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

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘If you can afford a new dress, buy yourself some fire coal as well, Minnie. You’ll catch your death else. Get back to your warm bed and that chap you’ve got up there, before you freeze.’

      Minnie grinned. ‘Still the same old Poppy under all that finery, ain’t ya?’

      The days and evenings at Cawneybank House remained pleasant. Poppy was keen to learn, an eager pupil, and Aunt Phoebe continued to lavish time and trouble on her companion, teaching her, correcting her patiently and with endless devotion. Considering that just a few months earlier they were not only strangers but more than a generation apart, they lived in perfect harmony. In the evenings they sat and talked and exchanged confidences. Poppy made Aunt Phoebe laugh with her down-to-earth comments and her uninhibited sense of humour, which was often a little bawdy for the older lady’s taste. But she took it in good part. She was astonished by some of the tales Poppy recounted about navvy life, especially the story of how her mother and Tweedle Beak became entangled in a loveless relationship. When Poppy told her about how Tweedle Beak had tried to raffle her off and fix it so he won her himself, she was outraged that any man could stoop to such absolute dishonour.

      ‘Thank goodness I helped you keep away from all that immorality,’ she said, looking up over her spectacles from her embroidery.

      ‘Oh, I know,’ Poppy replied, with all the conviction of a socialite. She was knitting as they talked, a skill she was learning, and the white scarf she was attempting had grown to about a foot in length.

      ‘But I hope your poor mother will have settled happily with that man you referred to as Buttercup.’

      ‘Oh, I think she will’ve, Aunt Phoebe. He’ll look after her. He’s a good man. He reminded me so much of me dad.’

      ‘My dad, Poppy,’ Aunt Phoebe gently corrected. ‘Not me dad. My dad. How many times—?’

      ‘Sorry … my dad …’

      ‘Let us hope they will marry and make a legal match of it. If only to stem their incontinence.’

      ‘I hope so as well, Aunt Phoebe,’ Poppy replied, clueless as to the meaning of the word incontinence.

      ‘But I can’t help thinking Buttercup is such a strange name for a man.’ Aunt Phoebe pulled a green thread through the taut drum of her work.

      ‘It’s a nickname. All the men go by nicknames. Sometimes, you never get to know their real names.’ She swapped her needles over and played out a little more wool from the ball in her lap. ‘Take Jericho, for instance. Nobody knew his name. I don’t think he knew it himself. If he did, he never told nobody.’

      ‘Never told anybody, Poppy. You are using a double negative again …’

      ‘Oh, damn,’ she said with genuine disappointment. ‘I must try and think about what I’m saying before I say it, eh, Aunt Phoebe? You’re very patient with me …’

      ‘I try. And please, never say damn either. At least, never in company.’

      The composition of her birthday party had been discussed and they agreed that as many people of Poppy’s age as possible should attend, chaperoned, of course, by their parents. Such a sprinkling of the young and unmarried would, it was hoped, lend the party some zest.

      ‘It’s a splendid opportunity to meet more of my family and friends,’ Aunt Phoebe said to Poppy. ‘Many have sons and daughters your age. The Crawfords must of course be invited. I haven’t seen them for months. They have a daughter a little younger than you, but she is at boarding school, I believe. I seldom see her. However, I shall be interested to learn what you make of Robert’s two brothers … I would stress, Poppy, that you would be wise to keep to yourself the fact that you were a friend of Robert – that you and I met through him. Such an admission would only invite questions and, if you answered them too candidly – as well you might – your origins will be revealed and all the excellent progress you’ve made over the months could be negated.’

      ‘What do you mean, Aunt Phoebe?’

      ‘I mean that unless they delved, nobody would know that you are the daughter of a railway navvy, reared on an ungodly encampment. So let us not make it known. Let’s maintain the subterfuge that you are employed solely as my companion. You’ve already surpassed my expectations, my dear. I’m proud of you.’ Aunt Phoebe paused, and Poppy waited for the tempering statement that always followed praise. ‘That’s not to say there are no more rough edges to be rounded off. Indeed, there are, but the fullness of time and greater experience will see to that. In any case, your guests will not notice any flaws. To my mind, they have plenty themselves and will be used to seeing and hearing such faults every day in everybody else. We’ve still plenty to do yet in the matter of your education.’

      ‘I have to thank you, Aunt Phoebe,’ Poppy said sincerely. ‘For everything. For giving me a home, a comfortable bed. For being so kind …’

      Aunt Phoebe looked over her spectacles at Poppy with genuine affection. ‘Just as long as you are happy.’

      ‘Happy?’ Poppy smiled brightly. ‘Oh, I’m happy. I love being here with you, Aunt Phoebe. I feel as if I’ve lived here all my life. I think about my family a lot and I wonder where they’ve got to now. I do worry about them, you know … But I look upon you as my mother nowadays …’

      Aunt Phoebe reached out and took Poppy’s hand, touched by her openness. ‘And you have turned out to be the daughter I never had. I’m so glad you’re happy. You’ve made me very happy too, Poppy. It’s so fortunate that we were brought together.’

      ‘Esther and Dolly as well,’ Poppy said, wide-eyed. ‘They’re like sisters to me … and Clay’s like an old uncle …’ She laughed happily. ‘Oh, Aunt Phoebe, I dread to think what would have happened to me if I hadn’t dared to come and see you that Sunday …’

      ‘What on earth do you mean?’

      Poppy looked at her knitting, deliberately avoiding Aunt Phoebe’s eyes lest she read too much into them. ‘My friend Minnie … The one who lives at Gatehouse Fold. She’s the daughter of a navvy as well. Did I tell you? She’s not been as lucky as me. She’s getting into bad ways … I suspect I might have done as well after Robert went away …’ It was not the first time Poppy had admitted, to herself at least, that she might have become drawn into prostitution, especially when the money that Buttercup gave her had run out. ‘Anyway, I invited her to my party. I hope you don’t mind.’

      ‘Oh, my goodness …’ Aunt Phoebe sat bolt upright, her expression suddenly grim. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Poppy. I mean to say, however much of a friend she is, do you really want a street girl at your party to lower the tone? There will be some very respectable people there. They will not want their sons and daughters to be mixing with that sort of girl.’

      ‘But Minnie’s all right, Aunt Phoebe. Honest. And she’ll be all dressed up in nice new clothes. She’s really very friendly. Nobody’ll know she’s that sort of girl, I promise.’

      ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

      ‘Yes, I’m sure. Anyway, I’ve asked her now …’

      ‘Very well then,’ Aunt Phoebe grudgingly agreed. ‘Will she be escorted?’

      ‘You never know with Minnie.’

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