Rosemary Aitken (9 page)

But she simply laughed. ‘Never make my fortune, will I? I never thought of that. No, I generally pick something, when I’m out with you. I like to take it back with me – remind me of our walks – but violets are too fragile to carry in my hand, or put into the pocket of my shawl like I b’long to do . . .’ She flushed and turned away.

He put a hand beneath her chin and turned it gently so that she was facing him again. ‘Do you really do that? I’ve seen you pick a piece of something now and then – ferns and berries and that sort of thing – I never thought about you keeping them. Anyway, I shouldn’t have thought they’d last above a day or two.’

‘I’ve kept a bunch of wildflowers for better than a week!’ she protested with a grin. ‘I put them in a jam jar right beside my bed, and look at them to cheer me up whenever Madam’s cross as sticks with me – which seems to be happening more and more these days. Anyway,’ she shook the basket of violets at him, ‘even when these are wilted I’ve got a use for them. I’ll put them in the rinse-jug when I wash my hair. It takes away the smell of vinegar.’

‘Vinegar?’

She giggled. ‘I always use it when I wash my hair. Mother used to say it made it shine.’ She gave him a playful push. ‘Though I can see I’ll have to give up doing that, if it’s going to make you start taking liberties, like you did just now.’

‘Like this?’ he said, and bent to kiss her hair again, but as he did so she turned her face to his and almost accidently he brushed against her lips.

It was a fleeting moment but he realized that it embarrassed her. She would not take his arm again, even on the field-paths, and she talked nineteen to the dozen all the way back to the town, about Mrs Thatchell and the cook and anything at all – except themselves. Even when they parted she did not look at him.

Effie did not mean to lie awake that night and think about that kiss, but she found she could not dismiss it from her mind. Of course he hadn’t meant to – it was half an accident – but it was the first real kiss that she’d ever had, if you didn’t count a peck from the Kellow boy next door when they were six.

Well, except that Alex had brushed his lips against her hair, this very afternoon – but that hardly counted now, though it had seemed sufficiently exciting at the time. And that had been no accident at all!

She was both excited and alarmed – there were stories about girls who let themselves be kissed – but there wasn’t anyone that she could tell. It was moments like this that she missed her mother most. It was not the sort of thing that you could say to Aunty Madge; you certainly would not want Uncle Joe to know, and it was difficult to get to talk to Pa alone. She could try confiding in her cousin Peg, who had always been the friendliest of the family, though she’d done that once before and it had not altogether turned out as she had hoped. They’d been upstairs together wrapping Christmas presents in December-time, and Effie had mentioned the ‘real nice policeman’ she had met.

But Peg was not especially impressed. ‘A policeman! You can’t mean you’re sweet on him? My dear life, Effie, have you got no sense at all! You know what Fayther thinks about the police – never had time for them since that lock-out at the mine.’

Effie nodded; she had heard that story many times from Uncle Joe himself. The miners had been threatening to strike, after a dispute about the cost of candles for their hats, and in the end the owners locked them out. Then, after having no work or wages for a month, a party of them came clamouring at the gates demanding to be let in and listened to: so the owners called the constables, who baton-charged the men – including her uncle, who’d been tumbled to the ground. Of course it had all been settled in the end – in fact the miners had won a sort of compromise – but Joe had been wary of policemen ever since. ‘Knocked down by some young bugger in a uniform, simply for trying to get what should have been me own in any case,’ as he never tired of telling everyone.

Effie shrugged. ‘I know. But that was years ago. Alex didn’t take any part in that. Besides, if someone came and burgled Uncle Joe he’d be the first to want the police to help.’

Peg looked scornful. ‘If someone stole from Fayther he wouldn’t call the police. He’d go and find the culprit for himself, and knock the living daylights out of him.’

Effie had to own that this was likely to be true, but she did not give up the argument. ‘But supposing that he couldn’t find out who the culprit was? That’s where the police come in. They’ve got all kinds of modern ways of finding criminals. Alex spends hours looking out for clues – I’ve seen him do it outside on the street – and he can make a plaster cast of footprints and all sorts. He’s very good at it, apparently. He says his sergeant is impressed with him, and he’s hoping to be made up to the second grade.’

