The Railway Girl Read online

  ‘It’s come back,’ he said and rubbed his cheek gently to indicate where the pain was centred.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame …’ He had a short nose hair protruding from a nostril and Lucy focused on it almost to distraction. ‘Where’ve you been working today?’ she asked, managing to look away for a second.

  ‘Netherton. I had to work on a stone in St Andrew’s churchyard.’

  ‘Pity the weather’s turned, eh?’ But again she could not detach her eyes from this obnoxious nose hair, and yet she longed to. It was so off-putting.

  ‘You’re telling me! The wind blows up there at the top of Netherton Hill like it does in St Michael’s graveyard up the road. I swear I’ve caught a chill.’

  ‘Maybe you should have an early night then,’ she suggested, in the hope of avoiding any embarrassing situation later with her father present. ‘Have a nip of brandy and get yourself tucked up in bed all nice and warm, and sweat it out.’

  ‘I thought I’d wait and see if your father comes in. If he don’t, I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘He’s here already,’ she said, and nodded towards a group of men playing crib at a table behind him.

  ‘Oh? Which one’s your father?’

  ‘The one scratching his head under his hat.’

  ‘Maybe I should make myself known to him, Lucy …’

  She felt a pang of apprehension at the notion. ‘What for?’

  ‘To tell him I’m walking out with you.’

  This Arthur was taking too much for granted, and much too soon, but she hadn’t the heart to tell him so. ‘Maybe if you bought him a drink …’

  ‘A good idea, Lucy,’ he beamed, encouraged. ‘If you pour it, I’ll take it to him.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d take too kindly to having his match interrupted. Better if I beckon him, then he’ll come over when it’s finished.’

  Lucy signalled her father and she continued making small talk with Arthur between serving customers. When Haden had finished his crib match he stood up.

  ‘Arthur,’ Lucy said hesitantly. ‘First I’ve just got to tell you …’

  He looked at her anxiously, fearing she was going to let him down badly, that she was about to shatter his dreams by confessing she was already promised to another. ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got a little hair sticking out down your nose.’

  ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed brightly, grinning with relief. ‘Have I?’

  ‘It’s driving me mad … Your left nostril.’

  He found it and gave it a yank, then tilted the underside of his nose towards her for inspection. ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes, better,’ she said with a smile of gratitude. ‘Look, here he comes. I’ll pour the beer that you’re buying him.’

  Haden Piddock presented himself at the bar, his old and crumpled top hat shoved to the back of his head. Arthur was instantly aware of his presence, a hefty man, big chested, but not running to fat. He sported a big droopy moustache and mutton-chop sideboards. His smouldering clay pipe was clenched between his teeth.

  Lucy shoved a tankard of fresh ale in front of him. ‘This young man wanted to buy you a drink, Father,’ she said and tactfully moved away to collect empty tankards while they became acquainted.

  Haden looked at Arthur suspiciously. ‘That’s decent of yer, son. To what do I owe the honour?’

  Arthur felt a tickle inside his nose where he had pulled out the offending hair. He sneezed violently. ‘Oops. Sorry about that, Mr Piddock. I just pulled a hair from down me nose.’ He sneezed again. ‘To tell you the truth, I think I might have a chill coming an’ all.’

  ‘Sneedge over the other way next time, eh, son?’ Haden suggested pointedly. ‘I ain’t too keen on it tainting the beer what you very kindly bought me.’

  ‘My name’s Arthur Goodrich,’ Arthur said, stifling another sneeze with a violent sniff. ‘I wanted to make myself known to you, ’cause me and your Lucy have started walking out together.’

  ‘Oh?’ His eyes searched for his daughter. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Well … Since Sunday night.’

  ‘As long as that?’ Arthur thought he detected irony in Haden’s tone, but he missed the look of sardonic frivolity in his eyes. The older man lifted his tankard. ‘I wish you luck, lad.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Piddock.’

  Haden took a long drink. ‘It’s news to me about anybody stepping out with our Lucy … Did you say your name was Arthur?’ Arthur nodded. ‘I’d have appreciated you having a word with me fust, so’s I could’ve run me eye over thee …’

  ‘Oh, I would’ve, Mr Piddock, but I didn’t know who you was. Anyway, I’m here now. I thought it only right and proper that you know.’

