the man and punched his eyes out, constable or not – but it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. Even now he woke up, now and then, dreaming that they were six years old and back at school, kissing at the gate with the teacher scolding them. But it was no good mooning over what was past. She had made her choice and, from now on, so had he. He shook his head. She was saying something to him.

  ‘You’re dressed up like nine pence. Very smart you look. Come in to town for something special?’

  Crowdie laughed and gave him a proud look. ‘I should think so, too. Tell her, then, boy – it won’t be secret long.’

  Peter was too flustered to find his tongue at first, but then he shook his head. ‘They sent a high-up general round the mines last year. Wanted men who’d handled dynamite. Special duties. I came to volunteer.’

  ‘Volunteer?’ she sounded shocked. ‘You’re going to join the army after all? I thought you had abandoned that idea. They need the tungsten, don’t they? Or that is what I heard.’ Why did it please him that she seemed alarmed?

  He forced himself to smile. ‘Well, I got a second chance and I have decided that I’ll go. I don’t like being stopped by dreadful old women in the street, waving white feathers in my face and calling me a coward. And anyhow—’ he refused to look at her – ‘I aren’t very happy being where I am. But what Crowdie says is right – when they knew that I handled dynamite and was going to evening classes on engineering work, they signed me up at once. Half-expected to be on the train to London before you could say “knife” – but turned out I had time to go home and let them know. I report tomorrow.’

  ‘And after that there will be training, I expect,’ Effie said, almost as if she welcomed the idea.

  He shook his head. ‘Not for the tunnellers, apparently. You don’t need training for working underground, that’s what the fellow said – not when you have done it all your life. And they’re desperate for men to do this special job. I’ll be off to France as soon as there’s a ship. Told me a bit about it, but I’m not allowed to say.’

  Effie said nothing, and he said nothing back. There was an awkward silence and then Crowdie said to her, ‘You do everything you wanted in the town?’ and Effie started on about the haberdashers shop, how it was close to failing, and she had ideas for it. Luckily, since there was no need for Peter to join the talk at all till they got back to Nancarrow
and Crowdie stopped to let him off.

  ‘You all right for getting to the train?’ the farmer said, as Peter jumped lightly down onto the road.

  Peter nodded. ‘I’ll get the early horse-bus, they’ve given me a chitty for a railway pass. And one for uniform. I’ll get kitted out when I get there, it appears. So I’ll see you – sometime, if everything goes well. Goodbye Crowdie. Good evening, Mrs Dawes.’ He took his cap off to them and nodded her a bow.

  ‘You take care of yourself, Peter,’ she said, with unexpected warmth. ‘I’ll be thinking of you.’

  Of course she wouldn’t, but it was nice to hear! He watched her sadly till the cart was out of sight, then put his cap on and went home to face his folks. It was going to be a tearful evening, he could see.

  Sunday was a rather unhappy day, all round.

  The problem started the night before, because Vee and Pru were on late shift for once. The factory was working round the clock and seven days a week, and everybody had to do one ‘unsociable’ a month, but of course the Tregorran girls, as Strict Adherents, would not do Sunday work. This meant they, together with others like the Bible Christian girls, had to do an occasional evening shift – which up to recently had been reserved for men, because of going home in the dark. It wasn’t as bad as you might think, in fact – there were a whole group of people walking back, most of whom had lanterns, and the girls were escorted right up to the gate.

  The trouble started when they got inside. It was almost midnight and the girls were ravenous but the pot of stew that Ma had left beside the hearth was getting cold. Vee made the mistake of poking up the fire, to give a bit of light, and putting the stew back on to warm a bit.

  It smelt delicious, but the fragrance must have drifted through the house, because no sooner were they sitting down to eat – huddling on stools beside the flickering flames – than Pa came storming down the stairs, in his flannel nightshirt and the matching cap, carrying a nightlight in his hand.

  ‘What do you two think you’re doing? It’s the Sabbath day! Thou shalt do no labour! Don’t you know the Word!’ He seized Pru’s bowl of soup and threw it on the fire. He might have done the same with Vee’s as well, if she hadn’t snatched it instantly aside.

  ‘It’s a sin to waste good food when there are children starving!’ she declared, daringly tipping a portion of the contents down her throat. ‘Aren’t you always saying that?’ It was something that he often declared at mealtimes, though she’d never found a Bible text supporting it. She realized that he would be furious, but she did not care. If she got a hiding, at least she’d had some food.

  Pa, however, was too astonished to respond, so she gulped another mouthful – never mind the spoon – and passed the bowl to Pru. Her sister, though, was too afraid to follow suit and simply sat there weeping tears of hunger, shame and fright.

  Pa found his voice. ‘Are you defying me?’ He sounded threatening.

  Vee shook her head. ‘No, Pa, of course not. We didn’t mean to break the Sabbath.’ It was true, but she tried to sound appropriately penitent. ‘We didn’t realize it had got so late. It was an accident – by firelight you can hardly see the clock. And didn’t Jesus say, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do?” And even He picked corn on the seventh day, and rubbed the husk off so that He could eat. And when Pharisees grumbled, you know what he said—’

  ‘“The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath”,’ Pa supplied reluctantly, adding something about the devil quoting scripture for his purposes. However, he didn’t seize the other bowl or throw away the stew and Vee knew that they’d escaped a row, if not a leathering. He put the night-light down. ‘Too much like your mother, you are, Verity!’