‘Well, so he may be, but what use is that to you? It wouldn’t work out, Effie. Surely you can see? No doubt he really likes you, but it won’t be serious. It will be years and years before he even thinks of settling down. Take him all his time to work his way up through the ranks.’

‘It isn’t like that,’ Effie muttered in dismay. She hid her misery by folding a piece of tissue paper round the knitted socks she’d made for Uncle Joe. (By saving a penny from her wages every week she’d managed to buy wool enough for gloves or socks all round. She wasn’t as good with knitting as she was with stitchery, but it was easier to manage when you worked by candlelight and by doing an inch or two each night she’d done them easily.) ‘I’m sure that he’ll go far. His family have a lot of influence. The father was some sort of hero in the cavalry. And you should hear him talk about his home – gardens and stables and cook and everything.’ She tied her parcel with a piece of coloured string and picked up the gloves for Pa. She had embroidered a pocket-handkerchief with ‘A’ to give to Alex, but she hadn’t brought that here.

Peg put down the pot-holder that she had made for her Ma, and whirled round with a frown. ‘Well, Effie Pengelly, you’re more fool than I thought. Never thought this constable of yours might be halfway to gentry! Not a bit of good you mooning over him. Don’t you go letting him lead you into anything!’ She must have seen the hurt on Effie’s face, because all of a sudden she leaned forward with a smile. ‘You’d be better off finding some young fellow from the mine – like that nice Peter Kellow who used to live next door, when you lived down the Narrows with your Ma and Pa.’

Effie turned away. ‘Don’t be so bally daft!’

‘I mean it. I see his elder brother now and then, and I know that Pete’s been mad about you since the pair of you were small. I never see him without he asks for you and I’ve even met him sometimes moping in the lane – though he’s got no other reason to come up this way. How don’t you talk to ’im? He’s on men’s wages now and he’d have you like a shot, give you a home and family as soon as he’d saved up. Proper man’s job too. Not like this poli—’ She broke off as her father came clattering up the stairs and stuck his head around the bedroom door.

He was scowling at them, as he often did. ‘What’s all this whispering? And what are you two doing, hiding yourselves away upstairs like this? We don’t have secrets from other people in the house.’

Peg looked at Effie. ‘I was saying to Effie about . . .’ But Effie cut her off.

‘Only wrapping Christmas presents, Uncle Joe.’ She waved the little parcel at him as she spoke. ‘I’ve just done one for you. Don’t look at the others or you will spoil the surprise.’

Her uncle glanced at the unwrapped pile remaining on the bed, then gave a grumpy ‘Harrumph!’ and went away again.

Peg turned to Effie. ‘Good for you! That was a close-run thing! I only hope he’s satisfied, otherwise he’ll wait until you’ve gone and chivvy me till he gets it out of me.’ It was obvious that, if he did, she would soon spill the beans and there and then Effie made a private vow that she would not confide in cousin Peg again.

Perhaps she could find a moment to be alone with Pa, if he was there next week – though it seemed a long, long time to wait. And what would she tell him? That she had been kissed, and by a member of the police? The same one that had come out to the house to question him? What would he say to that? Tell her the same as cousin Peg had done, most like – to smile at Peter Kellow and have done with it.

She tried to think of Peter as a potential beau, but she could not manage it. Poor Peter with his ginger hair and gently baffled look. He was a pleasant-enough fellow, hard-working and sober and honest as the day, and she’d known him all her life (he was the one who’d stolen that kiss when they were young) but there was nothing in him that would stir the heart. He wasn’t bad-looking, though his teeth stuck out a bit, but his stocky frame could not compare to Alex’s tall, athletic grace. Of course, she knew what cousin Peg would say – romantic love was very fine in books but it did not pay the rent. And that was true, of course.

Among the bal-maidens at Penvarris mine, Peter would be regarded as ‘a catch’. He’d make someone a splendid husband, Effie had no doubt – it was just that she did not want it to be her. Tied down in a tiny cottage with a herd of little ones, washing and scrubbing all the hours God sent, fretting about stretching the purse to pay for food and worrying all the time in case the mine-alarm went off and there had been some sort of accident. Surely there must be something else in life?

But what? Generations of her family had done exactly that, and she could hardly suppose that she was different. She sighed. As she’d said to Alex, they came from different worlds and that was all there was to that.

