The Dressmaker’s Daughter. Nancy Carson

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      She smiled. ‘Oh, Ben. If we’re going to start courting, I can promise you that.’

      They walked on in silence for a while, hand in hand, enjoying the moment, turning to smile at each other every few seconds, squeezing each other’s fingers. Lizzie felt warm now from the glow within her, and she felt the tension of her previous encounter with Jesse drain away. Neither the bitter cold, nor the frost crunching beneath her frozen feet, could overcome the warmth of this joy and relief.

      ‘It was five and twenty to eleven when we come out,’ Ben said at last. ‘Perhaps we’d better get back.’

      ‘No, not yet. Let’s just walk to the top of the hill. We’ll be able to see for miles from there, it’s so clear. It’s not far.’

      Presently they reached the top of Hill Street where the road levelled out. They crossed to the other side and found themselves overlooking a steep embankment. Allotments and an array of rotting old sheds lay immediately below, and a little further away the head gear and buildings of the old Springfield Pit. Beyond that was a vast industrial plain sweeping before them to the north and north east; a landscape randomly pock-marked with quarries and slag heaps.

      The light from the moon and the stars enabled them to see much more than they might on any other night; even features of the terrain. Lights twinkled as far as the eye could see, and the red glow of furnaces and ironworks in the distance, still toiling on this festive night, bloomed and faded according to their mode of activity. Products of all descriptions, from all sorts of materials, for practically every purpose under the sun, were being manufactured within sight, even tonight, for the use of mankind the world over.

      From this vantage point Lizzie and Ben overlooked Tipton, West Bromwich, Oldbury and Smethwick; a massive expanse of factories. Countless red brick chimney stacks bristled up, spewing out endless columns of grey smoke that were visible even now. The dark, skeletal structures of the pit headgear of scores of collieries visible against the frosted landscape were no relief from the tedious acres of dismal pit banks and cheerless slate roofs, shimmering now with frost as the moonlight glinted off them. During the day the wind had cleared the dust and smoke from the atmosphere; now they could see for miles.

      ‘It’s so still up here,’ Ben remarked. ‘Listen. You can actually hear the sounds from the factories in the distance.’

      They listened intently. It was true. Here and there they heard the sibilant clang of metal against metal as a furnace was charged, the thrum, permanently embedded in the air, of a thousand steam engines, the far-off thuds of forging hammers, intermittent and barely discernible; but it was there; all the industrial sounds ever created by man were there, like a distant abstract symphony, in the silence.

      Lizzie snuggled up to Ben as if she had known him years, and he put his arms around her. But it was not the same as when Jesse had embraced her. This was easier. There was no guilt. She did not have to consider Sylvia. She did not have to consider Fern. She did not have to consider anybody, except Ben and herself. She could melt into his arms with utter contentment. No one was about to break in on them and mar their comfortable intimacy. There seemed to be such peace between them. It was such luxury.

      ‘Look at the stars,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never seen so many stars.’

      ‘Lizzie?’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I want to ask you something?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Can I kiss you? I’ve been dying to kiss you.’

      ‘But Ben … What would you think of me if I let you?’

      ‘No less than I already do. If we’re gunna see each other regular then we’ll end up kissing sooner or later.’

      ‘And if I let you kiss me you won’t think I’m cheap?’

      ‘Cheap? ’Course not. I already know you’re decent and respectable.’

      He planted a kiss gently on her cheek, as soft as a butterfly landing on a blossom, lingering for a second. Then his lips slowly brushed across her face, moving inexorably to her mouth. She did not resist; rather she waited excitedly, her lips sensually parted; ready for him. It seemed like an age, but in a few seconds she felt his mouth on hers, soft, searching, hungry for contact. Inevitably she compared it to Jesse’s kiss: it was different because Ben had no moustache, but it was no less pleasant. But with this kiss she could respond whole-heartedly; wring full pleasure from it. She felt her skin running with warmth. It was so pleasant she thought it must be utterly wicked, and broke off, panting a little, feeling guilty after all, her breath hot in the cold, night air.

      ‘Oh, Ben,’ she sighed. But she wanted to experience him more; much, much more. He made her toes curl; he sent tingles up and down her spine. Kissing him was far too pleasant to avoid.

      He drew her closer. When he felt no resistance he searched for her lips again and found them waiting for him as if she was expecting it. For the first time ever he felt her body against him, and he ran his hands down the back of her coat to better appreciate her slenderness, while his lips enjoyed the taste of her.

      Lizzie’s pulse raced and her mind raced with it. She sensed an unforeseen reaction deep, deep within her, ruthlessly churning up her emotions, tearing anarchically at her very soul, like nothing she had ever known before. Parts of her seemed to come alive that she never expected could. She was longing to be touched, longing to be caressed, and it was a revelation. Her breathing came faster, because these new, sudden sensations were exhilarating, tearing her breath away; her legs were like jelly; her head seemed to spin.

      It was some minutes before she became acclimatised to all this delight. She broke off casually, reluctantly, to get her breath back and muster her thoughts. She rested her head on Ben’s shoulder. Would it always be like this? Could it always be like this? Then, strangely, just for a moment, she noticed the cold again, yet infinitely more intense than before and she shuddered. Was this fleeting sensation that penetrated through to her very bones an omen? He sensed her sudden angst and squeezed her affectionately, protectively, rubbing his cheek against her lush brown hair.

      ‘I’ve been dying to do that for ages,’ Ben whispered. ‘I’ve often wondered what it’d be like, kissing you.’

      She sighed, looked up into his eyes and smiled, for the awful, ominous chill left her as quickly as it had arrived. ‘I’ve wondered the same about you, Ben, but I don’t suppose you’ll believe it.’

      ‘Oh, Lizzie, I’d like to believe it. I want to believe it.’

      ‘It’s true … I swear it’s true.’

      He held her a while longer, savouring the emotions and this other unworldly atmosphere.

      ‘Come on,’ he said at last. ‘We’d better get back. They’ll wonder where we’ve got to.’

      ‘Oh, let ’em wonder. Come on. Let’s carry on with our walk. As long as we’re back before midnight so you can let the new year in for us …’

       Chapter 7

      January saw Ben Kite and Lizzie Bishop meeting three or four times a week when he was not working the night shift. Even when the weather was too inclement to venture out Ben would make the uphill trek from Tividale to Kates Hill and spend the evening at Cromwell Street with Lizzie, content with СКАЧАТЬ