The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
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smiled reticently, remembering Robert Crawford; inevitably comparing the two men.
‘Have you got a chap, Poppy?’ Jericho asked. ‘If not, I’m just the chap for you. We’d make a fine couple, you and me, eh?’
‘You’re wasting your time trying to butter Poppy up,’ Minnie said jealously, trying to dissuade this new resident away from her friend. ‘She’s already took with one of Treadwell’s engineers. What’s his name, Poppy, did you say?’
‘I didn’t say I was took with him,’ Poppy argued, aware of what Minnie was up to. ‘You said it. Not me.’
‘Only ’cause you am took with him, Poppy.’ Minnie turned to Jericho. ‘Less than ten minutes ago she told me she wouldn’t mind this engineer giving her one – and how she’s meeting him Wednesday and can hardly wait. What did you say his name was?’
Poppy sighed and looked archly at her slender fingers. ‘Robert Crawford.’
‘And he rides one o’ them two-wheeled machines what looks like an ’obby ’orse.’
‘What he built himself,’ Poppy added with pride. ‘’Cept for the wheels.’
‘Well, I can see I got some competition … Still …’ Jericho grinned with supreme confidence. ‘Competition never bothered me afore.’
Later that night, when they had returned to their huts and Poppy was in bed, she heard a commotion outside in the compound. Men’s cheering and jeering voices told her it must be a fight. The sounds of fists slapping against flesh and cracking against bone, the earnest grunts of men in a tussle, confirmed it. She sat up in bed, then threw back the blanket and dragged herself out. She found her slippers in the darkness, put her mantle on over her nightgown, and stepped outside to see who it was. The rain had ceased but mud was everywhere. Silhouetted by the feeble light that fell through the open door of Minnie’s hut, a group of men had gathered, encouraging the two men who were grappling each other. Poppy crept forward to see who was involved but, in the darkness, she could not be certain. She saw Minnie, who had also come out to watch, her head darting from side to side as she tried to see round the shoulders of big men in front of her.
Poppy tugged Minnie’s coat from behind. ‘Who’s fighting?’
‘Jericho and Chimdey Charlie.’
‘What are they fighting over?’
‘A pillow,’ Minnie replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. ‘And look … they’m as naked as the day they was born.’ She put her hand over her mouth in mock shock and giggled joyously. ‘He’s a strapping chap, ain’t he, that Jericho?’
Poppy peered through the crowd and tried to catch a glimpse. ‘They must be mad,’ she uttered, and turned to go.
‘He’s got a tidy doodle on him and no mistake,’ Minnie remarked, her eyes sparkling with the reflected light of oil lamps from the hut. ‘Have you seen it?’
‘No, neither do I want to,’ Poppy answered with pious indignation.
But the fight was taking a decisive turn and Poppy continued watching, her natural curiosity getting the better of her. One of the men was down in the mud, prone, and showed no signs of getting up yet awhile. The victor stood over the loser, the muscles of his back clear and defined like live eels wriggling under his skin. He rubbed his hands together, then gave his victim a final kick between the legs. The men began to disperse, discussing the finer points of the scuffle, acknowledging that the winner was a fine fighter, as strong as an ox. Poppy saw that it was indeed Jericho. She turned her back on him and walked away, but he had seen her and called after her, ignoring Minnie.
‘Did you see me beat that vermin?’ he asked excitedly, breathing hard as he caught up with her. His face was unmarked by the fray; only his body had a patch or two of caking mud stuck to it, matted in the dark hairs of his broad chest.
‘I don’t understand what there was to fight about,’ Poppy said indifferently and walked on, determined not to look at him.
‘That spunkless article had got two pillows and I hadn’t got a one,’ he said, following her. ‘So I lifted it off his bunk and put it on mine. He didn’t take kindly to it, so I offered to fight him for it.’
He walked beside her for a while, unabashed by his nakedness, and grabbed hold of her, twisting her round to face him. ‘Kiss me, Poppy,’ he said and his eyes were intensely penetrating, even in the dimness of the night. He thrust his hands inside her mantle and pulled it open. As he drew her to him she could instantly feel the warmth of his body, hot from his exertion, urgently pressing against hers with only the thin cotton of her nightgown between them. As he sought her lips and found them, she felt him harden almost at once, insistent, pressing against her warm belly. For a few seconds she thrilled to the sensation, pleased that she was having such a rousing effect on him.
‘You got nothin’ on under your coat except your nightdress,’ he commented excitedly as he cupped her small bottom in his huge hands. ‘Come with me round the back o’ the hut.’
Poppy pulled herself away from him and wiped her mouth. ‘I will not,’ she said fervently. ‘Don’t think I’m like other navvy wenches, Jericho, ’cause I’m not. Who do you think you are anyway, coming here and thinking I’m going to fall at your feet?’
He looked at her for a few seconds, uncertain how to react, and Poppy was afraid he might strike her for her disaffection. At last he grinned at her. ‘Oh, playing hard to get, eh? Saving yourself for that Crawford, are you? Well, I don’t mind playing that game. You’ll be worth the wait and you’ll taste all the sweeter for it …’ He displayed himself lewdly, cupping himself in both hands … ‘And so will I …’
Poppy turned and ran back to the hut.
She found it difficult to sleep that night, tossing and turning on the feather mattress till it became lumpy. Images of Jericho, naked in the darkness, invaded her mind. Good thing it had been dark. She knew exactly what Minnie saw in him, with his raw good looks, his thick, dark curls and his muscular body that showed not one ounce of fat. But he was arrogant. He knew women fancied him. Women would be there for the taking, wherever he went. But not her. Not Poppy. Oh, he expected her to be like all the others – easy meat. But he had not met anybody like her before. She was not about to be beguiled by the likes of him. Besides, he was just another navvy. Imagine being his devoted woman, sharing his bed at night, bearing his children, yet never sure that he was not bedding some other woman he’d duped with diverting half promises and the prospect of unbounded pleasuring.
So she turned her thoughts to Robert Crawford … Robert Crawford, that gentle soul who was not so high and mighty that he would wilfully pass her by and fail to acknowledge her, even though she was only a navvy’s daughter. He’d called her ‘Miss Silk’. He’d shown her respect and she enjoyed his courtesy. He was so friendly, so easy to talk to. He had no side on him, and yet … His eyes were so bright and alert, and they had been warm on her. Maybe he liked her too, but it could never be as much as she liked him. She would be fooling herself if she allowed herself to believe otherwise. But she wished that he would kiss her. Not roughly, like Jericho, who had stolen a hard slobbering kiss, but warmly, lovingly, with a gentle, sensitive, understated passion that would make her toes curl.
Poppy eventually fell asleep with Robert Crawford in her thoughts. Her dream that night was different from any other dream she had ever experienced. It was not the dream of a child, nor even of a young girl, but of a woman – arousing, stimulating, startling and vividly erotic. It involved herself and two men, both naked, one of whom was riding a two-wheeled machine akin to a hobby horse. She was sitting on the crossbar of the machine in the arms of the naked Robert Crawford, her face against his neck as she nestled in his arms, the wind rippling through her hair, the street flashing past in a blur as they sped down it. And then they fell off the machine into soft long grass and tumbled head over heels. Her skirt was up over her bodice and he was crawling towards her, a look of concern on his beautiful face. ‘Are you all right,