Which one’s your father?’
‘The one scratching his head under his hat.’
‘Maybe I should make myself known to him, Lucy …’
She felt a pang of apprehension at the notion. ‘What for?’
‘To tell him I’m walking out with you.’
This Arthur was taking too much for granted, and much too soon, but she hadn’t the heart to tell him so. ‘Maybe if you bought him a drink …’
‘A good idea, Lucy,’ he beamed, encouraged. ‘If you pour it, I’ll take it to him.’
‘I don’t think he’d take too kindly to having his match interrupted. Better if I beckon him, then he’ll come over when it’s finished.’
Lucy signalled her father and she continued making small talk with Arthur between serving customers. When Haden had finished his crib match he stood up.
‘Arthur,’ Lucy said hesitantly. ‘First I’ve just got to tell you …’
He looked at her anxiously, fearing she was going to let him down badly, that she was about to shatter his dreams by confessing she was already promised to another. ‘What?’
‘You’ve got a little hair sticking out down your nose.’
‘Oh,’ he exclaimed brightly, grinning with relief. ‘Have I?’
‘It’s driving me mad … Your left nostril.’
He found it and gave it a yank, then tilted the underside of his nose towards her for inspection. ‘Better?’
‘Yes, better,’ she said with a smile of gratitude. ‘Look, here he comes. I’ll pour the beer that you’re buying him.’
Haden Piddock presented himself at the bar, his old and crumpled top hat shoved to the back of his head. Arthur was instantly aware of his presence, a hefty man, big chested, but not running to fat. He sported a big droopy moustache and mutton-chop sideboards. His smouldering clay pipe was clenched between his teeth.
Lucy shoved a tankard of fresh ale in front of him. ‘This young man wanted to buy you a drink, Father,’ she said and tactfully moved away to collect empty tankards while they became acquainted.
Haden looked at Arthur suspiciously. ‘That’s decent of yer, son. To what do I owe the honour?’
Arthur felt a tickle inside his nose where he had pulled out the offending hair. He sneezed violently. ‘Oops. Sorry about that, Mr Piddock. I just pulled a hair from down me nose.’ He sneezed again. ‘To tell you the truth, I think I might have a chill coming an’ all.’
‘Sneedge over the other way next time, eh, son?’ Haden suggested pointedly. ‘I ain’t too keen on it tainting the beer what you very kindly bought me.’
‘My name’s Arthur Goodrich,’ Arthur said, stifling another sneeze with a violent sniff. ‘I wanted to make myself known to you, ’cause me and your Lucy have started walking out together.’
‘Oh?’ His eyes searched for his daughter. ‘Since when?’
‘Well … Since Sunday night.’
‘As long as that?’ Arthur thought he detected irony in Haden’s tone, but he missed the look of sardonic frivolity in his eyes. The older man lifted his tankard. ‘I wish you luck, lad.’
‘Thank you, Mr Piddock.’
Haden took a long drink. ‘It’s news to me about anybody stepping out with our Lucy … Did you say your name was Arthur?’ Arthur nodded. ‘I’d have appreciated you having a word with me fust, so’s I could’ve run me eye over thee …’
‘Oh, I would’ve, Mr Piddock, but I didn’t know who you was. Anyway, I’m here now. I thought it only right and proper that you know.’
‘Well then … Tell me about yourself, young Arthur. I hope your intentions towards me daughter am decent and honourable.’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Piddock,’ Arthur replied vehemently. ‘I’m a churchgoing man. A regular worshipper at St Michael’s and at Mr Hetherington’s Bible class. I believe in honour and virtue and clean living, Mr Piddock. Lucy’s honour is safe with me. Safe as the safest houses. You need have no fears.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. ’Cause so sure as ever anything amiss happened to our Lucy, and it was down to thee, I’d separate ye from your manhood.’
Arthur winced at the terrifying prospect. ‘Like I say, Mr Piddock. You need have no fears.’
‘Good.’ Haden lifted his tankard and emptied it. ‘Here, let me buy thee a drink now, just to set a seal on our understanding, eh? Same again, lad?’ In Lucy’s continued absence he called Ben Elwell’s wife to serve him. ‘What do you do for a living, young Arthur?’
Arthur told him.
‘Goodrich, did you say your name was?’
‘Yes. Arthur Goodrich.’
‘Then you must be Jeremiah’s son?’
‘You know me father?’
‘I do, the miserable bastard.’
‘Oh, I agree with you a hundred percent.’ Arthur said. So there was some antagonism between Haden and his father.
‘I knew your mother, see.’
‘Oh? How d’you mean?’
‘Well, lad, I used to be sweet on your mother years ago, when she was Dinah Westwood.’
‘Honest?’ Arthur guffawed like a regular man of the world at the revelation. It was obviously the reason his father had such little regard for Haden Piddock.
‘Oh, aye. Not that your old chap had got much to fear from me. I was never high and mighty enough for your mother, being only an ironworker. Her father had a bit o’ property, I seem to remember, so nothing less than a stonemason, a skilled craftsman, was good enough for Dinah Westwood.’
‘Yes, she is a bit high-faluting, me mother,’ Arthur agreed amiably. ‘Puts on her airs and graces when she’s out.’
Haden guffawed amiably. He quite liked this son of Dinah Westwood, despite who his father was. ‘And who wouldn’t put on airs and graces if they was used to owning property?’
‘Owning property is all well and good, Mr Piddock, but the inside of our house is nothing to shout about. Be grateful that me father got her and you didn’t, else you’d be forever tidying up after her, especially if you was of a tidy nature.’
Haden laughed at Arthur’s candour, and Mrs Elwell put the two refilled tankards in front of them. Haden paid her and turned to Arthur.
‘Well … It done me a favour in the long run, young Arthur, and you’ve confirmed it. I started
