is, it’s generally either ten minutes slow or twenty minutes fast.’
‘And which is it now?’ Aunt Phoebe queried.
‘Lord knows, Aunt Phoebe. I can never be sure.’
Captain Tyler chuckled. ‘There must be something wrong with its workings.’
‘You reckon, Captain? No wonder I’m either a mile too late or two miles too early for everything.’
‘Would you like me to have a look at it?’ he suggested. ‘I have a certain expertise with watches. I could let you have it back in a very serviceable condition in a day or two.’
‘Well, that’s very good of you, Captain, and no two ways,’ Minnie answered, delighted with the offer, for she would get to see him again when he returned it. ‘When it really plays up rotten I get a hairpin and give it a real good stir up inside.’
He roared. ‘Good Lord. I’m surprised it works at all.’
‘No, it don’t seem to do it no harm. The thing generally behaves itself all right for a week or two after that, neither losin’ nor gainin’ more than five minutes either road. But then it falls back to its old ways.’
‘Inevitably,’ Captain Tyler said. ‘Well, Minnie, you’ve stirred me up, I’m quite prepared to admit. If you are also about to leave the kind hospitality of Mrs Newton and Poppy, I would be happy to convey you home.’
‘That’s very decent of yer, Captain. Save me poor little legs it would, and no two ways. Not to mention me shoe leather.’
‘The pleasure is all mine, Minnie.’ He finished his whisky, put his empty glass on the occasional table in front of him and stood up. ‘Phoebe, dear, it’s been grand to see you again. You, too, Poppy … No don’t bother the maid. I can see Minnie and myself out … If you are ready, Minnie?’
‘Yes, I’m all ready, Captain.’
Baylies’s Charity School lay set back from the road in Tower Street, next door to a public house called The Lord Wellington and backing onto the glassworks in Downing Street. At each end of the early Georgian façade was a door, and set into the wall above each was an alcove in which stood a painted statue of a schoolboy wearing the uniform of blue coat and cap. The school was established in 1732 for the purpose of teaching and clothing fifty boys, chosen from some families of the town who could not afford to pay for their sons’ learning. Poppy, accompanied by Aunt Phoebe, was to meet the superintendent, Reverend James Caulfield Browne, the vicar of St Thomas’s.
The school comprised one classroom, which could be divided into two when needed. A blackboard and easel stood in front of a huge fireplace with a brass fender, a wrought-iron fireguard and a voluminous coal scuttle. The windows were vast and let in plenty of light, but you could not see the road outside because they were set so high in the walls. It was Friday, the boys were hard at work, their chalk sticks squeaking across slates as they wrote. Poppy felt self-conscious that their eyes were following her, however, as she glided across the wooden floor of the classroom to the master’s study, keeping close behind Aunt Phoebe. They exchanged pleasantries and Reverend Browne, who was already acquainted with Aunt Phoebe since she was one of his congregation, invited them to sit down.
‘How old are you, Miss Silk?’ Reverend Browne enquired, peering over his spectacles.
‘Seventeen, sir.’
He wrote it down. ‘Mrs Green, one of our benefactors, has recommended you, Miss Silk. She seems to think you could offer a good and reliable standard of help in our school.’
‘I’m sure I could, sir. I can read and write and do arithmetic.’
‘You would not be required to teach these things, of course, but merely to assist Mr Tromans, our schoolmaster. I am pleased also to have the endorsement of Mrs Newton with whom you reside. I have known you for – what, Mrs Newton? Four years, is it?’
‘Four years it is, Reverend … Tell me, do you still live outside Dudley?’
‘With the express permission of the Bishop, Mrs Newton.’ He put his pen down and leaned back in his chair as if anticipating a lengthy chat. ‘And due, as I’m sure you must be aware, to the insanitary condition of the town.’
‘To my mind, things are improving, Reverend,’ Aunt Phoebe replied, in defence of her home town. ‘At least we have had no cholera epidemic for a number of years.’
‘Indeed, not since eighteen thirty-five. I am often reminded, however, that the graveyard of our beloved St Thomas’s that year was full to overflowing, and the surplus dead of the parish carted to Netherton for burial.’
Aunt Phoebe nodded. ‘Indeed, it was as you say, Reverend.’
Reverend Browne placed his fingertips together as he studied Poppy once more, almost in a gesture of pious prayer, she thought. ‘To return to the matter in hand … Baylies’s Charity School was founded for the purpose of educating boys from poor families, Miss Silk, on the principles of the Christian religion, according to the doctrine and discipline of the United Church of England and Ireland. I take it you attend church regularly?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Poppy confirmed truthfully, though as yet she knew little of the scriptures, and only the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed by heart.
‘Indeed, I have seen you there, come to think of it … I trust you would not be grossly overwhelmed at the prospect of working with so many boys?’
‘Oh, no, sir.’
‘Tell me, are you able to play the harmonium, Miss Silk?’
‘I’m not that good, sir.’
Aunt Phoebe said, ‘Miss Silk has only recently begun piano lessons. But I have every confidence that she will progress quickly.’
‘So what formal education have you had, Miss Silk?’
‘Miss Silk has been having the benefit of private tuition with me for some months, Reverend,’ Aunt Phoebe interjected. ‘Unfortunately, she began her learning late. She has, however, made remarkable progress and would be a valuable asset here, able to help any of the younger pupils.’
‘It is with the younger pupils that we need the extra help, Mrs Newton. A strong academic background is hardly necessary. Merely an ability to read and write, to be trustworthy and reliable, and to understand our Christian discipline.’
‘What hours would Miss Silk be expected to work, Reverend?’
‘From half-past eight in the morning till four o’clock in the afternoon, Mondays to Fridays, and on Saturdays till one.’
Aunt Phoebe pursed her lips thoughtfully and looked first at Poppy, then at Reverend Browne. ‘No, I’m afraid I couldn’t allow her to work such hours, Reverend. Miss Silk is my helpmeet and companion and, with the best will in the world, I could only spare her mornings.’
‘I see,’ the vicar replied, obviously disappointed. He drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him, a pensive look on his face. ‘Such a pity … Look, allow me to bring in Mr Tromans to meet Miss Silk,’ he suggested more brightly. ‘I will discuss with him when you have gone the possibility of employing Miss Silk on mornings only. I will let you
