The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson
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it’s good of you to include her. She’s the one who deserves them, not me.’
‘I … enjoyed your company enormously on Saturday night, Poppy. Our dancing together. Our chat.’
‘So did I.’
‘There’s a refreshing frankness, a candour about you that seems to be lacking in other girls I’ve met. You have no airs and graces, yet you are all graciousness. Besides which, you’re such fun and so easy to talk to.’
‘It’s good of you to say so.’
‘Not at all …’ He paused, looking self-consciously at the patterns in the burning coals. ‘I wrote to you, you know …’
‘When? I never got a letter.’
He laughed with self-derision. ‘I know. I threw the damned thing in the fire. I felt it better to come and ask you face to face.’
‘Ask me what?’
‘Oh … Ask if you would care to accompany me on a drive … On Sunday. After dinner, perhaps? Always assuming the weather is not too inclement. It would give me the greatest personal pleasure if you would consent …’
‘That would be very nice, I’m sure, Bellamy. But I must ask Aunt Phoebe first.’
‘No, no, Poppy. If you are agreeable – and it seems you are – then I will ask Aunt Phoebe. It’s my place to ask.’
‘All right,’ she said brightly. ‘But where will we go?’
‘Anywhere you’ve a fancy. Do you have a fancy for anywhere in particular?’
‘From my bedroom window I can see the Clent Hills. They look ever so green and inviting now spring is just around the corner. So different from the filthy drabness of the slag heaps and the sooty sky. I’d love to go there, just to see what it’s like. If it’s not too far.’
Aunt Phoebe returned at that, carrying a cut-glass vase containing the arrangement of roses. ‘There. Aren’t they beautiful, Poppy? Intended primarily for you, I suspect.’ She looked benignly but knowingly at Bellamy.
‘Aunt Phoebe …’
‘Yes, Bellamy?’
‘Aunt Phoebe … Do I have your permission to take Poppy for a drive on Sunday afternoon? She is quite agreeable to the suggestion, so long as you give your permission.’
Aunt Phoebe turned her gaze on Poppy. ‘If Poppy is of a mind to accompany you, then I have no objection.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Phoebe. Thank you. Shall we say two o’clock on Sunday, then, Poppy?’
Poppy grinned, complimented by his attention. ‘Yes. Sunday.’
The following evening, while Aunt Phoebe was instructing Poppy on the lineage of the Stuarts, another admirer paid a visit.
‘My dear Cecil!’ Aunt Phoebe greeted when he was shown into her sitting room. ‘How lovely of you to call and see us, it being only last Saturday that we saw you last.’
Captain Tyler chose to remain indifferent to his cousin’s mild sarcasm, realising what she was implying. ‘Good evening, Phoebe. And good evening to you, Miss Silk. I came to thank you both for the wonderful party the other evening. A splendid do.’
‘So you enjoyed it. Pray, do sit down, Cecil. Let me offer you a drink. Would you like tea?’
‘I’d prefer something stronger if you have it, Phoebe. You know me.’
‘Whisky?’
‘Whisky’s fine. Thank you.’
Aunt Phoebe smiled, glad of the opportunity to get out the whisky bottle a little earlier than she normally would.
‘Poppy, would you be so kind as to pour Captain Tyler a glass of whisky, please? And I’ll have a small one myself.’
‘Of course, Aunt,’ Poppy replied biddably, and stepped over to the drinks cabinet.
‘Poppy and I were just discussing Charles the Second,’ Aunt Phoebe said conversationally.
‘Then no doubt she will be glad of some relief,’ Captain Tyler replied dryly. ‘Shall you partake of a little whisky yourself, Miss Silk?’
Poppy looked up at their guest and smiled politely. ‘I seldom drink spirits, Captain Tyler.’
‘I don’t blame you. Ruins the complexion, drinking spirits. And you, my dear Miss Silk, have a fine complexion that is far too precious to ruin. Has she not, dear Phoebe?’
‘I had such a complexion myself when I was younger.’
‘Would you like water in that, Captain Tyler?’ Poppy asked, holding the glass up to show him.
‘Oh, indeed not, thank you, Miss Silk. I’ll take it as it comes. Neat whisky doesn’t scare me, you know.’ He grinned affably. ‘Comes from years of drinking gallons of dreadfully dubious liquors, veritable firewaters – especially in Ireland.’
Poppy handed him his glass and he thanked her. She poured a small one for Aunt Phoebe and sat down again primly. Conversation swung between the health of Captain Tyler’s ailing mother and the prosperity of the factory which Aunt Phoebe owned. Until Aunt Phoebe saw fit to let him know that Poppy had had a visitor the previous evening, merely to discourage him from thinking he could unreservedly pursue her charge himself. He was much too old for her, after all.
‘Young Bellamy Crawford called on Poppy last evening, you know, Cecil. It was such a surprise to see him … And yet no surprise at all when you consider the similarity in their ages, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed,’ Captain Tyler replied nobly, picking up the hint. ‘I gained the distinct impression that he was full of admiration for Miss Silk … May I call you Poppy, Miss Silk? It’s so much less formal.’
‘Oh, please do, Captain Tyler.’
‘Thank you … And I was about to say, why shouldn’t he admire you if he’s so minded? You are a fine-looking young lady, Poppy. If I were him, I would have no scruples in indulging my admiration to the full.’
‘Well, he’s indulging his on Sunday afternoon, Cecil. Isn’t he, Poppy dear?’
Poppy smiled pleasantly and nodded. ‘Except that I think maybe Bellamy is always likely to choose the wrong woman for himself.’
‘Oh, in what way do you mean?’
‘Just that if I were him, I would hardly be so impetuous. Besides, I would be looking for a rich girl … If I were him.’
‘I must confess,’ Captain Tyler replied, ‘that money would never enter into it where I was concerned. I consider a person’s character a much more important qualifier.’
‘You mean irrespective of their standing?’ Aunt Phoebe asked.
‘Financial or social. It matters not a jot. But things are somewhat different for a man. A woman, on the other hand, is prone to accepting the hand of her wealthiest admirer. If he’s handsome to boot, then so much the better for her.’
The doorbell rang again and Aunt Phoebe glanced with puzzlement at Poppy. ‘Who could that be? Not Bellamy again, I trust.’
As Esther answered the door, they listened. Besides Esther’s voice they heard only the voice of another woman, which Poppy recognised. The door to the sitting room opened and Esther announced that a Miss Catchpole had called to see Poppy.
‘Minnie!’ Poppy exclaimed and shot up eagerly from her seat to greet her friend. ‘Minnie, come in. What brings you here?’
‘Well, I got the right house, by the looks o’ things. Hello, Poppy. And you must be Aunt Phoebe …’
‘Miss Catchpole, how nice to meet you at last,’ Aunt Phoebe