The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson

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СКАЧАТЬ with practice. The more you read, the easier you’ll recognise words, and the faster you’ll become. You’ll also learn a great deal from reading. It’s the gateway to all knowledge.’

      ‘Is that all there is to praying then?’

      ‘You are supposed to word your prayer to suit whatever it is you’re praying for.’

      ‘So if I wanted to pray to God to send me some new boots, what would I say?’

      Robert smiled to himself. ‘That would depend on what size you took.’

      ‘Size four, I think.’

      ‘God needs to know, you see. So you would say a prayer to God asking for some boots and tell him what colour, size, et cetera … It’s normal to kneel while praying to demonstrate our humility, but we won’t bother with that rigmarole. Humility is such an aggravating attribute. It’s just as easy to pray sitting down … And a sight easier on the knees. Now put your hands together and close your eyes – like this …’

      She did as he bid.

      ‘Ready to say your prayer?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said and took a deep breath. ‘Our Father, please let me have a pair of dainty black boots with ’lastic sides … size four should do it … Amen.’ She opened her eyes and turned to Robert. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’ she asked eagerly.

      ‘Oh, I doubt it. It’s not considered good practice to pray for material things. Only spiritual. For instance, why don’t you say a prayer for your father and perhaps your mother?’

      ‘How? Will you say a prayer to show me how?’

      ‘I’ll try. But please remember, Poppy, I’m not an ordained priest and I haven’t the command of religious language like priests have. But I will try, and hope it doesn’t sound trite. Here goes … Hands together now, eyes closed …’ Poppy peeped at him and thought how very solemn but how very handsome he looked. ‘Our Father … we commend the soul of the dearly departed Jack Silk unto Thy care and protection. Please receive him, Lord, into the bosom of Thy tender mercy and forgive him his trespasses. We pray also for Sheba Silk and Poppy Silk and the rest of his family left behind, who grieve over his passing. Comfort them and nurture them with Thy eternal strength and goodness … Amen.’

      Poppy was moved. A tear trembled on her eyelash and rolled down her cheek, but she checked herself from weeping. ‘That was beautiful, Robert,’ she breathed. ‘I shall never forget what you said. It was beautiful.’

      He turned to her and smiled with all his affection manifest in his eyes. ‘Does it make you feel a little uplifted?’

      ‘Oh …’ She pondered the question for a second or two. ‘In a funny way, yes. I don’t feel half so sad as what I did before. I s’pose it’s knowing that our Father which art in heaven will look after me dad now … Oh, I don’t feel half so sad, Robert. Thank you.’

      He could have hugged her. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. But he was in God’s House and such shenanigans would only be frowned on and ultimately punished by that good and bounteous God who totally disapproved of bodily contact between man and woman unless they were bound in matrimony.

      Poppy turned her face to him and pursed her lips without inhibition. Without thinking, he met them with his own and they kissed. It was not a lingering kiss, little more than a peck, but it was so natural, so unpretentiously given, that it quite took his breath away. Never had he known such unstinting warmth from another person.

      ‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked. ‘When you leave here, I mean?’

      She shrugged girlishly. ‘Go home, I ’spect. I got some work to do yet. That new chap who come – you know, my dad’s mate, Buttercup – he wants me to wash his shirt and things. I promised I would.’

      ‘Have you had much to do with him?’

      ‘Not yet. But I like him. He seems like me dad … kind and easy to get along with. I hope he stays with us awhile.’

      ‘I … er … I bought you this, Poppy …’ Robert felt in his pocket and fished out a little parcel. ‘I thought it appropriate. I do hope you like it.’

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘Open it, and you’ll see.’

      ‘Robert, thank you, whatever it is. I don’t get presents very often.’ She opened the parcel. ‘Oh, it’s a book,’ she said, delighted.

      ‘Written by a young woman,’ he said. ‘It’s called Pride and Prejudice. My aunt, who used to be a teacher – I told her about you, by the way – informs me that it gives a good insight into English life and manners. You might find it difficult reading at first, so don’t be disheartened. Persevere and it should be worth it. You’ll soon be reading quite quickly.’

      ‘Oh, I’ll try and read some tonight and I’ll let you know how I get on.’

      ‘Good …’ He smiled. ‘You know, Poppy, I think we ought to go now. Would you still like to resume your reading and writing lessons, then?’

      ‘Yes … Course.’

      ‘So shall we meet on Monday at my office, after the works have finished?’

      ‘Oh, yes, please, Robert.’

      Meanwhile, Sheba was in the living room working alone. The children were out playing, and Tweedle Beak was at The Wheatsheaf grinning and bearing it, as were the rest of the hut’s usual contingent. Except for Buttercup. He left the dormitory where he had been fiddling and entered the living room, where he believed Sheba was on her own.

      ‘Still hard at it, Sheba?’

      ‘Is it ever any different?’

      ‘I reckon not. Where’s young Poppy? Has she gone out to play and left her mother to do all the work?’

      ‘I don’t begrudge the wench some enjoyment, Buttercup. It’s my guess as she’s gone to meet that engineer what’s learning her to read. She’s got a soft spot for him, and no two ways. Trouble is, she’s gunna be let down with such a bang. She’s set her sights way too high.’

      Buttercup pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. ‘Fill we a tankard o’ beer, eh, Sheba?’

      ‘Oh? Ain’t you going to The Wheatsheaf with the others?’ She took the key from her pocket and unlocked the barrel.

      ‘I can goo theer anytime. Besides, there’s no sense in getting lagged out o’ thy mind on beer all the time. I’d rather tek the time to talk … if yo’ve a mind to talk to me, Sheba.’

      ‘I’m content enough to stop and talk.’ Sheba filled a tankard and handed it to him.

      ‘Ta, my wench. Bist havin’ one theeself? I’ll treat thee.’

      ‘That’s decent of you, Buttercup. Thanks, I will.’ She took a tumbler from a cupboard and filled it with beer. ‘Here’s to you.’

      ‘Here’s to thee СКАЧАТЬ