The Railway Girl. Nancy Carson
appear too keen. If he’d had even more sense he would have known he should keep away altogether and let Lucy wonder why he hadn’t been nigh, let her watch the door every night to see if the next customer entering would be him. But Arthur was unacquainted with the foibles of young women and how to better gain their interest. So, on Wednesday evening at about nine o’ clock, just two nights after their outing, he sauntered into the taproom, his heart a-flutter, aching to see again this delightful girl who had turned his world upside down.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Lucy remarked when she saw him standing at the bar waiting to be served.
‘Hello, Lucy.’ He grinned amiably, but was deflated by what he perceived as aloofness in her greeting. ‘A pint please.’
She held a tankard under the tap of a barrel and placed it, full and foaming, on top of the bar before him. ‘What brings you here?’
He handed her tuppence ha’penny. ‘Well, I’ve a right to come in here if I’m of a mind,’ has answered defensively. ‘But the real reason I came was to see you.’
‘But you can see I’m working, Arthur. I thought I wasn’t seeing you till Sunday.’
‘I just wanted to come and say hello.’ He smiled again perseveringly.
Lucy turned and afforded a polite smile to her next customer, however, a young man who had a confident bluster about him. Arthur leaned on the bar and lifted his tankard to take a drink, watching her and the young man. Her blue eyes seemed even wider by the glow from the lamps that hung from the ceiling, and that look of ethereal gentleness and perilous vulnerability they exuded wrung his heart with longing and a desire to be her guardian angel for eternity. This was how true love felt, this delightful yet sickening feeling that filled his breast, that made his heart hammer inside and his head swim with emotions. It was a sensation that neutralised all physical, gastronomic hunger, save for his raging hunger for her love. He felt no physical lust, no carnal desire for her, for to engage in such activities would be to violate her, and how could he violate somebody so soft and gentle, so innocent and susceptible? Even if she were to consent, which was unlikely.
Lucy smiled coyly at the young man with the confident bluster and he made some comment to her, which Arthur was fortunately unable to hear through the high ambient noise. Then the man turned to his mate who was standing behind him and made a gesture that signified a dark and dangerous lust for the girl. Arthur was incensed, indignant and utterly resentful of the man for having elicited an innocent smile from Lucy with his contrived ingenuousness. He prayed silently that she was not gullible and unable to see through it. Yet what could he do? He was not a fighting man. And even if he was, he was not certain of his standing yet with Lucy. He had no prior claim on her, save for this searing love he felt that so far had not been entirely reciprocated, nor yet showed many encouraging signs. This, he realised for the first time in his life, was how it felt to be jealous, and it was not a feeling he enjoyed.
Nobody else was clamouring to be served just then and Lucy turned to Arthur, moving along the bar to stand closer to him and so obviate the need to shout. ‘How’s your toothache, Arthur?’
‘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