The Railway Girl. Nancy Carson
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you want to see flowers, my wench,’ Mother Cope replied, withdrawing her pipe from between her toothless gums, ‘I daresay as there’s a bunch or two in the churchyard you could gaze at, on the graves o’ the well-to-do.’
Lucy returned to the house with her pail full of water and poured some into a bowl to give to Bobby, before using more to boil vegetables. At about three o’ clock her father returned hungry from the Whimsey and the three sat down to their dinner.
‘I reckon Ben Elwell could’ve done with your help again this morning, wench,’ Haden remarked to his daughter.
‘I’ve got too much to do here helping Mother of a Sunday,’ Lucy answered. ‘But he’s asked me to work tonight.’
‘Ar, well, there’ll be some beer shifted tonight an’ all, if the weather stops like this. Folk like to tek their beer into the fresh air and watch the world go by.’
‘I only wish they’d bring back their beer mugs when they’ve done, instead of leaving them lying around for me to collect.’
‘I reckon you’ve took to this public house working a treat, our Lucy,’ Haden said with a fatherly grin. ‘Her’s took to this public house working, you know, Hannah. Who’d have thought it, eh?’
‘Just as long as she keeps away from all them rough toe rags,’ Hannah replied.
‘Oh, they ain’t all rough, Mother. There’s a lot of decent, respectable men that come in for a drink. One or two even buy me a drink now and again.’
‘As long as nobody expects any favours in return.’
She felt like saying that if there was somebody she liked the look of she might be tempted, but kept it to herself. ‘D’you know anybody who lives down the Delph, Father?’
‘The Delph? Why?’
‘I just wondered. Somebody came in last night who I’d never seen before in me life, and he said he only lived down the Delph. You’d think you’d know everybody who lived close by. That’s all. This chap was with a crowd that played cricket for the church, so Mrs Elwell said.’
‘Lord knows who that might be. Fancy him, do yer?’ Haden winked at Hannah.
‘Not particularly,’ Lucy protested. ‘I only said it ’cause I think it’s weird not ever knowing somebody, even by sight, who lives so close to us.’
As Sunday progressed Arthur Goodrich’s self-willed bowels seemed to settle down. He attended matins at St Michael’s during the morning with his mother, and they circumspectly sat in a pew at the back, lest he should have to dart out during the service. Mercifully, he was untroubled by any such need.
His brother Talbot came for tea with Magnolia and their small son Albert. The extended family, Jeremiah included, once more crossed the threshold of St Michael’s for evensong. It was dark but warm when they finally emerged into the open air, and bats flitted in whispers between the tree tops overhead. Dinah and Jeremiah stopped to chat with some of the other parishioners by the light of a solitary gas lamp that hung over the main door, while the vicar, the Reverend Ephraim Wheeler, bid everybody a good evening with a shake of the hand and a benign smile, and looked forward to seeing them again next Sunday.
‘I’m going for a drink afore we go home,’ Talbot declared to Magnolia who was holding young Albert’s hand as the lad stood beside her. ‘I’ll see you back at Mother’s. Are you coming with me, our Arthur?’
‘I think I got the piles,’ Arthur answered ruefully. ‘Me backside’s that sore.’
Talbot rolled his eyes. ‘It’s because of the squits, Arthur. What ailments shall you be sporting tomorrow, I wonder?’
‘It’s your liver,’ Magnolia stated sagely to her brother-in-law. ‘It’s what comes of eating kickshaws and other such muck. See as your mother gives you a dose of dandelion tea or summat. Or soda and nitre’s good for you every now and again. That’ll sort yer. It’ll help to keep your system cool.’
‘Me system’s already cool,’ Arthur replied morosely. ‘That’s the trouble. It’s working in draughty graveyards what does it. How can you keep in good humours if you’m always cutting and blacking letters in draughty graveyards, sitting on cold graves? I wonder I don’t get pneumonia in me backside.’
‘You can’t get pneumonia in your backside,’ Magnolia asserted.
‘I can in mine. I’m forever catching a chill.’
‘Is that what I can hear wheezing sometimes?’ Talbot said with a grin.
‘Oh, it’s all right for you to mock, Talbot, stuck in a warm workshop.’
‘Somebody has to do the work in graveyards, amending and adding inscriptions and what not,’ Talbot replied. ‘Anyway, it’s skilled work.’
‘You wouldn’t know it from the wages. Anyway, I don’t see you doing it very often. You’re always in the workshop.’
‘Designing and carving gravestones, me, polishing slate and marble …’
‘It’s always me what has to go to these terrible places.’ He gestured with his hand to encompass in a frustrated sweep the very graveyard that now surrounded them.
‘Count your blessings, our Arthur. At least you ain’t got father around you when you’re out and about. But if you’re dissatisfied, have a word with the old sod. Maybe he’ll smile benignly upon you and start an apprentice who can do all them jobs.’
‘Him? Smile? Benignly?’ Arthur scoffed. ‘Anyway, apprentices take time to learn. Years. And they cost money. That miserable old bugger won’t spend any money, he’s too tight-fisted. No, I ain’t very pleased, Talbot.’
‘Well, I’m off for a drink. It’s up to you whether you come or not. But a drink might sweeten you up a bit.’
Then Arthur remembered the girl with the blue eyes who had said her name was Lucy, and he suddenly brightened up. ‘Why don’t we go to the Whimsey? I went there last night with the lads from the cricket team. They keep a good drop o’ beer. And it’s on the way home.’
‘All right, we’ll go to the Whimsey. I’ll ask Father if he wants to come.’
‘No, leave him be,’ Arthur said, not relishing the prospect of his father’s company. ‘Let him go home. I don’t want him around me.’
‘But you can ask him about keeping you away from churchyards.’
‘It won’t make any odds.’
‘Maybe not, but we can’t not ask him to come.’
‘Oh, all right then.’
So Jeremiah joined his two sons.
Outside the Whimsey men were standing in groups, some leaning against the bay windows either side of the door, while some were squatting on the kerb. All were drinking, taking advantage of the evening warmth of an unexpected Indian summer.
‘Shall we drink outside?’ Talbot enquired.
‘I’d rather go inside, in the saloon bar,’ Arthur said decisively, driven by the possibility of seeing this Lucy again. ‘I’ll get the beer.’
He made his way through the small but crowded taproom towards the counter and waited his turn to be served. An older woman, presumably the landlord’s wife, was supping from a crock and serving drinks alongside Lucy. He watched them, trying to decide which one would get to him first, trying to catch Lucy’s eye. When she saw him she smiled reservedly, and asked to serve him, making his insides flutter ominously once more.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, pleasantly surprised. ‘You took off a bit quick last night. Are you all right now?’
Arthur grinned sheepishly. ‘A lot better, thanks.’ He was tempted to mention his suspected piles; it might elicit some sympathy.