Nancy Carson - Poppy’s Dilemma

After an hour or so of trying to make sense of this latest disturbing conundrum, Poppy ambled dejectedly back to the conglomeration of miserable huts that were a blight, even on the ravaged, slag-heaped, chimney-bestrewn landscape around Blowers Green. The sun was hiding behind a bank of grey clouds, depriving the scene even of the joy of colour. As she entered the compound, hungry, for she had not felt like eating after what had occurred, she caught sight of Robert Crawford’s boneshaker leaning against the side of the hut that the foremen used as an office. She turned away, disappointed with Robert over his failure to seek her out after their dinner-time ride, which seemed ages ago. He must be avoiding her, so why give him the satisfaction of thinking that she wanted to see him?

But as she was about to enter her own hut, he came out of the foremen’s and espied her. He called her name and she lost her resolve. His smile, to her delight, did not give the impression that he was sorry to see her – rather that he was decidedly pleased to. They walked towards each other, her smiling eyes glued on his, and they met in the open space at the centre of the encampment.

‘Poppy, how grand to see you,’ Robert greeted. He was wearing his usual top hat and frock coat, and his watch chain hung impressively across his waistcoat. ‘Have you heard from your father yet?’

Poppy shook her head, saddened to be reminded. ‘No, Robert, and I’ve got the feeling he ain’t coming back.’

‘Oh? Why on earth would you think that?’

‘Well, ’cause he ain’t shown up yet. He’s had plenty time now.’

‘But I’m certain he will, Poppy,’ he said, trying intently to reassure her. ‘Any number of things might have conspired to delay him. Maybe he’s found lucrative employment and wants to make the most of it.’

‘Lucrative?’ she queried wearily. ‘You don’t half use some funny words, Robert.’

He smiled his apology, feeling mildly chastised for using words that he should have realised were beyond her knowledge. ‘It means well-paid, gainful.’

‘Gainful or not, he ain’t come back.’

‘Maybe he’ll send for you soon.’

‘Well, it won’t be soon enough,’ Poppy said wistfully. ‘He’s too late already.’

‘Too late? What do you mean?’

Poppy shook her head and averted her eyes. ‘Oh, nothing …’ She felt too ashamed to tell him what had transpired between her mother and Tweedle Beak and the certain consequences of it.

‘You must miss him, Poppy,’ Robert said kindly.

She nodded and tried to push back tears that were welling up in her eyes. ‘Yes, I miss him, Robert. I love him.’

‘There, there …’ He took her hand in consolation but held it discreetly at her side, so that such intimate contact was hidden from view by the folds of her skirt. ‘Please don’t cry, Poppy. I have such a vivid recollection of you laughing and being so happy that I can’t bear to see you crying with sadness.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She sighed and wiped an errant tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. She forced a smile and Robert gazed into her watery eyes.

‘You have such a lovely smile,’ he said sincerely. He squeezed her hand before he let go of it. ‘Your smile is your fortune, believe me. I remember how you flashed me a smile the very first time I saw you. I asked myself then, why was I so rewarded with such a lovely smile when I was accompanying such an unpleasant policeman on such a thoroughly unpleasant task?’

‘Oh, I could tell you wasn’t like the bobby,’ Poppy said. ‘Besides, you had the good manners to take your hat off when you came in our hut. Even I know it’s good manners for a man to doff his hat in somebody’s house.’

‘I’m happy that it pleased you … that you even noticed.’

‘There’s not much I miss, Robert …’

He laughed at that. ‘And I believe you. But I’m glad I’ve seen you, Poppy. I’ve been meaning to seek you out. There’s something I wanted to suggest …’

‘What?’ she asked, and felt her heart beating faster.

‘Well … Last time we met, you told me that you regret not having had the opportunity of an education …’

‘It’s true,’ she agreed, puzzled.

