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

then?’

      ‘Not much chance o’ that, Minnie.’

      ‘More fool her, I’d say.’ Minnie giggled girlishly. ‘Anyway, what would you say if Dog Meat found out we’d bin in the tunnel together?’

      ‘Christ, we mustn’t let him know, Minnie. It must be our secret.’

      Jericho felt Minnie’s arms come about him and he sought her lips urgently. When their mouths connected, they leaned backwards and lay on the rug. At once, Jericho reached out and took a handful of the hem of her skirt and hoisted it up to her waist as she raised her backside to aid him. She was wearing no stockings and the smooth flesh of her bare legs, slightly moist with the day’s perspiration, was a tonic to goad him on.

      ‘Oh, Jericho,’ she sighed as his large but skilful fingers gently caressed between her thighs. She reached down to the front of his trousers, unfastened the buttons of his fly and probed inside.

      ‘Christ, he feels lovely and hard, Jericho … And big.’

      ‘Oh, he’s big all right. And you feel lovely and soft, ready and waiting for him, by the feel o’ yer.’

      Minnie unfastened the rest of his buttons and eased his trousers over his buttocks. He manoeuvred himself between her legs and, without further ado, she guided him in. As she gasped with the pleasure of his movements, she pictured him naked on the night he fought Chimdey Charlie, remembering well how the sight of him excited her. Well, now she was enjoying him to the full as he thrust lusciously inside her. She pulled him hard into her by his buttocks and raised her legs so he could fill her up the more.

      ‘Christ, Jericho,’ she uttered ardently. ‘Jesus Christ …’

      ‘Am I hurting you?’

      ‘No, you do it really lovely. Ooh, ever so lovely … I could stand this all night …’

      They settled into a steady rhythm that too soon was interrupted by groans from Jericho.

      ‘Don’t stop, Jericho … What have you stopped for? You ain’t finished already, have yer?’

      ‘Christ, I’m done,’ he groaned, spent.

      ‘Well I ain’t. I hope you’m gunna finish me off …’

      ‘Course I will. There’s no rush …’

      ‘You could’ve fooled me.’

      ‘Well, I wanted you so bad, Minnie.’

      They lay a while longer, still joined, till a drip of water from the roof splattered on him and dribbled coldly down the cleft of his bare behind. He rolled off Minnie, lay beside her, then fondled her again with his dextrous fingers till she began wriggling more insistently. She let out shrieks of ecstasy that diminished into a series of little moans, then sighs, but the smile on her face remained fixed, although invisible in the darkness.

      ‘Better now?’ he asked.

      ‘Oh, Christ, yes,’ she responded, with breathless enthusiasm.

      ‘I needed that, Minnie.’

      ‘And me, Jericho.’

      ‘We’ll come here again, eh?’

      ‘Tomorrow night, if you like,’ she suggested. ‘When Dog Meat’s gone out on the beer.’

      ‘Let’s hope somebody can lend him some money,’ Jericho remarked, the irony in his voice beyond Minnie. ‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

      ‘Am yer mad? He’d kill me.’

      ‘And don’t tell Poppy neither. If you tell Poppy, I’ll tell Dog Meat …’

      ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell your precious Poppy.’

      They lay still and silent for a while, each privately reliving the pleasure. A few feet away, they heard a scuffling and Minnie thought it must be a rat. She froze and clutched Jericho’s arm tightly. Somebody tried to stifle a cough … or was it a laugh?

      Jericho sat bolt upright. ‘Who’s there?’ he challenged. ‘Who’s there?’

      ‘Tweedle Beak,’ came the amused reply.

      ‘Tweedle Beak? What you doing here?’

      ‘Daft bugger. What d’yer think? Same as you, Jericho, old son.’

      ‘Oh? So who’m you with?’

      Tweedle mumbled to his unseen companion. ‘What did you say your name was, love?’

      ‘Eliza,’ a little voice replied.

      ‘I’m with somebody called Eliza, Jericho.’

      Jericho realised there was a glimmer of hope. ‘I take it as you want me to keep me trap shut, eh?’

      ‘It’d be as well.’

      ‘Then you’d better keep yours shut about me and Minnie Catchpole.’

      Tweedle Beak grunted. ‘Well, I ain’t sid yer in here, have I, you dirty bloody ram? Not in this darkness.’

      ‘Then I ain’t seen you neither, Tweedle.’

      Minnie and Jericho stood up, and Minnie felt round for her rug in the blackness while he hitched up his trousers and fastened his fly buttons. She found the rug and rolled it up, felt for Jericho, and held his arm as they made their way back to the tunnel’s mouth, followed close behind by Tweedle Beak and the woman he had picked up from one of the local public houses.

      Two minutes later, Buttercup left the tunnel. He had entered it earlier with a lantern to inspect the standard of workmanship required by Treadwell’s. When he saw two other people about to enter, he blew out his light and waited patiently while they got on with what they had come for. When another couple entered and revealed their identities, his interest intensified. When they made their exit, he followed them unseen to the edge of the encampment, where they all went their silent, separate ways …

      Next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, Poppy awoke to the sound of her mother vomiting into the jerry that lurked under her bed.

      ‘What’s up wi’ thee, wench?’ Tweedle muttered from under the blanket.

      ‘Something I ate,’ Sheba replied economically, and heaved again into the jerry that she held in her lap as she sat on the bed.

      ‘Well, mek sure as yo’ doh ate it again. What time is it?’

      ‘Time to get up, I reckon.’ She put down the pot and wiped her mouth with the hem of her cotton nightgown. As she stood up and stretched, she ran her fingers through her long hair. Poppy peered over her bedclothes watching her mother, wondering how much she was pining for Lightning Jack. She knew her mother’s expressions; they were a signal of her innermost feelings, and thus she could read her anguish. If only Jack were here; he would be proud as punch to know she was carrying another child.

      The rest of the household began to stir. The dog belonging to one of the navvies in the next room yapped at being disturbed, and a disgruntled voice suggested the animal must be hankering for a kick up the bollocks. Tweedle Beak rose from his side of the bed and scratched first his beard and then his backside before a succession of ripping farts diminished all other sounds to incidental background noise. Poppy judiciously held her blanket to her nose and waited till Tweedle got dressed and was gone before she ventured out of bed. She washed and dressed and brushed her teeth, a habit she had acquired some time ago when she realised that such things as toothbrushes and tooth cleaning powder were available at modest cost and made your breath smell sweet. (She had been grateful for it when the opportunity to kiss Robert Crawford had presented itself.) That done, she took out the jerry, holding her breath while she carried it outside to the midden heap.

      Poppy wished to contrive another casual meeting with Robert Crawford when she had finished her jobs. She wanted to thank him for his note and for his kind consideration. So, when the time was appropriate, she