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

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      ‘Aye, and you’ve thrown a shoe, into the bargain.’

      ‘And a new pair is gunna cost me even more money.’

      The next evening, Dandy Punch and two others ambled over to The Wheatsheaf with the men’s wages, as they did at the end of every month. Two hundred men awaited them outside, each tormented by a raging thirst that none but a few were able to satisfy before the money was doled out. As each envelope was handed over, the recipient inspected it, counted it and generally muttered his irritation at how much had been deducted as owing.

      ‘This ain’t right,’ Tweedle Beak complained to Waxy Boyle as he counted his wages. ‘But how the hell am I to prove it? Now I got me score to settle with Toby Watson. Trouble is, I’m never sober when he gets me to put me mark on it.’

      ‘Neither is anybody else,’ Waxy said. ‘He fiddles everybody blind. Come on, let’s slake our thirsts.’

      As the first of the newly but temporarily enriched navvies trickled into The Wheatsheaf, Toby Watson, the landlord, handed the scores to each man that owed him money and they settled. Then they were entitled to take a tankard of beer from the dozens that had already been poured, and which lined the top of the counter in anticipation of the rush.

      Tweedle Beak and Waxy sat on abutting wooden settles in the corner of the room at an iron-legged table. Many other navvies would cram in with them, complain about their lot and get drunk. Sure enough, they were soon joined by Windy Bags and Crabface Lijah. Crabface carried a cribbage board and a box of dominoes as well as his frothing tankard. Windy Bags counted his wages and slipped the money into one of his pockets before shuffling the dominoes that he had laid face down on the table. Brummagem Joe appeared, sat beside him and asked if he could join in the game.

      ‘We need another,’ Crabface declared. ‘D’you want to play, Tweedle?’

      ‘Count me in,’ Tweedle responded.

      They settled into the first game and were joined at the table by Jericho and Dog Meat. Next to arrive was Buttercup. He drew up a stool, filled his gum-bucket, lit it and watched the game of dominoes with interest, occasionally needling Tweedle Beak with sharp comments. Already there were eight men sitting around the table. The room was filling up, not only with men but with tobacco smoke, and it was growing noisy. Soon it would become rowdy. A further group from Hawthorn Villa occupied the adjacent table, including Tipton Ted, and others with names like Masher, Green Gilbert, and Fatbuck. Dandy Punch, who had done his job of paying everybody, soon joined them.

      Jericho went to the bar and appropriated two more drinks for himself and Dog Meat. When he returned he narrated the story of their encounter the day before with the oversized boar. The men found it funny and the story was passed on to the next table and the next, and Dog Meat became the butt of several jokes, to his annoyance and humiliation. The room was so crowded by this time that men were standing around between the stools and tables. Jericho thrust past them to get to the bar again, and once more returned with beer for himself and Dog Meat.

      ‘He’s a good mate to thee, Dog Meat,’ Buttercup remarked sarcastically. ‘He keeps getting up and fetching thy beer, and I ain’t sid thy hand in thy pocket yet.’

      ‘All me wages have gone in what I owe, Buttercup,’ Dog Meat replied ruefully. ‘I had a bit left over but that’s gone now I’ve settled me score with Toby. It’s why I was trying to steal me dinner afore we met that bloody great pig.’

      ‘Nipped thy arse, did it?’

      ‘Would’ve, if I hadn’t got over the fence in time.’

      Jericho, seeing Dog Meat and Buttercup in conversation, turned to Tweedle Beak. ‘I could do with a word, Tweedle. Just the two of us.’

      ‘You’d best say what you’ve got to say here, lad. I ain’t shifting from here whilst I’m in the middle of a game o’ dominoes. I’ll lose me seat. What’s up?’

      ‘I, er … I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now, but …’

      ‘But what? Spit it out, lad.’ He scanned the dominoes he held secretively in both hands

      ‘I, er … Well, the truth is … I want young Poppy. Now as you’re the breadwinner o’ that family and seeing as how Sheba’s carrying your bab, I look to you, Tweedle, to tell me what you’ll take for the wench.’

      ‘Money, you mean?’

      ‘Aye,’ Jericho replied assertively. ‘To jump the broomstick. Ever since I clapped eyes on her, I knew as she was the one for me, the one I been waiting for. How much would you want for me to take her off your hands?’

      Tweedle Beak placed a domino at the end of the line that zigzagged across the table and chuckled. ‘Yo’m a dark hoss,’ he said with a knowing look. ‘I know yo’ was sniffin’ round the wench a while ago, but then I reckoned as your interests was diverted elsewhere.’ He winked at Jericho. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’

      ‘Well, what do you say, Tweedle? How much? If it ain’t an unreasonable amount, you can have the money tonight. I ain’t short. How about thirty bob?’

      ‘Thirty bob?’ Tweedle scoffed. ‘No, the wench is worth more than thirty bob. At least twice that much.’

      ‘Three pounds?’ Jericho queried. ‘That’s a bit steep. There ain’t much of her, you know.’

      ‘Yo’ either want her or yo’ don’t.’

      Ears pricked up at this conversation and one nudged another to draw attention to it.

      ‘I bet there’s many a single chap here who’d willingly gi’ me three pounds for Poppy Silk.’

      ‘Hear that?’ Windy Bags said, looking up from his dominoes and nudging Crabface Lijah. ‘Tweedle’s about to sell young Poppy.’

      Those at the next table also looked expectantly at Tweedle.

      ‘What’s the bidding?’ Dandy Punch asked, with sudden interest.

      ‘The wench is on offer at three pounds,’ Buttercup said nonchalantly. ‘Any advance?’

      ‘I’ll give yer three pounds ten, Tweedle,’ Dandy Punch responded. ‘Aye, and more.’

      ‘Will you bollocks!’ Jericho protested. ‘The wench is mine. I asked first … All right, Tweedle … Four pounds. Four pounds and she’s mine, eh?’

      ‘I’d give you five pounds if I thought I could have her,’ the Masher said, a quiet young navvy who dressed almost as flamboyantly as Dandy Punch.

      Jericho rummaged in his pocket for money. ‘Here, Tweedle … Here’s a sovereign. Have this as a down payment. I’ll pay you the other four pounds later.’

      ‘Nay, lad,’ Tweedle said, refusing to accept the money. His enterprising brain could see the potential here for making a handsome kill. ‘Nay, lad, there’s many an interested party here. Poppy Silk goes to the highest bidder …’ He pondered a moment. ‘Better still, let’s have a lottery … Let every man interested pay me a couple of quid, say, and I’ll put his name into a hat. But first let’s spread the word around. I want as many as possible to take part. Fair chances for everybody СКАЧАТЬ