LITMIR.BIZ

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Dandy Punch. I ain’t got the right to sacrifice her. She’s got notions of her own.’

      Dandy Punch looked somewhat embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s your last chance,’ he said, trying to recover his composure. ‘And if your daughter can’t see the benefit to her as well as to yourself, then she needs a good talking to, and a clip round the ear to boot, for being so stupid.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t think she’s stupid,’ Sheba said. ‘Just particular.’

      ‘In that case …’ He coughed importantly in an effort to redeem some of his ebbing prestige. ‘In that case, I’ll be along this afternoon with the bailiffs—’

      ‘Hang on, Dandy bloody Punch …’ Tweedle Beak spoke. He arose from his chair and walked over to Sheba’s side. ‘I’m glad as I waited and listened, and watched you mek a bloody fool o’ yerself, Dandy Punch, lusting after this innocent young wench here. D’yer really think as a young madam like that is likely to be enticed by some dirty, pot-bellied ode bugger like thee? An’ any road, I’m an employee o’ the company and there’s nothing in the rules what says as I cor be the tenant, if I’ve a mind.’ He felt in his trouser pocket and drew out a handful of gold sovereigns which he handed to the timekeeper. ‘Pick the bones out o’ that lot and gi’ me the change I’m due. I pay the rent here from now on. I’m the tenant in this hut, so write my name in your blasted book … And Sheba here is my woman, if anybody wants to know.’ He put his arm around her shoulders proprietorially. ‘Does anybody say different?’

      Tweedle Beak looked at Sheba and their eyes met. It seemed to Poppy that her mother’s silence was consent enough.

      Poppy went out that afternoon. She avoided Dudley town and its hordes of people; she avoided The Wheatsheaf with its navvies on their Saturday afternoon randy. She wanted to be alone, to think over just what her mother had let herself in for. Deep in thought, she headed towards Cinder Bank, walking the route she and Robert Crawford had taken on their ride. The hot June sun was on her face, but it did not warm her. She sat on a stile and, with her head in her hands, pondered the prospect of lying in the bed next to her mother and hook-nosed Tweedle Beak. For, despite her tender years, Poppy was canny enough to realise that Tweedle had not done what he had done out of charity; he would claim his rights over her mother that night. Sheba must have known, too. She must have been well aware. Poppy tried not to think about the grunting antics that would be performed with a vengeance as Tweedle drunkenly asserted his manhood and his possession of her mother, but mental images of them invaded her mind. The disturbing reality would arrive soon enough.

      She reached out and snatched a stalk of twitch grass. Absently, she split the stem with her fingernail and felt the moist sap oozing between her finger and thumb. Poppy had imagined that her mother was grieving over the absent Lightning Jack, but perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps she, too, was just yet another woman of easy virtue. Perhaps even she was hungry for a man by this time. Poppy’s respect for her mother was under siege. What sort of example was the woman setting? Would it be easy for her to submit so readily to such a man? Was virtue so easily corrupted? Was Sheba really so corruptible that she could rashly sell her own body to Tweedle Beak for the price of a few weeks’ rent, and Lightning Jack due back at any moment? Poppy was confusing herself with all these questions which she could not answer. Maybe Sheba had sacrificed herself to protect her from the clutches of Dandy Punch.

      Her thoughts turned to Minnie. Minnie was easy; her skirt would be up in a trice for no more than a manly smile and a glass of beer. Why were some women like that? Why did they lack self-respect? Why did they cheapen themselves so? It made no sense. They were no better than the men. They were just as bad, just as depraved.

      It then occurred to Poppy that maybe her father wasn’t coming back. Maybe he’d used the threatened appearance before the beak and the prospect of transportation as an excuse to get away from a woman he’d been itching to leave for some time. Maybe his promise to return was just empty words. Maybe he’d already found a woman before he left and had sloped off with her. Men did that sort of thing. Maybe Sheba realised it. Even Poppy had known of several who had absconded, never to be heard of again.

      So Lightning Jack could surely expect no better from Sheba. He knew the system. He was aware Sheba could not remain in a hut without him. He must also have known her sexual appetite; after all, she was not particularly old – only thirty-one – even though she looked older. Lightning must have known that some other hungry, healthy navvy would seize the opportunity to bed his woman in his absence. The trouble was, his absence suggested he did not care.

       Chapter 6

      After an hour or so of trying to make sense of this latest disturbing conundrum, Poppy ambled dejectedly back to the conglomeration of miserable huts that were a blight, even on the ravaged, slag-heaped, chimney-bestrewn landscape around Blowers Green. The sun was hiding behind a bank of grey clouds, depriving the scene even of the joy of colour. As she entered the compound, hungry, for she had not felt like eating after what had occurred, she caught sight of Robert Crawford’s boneshaker leaning against the side of the hut that the foremen used as an office. She turned away, disappointed with Robert over his failure to seek her out after their dinner-time ride, which seemed ages ago. He must be avoiding her, so why give him the satisfaction of thinking that she wanted to see him?

      But as she was about to enter her own hut, he came out of the foremen’s and espied her. He called her name and she lost her resolve. His smile, to her delight, did not give the impression that he was sorry to see her – rather that he was decidedly pleased to. They walked towards each other, her smiling eyes glued on his, and they met in the open space at the centre of the encampment.

      ‘Poppy, how grand to see you,’ Robert greeted. He was wearing his usual top hat and frock coat, and his watch chain hung impressively across his waistcoat. ‘Have you heard from your father yet?’

      Poppy shook her head, saddened to be reminded. ‘No, Robert, and I’ve got the feeling he ain’t coming back.’

      ‘Oh? Why on earth would you think that?’

      ‘Well, ’cause he ain’t shown up yet. He’s had plenty time now.’

      ‘But I’m certain he will, Poppy,’ he said, trying intently to reassure her. ‘Any number of things might have conspired to delay him. Maybe he’s found lucrative employment and wants to make the most of it.’

      ‘Lucrative?’ she queried wearily. ‘You don’t half use some funny words, Robert.’

      He smiled his apology, feeling mildly chastised for using words that he should have realised were beyond her knowledge. ‘It means well-paid, gainful.’

      ‘Gainful or not, he ain’t come back.’

      ‘Maybe he’ll send for you soon.’

      ‘Well, it won’t be soon enough,’ Poppy said wistfully. ‘He’s too late already.’

      ‘Too late? What do you mean?’

      Poppy shook her head and averted her eyes. ‘Oh, nothing …’ She felt too ashamed to tell him what had transpired between her mother and Tweedle Beak and the certain consequences of it.

      ‘You must miss him, Poppy,’ Robert said kindly.

      She nodded and tried to push back tears that were welling up in her eyes. ‘Yes, I miss him, Robert. I love him.’

      ‘There, there …’ He took her hand in consolation but held it discreetly at her side, so that such intimate contact was hidden from view by the folds of her skirt. ‘Please don’t cry, Poppy. I have such a vivid recollection of you laughing and being so happy that I can’t bear to see you crying with sadness.’

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She sighed and wiped an errant tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. She forced a smile and Robert gazed into her watery eyes.

      ‘You have such a lovely

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