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

– a bawdyhouse, I think he called it. It was lovely and warm in there, with nice furniture and velvet curtains and things. The toffs there seemed to know this Jack. We had a lovely soft feather bed and we drunk brandy together. I got ever so tiddly.’

      ‘How much did you charge him?’ Poppy asked, disapprovingly.

      ‘Two shillings. It was a fair price, considering how quick it was all over – the first time any road … It just goes to show again how easy it is to make money on the game. You ought to try it, Poppy. Anyway, he wants to see me again, this Jack.’

      ‘Minnie, I really wish you wouldn’t do this whoring lark. It can only lead to trouble.’

      ‘No. Not trouble, Poppy. The life of a lady. That’s what it’ll lead to. You’ll see.’

      The next day saw the pair move into the little house in Gatehouse Fold. Minnie trudged to the nearest coal yard and three-hundredweight was later delivered by a young man whose features were unidentifiable because of the black dust on his face. That was but a minor impediment to Minnie, who gave him sufficient encouragement to visit that same evening, cleaned up. His name was Arthur. The couple went out walking, but Poppy tactfully went upstairs to bed when they returned.

      The next night, Minnie came back to the house with the same Jack who had previously taken her to the bawdyhouse but, seeing the opportunity to save himself the price of a room, suggested they use hers. Poppy was disgruntled; she had to stay downstairs looking at the burning coals in the fire grate, her chin resting in her hands, glumly listening to the grunts and antics of Minnie and this Jack as they cavorted in the bed she was supposed to sleep in. When he came down, Jack looked at Poppy covetously and asked what she charged. With glinting, hostile eyes, she told him he would never be able to afford her.

      These events were typical of the pattern that was developing over the week, and Poppy resented it intensely. Even though she was not participating, she felt tainted and degraded by it all. She had the feeling that neighbours were looking at her disparagingly, and it was obvious to her that they imagined she was also involved in prostitution with Minnie. She just had to get away and leave Minnie to her own fate. Minnie, in her wild abandon, was already beyond redemption.

      Poppy had seen no news-sheets advertising jobs, so she didn’t know where to start looking for work. Oh, she could go and knock on the front doors of some of the grand houses, and even those not so grand, and enquire within if there were any situations vacant, but she feared the prospect of rejection.

      Then, the following Sunday morning, while sorting through her things, she found the note that Robert Crawford had given her just before they parted, bearing the name and address of his Aunt Phoebe at Cawneybank House, Rowley Road. He’d urged her to present herself soon to this lady. That was more than six weeks ago. She peered out of the window. Gatehouse Fold was quiet for once, save for the peal of bells calling the believers to worship at St Edmund’s. Well, this afternoon she would make her way to the address and introduce herself. She had little to lose and, even though she had little to gain either, it was an exercise she felt compelled to undertake, if only out of respect for Robert. It was just possible that Aunt Phoebe might know of a vacancy for a maid. In any case, she had to make contact in time for next year when Robert returned. She had to have somewhere to collect his message.

      Poppy explained to Minnie what she was intent on doing. Minnie said she would walk with her. So, Poppy spruced herself up, pinned her hair up neatly and made sure her prized blue dress was presentable before they set off. At the end of Hall Street, she asked a kindly-looking woman if she knew where Rowley Road was.

      It was a fair walk and Poppy found herself retracing steps. Once again she passed the fine house she’d admired on Dixons Green Road and commented to Minnie on how she’d seen a young woman get into a carriage on the night she excruciatingly quelled the ardour of that scoundrel James. This time she noticed there was an iron plaque adorning one of the stone pillars of the front gate and read it aloud: ‘Tansley House’.

      The woman who had given her directions told her she was to take the right fork at the toll house. After that, she should take the left one, if she didn’t want to find herself among the brickyards, the clay pits and the Old Buffery Iron Works in the smoky hollow of Bumble Hole Road.

      Cawneybank House was less than a quarter of a mile down Rowley Road. It looked nowhere near as grand as Tansley House, modest indeed by comparison, but it stood in its own neatly manicured grounds.

      Poppy glanced at Minnie apprehensively. ‘Wish me luck, Min.’

      Minnie smiled her encouragement and affection. ‘I wish you luck, Poppy. I’ll hang around here somewhere till you come out.’

      Poppy took a deep breath, summoning as much poise as she could while she wandered up the drive to the house trying to summon some confidence. She checked her mantle and her skirt, pinched her cheeks, and knocked hesitantly on the door. A maid little older than herself answered it.

      ‘I’ve called to see Mrs Newton. My name is Poppy Silk.’

      The girl looked at Poppy dubiously. ‘Is Mrs Newton expecting you?’

      Poppy shook her head. ‘I doubt it. But I’ve got a sort of invitation … from her nephew, Robert Crawford … Here …’ She handed the girl the note bearing the name and address.

      The maid took it. ‘Wait there, miss.’

      She closed the door unceremoniously, and Poppy stood in front of it, perplexed and a little disgruntled at being treated so off-handedly by a mere maid. Self-consciously, she looked over her shoulder to see if Minnie was watching, but there was no sign of her. Poppy had a fine view of a range of green hills, however, beyond the pit head gear and the brickworks’ chimneys that smoked profusely in the valley before her.

      The door opened again.

      ‘Mrs Newton will see you, miss. Come in.’

      Poppy summoned a smile for the girl and said thank you. She was ushered through an elaborately tiled hallway with an ornate cast-iron hatstand, a grandfather clock, and a tall table bearing a plant of some sort, which Poppy did not recognise. In a small sitting room to the right, a warm and welcoming fire blazed in a pristine tiled and blackened grate set low in its hearth. The mantelpiece was adorned with strange vases and a crucifix, and a huge mirror hung over it. On the floor was a thick green carpet.

      At the fireside a neatly turned out woman of middle age sat, her hair taken back and set off with a mob cap, her bespectacled eyes curiously intent on Poppy. Phoebe Newton was plump, with a round and charitable face that exuded warmth and compassion as she stood up to greet her unexpected guest.

      ‘So you are Miss Silk. My nephew has told me something about you.’ She spoke in a kindly way, and at once Poppy was at ease. ‘Please sit down, Miss Silk.’ The older lady looked beyond Poppy at the maid who was hovering intrusively at her back. ‘Perhaps Miss Silk would like tea. Would you be so kind, Esther?’

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Esther duly disappeared.

      ‘I tremble to think what Mr Crawford has told you about me, Mrs Newton,’ Poppy ventured.

      ‘Very little, Miss Silk, yet, in a way, sufficient. He told me he had a young friend whom he had been teaching reading and writing. I gleaned, from the mere fact that my nephew mentioned you, that he must hold you in some regard, but especially so when he asked me if I would be prepared to advance your education.’

      Poppy looked into the fire to avoid Mrs Newton’s gaze, and smiled, thrilled at this more than adequate reference that Robert had given her.

      ‘Evidently, he thinks you are worth it. I presume, therefore, that you have had no formal schooling.’

      ‘None, Mrs Newton.’

      ‘But it has been some weeks now since the request was made, and I’d more or less given up hope of you ever arriving.’

      ‘Oh … There’s been a lot going on, Mrs Newton … This is the first chance I’ve had. I hope it’s not a funny time for you, me coming today … Have you heard