‘Well … Poppy …’ He fidgeted uneasily, not sure how to word what he wanted to say without her reading into it more than he meant. And then he found the simple words. ‘How would you react, if I offered to give you lessons in reading and writing?’

‘In reading and writing?’ she repeated incredulously, surprise manifest in her face.

‘Yes. I think I could easily teach you to read and write. If you wanted to, that is.’

Her tears were quickly forgotten and she chuckled with delight at the thought. ‘Robert, I don’t know what to say, honest I don’t … D’you really mean it? I mean, d’you know what you’re letting yourself in for? I mean, what if I’m too stupid?’

He laughed dismissively at that, partly because he was amused that she should harbour such an absurd notion, partly because he wished to disguise this illogical lack of poise he sometimes felt when he was with her, even though she was way below his station. ‘Oh, you’re very bright, Poppy,’ he reassured her. ‘You’d learn very quickly. So what do you say? Do you agree?’

‘Oh, yes, I agree, Robert. And thank you. There’s nothing I’d like more. But when would we start?’

‘Well, why don’t we start tomorrow?’

‘That soon?’

‘Yes, why not? Can you meet me tomorrow?’

‘When I’m through with me work. But where would we go?’

‘Ah! I haven’t quite worked that out yet. But if you could meet me somewhere, we could find a quiet spot where I could first teach you your alphabet.’

Poppy looked up at the sky unsurely. ‘Even if it’s raining?’

‘Yes. Even if it’s raining.’

‘So where should I meet you?’

‘Perhaps as far away from this encampment as possible,’ he suggested. ‘To protect your reputation, of course.’

‘My reputation?’ she scoffed. ‘Yours, more like.’

He was not surprised by the astuteness of her remark, but he let it go. ‘Do you know the ruins of the Old Priory?’

Poppy shook her head.

‘Do you know St Edmund’s church at the far end of the town, past the town hall and the market?’

She nodded.

‘Meet me there.’

‘All right. Will three o’clock be all right?’

‘Three o’clock will be fine.’

Poppy smiled excitedly. ‘I’ll bring a writing pad and a blacklead.’

That encounter, and the prospect of another meeting tomorrow, lifted Poppy from her depression. She felt honoured that Robert Crawford was prepared to spend time with her, teaching her to become literate. Did it mean he was interested in her, that he wanted to woo her? The possibility excited her. He must like her, anyway. That much was obvious. Else he wouldn’t have offered to do it. Now, she had to scrounge some money from her mother again, to enable her to go into Dudley to buy a writing pad and her own blacklead.

Some of the black spoil that had been excavated from the Dudley Tunnel at the northern end had been deposited over an area known as Porter’s Field. The sloping elevation that ensued, having been duly compacted, was considered a suitable site for a fair. That Saturday evening in June, Minnie Catchpole decided that the fair that was being held there might provide her and Poppy Silk with some interesting diversions while Dog Meat and his new friend Jericho proceeded to get drunk.

The two girls entered the fair, looked about them excitedly and drank in the lively atmosphere. Traders had set out their stalls on both sides of the broad corridor of the entrance, and misspelled notices advertised their wares. Everything was available, from the finest leather saddlery and boots, through chamber pots, to sealing wax. An apothecary was telling a crowd around him about the benefits of using his balsam of horehound and aniseed for the treatment of coughs and colds, and of Atkinson’s Infants’ Preservative, recommended for those children liable to diarrhoea or looseness of the bowels, flatulence and wind. A herbalist was evidently doing good business in blood mixtures, sarsaparilla compound, piles ointments, healing salve, toothache cure, pills for gout and diuretic pills. A little further on, if you were hungry, you could enjoy a bowl of groaty pudding for tuppence, made from kiln-dried oats, shin of beef and leeks. If that didn’t suit, liver faggots and grey peas were a tasty alternative, as was the bread pudding known as ‘fill-bally’, made from stale bread, suet and eggs, and sweetened with brown sugar and dried fruit.