Patty was about to say
Darky’s got bigger hands than you
, but she caught herself in time and giggled weakly. ‘I’m not a very good knitter,’ she confessed. ‘As for size, I just had to guess. Most of the men I know smoke Woodbines, so I took a chance with them as well.’
Toby sank down on to one of the fireside chairs and began to open the packet of cigarettes. ‘All the fellers I know smoke Woodbines,’ he said contentedly, putting a cigarette into his mouth and leaning forward to get a light with one of the tapers which stood beside the fire. ‘Want a drag, queen?’
Patty had never begun to smoke and didn’t meant to start now, so she said she would have a cup of tea and a biscuit instead and the two of them began to discuss other things. Vaguely, in the back of her mind, Patty was aware that Toby’s answers to her questions about the Flanagans had not been very satisfactory. But she did not really know fair folk; perhaps their friendships were indeed so casual – or so deep – that they would not mind if a guest simply failed to turn up. Perhaps the arrangement had never been a particularly definite one; perhaps the Flanagans had merely indicated that Toby would be welcome if he arrived.
At this point in her musings, the meal announced itself ready. Presently Patty found herself simply enjoying Toby’s company and his obvious admiration, and ceasing to worry about his easy-going attitude to life. After all, she supposed, like herself he had been forced to make his own rules to a certain extent, since those which applied in the children’s home did not help much in the outside world.
Satisfied on this score, she settled down to enjoy her meal.
Rather to his surprise, Darky found himself thoroughly enjoying Christmas and Merry’s cheerful, if demanding, company. She was an affectionate child, neither shy nor diffident, and though he could not promise her treats until the infection had run its natural course, she seemed quite content to play with her Christmas presents, do the jigsaws which Aunt Beryl provided and listen to the tales in the storybooks she had brought up with her from Liverpool. Darky, reading the story of the Three Little Pigs, or the tale of Simple Susan, marvelled at the child’s memory, for should he skip a sentence, or even a word, she was on him like a little tiger, stabbing a forefinger at the book – quite often hitting the right word – and telling him that he had missed a bit.
‘She’ll be reading before she starts school,’ Darky told his mother. ‘She’s bright as a button, she can count up to twenty and if you give her simple sums with pennies to represent numbers, she’ll get ’em right nine times out of ten.’
‘Oh aye, she’s a bright kid right enough,’ Mrs Knight said. She glanced sideways at Darky, a smile lurking in her eyes. ‘I’m real proud when she calls me Nanna, to tell you the truth. I wish I really were her gran but I reckon I’m the nearest thing she’s got to one, so that’ll have to content me.’ She cast another sly glance at Darky. ‘For now,’ she finished.
‘I know what you mean; I’m mortal proud of her meself,’ Darky admitted. ‘I were proud of her in Liverpool because she was so pretty and nice to people. She always had a smile for me mates when they came round to the house, and she’s been chattering away to anyone who’d spare a moment for the best part of a year now. But this is the first opportunity I’ve had to spend twenty-four hours in her company and I tell you, Mam, it’s made me certain sure of one thing. I’m not going to be a widower for the rest of me life if I can possibly help it. I want a family of me own.’
The two of them were sitting in Beryl’s living room whilst Beryl taught the child to make gingerbread men; a task which was apparently full of humour since frequent bursts of laughter came to the Knights’ ears. Once more, Nellie Knight gave her son a shrewd look. ‘All kids ain’t like Merry,’ she told him. ‘D’you know what you’re really saying, son? You’re saying you’d like Merry to be your own little girl, which means you wish Patty—’
‘Yes, well, wishing butters no turnips,’ Darky said quickly. He realised he was actually afraid that if his mother voiced what was in his mind, it might mean that his dream would come to naught. You’re a superstitious fool, Darky Knight, he told himself robustly. Mam and I both know that I want Patty for me wife, but neither of us knows whether I’ve got a chance.
Mrs Knight raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, so now you’re putting words into me mouth, is that it?’ she asked genially. ‘I were just thinkin’ that Patty must be mortal fond of you to let you take her place with the little one over Christmas. So it follows that you’re mortal fond of her to take on such a task, see?’
