thought Tweedle Beak would’ve offered thee a bit more consideration,’ he said loudly for all within earshot to hear. ‘Especially in view o’ the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances, Buttercup?’
‘Well, I mean, in view o’ the fact that he was in the tunnel giving that young Eliza a good seeing to who he picked up from The Bush at the top o’ Bumble Hole Road, at the same time as thou was in there giving young Minnie Catchpole the benefit. I’d have thought he’d want it kept quiet.’
Jericho and Tweedle Beak were both shocked into silence, a hush that rapidly spread as the implications were noted. They looked at each other suspiciously while the others looked expectantly towards Dog Meat, expecting a fight to flare up. But there was no sign of a fight, not between Dog Meat and Jericho at least.
Tweedle Beak stared with burning animosity at Buttercup. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ he rasped, wagging his finger animatedly at Buttercup. ‘You’m a bloody troublemaker, you. I knew you was sodding trouble the minute I cast eyes on yer.’ He turned angrily to Jericho. ‘And you, Jericho, you young bastard. I thought we agreed not to tell anybody about that. Now you’ve told bloody Buttercup. Now the bloody world knows.’
‘I ain’t told nobody,’ Jericho protested, his face reddening. ‘I ain’t breathed a word to nobody. I wouldn’t, would I, if I intended asking you for Poppy.’
‘Well, it must’ve come from thee, Tweedle,’ Buttercup suggested mischievously. ‘Thou wast the only bugger who knew about it. Typical of a man in his cups.’
‘What’s this about him being in the tunnel wi’ my daughter?’ Tipton Ted said with rising indignation, thumbing at Jericho. ‘Dog Meat, do you know aught about this?’
‘Nothing, Ted,’ Dog Meat lied. ‘But I’ll get to the bottom of it when I see Minnie.’
‘You ought to bost his yed,’ Tipton Ted goaded. ‘Bost his yed in. Goo on … What’s wrong wi’ yer?’
Tweedle raised his hands and called for order. ‘Listen, lads, listen. We’m veering off the point here,’ he said, perceiving that his chance to make money from Poppy was slipping away. ‘Let’s get back to the business in hand. Who wants to buy a lottery ticket for young Poppy Silk?’
‘The way I see it,’ Buttercup calmly interjected, ‘nobody’s got the right to set up a lottery to draw for young Poppy. Least of all thee, Tweedle Beak, seeing as how her rightful father’s dead and buried.’
‘I’ll say again, Buttercup,’ Tweedle Beak retorted acidly. ‘What’s it got to do with you? Keep your nose out of my business … or risk having it spread across your face.’
Buttercup smiled. Unperturbed, he picked stray crumbs of tobacco from his waistcoat pocket and stuffed them into the bowl of his gum-bucket that had since gone out. ‘That snout on thy ugly fizzog would be a tidy sight bent about a bit, an’ all, Tweedle, eh? Just don’t push thy luck wi’ me, you parrot-faced wreck.’ He emptied his tankard and stood up. ‘Go on, fix thy lottery. I wouldn’t expect a louse like thee to pay any mind to what the young wench herself wanted, ’cause that’s the sort of vile shit thou bist. But, if yo’ insist it’s thy business and nobody else’s, then get on with it and we’ll see how much good it does thee.’ He left, to seek a less polluted atmosphere.
Undaunted, Tweedle Beak pressed on with his plan. ‘Right. A lottery it is then. Two pounds a ticket. Dog Meat, get some paper and a blacklead from Toby’s daughter and ask her to come and write the names down.’
Dog Meat did as he was bid. He returned with young Selina Watson, a girl so plain that the navvies seldom harassed her.
‘Jericho, how many tickets do you want?’ Tweedle asked.
‘I want five,’ he answered. ‘But I can’t pay you ten pounds right away. I’ll have to owe you.’
Tweedle shook his head. ‘I’ll only have tickets wrote what can be paid for.’
‘Then I can’t give you no money tonight, Tweedle.’
‘Aye, same for me,’ said the Masher.
‘And me,’ said Dandy Punch. ‘Why don’t you give us till this time next week to raise the money, them as wants to?’
‘Better still, next month’s payday,’ suggested the Masher. ‘By that time, we’ll all have more money. We can save more in the meantime to buy an extra ticket, borrow some even. That way we get a better chance o’ winning.’
Tweedle looked about him and saw the earnest expressions on the faces of those around him keen to win Poppy Silk. Had he realised she was such a prize, he would have organised a lottery for her long ago. Minute by minute the scheme was gathering momentum and he could see the financial advantage in waiting; more contenders might well be keen to buy tickets as word spread through the encampment. There was also an advantage to be gained by lowering the price to one pound each. More would be inclined to part with a pound, and those fools whose deprived dicks were ruling their heads would buy several tickets each.
‘Right,’ said Tweedle. ‘Here’s what I’m gunna do. Tickets’ll be a quid each. The last day for staking your claim is next payday at the end o’ September. Everybody can buy as many tickets as they can afford, depending on how much you want the wench … But there’s a condition …’
The navvies looked at him expectantly, wondering what condition he could possibly lay down.
‘I have to protect me own interests in this. So any one of you young bucks who tries to sweep young Poppy off her feet in the meantime to try and beat the lottery will have his tickets withdrawn … and no refund. Is that clear?’
The navvies looked from one to the other and nodded.
‘I reckon that’s fair,’ the Masher said. ‘It puts paid to any ideas of trying to put her in the family way meanwhile. Do yer agree, Jericho?’
‘Why look at me?’ Jericho asked resentfully.
‘’Cause you’ve bin sniffing round already, and am likely to sniff round again unless there’s a rule agin’ it … So, do you agree?’
‘I reckon so,’ Jericho said with reluctance. He could see his chance slipping away. He had been so close to buying Poppy, but that chance was all but gone now. Now he would have to consolidate his resources and buy as many tickets as he could to boost the odds.
Dandy Punch, the stocky timekeeper, called at Rose Cottage after work had finished on Saturday to collect the rent. Poppy answered the door to him and was gratified to see him drenched to the skin as he hunched under his hat as if it might afford adequate shelter from the rain.
He bid her an obsequious good morning, which made her flesh creep. ‘You look a picture today, young Poppy,’ he said with a slavering leer, his voice as smooth as lard. ‘But then, you always do.’
‘I’ll fetch me mother,’ she said offhandedly, at once turning her back on him.
‘Is Tweedle