  ‘Well then … Tell me about yourself, young Arthur. I hope your intentions towards me daughter am decent and honourable.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Piddock,’ Arthur replied vehemently. ‘I’m a churchgoing man. A regular worshipper at St Michael’s and at Mr Hetherington’s Bible class. I believe in honour and virtue and clean living, Mr Piddock. Lucy’s honour is safe with me. Safe as the safest houses. You need have no fears.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. ’Cause so sure as ever anything amiss happened to our Lucy, and it was down to thee, I’d separate ye from your manhood.’

  Arthur winced at the terrifying prospect. ‘Like I say, Mr Piddock. You need have no fears.’

  ‘Good.’ Haden lifted his tankard and emptied it. ‘Here, let me buy thee a drink now, just to set a seal on our understanding, eh? Same again, lad?’ In Lucy’s continued absence he called Ben Elwell’s wife to serve him. ‘What do you do for a living, young Arthur?’

  Arthur told him.

  ‘Goodrich, did you say your name was?’

  ‘Yes. Arthur Goodrich.’

  ‘Then you must be Jeremiah’s son?’

  ‘You know me father?’

  ‘I do, the miserable bastard.’

  ‘Oh, I agree with you a hundred percent.’ Arthur said. So there was some antagonism between Haden and his father.

  ‘I knew your mother, see.’

  ‘Oh? How d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, lad, I used to be sweet on your mother years ago, when she was Dinah Westwood.’

  ‘Honest?’ Arthur guffawed like a regular man of the world at the revelation. It was obviously the reason his father had such little regard for Haden Piddock.

  ‘Oh, aye. Not that your old chap had got much to fear from me. I was never high and mighty enough for your mother, being only an ironworker. Her father had a bit o’ property, I seem to remember, so nothing less than a stonemason, a skilled craftsman, was good enough for Dinah Westwood.’

  ‘Yes, she is a bit high-faluting, me mother,’ Arthur agreed amiably. ‘Puts on her airs and graces when she’s out.’

  Haden guffawed amiably. He quite liked this son of Dinah Westwood, despite who his father was. ‘And who wouldn’t put on airs and graces if they was used to owning property?’

  ‘Owning property is all well and good, Mr Piddock, but the inside of our house is nothing to shout about. Be grateful that me father got her and you didn’t, else you’d be forever tidying up after her, especially if you was of a tidy nature.’

  Haden laughed at Arthur’s candour, and Mrs Elwell put the two refilled tankards in front of them. Haden paid her and turned to Arthur.

  ‘Well … It done me a favour in the long run, young Arthur, and you’ve confirmed it. I started courting Hannah not long after that, and Hannah is a tidy woman. Very tidy. Hannah’s Lucy’s mother, you know.’

  ‘I hope to make her acquaintance some day.’

  ‘And so you might, lad. All in good time, I daresay. So I expect you’ll want to walk our Lucy home after, eh?’

  Arthur beamed. ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir.’

  ‘Aye, well just remember, I’ll be right behind thee, so no shenanigans.’

  ‘No shenanigans, Mr Piddock, I promise. Thank you.’

  Arthur was pleased with the prog
ress he’d made in establishing himself so soon with Lucy’s father. That evening, he walked her home proprietorially, leaving Haden behind in the Whimsey.

  ‘I like your father, Lucy.’

  ‘I told you he’s a decent man.’

  ‘He is, and no two ways. Maybe I’ll meet your mother soon.’

  She chuckled. ‘Soon enough, I daresay, at the rate you’re going.’

  They were approaching Bull Street where Church Street levelled out like a shelf before commencing its long descent into Audnam, the stretch known as Brettell Lane.

  ‘Shall I come and meet you tomorrow after me Bible class?’

  ‘It’ll be too late, Arthur.’

  ‘But your father knows we’re walking out together.’

  ‘I’d rather wait till Sunday to see you, like we arranged.’

  ‘What about Friday? I could come to the Whimsey again and walk you home.’

  ‘I’d rather wait till Sunday, Arthur,’ she persisted.

  Arthur sighed. ‘I want to be with you, Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t put palings up around yourself as if you was some special tree in a park.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she protested mildly, but touched by his tenderness.

