The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl. Nancy Carson

policeman on such a thoroughly unpleasant task?’

      ‘Oh, I could tell you wasn’t like the bobby,’ Poppy said. ‘Besides, you had the good manners to take your hat off when you came in our hut. Even I know it’s good manners for a man to doff his hat in somebody’s house.’

      ‘I’m happy that it pleased you … that you even noticed.’

      ‘There’s not much I miss, Robert …’

      He laughed at that. ‘And I believe you. But I’m glad I’ve seen you, Poppy. I’ve been meaning to seek you out. There’s something I wanted to suggest …’

      ‘What?’ she asked, and felt her heart beating faster.

      ‘Well … Last time we met, you told me that you regret not having had the opportunity of an education …’

      ‘It’s true,’ she agreed, puzzled.

      ‘Well … Poppy …’ He fidgeted uneasily, not sure how to word what he wanted to say without her reading into it more than he meant. And then he found the simple words. ‘How would you react, if I offered to give you lessons in reading and writing?’

      ‘In reading and writing?’ she repeated incredulously, surprise manifest in her face.

      ‘Yes. I think I could easily teach you to read and write. If you wanted to, that is.’

      Her tears were quickly forgotten and she chuckled with delight at the thought. ‘Robert, I don’t know what to say, honest I don’t … D’you really mean it? I mean, d’you know what you’re letting yourself in for? I mean, what if I’m too stupid?’

      He laughed dismissively at that, partly because he was amused that she should harbour such an absurd notion, partly because he wished to disguise this illogical lack of poise he sometimes felt when he was with her, even though she was way below his station. ‘Oh, you’re very bright, Poppy,’ he reassured her. ‘You’d learn very quickly. So what do you say? Do you agree?’

      ‘Oh, yes, I agree, Robert. And thank you. There’s nothing I’d like more. But when would we start?’

      ‘Well, why don’t we start tomorrow?’

      ‘That soon?’

      ‘Yes, why not? Can you meet me tomorrow?’

      ‘When I’m through with me work. But where would we go?’

      ‘Ah! I haven’t quite worked that out yet. But if you could meet me somewhere, we could find a quiet spot where I could first teach you your alphabet.’

      Poppy looked up at the sky unsurely. ‘Even if it’s raining?’

      ‘Yes. Even if it’s raining.’

      ‘So where should I meet you?’

      ‘Perhaps as far away from this encampment as possible,’ he suggested. ‘To protect your reputation, of course.’

      ‘My reputation?’ she scoffed. ‘Yours, more like.’

      He was not surprised by the astuteness of her remark, but he let it go. ‘Do you know the ruins of the Old Priory?’

      Poppy shook her head.

      ‘Do you know St Edmund’s church at the far end of the town, past the town hall and the market?’

      She nodded.

      ‘Meet me there.’

      ‘All right. Will three o’clock be all right?’

      ‘Three o’clock will be fine.’

      Poppy smiled excitedly. ‘I’ll bring a writing pad and a blacklead.’

      That encounter, and the prospect of another meeting tomorrow, lifted Poppy from her depression. She felt honoured that Robert Crawford was prepared to spend time with her, teaching her to become literate. Did it mean he was interested in her, that he wanted to woo her? The possibility excited her. He must like her, anyway. That much was obvious. Else he wouldn’t have offered to do it. Now, she had to scrounge some money from her mother again, to enable her to go into Dudley to buy a writing pad and her own blacklead.

      Some of the black spoil that had been excavated from the Dudley Tunnel at the northern end had been deposited over an area known as Porter’s Field. The sloping elevation that ensued, having been duly compacted, was considered a suitable site for a fair. That Saturday evening in June, Minnie Catchpole decided that the fair that was being held there might provide her and Poppy Silk with some interesting diversions while Dog Meat and his new friend Jericho proceeded to get drunk.

      The two girls entered the fair, looked about them excitedly and drank in the lively atmosphere. Traders had set out their stalls on both sides of the broad corridor of the entrance, and misspelled notices advertised their wares. Everything was available, from the finest leather saddlery and boots, through chamber pots, to sealing wax. An apothecary was telling a crowd around him about the benefits of using his balsam of horehound and aniseed for the treatment of coughs and colds, and of Atkinson’s Infants’ Preservative, recommended for those children liable to diarrhoea or looseness of the bowels, flatulence and wind. A herbalist was evidently doing good business in blood mixtures, sarsaparilla compound, piles ointments, healing salve, toothache cure, pills for gout and diuretic pills. A little further on, if you were hungry, you could enjoy a bowl of groaty pudding for tuppence, made from kiln-dried oats, shin of beef and leeks. If that didn’t suit, liver faggots and grey peas were a tasty alternative, as was the bread pudding known as ‘fill-bally’, made from stale bread, suet and eggs, and sweetened with brown sugar and dried fruit.

      Poppy’s curiosity inclined her to spend a halfpenny to see a woman who was supposed to be the fattest woman on earth, until a miner emerged from the tent and declared, ‘There’s one a sight fatter ’n ’er up Kates Hill.’ Elsewhere, a man was grinding a barrel organ; his monkey, on a long lead, was jumping from one person to another collecting small change in a tin mug. A crowd had gathered around a stall where they were invited to part with money to ‘find the lady’. Poppy was astounded that she herself never got it right, confident that she had followed the card diligently as it was switched from one place to another in an effort to confound.

      In a large tent a company of actors was performing, and not far from that stood a beer booth around which men were gathered in various states of inebriation. A couple of young men in rough clothing called to Poppy and Minnie to join them and, predictably, Minnie couldn’t help but be drawn. Poppy had little alternative but to follow. These lads were the worse for drink, but Minnie played up to them and they plied both girls with a mug of beer each. Poppy, to Minnie’s eternal frustration, was reticent about getting too involved, but Minnie showed no such inhibitions as she willingly accepted another mug of beer and giggled at their lewdness.

      Inevitably, Poppy was showing little interest in the attention and bawdy suggestions from the lad with whom she seemed to be stuck. She was not impressed with anybody who did not recognise the folly of getting too drunk and, besides, her earlier meeting with Robert Crawford was still fresh in her mind. Compared to Robert Crawford, this buffoon, who remained doggedly at her side as she was trying to make her escape, was as nothing.

      ‘Come with me over the fields,’ he slurred, unwilling to concede defeat.

      ‘I don’t want to,’ Poppy replied earnestly, looking behind to check whether Minnie was following.

      ‘But I bought yer a mug o’ beer.’

      ‘It don’t mean you bought me.’

      ‘Oh? Come more expensive than that, do yer?’

      Poppy remained sullenly silent, wishing fervently that the young man would go away.

      ‘Got a bob on yerself, ain’t yer, for a navvy’s wench?’ he said scornfully.

      ‘What makes you think you’re any better than me?’ she asked, indignant at his insinuation.

      ‘What’s