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

What’s up?’

      ‘I, er … I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now, but …’

      ‘But what? Spit it out, lad.’ He scanned the dominoes he held secretively in both hands

      ‘I, er … Well, the truth is … I want young Poppy. Now as you’re the breadwinner o’ that family and seeing as how Sheba’s carrying your bab, I look to you, Tweedle, to tell me what you’ll take for the wench.’

      ‘Money, you mean?’

      ‘Aye,’ Jericho replied assertively. ‘To jump the broomstick. Ever since I clapped eyes on her, I knew as she was the one for me, the one I been waiting for. How much would you want for me to take her off your hands?’

      Tweedle Beak placed a domino at the end of the line that zigzagged across the table and chuckled. ‘Yo’m a dark hoss,’ he said with a knowing look. ‘I know yo’ was sniffin’ round the wench a while ago, but then I reckoned as your interests was diverted elsewhere.’ He winked at Jericho. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’

      ‘Well, what do you say, Tweedle? How much? If it ain’t an unreasonable amount, you can have the money tonight. I ain’t short. How about thirty bob?’

      ‘Thirty bob?’ Tweedle scoffed. ‘No, the wench is worth more than thirty bob. At least twice that much.’

      ‘Three pounds?’ Jericho queried. ‘That’s a bit steep. There ain’t much of her, you know.’

      ‘Yo’ either want her or yo’ don’t.’

      Ears pricked up at this conversation and one nudged another to draw attention to it.

      ‘I bet there’s many a single chap here who’d willingly gi’ me three pounds for Poppy Silk.’

      ‘Hear that?’ Windy Bags said, looking up from his dominoes and nudging Crabface Lijah. ‘Tweedle’s about to sell young Poppy.’

      Those at the next table also looked expectantly at Tweedle.

      ‘What’s the bidding?’ Dandy Punch asked, with sudden interest.

      ‘The wench is on offer at three pounds,’ Buttercup said nonchalantly. ‘Any advance?’

      ‘I’ll give yer three pounds ten, Tweedle,’ Dandy Punch responded. ‘Aye, and more.’

      ‘Will you bollocks!’ Jericho protested. ‘The wench is mine. I asked first … All right, Tweedle … Four pounds. Four pounds and she’s mine, eh?’

      ‘I’d give you five pounds if I thought I could have her,’ the Masher said, a quiet young navvy who dressed almost as flamboyantly as Dandy Punch.

      Jericho rummaged in his pocket for money. ‘Here, Tweedle … Here’s a sovereign. Have this as a down payment. I’ll pay you the other four pounds later.’

      ‘Nay, lad,’ Tweedle said, refusing to accept the money. His enterprising brain could see the potential here for making a handsome kill. ‘Nay, lad, there’s many an interested party here. Poppy Silk goes to the highest bidder …’ He pondered a moment. ‘Better still, let’s have a lottery … Let every man interested pay me a couple of quid, say, and I’ll put his name into a hat. But first let’s spread the word around. I want as many as possible to take part. Fair chances for everybody who’s interested.’

      Buttercup drew on his pipe looking unconcerned, but he was seething inside. He resented Tweedle Beak anyway, but encouraging the men to draw lots for poor Poppy Silk was despicable. He nudged Jericho. ‘I would have thought Tweedle Beak would’ve offered thee a bit more consideration,’ he said loudly for all within earshot to hear. ‘Especially in view o’ the circumstances.’

      ‘What circumstances, Buttercup?’

      ‘Well, I mean, in view o’ the fact that he was in the tunnel giving that young Eliza a good seeing to who he picked up from The Bush at the top o’ Bumble Hole Road, at the same time as thou was in there giving young Minnie Catchpole the benefit. I’d have thought he’d want it kept quiet.’

      Jericho and Tweedle Beak were both shocked into silence, a hush that rapidly spread as the implications were noted. They looked at each other suspiciously while the others looked expectantly towards Dog Meat, expecting a fight to flare up. But there was no sign of a fight, not between Dog Meat and Jericho at least.

      Tweedle Beak stared with burning animosity at Buttercup. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ he rasped, wagging his finger animatedly at Buttercup. ‘You’m a bloody troublemaker, you. I knew you was sodding trouble the minute I cast eyes on yer.’ He turned angrily to Jericho. ‘And you, Jericho, you young bastard. I thought we agreed not to tell anybody about that. Now you’ve told bloody Buttercup. Now the bloody world knows.’

      ‘I ain’t told nobody,’ Jericho protested, his face reddening. ‘I ain’t breathed a word to nobody. I wouldn’t, would I, if I intended asking you for Poppy.’

      ‘Well, it must’ve come from thee, Tweedle,’ Buttercup suggested mischievously. ‘Thou wast the only bugger who knew about it. Typical of a man in his cups.’

      ‘What’s this about him being in the tunnel wi’ my daughter?’ Tipton Ted said with rising indignation, thumbing at Jericho. ‘Dog Meat, do you know aught about this?’

      ‘Nothing, Ted,’ Dog Meat lied. ‘But I’ll get to the bottom of it when I see Minnie.’

      ‘You ought to bost his yed,’ Tipton Ted goaded. ‘Bost his yed in. Goo on … What’s wrong wi’ yer?’

      Tweedle raised his hands and called for order. ‘Listen, lads, listen. We’m veering off the point here,’ he said, perceiving that his chance to make money from Poppy was slipping away. ‘Let’s get back to the business in hand. Who wants to buy a lottery ticket for young Poppy Silk?’

      ‘The way I see it,’ Buttercup calmly interjected, ‘nobody’s got the right to set up a lottery to draw for young Poppy. Least of all thee, Tweedle Beak, seeing as how her rightful father’s dead and buried.’

      ‘I’ll say again, Buttercup,’ Tweedle Beak retorted acidly. ‘What’s it got to do with you? Keep your nose out of my business … or risk having it spread across your face.’

      Buttercup smiled. Unperturbed, he picked stray crumbs of tobacco from his waistcoat pocket and stuffed them into the bowl of his gum-bucket that had since gone out. ‘That snout on thy ugly fizzog would be a tidy sight bent about a bit, an’ all, Tweedle, eh? Just don’t push thy luck wi’ me, you parrot-faced wreck.’ He emptied his tankard and stood up. ‘Go on, fix thy lottery. I wouldn’t expect a louse like thee to pay any mind to what the young wench herself wanted, ’cause that’s the sort of vile shit thou bist. But, if yo’ insist it’s thy business and nobody else’s, then get on with it and we’ll see how much good it does thee.’ He left, to seek a less polluted atmosphere.

      Undaunted, Tweedle Beak pressed on with his plan. ‘Right. A lottery it is then. Two pounds a ticket. Dog Meat, get some paper and a blacklead from Toby’s daughter and ask her to come and write the names down.’

      Dog Meat did as he was bid. He returned with young Selina Watson, a girl so plain that the navvies seldom harassed her.

      ‘Jericho, how many tickets do you want?’ Tweedle asked.

      ‘I want five,’ he answered. ‘But I can’t pay you ten pounds right away. I’ll have to owe you.’

      Tweedle shook his head. ‘I’ll only have tickets wrote what can be paid for.’

      ‘Then I can’t give you no money tonight, Tweedle.’

      ‘Aye, same for me,’ said the Masher.

      ‘And me,’ said Dandy Punch. ‘Why don’t you give us till this time next week to raise the money, them as wants to?’

      ‘Better still, next