The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
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but I’ve managed for ages with just two working frocks … and this flannel one was me best till I got me blue one.’
‘Your blue one is certainly quite presentable.’ Aunt Phoebe smiled kindly. ‘But one good dress is not enough. You need more. You cannot continue to wear the same dress all the time when you are visiting people, or when we are being visited.’
Aunt Phoebe and Esther left Poppy to enjoy the bath with some privacy. She revelled in the warm, sudsy water, the sensation of lather caressing her skin. She liked how the thin film of soapy water made her skin look so glossy and feel so smooth. She sensually soaped her shoulders, the silky mounds of her breasts, the soft dimple of her belly button and the drift of downy hair below. Even the splashing sound was a novelty. She bent her knees up and lay back in the tin bath, basking in the water’s all-enveloping embrace. It ran in her ears, strangely deadening all sounds, seeped through her mop of fair curls to her scalp, and she shook her head gently to saturate every strand. She rolled onto her stomach and dipped her face in the water, screwing up her eyes. Surfacing again, she puffed out her cheeks and blew the bubbles away, stroking away the long tresses of hair that clung to her smiling face.
Oh, yes, she was smiling. How lovely it was to take a bath, to experience the pleasantness of cleansing, to sense the stickiness and grime being magically lifted from you. It was a whole new set of sensations.
Being taken in and cared for by a kindly lady, who obviously had her well-being at heart, was a new and unanticipated development, which Poppy had not yet fully grasped. Oh, these new permanent surroundings were different and entirely novel, the spectacular cleanliness of the place was astonishing, as was the cosseting warmth and cosiness. But the extent of her good fortune, and the changes that must inevitably ensue, she had yet not had time yet to speculate on, nor understand.
Poppy began to wonder what life would be like in this comfortable house among these people. She liked Aunt Phoebe. She had liked her from the moment she saw her; her plump homeliness, and her unassailable wisdom. She possessed also a sort of benign pomposity that seemed comical to Poppy and which might be fun to provoke from time to time. Aunt Phoebe exuded a reassuring confidence that told Poppy she would be safe, even protected, from the seedy side of life that Minnie was being drawn into. Poppy ought even to make a friend of Esther. After all, she was no better than Esther. She’d even aspired to being a maid, like Esther. And if these were the sort of comfortable surroundings a maid was privy to, then maybe it was not such a bad life.
Poppy lay down again and stretched contentedly, watching the warm water make a little pool in the dimple of her belly button. This was how other people lived, those more privileged, who did not have the transitory and uncertain life of living in navvy encampments, with the breadwinner hired and fired at the whim of the contractor. However, this home, she could already appreciate, was above and beyond what the average working family might enjoy, even those with settled roots. Routines here seemed sedate. There was no rush, no fuss. Nothing, it appeared, was too much trouble. She was certain she would be able to settle down happily here. For her part, she would try her best to fit in, to belong. She was already missing her mother, her brothers and sisters, but this offer of shelter from Aunt Phoebe – and in such a place – was a godsend she could never have foretold, and neither could she have refused it.
The bath water was cooling down and she stood up, feeling the simple pleasure of it trickling down over her body and her legs, seeing how her skin glistened in the fading daylight from the window. She reached for the towel that Esther had draped over a chair back and rubbed herself dry, delighted by the firm roughness of the towel over her skin. She stepped out of the bath onto the edge of another towel Esther had thoughtfully laid there, and dried her feet. Then she rubbed up her hair and looked at herself in the mirror … tousled, naked and comical. She laughed contentedly.
There was a tap-tap at the door.
‘Come in.’ She had not the slightest thought for her nakedness.
Esther opened the door and peered around it. ‘Oh! Pardon me, miss …’
‘Come in, Esther,’ Poppy chirped.
Esther looked with embarrassment at Poppy. ‘Ma’am said I was to try and do something with your hair. I’ll get you a dressing gown first, miss. You don’t want to catch a chill.’
Poppy felt a little guilty that Esther was running round doing things for her, things that she could easily do herself. The girl never stopped. To-ing and fro-ing. Fetching and carrying. She returned with a white dressing gown and helped Poppy into it.
‘If you’d like to sit at the dressing table, miss …’
Poppy stepped towards it and sat astride the quilted stool. ‘Esther, why don’t you call me Poppy?’
‘’Cause I’m supposed to call you “miss”, miss. I’m gunna dry your hair a bit more now, miss.’
Esther had brought with her another clean dry towel, and she began vigorously rubbing, shaking Poppy’s head from side to side, then forwards and backwards. But Poppy did not protest. When the maid had finished, Poppy looked again at her tousled mane that seemed more yellow than she had ever known it.
‘Your hair’s a lovely colour, miss.’
‘D’you think so, Esther? Honest?’
‘I wish mine was that colour.’
‘It generally goes a bit lighter in the summer. Now winter’s nearly here it’s goin’ darker again. But it always looks the brighter for a good wash.’
Esther picked up the brush with the silver handle and began gently brushing. ‘Mine always looks so dull.’
‘It’s funny how we always want something we ain’t got. Don’t you think so, Esther? But your hair’s nice. And a nice colour. I wun’t mind it.’
Esther smiled, grateful for the reassurance. ‘How long you stopping here for, miss?’
The relevance of the question suddenly struck Poppy. ‘A long time, I think. I hope so, any road …’ She was looking at Esther in the mirror as she spoke. ‘For as long as Aunt Phoebe wants me to stay, I s’ppose. However long it is, I hope you and me’ll be friends, Esther.’
Esther smiled again, evidently flattered. ‘Am yer her niece, then?’
‘No. I ain’t no relation. But I know her nephew.’
Poppy’s hair was taking on a well brushed, sleek look, her curls non-existent now.
‘Which one?’
‘Oh … Mr Robert Crawford.’ Poppy caught Esther’s eye in the mirror and at once felt herself blushing. A glance at her own reflection confirmed it. ‘Robert’s me friend.’
‘I thought he was engaged.’
‘Oh, he is …’ Poppy affirmed.
‘To you?’
‘No, not to me. Worse luck!’ She uttered a little laugh that held traces of sadness and embarrassment.
‘You fancy him then, miss?’
Poppy looked up from under a fringe of hair. ‘Wouldn’t you, Esther?’
‘Me? Oh, I got no chance of ever getting off with the likes o’ Robert Crawford. I ain’t pretty enough. I got a face like a turnip and figure like a bolster, and no two ways. He’s a likely enough lad for any wench to fancy. But not me. I got no time for all that fallalery, what with helping Dolly in the kitchen, keeping the furniture and household goods looking summat like, sweeping and cleaning. I’m glad there’s no men living in this house, spitting in the grates, walking on the carpets wi’ mucky boots and crumpling up the antimacassars with their greasy hair. Men in the house make too much mess.’
‘I don’t think all men am the same, Esther.’
‘Me own father’s worse than a dog. Maybe not your Robert Crawford, though,’ Esther conceded. ‘He seems betterer’n most.’
‘Did