you a bit extra for doing that, ’cause you was late getting back”. Oh, not him. He’s too tight. He wouldn’t give you the drippings off his nose.’
‘I don’t think I’d want the drippings off his nose,’ Lucy asserted, which made Arthur laugh. ‘You make him sound vile.’
‘He is vile.’
‘Have you ever courted anybody before, Arthur?’
‘Once. When I was about twenty. A girl from Brockmoor. There’s some pretty girls in Brockmoor. But we split up after about six months.’
‘And you never bothered since?’
‘I never met anybody I fancied since … till I met you the other night.’
Lucy was touched by his sincerity. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say, Arthur. So what was it about me that took your fancy?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t really know …’
‘There must have been something,’ she said, miffed that he could think of nothing.
‘What I mean is, you aren’t flashy,’ he was quick to add, realising he’d unwittingly said the wrong thing. ‘You’ve got such lovely eyes and such long eyelashes, though … and a lovely smile to match.’
Immediately Lucy was mollified. ‘You think I’ve got nice eyes? I think they’re a funny colour.’
‘I’ve never seen eyes such a lovely colour. You’ve got a decent figure as well … and you have a nice way with you. I took a fancy to you as soon as I saw you.’
‘I bet I’m not as pretty as that girl from Brockmoor, though,’ she fished, relishing his compliments that boosted her confidence.
‘She was only pretty, Lucy. But you’re beautiful.’
Lucy’s eyes twinkled in the half light. ‘That’s the nicest thing anybody ever said to me.’ She slid off the stile and planted a kiss tenderly on his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
In return he put his hand on her shoulder and touched her. It was the first time he had touched her in that way and his emotion was too pure for desire, too respectful for sensuality. ‘You kissed me,’ he said with astonishment.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she replied, returning to her perch.
‘Lord, no.’
Another awkward pause developed and Lucy realised that maybe she had been hasty, indecorous in kissing him, a regular churchgoer, when she hardly knew him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, relieving the tension. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I bet you think I’m a proper strumpet. I’m not, though, Arthur. Honest I’m not.’
‘Oh, I liked it, Lucy. I don’t think you’re a strumpet at all. You can do it again if you like.’
‘I’d better not,’ she replied with a laugh that to him sounded like a silver bell tinkling.
The last of the daylight had all but gone and a full moon was already high, sailing through wispy clouds. In the distance they could hear a locomotive puffing tiredly on its arduous journey up the incline towards the Brettell Lane and Round Oak stations.
‘Tell me about your father,’ Arthur suggested, eager to learn what he could that might give him an inkling as to why his own father evidently didn’t admire the man. ‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s lovely and I love him,’ Lucy answered simply. ‘He’s kind, he cares for us all. He wouldn’t do anybody a bad turn – he’d rather help somebody.’
‘What’s he do for a living?’
‘He’s a shingler at the New Level ironworks. D’you know, Arthur, every time it’s payday he buys me a little present? It might only be a quarter of cough drops, but he always brings me something.’
‘That’s being thoughtful,’ Arthur agreed, and realised that here was a way he too could enhance his standing with Lucy. ‘He sounds the dead opposite of my father … What about your mother?’
‘Oh, she’s a bit fussy. We only live in a little cottage, but it always has to be spick and span. She’d have a fit if she saw a silverfish in our house. Our clothes always have to be spruce as well. She’d have another fit if I went out in something that looked dirty or shabby.’
‘Well, every time I’ve seen you, Lucy, you look nice,’ Arthur remarked. ‘So she must be a good influence.’
‘I just hope I can be like her if I ever get married.’
‘I hope, Lucy – if I ever get married – I’ll be lucky enough to pick a wife like that.’
Whatever was being implied, however inadvertently, and whatever was being likewise perceived, seemed to put paid to their conversation entirely and they remained unspeaking for long embarrassed seconds, until Lucy thought of something to say to divert them.
‘Can you ride a horse, Arthur?’
‘After a fashion. It isn’t my favourite method of transport though. Awkward, stupid animals, horses. I don’t feel comfortable on a horse. Not since I fell off and broke a rib.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did.’
‘Well, you’re a real knight in shining armour and no mistake,’ she laughed, ‘falling off your horse.’ It was just like him to do that, she thought.
‘I’d rather drive our cart and have the nag in front of me. The worst he could do is take fright.’
‘You drive a cart?’
‘Course I do. It’s what we lug our stone and masonry around with.’
‘I fancy riding on a cart. I’ve never ridden on a cart in me life.’
‘Honest?’
‘Honest.’
‘Maybe one of these days I’ll take you for a ride.’
‘Mmm, I’d like that, Arthur … You ain’t got a carriage, have you, by any chance?’
‘A carriage? God’s truth, who d’you think we are? Lords of the manor?’
‘I was only wondering. It doesn’t matter. A cart will do. As a matter of fact, a cart will do nicely … I’m getting off this stile, Arthur. I got pins and needles in my bum … Shall we carry on walking?’
‘If you like. Let’s walk to Stourbridge. It’s light enough with the moon as bright as it is.’
So they walked to Stourbridge and back, chattering away, getting to know each other in the process. On the way, Arthur claimed he was parched and they stopped at the Old Crown Inn on Brettell Lane before he returned Lucy home. They stood on the corner of Bull Street, within sight of the Piddocks’ cottage, but at a respectful
