I’ve tried,’ he admitted. Then he saw an opportunity to belittle his sister further. ‘But she wouldn’t let me. And you know why? ’Cause she’s a lady, not a trollop. She’s got something about her. She deserves respect for it.’
‘She’s a stuck-up cat. Anyroad, I can’t see young Marigold Bingham being as stuck-up, I’ll say that for her. So when you get your way with her, just consider whether she’s a trollop, eh?’
‘Leave Marigold out of this.’
‘How can I, when you’ve been with her most of the day? Have you had your way with her already?’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘Exactly my point, our Algie.’
‘For your information, Marigold ain’t a trollop,’ he added in the girl’s defence. ‘And like I say, it’s nothing to do with you what me and Marigold do.’
‘Likewise, what me and Reggie were doing had got nothing to do with you,’ Kate riposted. ‘But it didn’t stop you interfering.’
‘I’m going to bed,’ Algie announced grumpily. ‘I don’t see the sense in stopping up and arguing with you … trollop!’
Algie had eaten and gone to work by the time Kate went down for breakfast. She was employed as an assistant in the shop at Mills’s Bakery in Brierley Hill High Street, and didn’t have to be there until eight. She had not slept well, preoccupied all night at being discovered with Reggie Hodgetts, and her sudden plunge in Algie’s already low esteem. Maybe she was a trollop. She’d never looked at it like that before; she’d never had to because she’d never been found out before. But if it was all done in private then what did it matter to anybody else? It was simply that she enjoyed the physical contact of men; the exhilaration, and all those sweet sensations. When Algie had pondered it all a little longer, when he was more familiar with the ways of women and the world, he might work it out for himself. It pained her to admit it to herself, but yes, she must be a trollop in his estimation and, if he thought it, so might the rest of the world. The encounter tonight must not become common knowledge for fear of her losing her reputation.
A significant thought struck her: polite society, on the brink of which she was now poised – by virtue of being invited to join the Brierley Hill Amateur Dramatics Society – would recognise her as such if they rumbled her, or if word got out. Let’s hope that Algie would not be so indiscreet as to mention it to Harriet Meese.
As she walked to work that morning, she pondered this sudden fragility of her reputation and how she could protect it. Perhaps she should call and see Harriet at the drapery shop during her dinnertime, and preclude any possibility of the girl believing anything that Algie might reveal about her. But how could she do that without making Harriet suspicious?
Well, she thought she knew a way …
Dinnertime rolled round. Kate put on her bonnet and made her way in the warm sunshine to Meeses’ shop. As she opened the door a bell tinkled, triggered by the door parting company with its frame. Bolts of cloth by the score, in hundreds of colours and patterns, lined the walls of the shop edgeways, restricting space, while others were stacked on the counter. The place was a pomander exuding the dry, musty smell of cotton.
In seconds, Harriet, relieving her father who had gone to the Bell that dinnertime for his customary ale, was at the counter in the mistaken belief that she had a customer to attend to. ‘Kate! How nice of you to call,’ she said, wearing a smile of apprehension. Kate could only be bearing bad news of Algie.
‘Hello, Harriet—’
‘Is anything the matter?’ she blurted anxiously. ‘Is Algie all right? Oh, I do hope you haven’t called to tell me he’s met with an accident …’
Kate smiled sweetly to reassure her. ‘Oh, no, nothing like that.’
‘Then is he all right? I hardly slept last night, I’ve been so worried since he didn’t show up for church.’
‘You needn’t have bothered, you poor dear,’ Kate responded, a look of disdain for her brother upon her face. ‘It’s him I’ve come to talk to you about.’
‘So what happened to him?’
‘Nothing … If I were you, Harriet,’ she said in a whisper of conspiracy as she leaned towards her, ‘I wouldn’t bother my head over our Algie ever again.’
‘Why? What’s he done?’ Her face bore a look of intense apprehension.
‘Well, for ages, it’s been my opinion that he cares not tuppence for you, or for anybody else for that matter, other than himself. And yesterday proved it. He spent all day and all evening with another girl.’
Harriet’s expression was one of surprise and incredulity. She put her hands to the counter to steady herself. ‘Are you sure, Kate?’
‘Oh, quite sure, Harriet. I can even tell you the girl’s name – Marigold Bingham.’
‘Do I know her?’
‘You? I’d think it unlikely. She’s the daughter of a boatman on the cut. A common little piece if you want my opinion. But then, that’s what some men want, I reckon – girls who they think are easy. I thought you ought to know, Harriet.’
‘Well,’ said Harriet, not sure how to respond, her eyes misty with tears, ‘it’s not exactly the sort of news I welcome, or had expected … But I would have thought that if Algie was tired of me he would have had the common courtesy to tell me himself.’
‘Yes, you’d take such simple consideration for granted, wouldn’t you?’
‘I take it then, that he has sent you to do his dirty work, Kate.’
Here was a further opportunity to condemn Algie in Harriet’s eyes, and Kate embraced it wholeheartedly. ‘Well, yes he has, as a matter of fact.’ She lowered her eyes, feigning shame. ‘And I certainly don’t admire him for it. I told him, “Do your own dirty work,” I said. But he begged and pleaded. He said he couldn’t face you, but that he recognised as you ought to know.’
‘I see,’ Harriet answered sadly.
‘But when I thought about it, Harriet, I decided to come and see you anyway. I would’ve, whether he asked me to or not. You see, I’m really doing it for your benefit, not his. He doesn’t deserve a decent, respectable girl like you, and to my mind you’re well rid of him. Just forget him, Harriet.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘You can do so much better for yourself.’
Harriet sighed profoundly and brushed an errant tear from her cheek. ‘To be frank, Kate, you’re not the first person to have said so,’ she said dolefully. ‘And you, his own sister, now saying it. Maybe I should take heed.’
‘I know him better than anybody, Harriet. He’s not worth wasting your time on, believe me. I don’t think he could ever remain faithful to one woman. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’
Harriet slumped down on the stool that stood behind the counter and sighed. ‘I’m deeply disappointed in him, you know, Kate. I would never have thought—’
‘I would’ve thought one of the chaps in the society
