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

how I wish I weren’t …’

      ‘You’re engaged already?’ The possibility had never crossed her mind before. ‘Who to? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know who she is.’

      ‘She’s a very respectable girl. I imagine you’d like her.’

      ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t.’

      ‘No, maybe you wouldn’t.’

      ‘I know I wouldn’t. I’d like to punch her nose.’

      ‘Oh, Poppy, please don’t talk like a navvy.’

      ‘Well, if you’re engaged, you shouldn’t see me again,’ she said resignedly. ‘Maybe it’d be best to stop my lessons.’

      ‘Do you want to stop your lessons?’ He was sorry that he had put her unorthodox education in jeopardy by his amorous behaviour.

      ‘No, why should I?’ she answered defiantly. ‘You’re teaching me to read and write and I’m learning well. I know I am. Why should I stop now just because you’re engaged, just because there’s another girl you’re fond of? I’ll just have to stop liking you like that. Did you know all along how much I liked you?’

      He could have hugged her for her kittenish simplicity, her lack of guile, her direct use of simple words. ‘From the outset I hoped you did. I hoped with all my heart that you did.’

      ‘So why don’t you just give up this girl you’re engaged to, if you’d rather have me? It’s seems the best thing to do.’

      ‘But I’m promised, Poppy. I knew her long before I met you. Her family and mine are close friends. We are due to be married next year. A man can’t renege on a promise to marry. It’s a question of honour. The girl has to release him from his promise. Otherwise the consequences for him could be very serious.’

      ‘But if you told her about me … Maybe she would release you.’

      He shook his head. The thought of confessing to his bride-to-be and her family that he was in love with the daughter of a navvy filled him with dread. Neither they – nor his own family either, for that matter – would regard him as stable. He would be a laughing stock. They might even try to have him certified to protect the integrity of his fiancée. The difficulties were not too hard to foresee.

      ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he said.

      ‘I’d better stop having me lessons then,’ Poppy said flatly. ‘I’d only want us to start kissing again. And if I can’t have you in the end, I don’t want to start anything in the beginning.’

      ‘Poppy,’ he sighed. ‘You must continue with your lessons. You said so yourself. It’s vitally important for you that you do. I’ll be on my honour. I promise not to take advantage.’

      ‘No,’ she said assertively. ‘It’s best we don’t see each other. There’s no point. I don’t want to get worked up into a lather when I’m with you, knowing that you’ll never be mine. No, I might as well start seeing Jericho serious.’

      ‘Oh, Poppy,’ he groaned. ‘Must you?’

      Poppy returned to Rose Cottage in a state of bewilderment. She was so exhilarated at kissing Robert Crawford for so long and his confession that she was always on his mind. Yet she was also deeply frustrated that nothing could come of it. It was as she had always suspected; he liked her, but he was not about to lower himself and become involved with her, especially since he was already engaged to some girl whose family might be wealthy and important. It was hardly worth competing for him because, in her position, she could never have him. Why was life so unfair? Why was it tilted so much in favour of the swells who already had everything?

      She entered the hut carrying her writing pad and blacklead and flopped them on the table among the dirty crockery that still littered it. Her mother was sewing patches and buttons onto shirts.

      ‘It’s quiet in here for once,’ Poppy commented.

      ‘Well, the babby’s asleep in his crib,’ Sheba replied, pulling a needle on a length of thread. ‘Lottie and Rose am playing in the cutting and Jenkin’s out somewhere with his mates, up to no good, I daresay.’

      ‘So where’s Tweedle?’ There was a hint of scorn in Poppy’s tone, but Sheba could not be sure of it.

      ‘Out drinking, with the rest o’ the lodgers … Where’ve you been?’

      ‘Having a lesson. I’ve been learning words like look, and tooth, and mouth and house.’ She had sounded her h.

      ‘Hark at you. Sounding all swank. ’Tis to be hoped it gets you somewhere.’

      ‘I was learning quick. Robert said so.’

      ‘Was?’ Sheba queried.

      ‘Yes … was. I’m having no more lessons. I don’t see the point. I can read now.’ She was grossly overstating her ability, but had no wish to enlighten Sheba as to the real reason.

      ‘That chap Jericho called round after you.’

      ‘What for?’

      ‘How the hell should I know? But I can guess. He’s a handsome buck, and no mistake.’

      ‘If only looks was everything.’

      Sheba smiled to herself. ‘Oh, and what would you know about that?’

      ‘Well, I wouldn’t say as Tweedle Beak was handsome,’ Poppy replied, with a shrug. ‘Would you?’

      ‘It might help if he was …’

      Poppy laughed. There was a pause in their conversation while she put her writing pad in her drawer to save getting it mucked up. ‘What yer gunna do about Tweedle when me father comes home?’

      ‘Tweedle will just be one o’ the lodgers again.’

      ‘Providing me dad can get his old job back, you mean.’

      ‘Even if he can’t, it wouldn’t make any difference. We’d just go on tramp till he found another.’

      ‘So it is me father you love, and not Tweedle?’ She regarded her mother earnestly. ‘Oh, tell me it is, Mother.’

      ‘Aye, it’s your father I love.’

      ‘But what about if he comes back and finds you already pregnant wi’ Tweedle’s brat?’

      Sheba bit the thread she was sewing with, severing it, and rested the crumpled shirt in her lap. ‘Oh, well,’ she said, looking intently into Poppy’s eyes, ‘I’m already pregnant. But it’s with your dad’s child. I knew I was carrying afore he went away.’

      Poppy smiled happily. It was the best news she’d had in ages. ‘Does Tweedle know?’

      Sheba shook her head. ‘Neither does your father.’

      ‘But you let Tweedle Beak into your bed just the same?’

      ‘To save us going on tramp and missing your father. As well as all the other reasons. It was the only thing I could do.’

      ‘But that makes you no better than a whore, Mother,’ Poppy said, more with concern than with any disrespect.

      ‘All women are whores, our Poppy. We sell that soft place we’ve got between our legs for whatever we want back in return, be it money, protection or just pleasure. It’s a ticket for whatever we want, whatever we need.’

      ‘What about love?’

      Sheba smiled knowingly. ‘Aye, it’s a ticket for love as well. But there’s a difference. You don’t sell it for love, our Poppy. You give it away free. But always be aware of the likely consequences.’

      Poppy went to bed that night before her mother and Tweedle, with a great deal on her mind. She was relieved to hear her mother’s