Nancy Carson - A Country Girl

‘Does she manage to get out these days?’

‘Only in daylight. She won’t go out at night after what happened …’

Priss nodded her sympathetic understanding. ‘I know. Such a pity … But how’s your father?’

‘Oh, he’s well.’

‘What about Kate?’

‘Oh, she’s fit enough, the sharp-tongued little harridan.’

‘Sharp-tongued?’ Priss uttered a little gurgle of amusement. ‘Are you joking? I’ve never thought of your Kate as sharp-tongued. She always seems so cheerful and pleasant, whenever I meet her.’

‘Oh, she’s always cheerful and pleasant to folk she doesn’t know very well. You should try living in the same house.’

‘But she’s such a pretty girl, your Kate. I’d give anything for her looks.’

‘But you wouldn’t want her character or demeanour, Priss.’

‘Oh, I don’t know … People seem to like you more if you’re pretty than if you’re plain. Mind you, I always think that if you go to church regularly and do your duty by your neighbour, you’ll find plenty of people ready to like you … so long as you carry yourself well and don’t stoop,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Anyway, I’m sure Kate’s nowhere near as black as you paint her … Which reminds me, Algie – will you do me a favour?’

‘What?’

‘Would you mind asking her if she wants tickets to see the plays? It only wants a fortnight.’

‘I daresay Harriet will remind me …’

Harriet appeared at that precise moment, wearing a white skirt printed in a delicate, blue floral design, and blouse to match. The ensemble did full justice to her figure. Because of the family’s business, the Meese girls were able to indulge themselves in the latest materials and designs, and several dressmakers too were always keen to run things up for them, for the recommendations they customarily received from the family.

Harriet greeted Algie with a smile as she put on a short jacket, also white. ‘I’m ready,’ she announced. ‘Are you ready, Priss?’

‘I’ve been ready ages.’

‘But you haven’t got your hat on,’ Harriet reminded her.

‘Oh, but I’m not going to wear a hat, our Harriet.’

‘Not wear a hat?’

‘According to the journals I’ve been reading, London girls are no longer wearing hats. They regard them as old-fashioned, and I’m inclined to agree. Anyway, does my hair look such a mess that I should cover it with a hat?’

‘Your hair looks very becoming, our Priss. I teased it for you myself. But you really ought to wear a hat. Don’t you think so, Algie?’

Algie duly pondered a moment, stumped for an opinion, not really bothered one way or the other. ‘Not if she doesn’t want to, Harriet. Let her go to church without a hat if she wants. Who’s it going to hurt?’

‘But it is Sunday. All the ladies will be tutting.’

‘Let ’em tut,’ Priss said defiantly. ‘I don’t care.’

Harriet shrugged resignedly. ‘Once she’s made her mind up there’s no persuading her, is there? Shall we go, Algie?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, come on, then. See you there, eh, Priss? Unless you want to walk with us …’

‘No, I don’t want to play gooseberry. I’ll be along with the others.’

Algie led Harriet down the cobbled entry. As they walked along High Street facing the low setting sun, he thrust his hand into his jacket pocket and Harriet linked her arm through his familiarly.

‘Priss asked me to ask our Kate if she wanted a ticket to see the plays,’ he said conversationally.

‘Oh, yes, the plays. It’s only a fortnight away and we’ve sold plenty of tickets already. I need to know so’s I can get her one. I know how she likes to see our plays.’

‘I’ll ask her.’

‘What about your mother and father? D’you think they’d like to come? They’re ever so comical.’

‘My mother can be comical,’ Algie quipped. ‘I’m not so sure about my father, though.’

She landed him a playful thump. ‘I mean the plays, you goose. One’s a farce, the other’s a comedy.’

‘Sounds like our house two nights running. But you know my mother never goes out of a night.’

‘Oh, I forgot. What a shame that fear of a bolting horse can stop you going out of a night. It’d be a change for her, though, to go out with your father.’

‘I know it would, and you know it, but she won’t budge. Not at night.’

‘As a matter of fact, there’s something else I’m supposed to ask your Kate, Algie.’

‘What?’

‘Well, she’s quite a pretty girl, isn’t she?’ Harriet admitted grudgingly, ‘and Mr Osborne wants to recruit some “pretty girls” into the Little Theatre, to use his words. I must say, though, I was a trifle narked when I heard him say it, so was our Priss. I mean, how demeaning to us . Not everybody can be pretty, can they? It would be a boring old world if they were. Priss told him so as well. Well, you know our Priss … But you know what men are like. Anyway, he mentioned your sister by name and I said I would enquire after her. Mr Osborne would like her to come along one rehearsal night so he can assess her ability to act.’

‘I’ll ask her then, shall I? I reckon she’ll jump at the chance to show herself off. You know how vain she is.’

‘But, in the long run, it all depends whether she can act,’ Harriet affirmed. ‘Not how pretty she is.’

‘It might divert her from that ne’er-do-well Reggie Hodgetts she seems so fond of.’

‘Reggie Hodgetts?’

‘The son of a boatman,’ Algie explained disdainfully. ‘A proper rodney. Plies the cut regular in that filthy wreck of a narrowboat his family own.’

Harriet gasped in horror. ‘Oh, goodness, a boatman? I hope she’s not thinking of throwing her life away on a mere boatman. A rodney at that.’

‘It’s coming into contact with ’em like she does,’ Algie responded defensively. ‘Being a lock-keeper’s daughter and all that, I reckon. Mind you, some of the boat families are all right. I see a family called the Binghams occasionally. They’re decent folk. Most of them are.’

‘You must make Kate see sense, Algie.’

‘She won’t take any notice of me. You know what it’s like between brothers and sisters.’

‘Then I’ll have a word with her when I see her – discreetly, of course.’

He considered Marigold and how Kate might reveal his secret desire for the girl, a mere boatman’s daughter, if she thought Harriet was poking her nose into her liaison with Reggie Hodgetts. ‘No, don’t,’ he blurted earnestly. ‘It wouldn’t do any good. Our Kate’s too headstrong to take any notice of anybody . She’d only resent you for it. She’d think you were meddling.’

‘All right, if that’s what you think, Algie.’

They arrived at the door of the old red-brick hulk of St Michael’s Church which stood loftily at Brierley Hill’s highest point, sensing at once the cool reverential ambience as they entered. Harriet bid a pleasant good evening to the sidesman who handed her a hymn book, and made her way to the family’s regular pew on tiptoe, so that her heels did not echo off the cold hard floor. Algie followed in her wake.

When the service finished the congregation gathered outside by the light of a solitary gas lamp installed above the main door; a collection of nodding bonnets, top hats and fawning smiles, all content in their self-righteousness. Some merely drifted away into the night in a random procession while others tarried, determined to elicit recognition from or conversation with the vicar, or even the curate. By now there was a chill in the air as the Meese women and Algie lingered outside waiting for the head of the family. When Eli Meese rejoined them he announced that he was going to the Bell Hotel for his customary two pints of ale, which would give him an appetite for his supper. He would be about an hour.