Darky decided that the time had come to tell his mother how things stood and ask her advice. Because Merry had been so poorly upon his arrival, he and his mother had had few opportunities to talk, but now Darky stood up and went over to the kitchen doorway. ‘Auntie Beryl, is it all right if Mam and meself get some fresh air for half an hour? Only you and Merry seem pretty occupied and it would be grand to see a bit of the city in daylight.’
The gingerbread makers, scarcely looking up from their task, agreed absently that the Knights might go out and welcome. ‘Only I’m serving tea and scones at four o’clock sharp, so don’t you be late,’ Aunt Beryl said. ‘And if you’re both very good, the bairn and meself might even let you have a gingerbread man apiece; what do you say, Merry?’
‘I’m having the one with the walking stick,’ Merry said at once. ‘But Knighty and Nanna can have the man with only one leg and the one whose head has run a bit.’
Darky peered at the gingerbread men set out on the table. ‘That’s not a walking stick. You’ve give the poor feller three legs,’ he said accusingly. ‘You only want that one because it’s got the most gingerbread and I’m a lot bigger’n you, so that one should be for me really.’
Merry, flushed and excited, promptly disputed his claim, so Darky gave in gracefully and then he and his mother left the house. For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the fresh, cool air and the sights and sounds of the city, for it was New Year’s Eve and the streets were crowded with shoppers, but presently they came to a quiet little square and Mrs Knight turned to her son. ‘Well? I know you want to talk; I can always tell. I s’pose it’s got something to do with the doctor saying that Merry would be infectious for another ten days and that he prefers her not to leave for another fortnight. It’s disappointing for Patty, I know, but she’s got her work and her pal Ellen, and I dare say Maggie will be back in Ashfield Place by now, so I’m sure she’ll understand that it’s for the best. Is that what’s worrying you, son?’ Mrs Knight’s voice was indulgent. It was clear she thought her son was worrying about nothing. So Darky took a deep breath and began to explain.
‘Well, Mam, it all came about because of me taking Patty to the New Brighton funfair on the Saturday before Christmas …’
When the story was told, Mrs Knight gazed at her son with considerable concern in her pale blue eyes. ‘That is a facer,’ she admitted after a long moment. ‘But to my way of thinking, son, you’ve done absolutely the right thing by coming away. It was a brave thing to do and a kind thing as well, and Patty’s no fool; she won’t mistake either braveness or kindness for indifference, she’ll see it for what it really is. As for this Toby Rudd of yours …’
‘He ain’t none of mine,’ Darky protested, grinning for the first time since he had begun his tale. ‘I don’t like the chap, nor I don’t trust him, though it queers me to say why.’
‘It’s a figure of speech,’ Mrs Knight said reproachfully. ‘And well you know it, young feller-me-lad! No, I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you’ve done just as you ought and I don’t think you should go home one day before you have to. I admit there’d be folk as would advise you different, but I ain’t one of them. Patty’s as sweet and level-headed a girl as I’ve ever met, and when push comes to shove she’ll see where true worth lies and make her decision accordingly.’
‘I know what you mean, but … but he’s a good-lookin’ bloke, Mam, and he’s got a beautiful caravan and his own business. What’s more, there’s a sort of glamour attached to the fair which don’t apply to Levers.’ He saw his mother begin to smile and added hastily: ‘You know what I mean! He’s been places and done things that I’ve never even dreamed of. He can offer Patty foreign travel and excitement, but all I can offer is a regular wage packet. In other words, he’s the prince and I’m the peasant.’
Mrs Knight was not a demonstrative woman, but now she stood on tiptoe, pulled Darky’s head down to hers and kissed him resoundingly on the cheek. ‘And I suppose you ain’t good-looking?’ she said derisively. ‘I suppose you don’t have half the girls in Levers swooning over you? As for the glamour of travel, or whatever it was you said, I reckon Patty’s a real home bird. I’m telling you, son, you’ve done the right thing, and when we get home all you’ll have to is pop the question.’
Darky snorted. ‘And risk her saying no and spoiling what I have got? We’re good friends, Mam, and I can see Patty and Merry whenever we aren’t working, but if I propose and she refuses, she might feel too embarrassed to so much as come to a flick with me ever again.’
