Название: The Dressmaker’s Daughter
Автор: Nancy Carson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780008134815
isbn:
Ezme was a big, intimidating woman, almost masculine, though it was said she had not always been so. As a young woman, when she moved to Dudley from Darlaston to marry, she was said to have possessed striking looks. She was also headstrong. Certainly she was too much of a match for Jack, who hovered about her like a mere accessory.
The group, conscious of the ever-present tension between Eve and Ezme, were conversing blandly, discussing the imminent departure of the vicar, the Reverend Mr Nelson Crowshaw, and wondering whether they would approve of the new incumbent.
Beccy Crump, Eve’s next door neighbour, said, ‘I hear as old Doctor Clark’s about to retire, an’ all.’
‘Fancy,’ Eve replied with interest, her hand to her ear.
‘They say as he’s handing over his practice to his son.’
Eve sighed her approval. ‘To Donald? Oh, bless him. He’s a lovely lad, is Donald. A good doctor, an’ all, or so I heard.’
Jesse Clancey, meanwhile, could not take his eyes off Lizzie. She was as exquisite as a young princess and frisky as a foal, but he was painfully aware she was nine years his junior. Nine years that he perceived as an obstacle. Nine years that were inhibiting him from making a fool of himself. The family dairy business depended on the goodwill of its customers, so any disparagement through foolish encounters with girls, who were dangerously young, would be unprofitable. More significantly, this nine year age gap forestalled any wrath and derision from his mother, for he, too, was aware that she held Eve, and thus Lizzie, in huge contempt.
Lizzie discovered Jesse’s age by casually asking neighbours. Socialising was not encouraged, so she could never ask him directly, of course, even though they lived so close. But she could dream of him, yearn for him; and they could exchange secret smiles. Lizzie was flattered to receive the admiring glances of a man so much older. It somehow confirmed her own womanhood, her own desirability. If only he would pluck up the courage to ask her out.
Church on a Sunday evening was more of a social than a religious affair, and it wanted at least five minutes yet before they would go inside. So Lizzie, not harkening to the soft Sunday voices of her mother and the others as they stood gossiping, tilted her face towards the sun’s deepening, yellow glow, which was falling warm on her face. Momentarily, she closed her eyes, savouring the pleasure of it. Silver birches were casting long, cool shadows over the monolithic graves of wealthier families, and the doves that dwelt in the bell tower flapped fussily as they vied for best roosts. A bee, hindered in its flight home by its own diligence, hummed with optimism around a final bunch of tulips on one of the lesser graves. Lizzie imagined herself standing outside some country church immersed in rural stillness. But, tomorrow, the forge close by would violate this enviable peace. The ground would tremble to the thud, thud of massive board hammers, as if a giant’s heart were pounding beneath your feet. In adjacent streets, the cupolas of hot, sulphurous foundries would roar more terrifyingly than the furnaces of Bedlam. Pit heads with their big, rumbling wheels, and the clanking, hissing steam engines that powered them, were also within sight and earshot; and men would be calling to each other over the din of it all.
Yet all was so serene now.
Aunt Sarah Dando arrived at last, with Sylvia and Stanley. Sylvia was quite the young lady now, twenty years old with dark, wavy hair, and an inch or two taller than Lizzie; her face was thinner, but her eyes were bright. She walked and stood proudly, and when she smiled she revealed a lovely set of even teeth. Lizzie noticed how she, too, kept glancing at Jesse, smiling coquettishly when he chose to look her way.
Lizzie calculatingly detached herself from the group, which by now had granted token observance to the perennial walnut of women’s suffrage, and was discussing Bella Dowty’s ulcerated legs. One sure way to divert Jesse’s interest away from Sylvia, she reckoned, was to make him jealous. A ploy she’d learned some time ago. So she moved to talk to Stanley, her second cousin, with whom she enjoyed an easy friendship. She flirted openly with him, touching his arm with agonising familiarity when she spoke, tormenting Jesse.
Stanley was eighteen, tall and wiry, with dark curly hair. He had a clear complexion, a pretty face for a lad – even prettier than his sister – and a mouth that Lizzie increasingly considered was extraordinarily kissable. As children they used to play games that involved stealing a kiss or two. But now she was older and growing inexorably more interested in kissing, the notion of doing it properly had appealed for some time, but with increasing intensity lately. And if she could not be kissed by Jesse Clancey with his lovely moustache, who better than Stanley?
Stanley, for his part, was entertaining similar fantasies about Lizzie. Six months ago he wouldn’t have given her a second thought; after all, they were so familiar; like brother and sister almost. But, lately, she’d blossomed into such a desirable young woman, and he regarded her now in a different light. He’d not met any girl he would rather see undressed. Her beautiful eyes seemed to sparkle with vitality, and always with a taunting frolicsome look, and he was sure she was thinking thoughts as impious as his own. It was certain she would allow him to undress her if he applied himself sensitively.
‘Where’s Uncle Tom, Stanley?’ Lizzie enquired.
‘In The Freebodies. He wanted a quick pint before the service. Said he was thirsty.’
She felt Jesse’s eyes on her again, but she could afford to disregard his admiring stares now she’d found less controversial company in Stanley. She said: ‘We’ll see the new vicar tonight, Stanley. That’s why a lot have come, I daresay. There’s folk here I haven’t seen for ages. If ours don’t hurry up and finish their chin-wagging, we’ll never get a seat.’
‘How about me and you going in now, Lizzie? We could sit by ourselves. We needn’t wait for them. We needn’t sit near ’em, come to that.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she answered, in two minds. ‘I shouldn’t leave my mother.’
‘Aunt Eve’ll be all right. My folks’ll keep her company. Hang on, I’ll tell ’em we’m going in without ’em.’
Lizzie smiled and said all right, then turned away self-consciously. It all seemed to be happening tonight. The two men she was most interested in were as good as dangling on her string. The realisation excited her. She fancied Stanley more each time she saw him, and it was just as easy to turn to him as to Jesse. Probably easier; at least he was attainable without controversy. A bird in the hand and all that.
As Lizzie moved away she turned to make sure that Jesse Clancey had noticed. He had, but concealed the fact, striking a casual pose and laughing extra-heartily at something Sylvia had said. Lizzie smiled contentedly. Two men patently interested in her; two gorgeous, dashing men. If only she could have both. She had the capacity to handle both until she finally decided which one to marry.
But who to choose? It was so confusing.
Now, with Stanley’s hand in the small of her back guiding her into church, she felt another flush of excitement at the thought of sitting with one admirer while the other yearned jealously for her. She allowed Stanley to lead her into the back pew, the prime location for courting couples. They would have it all to themselves, for it wasn’t a full length pew; one of the massive columns supporting the vaulted roof occupied much of it.
Stanley gallantly opened her Hymns СКАЧАТЬ