place now wondering why she can’t see us … Don’t laugh. I bet it’s true.’
He looked at her adoringly. ‘Will you accompany me often, Poppy? Will you agree to see me as often as you can?’
She stared at some cows that were lying down chewing cud in a field below. ‘I wonder what the time is. Is it time we should be starting back?’
‘Please answer my question, Poppy.’
She looked into his eyes apprehensively, a look he mistook for one of expectancy. He was thus encouraged, and cleared his throat nervously. ‘Listen … I confess I’m fairly taken with you, Poppy … No, more than that … I’m mesmerised.’
A shadow crossed Poppy’s face. She avoided his eyes now and looked down at her gloved hands, primly held together in her lap. ‘You shouldn’t say such things, Bellamy,’ she replied, feeling suddenly hot in the cool air, her voice little more than a croak of uncertainty.
‘Why not, pray? I can’t help being taken with you. It’s not something I choose.’
‘No? But you could turn away from me. If that’s how you really feel, you could resist.’
‘Why should I resist? Besides, I don’t have that sort of willpower.’
‘I think it would pay you to resist, Bellamy.’
She was reminded of having to ward off Jericho and his lustful advances – more than once. She remembered how she was then; a waif in tatty clothes, but evidently appealing nonetheless, ignorant of the finer things in life, but aware there must be something infinitely better than allowing herself to sink to the life of a navvy’s doxy. Of course, at that time she was suffused with desire for Robert Crawford, but uncertain as to his feelings for her … Funny how nothing had changed in that respect, for all her finery now, for all Aunt Phoebe’s tutoring. She might speak a little differently in company these days but she had to think about it still; it was not yet second nature to sound all her aitches and form her vowel sounds more roundly. She had to remember to hold herself with greater elegance and bearing. She had to consciously assume an air of confidence that she did not entirely feel, even though she believed she had fooled many people, including Bellamy. Her feelings for Robert Crawford had not changed though. She was still holding out for him, however slim the prospect of attaining him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Bellamy exclaimed. ‘I’m going too fast, I suspect. I apologise, Poppy. I should give you time to get used to the idea of how I feel about you. I should give you time to think. Gracious, you must have scores of admirers … I admit to being impatient, you know … Well, now at least you know how I feel … that I want you for my own.’
‘I’m flattered, Bellamy. But I can’t—I don’t—’
‘Why not, Poppy? I don’t see why not.’
‘Because I don’t want to become romantically involved. I like you, Bellamy, but don’t expect anything more than that.’
She met his eyes steadily now and tried to read them. They were so like Robert’s in shape and colouring; even the faint creases around the lids … Yet something was missing. They did not have the look of gentle, warm compassion that Robert’s eyes exuded. Oh, Bellamy’s were not unkind, not thoughtless nor giving any hint of deceitfulness, but there was this look of self-assurance – a sort of arrogance that comes from having everything you set your heart on – that was never present in Robert’s look.
‘Don’t say anything else now, Poppy. Don’t put too much stress on it. I mean, it’s not as if I’ve asked you to marry me. I’ve merely let you know that I am very much taken with you.’
She hesitated before she said, ‘Oh, Bellamy, what can I say? I don’t know how else to answer you.’
‘Answer me in the positive.’
‘But I wasn’t expecting this. I had no intention of inviting it.’
‘But you’ll think on what I’ve said? You’ll consider it?’
‘I shall think of it,’ she answered. ‘In the sense that it will be on my mind … But I don’t think I can be what you want me to be.’
‘What do you think I want you to be, Poppy?’
She shrugged, uncomfortable with this insistent line of questioning. ‘It’s obvious. You want me to be your woman.’ It was a phrase, a concept from her past life. Perhaps she should not have uttered it. It implied too many things, most of them considered improper in the society she now graced.
‘My woman?’ He hooted with laughter. ‘I’m not sure how to interpret that. I would like you and me to be a courting couple. I would like you to be my regular companion in private and in public, at social events, to be accepted by all and recognised as such. If, after a decent time, we proved to be compatible, we could even contemplate taking it a step further. That, I don’t think, is unreasonable. But let’s not take anything for granted yet. Such happenings would be a long way off.’
‘Have you ever been in love before, Bellamy?’
‘God, yes. I’m not totally without experience where women are concerned. I’ve been blooded, too, if that’s not too impolite an expression. I’ve had affairs. I know what it is to feel desire, to feel tenderness. Even to feel protective towards a girl.’
‘But these affairs, as you call them, never amounted to anything?’
‘They were not the right girls, Poppy.’
‘How do you know that I am?’
‘I feel it, I sense it. I knew it the moment I set eyes on you. I saw how you looked at me, as well …’
‘Oh, if I did, it was only because you reminded me of somebody else …’ She hoped he would not be astute enough to pick up any clues as to whom.
‘So is there somebody else, Poppy? I had the distinct impression there was not.’
She did not answer.
‘Who?’
‘That, I would never tell you …’
He uttered a little laugh that had a ring of mockery in it. ‘Even if there is somebody else, that won’t put me off. And if there is, he certainly ain’t with you here, is he? Therefore, as long as he ain’t here, I’ve got a chance. And I won’t give up, Poppy … I’ll win in the end. I always get what I want …’ He smiled broadly. ‘So be warned.’
The following day, Poppy received a letter from the Reverend James Caulfield Browne confirming her appointment as assistant to Mr Timothy Tromans, the schoolmaster of Baylies’s Charity School, working mornings only at seven guineas a year. She was to report for duty on the following Monday, the twenty-ninth of April.
Poppy duly sat down and wrote back, joyously accepting the offer, and looking forward to her new situation. After all, she would be following in the footsteps of Aunt Phoebe to some extent, and that realisation elicited pride. It was evidence of her personal achievements, achievements she would have regarded as impossible much less than a year ago, gigantic achievements for a girl who was navvy-born and navvy-bred. But they were achievements that were only made possible in the first place because of Robert
