you then, Clover. Sorry about your shin.’
‘It’s all right, Tom. I can’t feel a thing.’
And she couldn’t.
As the week wore on Clover thought more and more about Tom Doubleday. Meeting him so unexpectedly and talking to him had triggered dreamy thoughts again which, because of Ramona, she dared not foster. The week also brought a steady dribble of cardboard boxes and a couple of suitcases; Elijah’s belongings that were in the course of being transferred from the Dudley Arms to the Jolly Collier. And still nobody mentioned to Clover that his permanent arrival was imminent.
‘Do I take it that somebody is coming to lodge with us, Mother, seeing how somebody’s trankelments are cluttering up the passage and the stairs?’ she asked, pretending she did not know, peeved that nobody other than Zillah had mentioned it.
‘Elijah Tandy,’ Mary Anne responded economically. ‘Sunday.’
‘Why has nobody mentioned it?’
‘Oh? I would’ve thought that Jacob or Ramona might’ve said.’
‘Nobody’s said. I would’ve thought you might have said, Mother. So how come he’s moving in here?’
‘He’s investing some money in the brewing venture and coming to work with us. Jacob said that if he did, he might as well live here.’
‘Why doesn’t he go and live in Jake’s house till it’s sold?’
Mary Ann laughed scornfully. ‘I imagine he’s afeared that if he does, young Dorcas will take it as a sign to go and live with him. That’ll mean him getting wed and he don’t want to get wed. You’d think she’d have the gumption to take the hint. He’s only been engaged to the wench three years.’
‘Will he be paying rent here?’
‘Lord, no. He’s Jacob’s brother, our Clover. Besides, you could hardly ask him to pay rent when he’s coughing up a load of money.’
‘I suppose not. How did he make his money, Mother?’
‘I shouldn’t ask.’ Mary Ann lowered her voice. ‘Gambling, if you want the truth,’ she muttered distastefully. ‘Cards. Not as I hold with it, as you know. But if it can do Jacob some good…’
Clover finished her ironing by eight o’ clock that night and, looking neat and tidy in a white blouse and navy skirt with her hair done up, went into the taproom to help Ramona. The number of young men that were patrons these days suddenly struck her, young men she had not seen before, many more than there ever used to be. They all had eyes for Ramona but, when Clover herself appeared, many of them fastened their eyes onto her too. Ramona spoke familiarly to those who addressed her. She giggled at their flirting and her repartee was equal to the wittiest.
‘You seem to have quite a few admirers, Ramona,’ Clover commented ungrudgingly.
Ramona grinned. ‘Well, they’ll all be disappointed when Sammy comes.’
‘Sammy?’ she queried, thinking of Tom and how it might affect him. ‘Is he coming?’
‘I ain’t seen him for ages. But I had a letter from him yesterday. He says he wants to see me again, so I wrote back and asked him to come tonight.’
Clover was tempted to ask her about Tom Doubleday. She felt inclined to comment that it seemed hardly fair on him, especially if she intended resuming her shenanigans with this Sammy. But she thought better of it. It was none of her business. It was best to keep well out of it.
‘When he comes, Clover, would you mind covering for me while I go out with him, seeing as you’re down here?’
‘I don’t mind,’ Clover replied. ‘Just as long as Pop doesn’t mind you going out.’
‘Oh, he won’t mind.’
‘Is Tom coming tonight?’
‘He’s already been and gone, Clover.’
A group of young men on one table called Ramona’s attention. They wanted their glasses replenished. She made a show of provocatively swinging her narrow hips as she approached them and it seemed to Clover that her stepsister was deliberately flaunting herself. She seemed to enjoy it when they gawped at her. She revelled in their looking her up and down wantonly, making lewd signs to each other. She played up to them, laughing at their ribald comments while she collected their glasses ready for refilling.
‘You seem to enjoy egging those men on,’ Clover remarked with disapproval, helping her fill a couple of the glasses from another beer pump. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘Wise?’ Ramona queried, as if such wisdom was irrelevant. ‘It’s good for business, Clover.’
‘You mean…?’
‘I mean, I couldn’t give a sod for any of them, but as long as they think they’ve got a chance with me they’ll keep coming in here and spending money.’
Clover laughed as the realisation struck her. ‘Yes, I suppose…’
‘You could help the cause as well, you know, Clover. You can fetch the ducks off the water. I’ve seen how men look at you.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know so. You’re different to me but that don’t mean they like you any less. What one bloke likes, another won’t. What one bloke don’t like, another will. One man’s meat, Clover.’
Clover smiled to herself. They were different, she and Ramona. Ramona was so much more worldly than her years suggested. But then, she had always had the freedom to do as she pleased. She was canny and uninhibited. Clover was neither. Ramona understood love, life and how to manipulate. Clover did not. Ramona’s big brown eyes, her curly, flaxen hair and her dimpled grin she could use to gain ascendancy over anybody she wished and she was not reticent about doing it. A couple of inches taller, with dark hair and blue eyes, and with an innocence Ramona lacked, Clover certainly was different. But she was no less appealing. Each had something the other did not possess.
Clover oozed innocence. Although she was two years older, compared to Ramona she was a novice, never allowed to go out alone at night before Jake and Ramona came along. She had led a sheltered life and she was beginning to realise just how sheltered it had been. Clover had never been loved by a man – not truly loved. How could she be a complete woman when she was lacking such experience? How could she truly know what men appreciated in a woman when she had never been allowed to mix freely with attractive, eligible young men who might teach her? She had obediently succumbed to her mother’s will in all things, seldom challenging; not that Mary Ann had been tyrannical – indeed, she had not, but she brooked no opinion contrary to her own. Sometimes Clover wondered whether Mary Ann’s decisions were derived for Mary Ann’s own benefit and the daughter’s considerations were secondary. Well, times were changing. Things were going to be different.
The front door latch clattered and a youth walked in with an expectant look on his fresh face. He was about nineteen, Clover estimated, with short-cropped dark hair and a cheeky grin. He had a pretty face for a boy, features that many a young girl would have been glad of. With an indisputable
