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

him. In that month, Robert had laid his plans assiduously and everything was in place.

      Poppy also made a decision as she sat on the front step of Rose Cottage playing with the dog that belonged to Waxy Boyle, one of the lodgers. The dog was rolling on its back in the dust, enjoying the ecstasy of having its belly rubbed. When Poppy ceased, it thrust its cold, damp nose under her hand, selfishly urging her to continue. But she was deep in thought and the dog did not appreciate the fact. She had intended to say a prayer later that night, as Robert had taught her, to ask God to deliver Robert safely, permanently into her heart and her life and to propose marriage. But, when she thought it through, she decided she wanted neither favour nor interference from God. Robert must make any decision himself. He must make his own way to her because he wanted to, without God’s prompting. Besides, God would think her as self-centred and as greedy as the young whelp she was teasing now, if she demanded too may favours.

      Lately, her ability to reason and think had changed. She saw things – all sorts of things – more clearly than ever she had before. It was because she was allowing her thoughts to meander in the direction of the likely consequences of her actions or words. Perhaps Robert was responsible for that. Not only had he taught her to read, but what she had been reading had given her a tantalising insight into other modes of thought, how different expectations altered your perception of things. This other way of thinking was far removed from the navvy attitude to life. She was beginning to understand that not all life was tawdry and disgusting and impoverished, either materially or spiritually.

      The little dog shuffled to its feet and nuzzled its wet nose against her hand again. She playfully pushed it away and it came back again for more. Maybe that was the way to handle a man. It was the way that Robert was handling her. Whether he realised it or not, his pushing her away, his aloofness, was having the opposite effect to that which he evidently sought. Well, maybe that was the way to handle Robert.

      The trouble was, she did not have the nerve. If she pushed him away she might lose him forever. The effect would be to merely thrust him more forcibly into the arms of the girl he was engaged to, her rival. In any case, Poppy trusted her own way of influencing Robert; she sensed correctly that he was responsive to tenderness and high emotions. Maybe she could sway him with a sincere admission of her love. The time had come to lay her cards on the table anyway, to lever him out of his hesitancy. He either loved her or didn’t. For too long he had shilly-shallied, tormenting her as she was now tormenting the dog. Did Robert want her or not? It was time he climbed down from the fence he’d straddled for too long. Yes, she would confess her devotion, tell him how she truly felt, admit the effect he was having on her and how much it was hurting. She would tell him how she wanted to grow into his life, how she ached to be his lover. He would not have the resolve to resist. She was aware that whenever he looked at her there was love and desire in his eyes. She was canny enough to recognise it. His eyes always lingered on her. Even when she wasn’t looking at him she could feel his eyes on her, and she was glad of it; she did not mind at all. Why shouldn’t she exploit the assets she was blessed with? A means to an end. Even then, she had an inkling that where Robert was concerned, her best assets were her simple sincerity and her love for him.

      A day or two later, the second Thursday in August, Poppy had arranged to meet Robert at his office after the works had closed down and, when she arrived, was surprised to see him waiting for her outside. He was wearing old working clothes that he used for grubbing about in and looked for all the world like a navvy.

      ‘As it’s such a beautiful evening, Poppy, I thought we’d take a stroll.’

      ‘I don’t mind,’ she readily agreed. ‘Which way shall we go?’

      He inclined his head in the direction of the town and they began their walk.

      ‘Why are you wearing such scruffy clothes?’ she asked.

      ‘They’re what I wear when I have to go grubbing about.’

      ‘Are you going grubbing about with me then, as you’re wearing them now?’

      ‘Do they offend you?’ he said.

      She laughed, gratified at his concern. ‘No, course not. You still look smarter than any navvy I know … Just.’

      He smiled enigmatically. The truth was, he did not want to appear the young gentleman with a girl who was obviously of a lower class. He had dressed to match her so they would not look incongruous together. But he could not tell her this. In a way, he was glad of the opportunity to get closer to her level, to feel uninhibited about being seen with her and not have to worry about appearances or making a spectacle of himself. Nobody would look at them twice while they were both apparently working class. Nobody would believe any more that he was a toff who had paid for the services of a street girl.

      ‘You can pretend I’m a navvy if you want,’ he said.

      ‘As long as you don’t act like one,’ she replied astutely. ‘So where are you taking me?’

      ‘I thought we might go for a walk in the grounds of the castle. Have you ever been there?’

      ‘Once. When me dad first came to work on the Old Worse and Worse.’

      Robert chuckled as they set off. ‘Is that what they’re calling the Oxford, Worcester and Wolverhampton these days? Because of all the delays and political problems I imagine … So, tell me, Poppy. How are you getting on with your book?’

      ‘Oh, I’m working me way through it all right.’ She smiled up at him for approval. ‘That Mrs Bennet is a proper dizzy-brain.’

      ‘It is full of intrigue as well, I believe?’

      ‘Ain’t you read it?’

      ‘I seldom have time to read novels.’

      They walked through the town, chatting about this and that. Poppy felt somehow closer to him than she had been for a while. He seemed more accessible, not as aloof as he had been lately. Maybe it had something to do with the clothes he was wearing. Maybe he had made a decision about her …

      ‘You can hold my hand if you want,’ she said experimentally. ‘I don’t bite.’

      He laughed at that and took her hand as they walked. ‘I didn’t want to be so presumptuous.’

      ‘I don’t even know what that means, Robert.’

      ‘It means—’

      ‘No … Please don’t bother to tell me. I can guess what it means. You know very well that you wouldn’t be being presumptious—’

      ‘Presumptuous, Poppy,’ he corrected. ‘Pre–sump–tu–ous.’

      ‘As I was saying,’ she said feigning haughtiness. ‘You wouldn’t be being presumptuous. I want you to hold my hand. At least it tells me you think something of me and you’re not afeared to show it.’

      ‘Of course I think something of you.’

      ‘You wouldn’t know it from the way you’ve been acting lately. You make me feel as if I’ve got the plague or something.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Well, I think it’s time we laid our cards on the table, Mister Robert Crawford. Don’t you?’

      They were entering the castle grounds now, at the start of the path that would meander steadily uphill in the shade of high elms and eventually lead them into the ruined castle courtyard. Squirrels played in the rustling trees above while wood pigeons cooed and looked on in unperturbed docility.

      ‘Yes, I think it might be a good night for laying our cards on the table,’ he agreed, to her surprise.

      ‘Good. I want to tell you things, Robert. Things that have been in my heart to say for so long now. And this seems a perfect opportunity – you and me together on a lovely evening, in this lovely old place.’

      He looked at her apprehensively as they ambled along. But when he saw the earnest look on her face he wanted to take her in his arms. He had