It was Mrs Knight’s turn to snort. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ she quoted. ‘Am I to call you a coward, son? Afraid to chance your arm in case she turns you down? Now I want you to promise me that when we get back to Liverpool you’ll ask young Patty if she’ll marry you; and if she says she won’t, I’ll eat my Sunday hat.’
Darky took a deep breath, intending to say he would do no such thing, and found himself meekly promising to do just as his mother had asked. Strangely enough, having made the decision, he felt happier than he had done for days, and even began to share his mother’s optimism over Patty’s reply to his proposal.
When the telegraph boy came to the door, Patty’s heart sank into her sensible wellington boots. She had just come in from a gruelling round of calls and wanted nothing more than a hot cup of tea and a nice sit down before the fire. However, she ripped the little yellow envelope open with a dry mouth whilst the boy stood patiently, saying over and over beneath his breath: ‘Any reply, miss? It’s a penny a word.’
The telegram, however, did not bring bad news of Merry’s health. It merely said: MERRY STILL INFECTIOUS STOP COMING HOME
14TH
STOP LETTER FOLLOWS STOP KNIGHTS.
Patty was so relieved that, for a moment, the room swam around her. Then it steadied and she told the telegraph boy that there was no reply, shut the door and tottered to the nearest fireside chair, where she collapsed, reading the telegram again and feeling a stab of dismay that she would see neither the Knights nor Merry for another nine days.
However, she must look on the bright side. Bringing Merry home too soon could easily result in nasty complications and, as a nurse, Patty was well aware how damaging these could be. Measles was dismissed by some as a childish ailment which everyone had to go through, but she knew how often a child sick with the measles could run such a high fever that hallucinations and worse could follow. Patty had known cases where otitis media had had children screaming with earache; she had nursed a child whose untreated measles had caused encephalitis and another whose eyesight had been so severely affected by corneal ulcerations that she had lost most of her sight. So she must count herself lucky that Merry was merely staying in Scotland for an extra nine days and not suffering from any of the various ills which could have come as a result of the infection.
Maggie, however, was now back at No. 24 for a couple of days each week, since the children were all pretty well over their illness. She said, confidently, that she was sure she would be back at Ashfield Place full time in another week or so. When she came in presently and heard that Merry was remaining in Scotland for another nine days, her face fell, but she said bracingly: ‘It’ll be for the best, Patty. I know you said that the younger the child, the less chance of real damage, but even so we wouldn’t want our girl takin’ that long journey in such horrid weather before she’s properly fit, would we? And anyway, it means we’ll be able to give Toby a bit more time on a Saturday, because he does need help with the shooting gallery, even though Christmas and New Year are over.’
‘Business slows almost to a stop from now on,’ Patty reminded her. ‘It’s in January that all the repair work gets done. They repaint the gallopers – that’s the merry-go-rounds, Maggie – and the swing boats, renew the ropes, oil the rifles and go to the wholesalers to buy new prizes for when spring comes again. So even when they’re not open for business, they’re still extremely busy.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right. As you know, Patty, I don’t like Toby as much as you do, but think how we would have missed Darky and Mrs Knight if it hadn’t been for him!’
Patty smiled. ‘I don’t know what I would have done over Christmas and the New Year without Toby and the fair,’ she admitted. ‘He is so full of fun and so good-tempered, even when things go wrong. And the fair folk are the same. They’ve made it clear that they consider me one of themselves because I’m Toby’s pal. When I was truly worried about Merry, Toby was really sensible, telling me that worry never did anyone any good and pointing out that if I made myself ill my work would suffer. And then, of course, he can always make me laugh. I know you have your doubts about him, queen, but you’ve not known him as long as I have.’
‘It isn’t that I have my doubts exactly,’ Maggie was beginning when the door flew open and Ellen tumbled into the room. She sank into the fireside chair opposite Patty’s and turned to beam at Maggie. ‘Oh, it’s grand to have you back, Mags,’ she said, ‘even if you’re only here for a few hours.’ She began to pull out the contents of her bag and tip those instruments that needed sterilising into a cake tin. ‘Are your instruments in the oven already, Patty? If not, we’d better sort them now, then they can sterilise together.’ She turned back to Maggie. ‘What’s for supper, queen?’