  ‘Well, it seems to me as if you are.’ He thought painfully of the young man with the confident bluster whom she’d served earlier. ‘Do you see some other chap some nights?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she replied, as if he had a damned cheek to suggest such a thing.

  ‘So why don’t you want to see me sooner than Sunday?’

  ‘’Cause I feel that you’re rushing me, Arthur. I don’t want to be rushed.’

  ‘You mean you’re not sure about me?’

  ‘Yes … No … Oh, I don’t know … I mean, I like you and all that …’

  Arthur sighed again frustratedly. ‘But?’

  ‘But I’ve only known you a few days. You can’t expect me to be at your beck and call when I’ve only known you a few days. It takes longer than that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy,’ he said pensively. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I’m a bit impatient …’ He looked at her in the moonlight, his heart overflowing with tenderness. He reached out and took her hands, holding the tips of her fingers gently. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered whether your perfect mate would ever come along, Lucy?’

  ‘Many a time,’ Lucy answered quietly, content that it was the simple truth.

  ‘Well, Lucy, I feel that you’re my perfect mate … I know it’s a bit soon to be professing love and all that, and I’m not … not yet …’cause I might yet be wrong. But it’s what I feel at this minute. And knowing what I feel at this minute, I get impatient and hurt that you keep putting me off so as I can’t be near you.’

  ‘Oh, Arthur …’ Lucy realised right then what agonies he was suffering on her account, and felt ashamed that she should be making another person unhappy – another person who actually held her in high esteem. If the situation were reversed she would not relish being made unhappy. But she really was not sure of what she might feel for Arthur in the future that she did not feel now, and it was no good saying she was. She did need time to discover. Maybe, given time, she might grow to love him; he was a deserving case, he seemed a good man. But she didn’t fancy him enough, and she had to fancy somebody before she could commit herself. Why wasn’t he that man in the guards’ van on the railway? If only he was that man, she would want to be with him every night that God sent, especially if he was as gentle as Arthur.

  ‘But how can you feel like that, Arthur, when you’ve only known me five minutes?’ she asked. ‘You don’t know anything about me. I might not be worthy of your … your tender feelings.’

  ‘In the long run, Lucy, you might turn out to be right. I only said, it’s what I feel now.’

  ‘You’re a really nice chap, you know,’ she said sensitively, and meant it.

  ‘I am as I am, Lucy. I can’t help the way I am, no more than you can help the way you are. But I’ll heed your words. I’ll make myself wait till Sunday to see you again …’

  ‘It’ll be for the best,’ she agreed, and stepped forward with a smile and planted a kiss briefly on his lips. ‘I’ll see you Sunday then, like we arranged. Here at three.’

  Arthur felt the use drain out of his very being at the touch of her lips on his as he watched her walk away, a silhouette in the darkness. It was such a fleeting but a blissfully tender moment, a moment he would never forget, whatever might befall them.

  Chapter 5

  Jane and Moses Cartwright lived in a tiny rented house situated on a steep hill called South Street. It was no great distance from Haden and Hannah Piddock’s equally humble abode, but to visit his young wife’s mother and father was a trouble for Jane’s husband, since he had to do it on crutches. Moses had received a gunshot wound in his leg during the siege of Sebastopol, which had shattered the shin bone. His leg had consequently been amputated below the knee, and Moses was still not certain which had been the more traumatic of the two terrifying experiences, the shell wound or the amputation. But at least he had survived both, and he lived to tell the tale. Indeed, he loved to tell the tale. He told it well to Jane Piddock on his return to England. He had courted Jane before he went to war and she was heartbroken when he went. His returning minus half a limb did not deter Jane and she agreed to marry him, despite the fact that everybody said he would be unable to work. She still had her own job moulding firebricks at the fireclay works. She could keep them both on the little money she earned, with a bit of help from her father.

  That Thursday evening, they ventured slowly to Bull Street, as they had begun to do on a regular basis since Moses had returned from the Crimea. The light was fading and, at each step, Moses was chary as to where he planted his crutch lest he found a loose stone on which it might slip and upset his balance. They arrived at the Piddocks’ cottage without mishap, however, and Moses was accorded due reverence and made to rest on the settle in front of the fire.

