A Country Girl. Nancy Carson
of her reputation and how she could protect it. Perhaps she should call and see Harriet at the drapery shop during her dinnertime, and preclude any possibility of the girl believing anything that Algie might reveal about her. But how could she do that without making Harriet suspicious?
Well, she thought she knew a way …
Dinnertime rolled round. Kate put on her bonnet and made her way in the warm sunshine to Meeses’ shop. As she opened the door a bell tinkled, triggered by the door parting company with its frame. Bolts of cloth by the score, in hundreds of colours and patterns, lined the walls of the shop edgeways, restricting space, while others were stacked on the counter. The place was a pomander exuding the dry, musty smell of cotton.
In seconds, Harriet, relieving her father who had gone to the Bell that dinnertime for his customary ale, was at the counter in the mistaken belief that she had a customer to attend to. ‘Kate! How nice of you to call,’ she said, wearing a smile of apprehension. Kate could only be bearing bad news of Algie.
‘Hello, Harriet—’
‘Is anything the matter?’ she blurted anxiously. ‘Is Algie all right? Oh, I do hope you haven’t called to tell me he’s met with an accident …’
Kate smiled sweetly to reassure her. ‘Oh, no, nothing like that.’
‘Then is he all right? I hardly slept last night, I’ve been so worried since he didn’t show up for church.’
‘You needn’t have bothered, you poor dear,’ Kate responded, a look of disdain for her brother upon her face. ‘It’s him I’ve come to talk to you about.’
‘So what happened to him?’
‘Nothing … If I were you, Harriet,’ she said in a whisper of conspiracy as she leaned towards her, ‘I wouldn’t bother my head over our Algie ever again.’
‘Why? What’s he done?’ Her face bore a look of intense apprehension.
‘Well, for ages, it’s been my opinion that he cares not tuppence for you, or for anybody else for that matter, other than himself. And yesterday proved it. He spent all day and all evening with another girl.’
Harriet’s expression was one of surprise and incredulity. She put her hands to the counter to steady herself. ‘Are you sure, Kate?’
‘Oh, quite sure, Harriet. I can even tell you the girl’s name – Marigold Bingham.’
‘Do I know her?’
‘You? I’d think it unlikely. She’s the daughter of a boatman on the cut. A common little piece if you want my opinion. But then, that’s what some men want, I reckon – girls who they think are easy. I thought you ought to know, Harriet.’
‘Well,’ said Harriet, not sure how to respond, her eyes misty with tears, ‘it’s not exactly the sort of news I welcome, or had expected … But I would have thought that if Algie was tired of me he would have had the common courtesy to tell me himself.’
‘Yes, you’d take such simple consideration for granted, wouldn’t you?’
‘I take it then, that he has sent you to do his dirty work, Kate.’
Here was a further opportunity to condemn Algie in Harriet’s eyes, and Kate embraced it wholeheartedly. ‘Well, yes he has, as a matter of fact.’ She lowered her eyes, feigning shame. ‘And I certainly don’t admire him for it. I told him, “Do your own dirty work,” I said. But he begged and pleaded. He said he couldn’t face you, but that he recognised as you ought to know.’
‘I see,’ Harriet answered sadly.
‘But when I thought about it, Harriet, I decided to come and see you anyway. I would’ve, whether he asked me to or not. You see, I’m really doing it for your benefit, not his. He doesn’t deserve a decent, respectable girl like you, and to my mind you’re well rid of him. Just forget him, Harriet.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘You can do so much better for yourself.’
Harriet sighed profoundly and brushed an errant tear from her cheek. ‘To be frank, Kate, you’re not the first person to have said so,’ she said dolefully. ‘And you, his own sister, now saying it. Maybe I should take heed.’
‘I know him better than anybody, Harriet. He’s not worth wasting your time on, believe me. I don’t think he could ever remain faithful to one woman. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’
Harriet slumped down on the stool that stood behind the counter and sighed. ‘I’m deeply disappointed in him, you know, Kate. I would never have thought—’
‘I would’ve thought one of the chaps in the society would have suited you much better than our Algie, you know,’ Kate suggested, provocatively turning the focus of their conversation. ‘Ain’t there nobody there who interests you?’
Harriet shrugged. ‘I hadn’t thought about it. I’m not the type of girl to go flirting with all the men anyway. I’m really quite shy.’
‘Best way and no mistake,’ Kate agreed with a nod. ‘Saves trouble in the long run.’
‘And you, Kate?’
‘Me? I ain’t particularly interested in men, although I try and be pleasant to ’em all. As long as nobody reckons it’s flirting, ’cause I ain’t a flirt neither, you know. Us girls have our reputations to consider.’
So the subject of Algie Stokes was soon dropped, in favour of a discussion about the Brierley Hill Amateur Dramatics Society, its personnel, and the new play, rehearsals for which were due to start that week, now that the cast had been decided upon. They discussed each of the characters in turn.
‘I’m so glad you were picked for the part of Pocahontas, Kate,’ Harriet remarked generously, trying hard to push from her mind all thoughts of her erstwhile swain. ‘I think you’ll do it justice.’
‘Oh, I intend to. Although I ain’t had much experience at this acting lark, I reckon I shall make a decent fist of it. And how about you, Harriet?’
‘Oh, I am content with the role of Mistress Alice. I don’t have too many lines to learn.’
Late that afternoon, the Binghams passed through the locks at Buckpool. Marigold tried to persuade her father to moor up for the night in the winding basin close to the lock-keeper’s cottage. Seth smiled indulgently, aware that his daughter had become attached to Will Stokes’s lad, and that she would relish the opportunity to walk with him that fine spring evening before they had to move on. He recalled those days years ago when he was courting her mother, who was a landlubber then; how they had both looked forward to the days when he would moor up in Brierley Hill and they could spend tender moments together before he moved on again for more weeks of travelling. But for all his sentimentality and regard for Marigold’s love life, he had to get as far along the canal as he could. And while there was still daylight left …
‘We’ll moor up at Parkhead Locks by the tunnel,’ he said, knowing full well they could go no further that day. Parkhead was close to the entrance of the Dudley Tunnel and he had no intention of loading up with bars from the ironworks close by and travelling through that night. It would have to wait till tomorrow. ‘Young Algie’ll be able to bike it if he wants to see you, it ain’t far – unless he falls in the cut again.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Marigold said with an appreciative smile, at once excited by the prospect of seeing Algie again. ‘I’ll go an’ pay the toll and ask his mother to let him know. Have you got some loose change?’
He felt in his trouser pocket and coins jingled. ‘Here …’
She crossed the lock to the cottage, and Clara answered the door.
‘You making pastry, Mrs Stokes?’ Marigold greeted amiably, seeing Clara’s arms floured up to her elbows.
‘I’m making a cheese, onion and tater pie for their tea,’ Clara confirmed. ‘Come in if you