The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
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to Tweedle Beak, who was beckoning Selina.
‘Lads!’ he cried, and stood up. ‘Can I have your attention …?’
He looked about him at the unsightly collection of expectant faces. Selina meanwhile shuffled through the crush of navvies who were all intent on watching the proceedings. As she approached, she felt in the pocket of her apron for the ticket that was to win.
‘We’ve all had a month to ponder the prospect o’ winning the beautiful young Poppy Silk in this raffle,’ Tweedle Beak was saying, enjoying the moment. ‘Well, now’s the time to make the draw …’
Selina was standing close to Tweedle Beak now, but was still fumbling in her pocket, suddenly hot with panic. She pulled out a rag and pretended to wipe her nose with it while she felt about with her other hand. But the ticket had attached itself to the rag and fluttered to the floor at the feet of Buttercup, who leaned forward and picked it up. Tweedle Beak viciously tried to snatch it away, but Buttercup had it in his closed fist. He opened it.
‘Well, now … What’s this?’ he exclaimed to all, holding the ticket aloft. ‘Here, Dandy Punch …’ He showed Dandy the ticket, keeping Tweedle Beak at arm’s length. ‘What name does it say?’
Dandy adjusted his spectacles and peered through them. ‘It says “Tweedle Beak”.’
‘Is that so? Tweedle Beak, eh?’ He looked at Tweedle accusingly, then at Selina. ‘Was this a fix, Selina? Was thou supposed to pretend to pick this ticket out o’ the perishing hat?’
‘No … I never seed it afore.’
‘Fancy that … And yet I just watched it fall out o’ thy pocket. If thou never seed it afore, wench, how come it was in thy pocket? Well, let me hazard a guess … That weasel, Tweedle bloody Beak, gave it thee. Hear that, lads?’ All eyes were on Buttercup as he stood up and addressed the rest of the navvies. ‘Tweedle Beak has tried to fix this draw so as he wins young Poppy himself … And him already sleeping with the wench’s mother …’ Buttercup’s derision and loathing was amply manifest, not only in the way he prodded his forefinger at Tweedle, but in his scowl.
‘’Tis a lie,’ Tweedle protested. He glanced at Dandy Punch apprehensively. ‘I did no such thing. I wouldn’t … For the very reason Buttercup mentioned … Because o’ Sheba.’
‘It looks mighty suspicious to me, Tweedle,’ Dandy Punch said with bitter resentment, seeing his cherished plans doomed, but unable to further his complaint for fear of being perceived as the perpetrator of another fiddle, as yet uncovered.
‘Suspicious?’ Buttercup hissed. ‘I’ll say it’s bloody suspicious. Thou bist a shit heap, Tweedle bloody Beak.’
‘Aye, and more,’ Dandy Punch exclaimed, seizing the first chance to vent his anger and disappointment on Tweedle Beak. ‘You tried to fix this draw and run off with the daughter o’ the woman who’s already expecting your child? You’re worse than any shit heap. You’re lower than any slime that ever slopped about in a millpond.’
Buttercup then saw his opportunity to inflict the ultimate humiliation on Tweedle Beak and could not resist it. He took a deep breath and his chest swelled in anticipation. ‘Well, now,’ he said, addressing everybody. ‘I’ve got some information about the babby yon Sheba’s a-carrying … And I can tell ye all that it ain’t Tweedle Beak’s …’ A deathly hush fell among the men who had been jeering. ‘No, sir … It’s Lightning Jack’s child …’
There were cheers and guffaws from everybody. Tweedle Beak had gone suddenly pale. Never in his life had he looked such a fool. He had tried to cheat his fellow workers and had been exposed. He had tried to cheat Dandy Punch, who in turn had tried to cheat everybody else, and the plot had faltered due to Selina’s carelessness. Now he had been belittled beyond redemption. He was a laughing stock. Even if it was a lie about Lightning Jack being the father of Sheba’s child, he could never be sure and he would be forever taunted about it. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, to relieve him of his absolute embarrassment and shame. He saw only one possible way out …
He raised his hands, begging to be heard. ‘Lads, lads … All right, I admit I tried to fix this draw in me own favour, and it ain’t no fault o’ Selina’s. A good many of yer have paid good money for the chance to win Poppy, I realise that and I’m sorry. I reckon as we should mek the draw any road.’ He looked at Dandy Punch, seeking his acknowledgement of his desperate attempt to make amends. ‘So I’m asking Selina to mek the draw proper.’
‘Look in her hands fust to mek sure as her’s carrying ne’er another ticket,’ somebody yelled.
Selina, also acutely embarrassed at being seen as part of the treachery, held up her empty palms for all to see. Tweedle held up the hat and she thrust her hand into it, drawing out a white ticket. She opened it up slowly, fumbling a little in her nervousness. The men, especially Dandy and those others that had invested heavily, watched Selina with an angry intensity.
‘Whose ticket is it?’ Buttercup asked. ‘Thou canst read, eh?’
‘It says “Dog Meat”,’ Selina uttered quietly.
‘Dog Meat!’
The former enthusiasm, the avid interest, the intrigue was dead. Nobody cared about the draw after the sham of Tweedle Beak’s cheating. The lottery had lost its credibility. For all they knew, even the drawing of Dog Meat’s ticket could have been a fix. And so much hard-earned money invested as well.
‘You damned Judas!’ hissed Dandy Punch through the hubbub. He had been sitting next to Tweedle Beak. ‘I want my money back.’
Jericho overheard the comment. ‘Aye, and if he gets his money back, I want my money back as well.’
‘We all want our money back,’ several others shouted.
‘Nobody gets their money back,’ Tweedle scoffed. ‘The draw was made. As agreed.’
Buttercup had been studying Tweedle Beak and his reaction to the events and accusations. He regarded him through despising, narrowed eyes, with an increasing sense of satisfaction at having humiliated him. But still he felt like killing the blackguard. He lunged at him, fists flying. ‘Thou shit heap! Thou doesn’t deserve to lick the boots of Sheba and Poppy, nor Lightning Jack. Any road, what gives thee the right to have a lottery for a decent innocent like Poppy Silk? Thou bisn’t her father. Thou bisn’t anything, other than a great heap o’ shit. As far as I’m concerned thy lottery’s a sham, and I’ll kill thee.’ Buttercup was about to land a second punch when Jericho pulled him away.
‘He’s mine, Buttercup.’
‘Nay, lad. I’ve been itching to do this vile bastard some damage. Take your turn.’
‘But he took six quid off me. Six quid!’
Glasses, bottles and tankards began flying. Beer was swilling over tables, spilling onto the sawdust-sprinkled floor. Men struggled one with another as the fighting instantly spread. Tweedle Beak, free of Buttercup’s unwanted attention for a second, saw his chance to escape. He turned round to pick up his hat, which contained further evidence of bias in the number of tickets bearing the name of Dandy Punch.
The hat had gone.
So had Dandy Punch, though nobody made the connection, for Dandy was not thought likely to get mixed up in any fighting.
‘What are you looking for, Tweedle?’ Jericho screamed at Tweedle. ‘The hat with the tickets in? Just when I want to see if my tickets was ever put in there.’
‘They was in there,’ Tweedle tried to reassure him.
‘I’ve only got your word, and that don’t count for much any more. You’re a sly, sneaky bastard. Now, if you can’t show me me tickets, I want me money back.’
‘That you won’t have, Jericho.’
‘Then outside.’
‘Aye,