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

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      As they walked back to Rowley Road and Cawneybank House – the clarence was not available since Clay was busy greasing the axles – Poppy and Aunt Phoebe discussed the interview. Aunt Phoebe was of the opinion that Reverend Browne considered Poppy suitable for the position and would try and convince the schoolmaster, Mr Tromans, that he could manage with morning help only.

      ‘That will enable you to continue your learning at home, and still have some time to yourself.’

      ‘I wouldn’t have dared suggest it, Aunt Phoebe,’ Poppy said. ‘I wouldn’t have even thought about it. Don’t you think it might put them off having me?’

      ‘I think not, my dear. Having been a teacher for many a long year I am aware of the reality of what is desirable compared to what is possible. It is not uncommon to use pupil teachers in classrooms. All too often it is necessary. For you, so many young boys under one roof could be very tiresome if they are not sufficiently well disciplined. I must say, though, Mr Tromans seemed to keep them on a tight rein. He seemed no fool. If you are offered the position, I’m certain he’ll be fair and respectful towards you.’

      They walked on in silence for a while, up the road known as Waddams Pool, with cottages interspersed between factories on both sides, and dotted with dollops of uncleared horse manure. A horse and cart passed on the other side of the road and the carter raised his hat to them with a cheery smile. The sky, however, was like lead and threatened more rain.

      ‘Maybe we should have taken the omnibus, Poppy.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. A drop of rain won’t hurt us.’

      ‘I wasn’t thinking so much of the rain as my poor legs.’

      ‘I remember the men at the railway encampment when they worked in the rain. They always moaned. It made the earth thick with mud and so much heavier to shift, but they shifted it all the same. But the mess they made with their boots after …’

      Aunt Phoebe smiled indulgently at her. ‘Those days are gone for you, Poppy, are they not?’

      ‘Yes, they’re gone, but I don’t ever regret them. I can’t forget them, either. I remember them now with fondness, and the folk who lived and worked there … I wouldn’t want to go back, though. Not when it was always my intention to get out anyhow … I wonder where my poor mother is now, and my sisters and brothers … And Buttercup.’

      ‘Buttercup,’ Aunt Phoebe mused. ‘I hope some day I might meet this Buttercup. I hope some day I might meet your mother too, and the rest of her children. I wonder what she would say if she saw you now, if she saw the change in you.’

      ‘She wouldn’t recognise me. Especially not in all these lovely clothes.’

      ‘Oh, she would. Of course she would. Her own daughter.’

      They were passing Tansley House, the home of the Crawfords. It started spitting with rain.

      ‘Maybe we should knock on the Crawfords’ door and ask if we can shelter from the rain, Aunt Phoebe,’ Poppy said, half-serious.

      ‘Oh, I think not, Poppy. Tansley House would be my last choice of refuge without an invitation. But you’ll get to see it, no doubt, if you begin to see Bellamy regularly.’

      ‘I’m not sure that I want to see Bellamy regularly,’ Poppy replied.

      ‘But such a handsome young man, and with such an assured future. So obviously taken with you. My dear, what girl of seventeen wouldn’t want to be seeing Bellamy regularly?’

      ‘This girl.’

      ‘Oh? And why is this girl so different from others?’

      Poppy hesitated to say.

      ‘Go on … There must be a reason …’

      ‘Because …’ She blushed vividly. ‘Because this girl’s in love with Robert.’ It was the first time she had admitted it to Aunt Phoebe.

      Aunt Phoebe turned to look at Poppy and saw her heightened colour. ‘Ah … Of course, I suspected it, so I’m hardly surprised. But you must know it’s futile, my dear, your holding out any hope of landing Robert.’

      ‘I’m not sure what futile means, Aunt Phoebe, but if it means it’s a waste of time, then I don’t agree. You see, Robert told me he was in love with me as well. And if he was, then I reckon he still is. I’m still in love with him anyway. Why should it be any different for him?’

      ‘Are you sure he loves you? This is not just merely some young girl’s fancy, is it?’

      ‘No, Aunt, he told me. And he meant it. He went to Brazil to get away from that girl he’s engaged to, to get away from both of us, so’s he could make his mind up about us. I know he wouldn’t have married me then – I was just a navvy’s daughter – but he loved me all the same. He had to get away to straighten himself out. I do know how hard it is for him having a fiancée already, with his mother and father pressing him to wed her.’

      ‘Mmm …’ Aunt Phoebe murmured pensively. ‘There’s a ring of truth in what you tell me. I must say, he gave me no clue when he called to see me before he left, but the fact that he wished me to help you lends it some credence now.’

      ‘It’s true, Aunt Phoebe. I don’t tell lies.’

      ‘Then, is it fair that you should be going out with Bellamy on Sunday? After all, you could be giving him entirely the wrong impression, falsely raising his hopes, when it’s his brother you’re really interested in.’

      ‘Oh, I won’t give him any wrong impressions. I won’t lead him on a bit, I promise. But I do like him. He reminds me of Robert.’

      ‘As I’ve said before, don’t admit to your having known Robert previously. Now … Tell me, Poppy – and I apologise if this sounds a little indelicate – but were you and Robert ever … ever improper?’

      ‘You mean did we couple, like man and wife?’

      Aunt Phoebe gasped. ‘My goodness! What a way you have of expressing things.’

      ‘I just say things the way they are, Aunt Phoebe,’ Poppy said unapologetically. ‘Anyway, no. We never did that. Not that we didn’t want to … But we never did.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ The older woman uttered a sigh of relief. ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

      At about the same time that Aunt Phoebe and Poppy were walking home under the steely sky of a drab April noon, Minnie Catchpole was holding a piece of bread on a toasting fork in front of the fire, when she heard a knock at her door. She was not expecting anybody in particular, but it could have been any one of half a dozen men who had taken to spending a couple of shillings for her charms at odd times during daylight. She pulled the bread from the fire and put it unfinished onto the plate that was on the table, then went to answer the door.

      ‘Oh, it’s you, miss.’

      ‘Yes, it’s me again, Minnie. Are you going to invite me in?’

      ‘Yes, come in if you want.’

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