A Country Girl. Nancy Carson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ really? You either do or you don’t.’

      ‘There’s this girl I’m sort of friendly with … But it ain’t as if we’re proper sweethearts … I mean we ain’t about to get wed or anything like that.’

      ‘And shall you tell her you been a walk wi’ me this afternoon?’

      ‘Like you say, there’s nothing to tell, is there?’

      ‘Not really …’ She smiled at his turning the tables back on her. ‘What’s her name?’

      ‘Harriet.’

      ‘That’s a nice name.’

      ‘Maybe we should get Harriet and your Jack together, eh?’

      She laughed at that. ‘Is she pretty, this Harriet?’

      ‘Nowhere near as pretty as you. Jack would fancy you more than Harriet, for certain. I do at any rate … I’ve been noticing you for a long time … seeing you come past our house from time to time. I’ve often thought how much I’d like to get you on your own and get to know you.’

      ‘Have you, Algie? Honest?’ She laughed self-consciously.

      ‘Yes, honest.’

      ‘That’s nice … I’m surprised, though.’

      ‘Don’t be surprised. Next time you come through the lock and pay your penny let me know you’re there, eh? ’Specially if it’s of a Sunday, or if you’re mooring up for the night close by. We could go for walks again then. I mean to say, the summer’s only just around the corner.’

      ‘And you wouldn’t mind me asking for you?’

      ‘Course not. I’d like you to. I’m inviting you to.’

      She looked him squarely in the eye, with an open, candid smile. ‘I just might then … And your mother wouldn’t mind?’

      ‘Why should she mind?’

      She shrugged girlishly. ‘Dunno … What if she don’t like me?’

      ‘Oh, she doesn’t dislike you, Marigold. She knows your family. Lord, you’ve been coming through our stretch of the cut long enough.’

      ‘How old is your mom, Algie?’

      ‘Two-and-forty.’

      ‘She don’t look it, does she? She looks about thirty. I mean she ain’t got stout or anything.’

      ‘No, she doesn’t look her age, I grant you. She looks well. We got a photo of her when she was about your age – what is your age, Marigold, by the way?’

      ‘Eighteen. I’ll be nineteen in July.’

      ‘Anyway – this photo of me mom – she was really pretty when she was about eighteen. There must’ve been one or two chaps after her, according to the things I’ve heard said …’

      ‘But your dad got her.’

      ‘Yes, me dad got her. Just think, if he hadn’t got her, I’d have been somebody else.’

      ‘No, Algie,’ she chuckled deliciously. ‘If he hadn’t got her, you wouldn’t have been born. It’s obvious.’

      ‘Course I would. But I’d have been somebody else, like I say.’

      She smiled, mystified and amused by his quaint logic.

      ‘Your mom’s nice-looking for her age as well, ain’t she?’ Algie said easily. ‘It’s easy to see who you get your pretty face from.’

      ‘So how old are you, Algie?’ Marigold asked, not wishing to pursue that line.

      ‘Two-and-twenty. I’ll be three-and-twenty in September.’

      ‘So how old was your mom when she had you?’

      ‘Can’t you work it out?’

      ‘I can’t do sums like that, Algie. I ain’t had no schooling like you.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ He smiled sympathetically. It was difficult to imagine what it must be like for somebody who couldn’t read, something he took for granted. ‘Well, she must’ve been about one-and-twenty,’ he said, answering her question. ‘Something like that. What about your mom?’

      ‘My mom was nineteen when she had me.’

      ‘Nearly your own age,’ he remarked.

      ‘I reckon so,’ Marigold admitted. ‘She must have bin carrying me at my age.’

      ‘So how old is your dad? He looks older.’

      ‘He’s nearly fifty.’

      ‘Quite a bit older, then?’

      ‘I suppose,’ she mused. ‘It’s summat as I never thought about. Anyway, I don’t see as how it matters that much.’

      ‘Nor do I,’ he agreed.

      They left the lane and ambled on towards Kingswinford over fields of sheep-cropped turf, tunnelled by rabbits and sprinkled with glowing spring flowers. Young pheasants, silvery brown, fed near a stile, hardly bothered at all by the couple’s approach.

      ‘It’s lovely here,’ she commented. ‘Maybe we should stop here a bit.’

      So they sat down and talked for ages, never quite reaching Kingswinford, never stumped once for conversation. When it was time to go they returned by the high road, passing the Union workhouse which provided yet another topic of conversation. Marigold decided she liked Algie. He was easy to talk to and she felt at ease with his unassuming manner. She enjoyed being with him. He was handsome, too, and his obvious admiration of her made her feel good about herself.

      ‘It’s a pity I can’t see you tonight,’ he said, about to leave her at the pair of moored narrowboats, ‘but I go to church of a Sunday night.’

      ‘With your family?’

      ‘No, with Harriet.’

      ‘Oh … with Harriet …’

      ‘Well, she’s always been brought up to go to church.’

      ‘I bet she’s been learnt to read and write proper as well, eh?’

      ‘What difference does that make?’ he said kindly, so that she should not feel inferior to Harriet. ‘Anyway, don’t forget to ask for me when you’re next passing, eh, Marigold?’

      She shrugged. ‘I might …’

       Chapter 2

      The СКАЧАТЬ