  ‘Besides, Pa,’ Pru said, suddenly more daring through her tears, ‘I think we’d heated it before the clock showed twelve. And blessed it to our use. So it should be sanctified. Besides, “it isn’t what goes into a man that defiles him” – doesn’t Mark say that?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Pa retorted. ‘You’re misquoting Gospel, now find the text and learn it right before you go to bed. Let that be your penance, both of you. And Pru, stop snivelling. You’re older, you should take the lead. However, you may finish what Vee has given you. She at least has shown the gift of generosity, that her “abundance should supply your want”, and perhaps we should not be ungrateful to your ma, who lovingly prepared the stew for you. And you may light a candle to see your way upstairs – can’t have you falling over in the dark – but don’t go stirring that fire up again! Just ask the Lord for mercy when you say your prayers!’

  And up he went again, the stair-boards creaking at every step.

  ‘My heaven,’ Vee whispered, when silence fell again. ‘That was a near thing and no mistake! I thought we’d feel his belt across our backs for sure. Pa’s been in some funny mood these last few days. Teasy as an adder one minute and soft as dough the next.’

  She looked to Pru for sympathy, but all her sister said was, ‘Not surprising, p’raps, with everything going on. Now come on to bed or we shall get no sleep at all. Chapel in the morning.’

  But chapel was no better. You’d think there might have been a bit of joy, for once, when Ephraim announced he was applying for the banns and where they would be posted – as he was bound to do – but Patience looked so dismal and upset, you’d think it was a notice about her funeral. And Ma was just as bad. When Ephraim led the usual (interminable) prayers, and asked the congregation to ‘pray specially for the woman who is to become my wife, that she may put all sin behind her’ – which was just the sort of thing he always said – Ma looked furious and did not say ‘Amen!’

  The only person who seemed pleased at all, was Grandfather, who came grim-faced and solemn, to shake Pa by the hand, though even he was tetchy ’cause he’d not been told before. Vee was more than usually glad when the fellowship was over and it was time to leave.

  Though lunch wasn’t much to speak of, when they came to it. Pa’s gesture with the soup had put the fire right out last night, instead of leaving embers to burn slowly down, so the house was more than usually chill – and the tongue and cold potatoes, washed down with watered milk, made for a particularly cheerless meal.

  Then in the afternoon, there was another fuss. You could not read or play games on Sunday, of course, but Vee had devised a scheme for getting out by taking a walk across to see her aunt again. She knew that Pa would not approve, of course, but she had a reason ready, as she explained to him.

  ‘I got to go,’ she told him, when he opposed the plan. ‘I left my woollen shawl there, when I went the other day – caught it on a bramble and made a hole in it. Aunt Dorcas said she’d unravel it and knit it up again. Before tomorrow too – you know how quick she is with things like that. It would have took me hours, and it’s the only one I’ve got!’

  Pa looked for all the world as if he might refuse, but Ma said quickly, ‘No, Toby, she had better. I’ll write a note to Dorcas to tell her Pattie’s news and she can take it with her. Better that she hears from me, and not from other folks.’ She turned to Verity. ‘But don’t be very long. And don’t be going alone. Take young Mercy with you for a bit of exercise. Your pa’s decided – for reasons which we won’t go into now – that from here on, none of you girls is to go walking on the cliffs, without there’s someone with you. Do you understand?’

  Seven baffled faces answered that they did, but Vee saw Pru and Patience exchange a rueful look. Those two understood why this new rule had been imposed, though Vee had no idea, and no amount of private pleading would make Pru say a word, even when they went upstairs to get Mercy dressed to go. It was no good asking Patience, naturally, she never told Vee anything at all!

  So Ma wrote her letter. She didn’t write things often and it took her quite a time, licking her pencil between every word, though Ma and her sister had both learned when they were young. So the afternoon was well advanced before Vee got away.

  It was not quite the pleasure that Ver
ity had hoped. For one thing, it was very cold without her shawl, and for another she had Mercy with her – which was itself a trial. Mercy was ‘more top than child’ as mother always said – never still a minute and forever rushing round. Walking on the cliffs with her was not a restful thing: Mercy was never where you thought that she would be, insisting on running down every little track they passed. You had to watch she didn’t rush out on the road and be run down by some passing cart, or go the other way and fall into the sea.

  Auntie Dorcas’s house was welcoming and warm. She had turned Methodist these days of course, so things were not too strict. Verity could drink hot tea beside the fire while Mercy sat on Uncle Terence’s lap to ‘read’ her favourite book – a picture one, with Eskimos and bears, which Uncle Terence had won at Sunday school. ‘For good attendance’, it said inside, which always made Vee smile. The Strict Adherents didn’t give you prizes for just being there each week! That was expected – there were questions if you weren’t!

  Out in the scullery, she gave her aunt the note. Dorcas couldn’t read it – she didn’t have her spectacles, she said – so Vee did it for her. ‘Going to be married as soon as possible.’

  ‘My dear life!’ Aunt Dorcas said, putting down her cloth. (It was all right to dry dishes on Sunday, in this house.) ‘I always thought your Pattie was a wayward one, but I don’t envy the poor girl, and that’s a fact. Though I suppose it’s a mercy. Ephraim Tull! Whoever heard the like! Man’s got more charity than I supposed. It isn’t his – it can’t be?’ She looked across at Vee.

  ‘What isn’t?’ Verity was genuinely perplexed.

  Aunt Dorcas looked at her surprised, then smiled and shook her head. ‘Never you mind, my handsome. I’m just being foolish, I shouldn’t be surprised. Forget I ever said it – but you tell your ma I’ll come and see her sometime in the week.’