about it. I’m not the type of girl to go flirting with all the men anyway. I’m really quite shy.’
‘Best way and no mistake,’ Kate agreed with a nod. ‘Saves trouble in the long run.’
‘And you, Kate?’
‘Me? I ain’t particularly interested in men, although I try and be pleasant to ’em all. As long as nobody reckons it’s flirting, ’cause I ain’t a flirt neither, you know. Us girls have our reputations to consider.’
So the subject of Algie Stokes was soon dropped, in favour of a discussion about the Brierley Hill Amateur Dramatics Society, its personnel, and the new play, rehearsals for which were due to start that week, now that the cast had been decided upon. They discussed each of the characters in turn.
‘I’m so glad you were picked for the part of Pocahontas, Kate,’ Harriet remarked generously, trying hard to push from her mind all thoughts of her erstwhile swain. ‘I think you’ll do it justice.’
‘Oh, I intend to. Although I ain’t had much experience at this acting lark, I reckon I shall make a decent fist of it. And how about you, Harriet?’
‘Oh, I am content with the role of Mistress Alice. I don’t have too many lines to learn.’
Late that afternoon, the Binghams passed through the locks at Buckpool. Marigold tried to persuade her father to moor up for the night in the winding basin close to the lock-keeper’s cottage. Seth smiled indulgently, aware that his daughter had become attached to Will Stokes’s lad, and that she would relish the opportunity to walk with him that fine spring evening before they had to move on. He recalled those days years ago when he was courting her mother, who was a landlubber then; how they had both looked forward to the days when he would moor up in Brierley Hill and they could spend tender moments together before he moved on again for more weeks of travelling. But for all his sentimentality and regard for Marigold’s love life, he had to get as far along the canal as he could. And while there was still daylight left …
‘We’ll moor up at Parkhead Locks by the tunnel,’ he said, knowing full well they could go no further that day. Parkhead was close to the entrance of the Dudley Tunnel and he had no intention of loading up with bars from the ironworks close by and travelling through that night. It would have to wait till tomorrow. ‘Young Algie’ll be able to bike it if he wants to see you, it ain’t far – unless he falls in the cut again.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Marigold said with an appreciative smile, at once excited by the prospect of seeing Algie again. ‘I’ll go an’ pay the toll and ask his mother to let him know. Have you got some loose change?’
He felt in his trouser pocket and coins jingled. ‘Here …’
She crossed the lock to the cottage, and Clara answered the door.
‘You making pastry, Mrs Stokes?’ Marigold greeted amiably, seeing Clara’s arms floured up to her elbows.
‘I’m making a cheese, onion and tater pie for their tea,’ Clara confirmed. ‘Come in if you want to.’
Marigold smiled gratefully and entered. ‘I brought the toll money.’ She handed it to Clara.
‘Ta, my love … Remind me to give you your chit when my hands are clean … Are you mooring up close by?’
‘Parkhead Locks tonight, me dad says. He wants us to get to the ironworks so we can load up first thing in the morning.’
‘You’ll be going through the tunnel tomorrow then?’
Marigold nodded.
When they’d done asking each other how everybody was, Clara commented, ‘I can never get over how a family the size of yourn can manage to be so comfortable living on a narrowboat. You must be under one another’s feet all the time.’
Marigold laughed. ‘Oh, it ain’t so bad, Mrs Stokes. We got all we need and we do spread out between the two boats.’
‘I know, but there’s all the stuff you have to carry as well.’ Clara said, rolling out a ball of pastry. ‘All your clothes, tools, a mangle, a dolly tub and what have you.’
‘Oh, that reminds me, Mrs Stokes … me mom wants to do a bit o’ washing while we’re moored up. Can we use your tap in the brewhouse for some clean water? She asked me to ask you. There ain’t a pump at Parkhead Locks. We can fill some buckets and the tin bath if you don’t mind.’
‘Course I don’t mind. Course you can, my flower. Shall you be helping her with the washing?’
Marigold nodded emphatically, as if there could be no other way. ‘We each help her all we can. We’ve all got our jobs to do. But she says I can still see your Algie after, if we get it done in time and hung out to dry. Will you tell him, please, Mrs Stokes, as we’ll be moored up at Parkhead Locks when he comes back from work?’
‘Course I’ll tell him,’ Clara said. ‘Have you got time for a cup o’ tea?’
‘That’s ever so kind, but I’d better not,’ Marigold replied, regretting the lost opportunity to get to know Algie’s mother better. ‘The sooner we get on, the sooner we’ll be finished. You wouldn’t believe how black your clothes get carrying coal, like we’ve been doing last trip. I daresay we’ll have to get in the tin bath as well, while we’ve got it out, heating buckets o’ water up.’
Clara smiled. ‘As long as you’ve got a tarpaulin to put round you, eh? You don’t want no peeping Toms.’
‘Oh, we got a tarpaulin, all right.’
Clara dried her hands and wrote out the promised chit, which she handed to Marigold. ‘I’ve made some jam tarts already this afternoon. Would you like to take some for the family?’
‘Oh, if you can spare them,’ Marigold said, and Clara found a paper bag to put them in.
‘There’s seven there. One a-piece.’
Marigold took them gratefully and rewarded Clara with a smile. ‘That’s ever so kind, Mrs Stokes. Thank you ever so much. They’ll love these.’
‘Well, go and fill your buckets, my flower, and I’ll see you next time you’re this way.’
‘I hope it’ll be soon, Mrs Stokes.’
On his ride home from work, Algie decided that he must call on Harriet Meese to explain his absence last night and to tell her he wished to end their courtship, unaware that Kate had already done so. He turned over in his mind the things he would say, mentally rehearsing them, imagining her replies and reactions. He was not looking forward to it, but it had to be done. It was for Harriet’s own good, too, for it would release her, make her available to somebody more deserving of her refined qualities.
It was not that Algie didn’t like Harriet. He liked her well enough, he respected her. She was exactly the sort of girl he should court seriously, exactly the sort of girl he should marry. He could hardly conceive of her ever going against his wishes, of her ever doing anything without his consent. She would be eternally faithful and loyal, raise his children faultlessly, and seldom, if ever, be shrewish. If only he could have fallen in love with her … But he had not fallen in love with her, nor ever would. It might have helped if she’d been blessed with a pretty