She punched her bolster-pillow as though it were at fault, and pulled the bed-clothes firmly up around her nose – but it was no good. She was far too restless to settle down to sleep. She got up in the darkness and pulled back the blind. The moon was up and bathing everything in an unearthly light.

It reminded her of something that she’d read once in a book. ‘A cold moon was floating in a milky sky, and the trees had turned to silhouettes against the silver night.’ Some lovely picture that painted, didn’t it? She’d thought so the first time that she’d seen it written down – in one of those unwanted stories of Miss Caroline’s, that Lettie had lent to her.

Lettie! Why had she not thought of it before? Lettie would listen – she knew about these things, and she would be certain to have some good advice. Effie shivered and pulled her thin nightdress round her knees: the room was rather draughty and the night was chill, but she went back to bed with a much lighter heart. On Tuesday she would linger at the Westons’ shop again and have a talk to Lettie, if she could.

Ten minutes later she was fast asleep.

Walter Pengelly was also lying sleepless in his bed. He had spent the evening a disappointed man. All that walk to go to Madge’s house for a meal – only to find that Effie wasn’t there. That was the second time since Christmas, and he’d worked doublers specially to be there tonight.

The thought must have affected him more than he supposed because he was unwise enough to mention it to Joe, when they were sitting together on the settle after tea. Madge and the older girls had gone upstairs, putting little ones safely into bed, and for a brief ten minutes the two men had the kitchen to themselves.

Joe was on about the meetings at the mine about setting up a Union. ‘There’s a group of us meeting at the Worker’s Institute tonight. That fellow from London is going to talk about the benefits of setting up a branch.’ As he spoke he was filling his evil-smelling pipe with his peculiar brand of Virginia tobacco – what he called his ‘little weakness’ – and tamping it down firmly with his thumb. He cocked an eye at Walter. ‘You want to come and all?’

Walter shook his head. ‘I don’t hold with all these unions and their “workers’ rights”. Likely to stir up trouble as far as I can see. Look what ’appened last time. Damned near starved us out.’

‘But we won a concession from them in the end.’ Joe could be downright cussed when he tried: earlier he had been grumbling about the London man, himself. ‘And the Union’s only about trying to get a decent wage.’

Walter stood his ground. He could be as stubborn as anybody else. ‘We tributers have always had a contract with the mine – so much per ton for what we bring to ground. These blighters are urging that we get a settled rate – so much an hour – where’s the skill in that? What do these London Johnnies know about it anyway? Bad enough they’ve got us paying for that dratted stamp, when we already pay our Friendly dues.’ Joe was looking ready to argue half the night, so he added peaceably, ‘Different for you fellows up to ground, working in the sorting sheds, p’rhaps, but I got better things to do than sit in draughty meetings at this time of night. No, I’m going home early, seeing Effie isn’t here.’

‘Well, you knew she wasn’t coming. She said as much last week.’

Walter pushed his empty cup aside. ‘Yes, I’d forgotten that. Going to go out walking with a friend, she said. Course it is nice for her to have a pal, but I don’t half miss her when she isn’t here. I suppose it’s that maid Lettie that she’s with – the one she talks about.’

His brother-in-law looked at him with a peculiar knowing air. ‘Well, if you believe that, Wally, you’re dafter than I thought. You’ll tell me next that you believe the moon is made of cheese.’ Joe leaned forward to light a taper from the fire and lit his pipe, then sat back, sucking happily and sending up little clouds of pungent smoke. ‘It’s clear to me there’s some young man involved. Far too busy to come and see her family, and never mind that we’re relying on her bringing her four shillings in.’

Walter allowed himself to be quite stung by this – as Joe no doubt intended. ‘Effie told me that she always gave her wages in, and if she didn’t come out here she paid it off the butcher’s bill in town, save Madge from having to traipse in there every week. Are you telling me that isn’t true?’

Joe poked at his pipe-bowl with a bit of stick. ‘I suppose it’s true enough. But when she doesn’t come, Madge doesn’t have the money in her hand that week, and that is what she likes. Give her a bit of flexibility. Mind, I blame Peg. She was the one suggested that Effie could pay it off that way. And didn’t your maid bite her hand off at the suggestion too! You could see that she’d much rather not come home. No there’ll be some fellow – you can bet your boots on that. They’ll be hanging round her, like wasps around the jam. Too pretty and she knows it, if you ask me, old son.’