  ‘Our Lucy, pop up to the Whimsey and fetch we a couple o’ jugs o’ beer,’ Haden said when his older daughter and son-in-law arrived.

  ‘Give me the money then,’ Lucy answered.

  So Haden handed her a sixpence, whereupon she duly found the two jugs and ran to the public house. When she returned, he thanked her and shared the beer between them all, pouring it into mugs.

  ‘How’s that gammy leg o’ yourn, Moses?’ Haden enquired and slurped his beer.

  ‘It’s bin giving me some gyp today, Haden, and no question. D’you know, I can still feel me toes sometimes, as if they was still on the end o’ me leg. You wouldn’t credit that, would yer?’

  ‘Well, at least you ain’t got no toenails to cut there now, eh?’

  Moses laughed generously. ‘Aye, that’s some consolation.’

  ‘There’s plenty of talk about the Crimea and that Florence Nightingale,’ Hannah said as she darned a hole in one of Haden’s socks. ‘I bet you happened on her when you was lying in that hospital, eh?’

  ‘I was nowhere near Florence Nightingale, Mother.’ Moses referred to Hannah as Mother, but to Haden by his first name. ‘Nor any hospital for that matter. Her hospital was at Scutari, miles from where we was.’

  ‘So who looked after yer?’

  ‘There was a kind old black woman they called Mother Seacole.’

  ‘A black woman?’ Hannah questioned, looking up from her mending.

  ‘Ar. All the way from Jamaica. A free black woman at that. She crossed the ocean just to help out when she heard about the sufferings at the Battle of the Alma. Her father was a Scotsman by all accounts, a soldier. I reckon she knew a thing or two about soldiering as well as nursing. Anyroad, she set up a sort of barracks close to Balaclava, and she nursed me there and a good many like me. She used to serve us sponge cake and lemonade, and all the men thought the bloody world of her. I did meself.’ Moses smiled as he recalled the woman’s kindnesses. ‘But that Florence Nightingale and her crew would have
nothing to do with her, everybody reckoned. Stuck up, ’er was. I could never understand that … It was ’cause Mother Seacole was a black woman, they all said … Anyroad, that Florence Nightingale was generally treating them poor buggers in her hospital what had got the cholera or the pox. And there was thousands of ’em, I can tell yer. We lost more soldiers to cholera than we did in the Battle of the Alma, they reckon.’

  ‘Did you ever see anything o’ the Battle of Balaclava?’ Haden asked.

  ‘Not me, Haden. But I heard tales from them as did. Bloody lunatics them cavalry of ourn, by all accounts.’

  ‘I’d hate war,’ Lucy said. ‘I can’t see any point to it.’

  Haden looked at his younger daughter with admiration. ‘Our Lucy’s a-courting now, you know.’

  ‘Courting?’ Jane queried with an astonished grin. ‘It’s about time. Who’m you courting, our wench?’

  ‘I ain’t courting,’ Lucy protested coyly.

  ‘Well, she’s got a chap who reckons he’s a-courting her.’

  ‘Arthur Goodrich bought you a tankard o’ beer to get on the right side of you, Father. I’ve seen him once or twice, but it don’t mean I’m courting serious.’

  ‘So what’s up with this Arthur Goodrich?’ Jane enquired.

  ‘Oh, he’s decent enough, our Jane, and respectable. I’m sure he’d be very kind and caring, but I just don’t fancy him.’

  ‘You mean he ain’t handsome enough?’ Jane prompted.

  ‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ Hannah opined, and withdrew the wooden mushroom from the inside of Haden’s mended sock. ‘I married your father for his ways, not his looks. I’d never have married him for his looks. I’d never have found ’em for a start.’

  Lucy chuckled at her mother’s disdain and her father’s hurt expression. ‘Poor Father.’

  ‘I married you for your money, Hannah, but I ain’t found that yet neither. I wonder who got the best o’ the bargain.’

  ‘You did, Haden. You got me. All I got was you.’

  ‘He does strike me as being a bit of a fool, that Arthur, now you mention it, our Lucy,’ Haden pronounced. ‘Although he seems harmless enough. But fancy him thinking he can have you when you got your sights set on somebody who’s handsome enough to become a national monument. As if looks mattered, like your mother says.’