The Chainmakers (5 page)

'I'm afraid I don't have anything like that...' Anna interrupted, 'But I shall be very happy to have my dinner in the kitchen...'

'Absolutely not!' Florence responded quickly, 'That is not what I meant at all. I wondered if you would mind if I bought you a dress?'

Receiving no response from Anna she continued quickly 'If you leave your measurements with me I can get one made up for next weekend, my dressmaker is very good... that is if you will trust yourself to my taste?'

Anna still did not reply. She was completely overcome. A dress... and a grand one at that! She could never wear it at home of course, but it would be so good to have a nice dress here, so she would not let Robert and his mother down... She swallowed and then stammered, 'Oh! You are so kind... I don't know what to say...'

'Oh good! Then it's settled. I shall have great fun choosing for you!' Florence took a sip from her teacup and confided, 'I always wanted a daughter, I should have so enjoyed dressing her up! This will give me a chance to indulge myself.'

'Is Robert your only child then?' Anna asked. As soon as she had said it she wondered if the question was impolite, but Florence smiled and said cheerfully, 'Oh no, I have another son, my eldest, Andrew, named after his father. You will meet him next Saturday, he and his wife will be coming to dinner. He looks after the business, he's very good at it,' she added.

Anna smiled. 'Robert told me he is not good at business,' she said carefully, 'He's going to be an artist isn't he, a real one?'

Florence grimaced. 'We must hope so. He could probably be good at business if he was the slightest bit interested, but he isn't, so we must hope he has talent in other directions.'

She rose and pulled the bell cord. 'I will get Mary to bring in a tape measure, we must make sure you don't miss the barge.'

Ten minutes later, having taken a note of Anna's measurements, Florence escorted her to the front door, where the groom awaited with the trap.

'Goodbye Anna,' she smiled. 'Climb aboard now, we'll see you next week.'

'Thank you Florence, thank you so much, for everything.'

'Oh... Anna,' Florence called as the trap began to move away, 'Just to please Robert, don't forget your "baggin" apron!'

~

It was just after five o’clock when Anna alighted from the barge to find Clancy waiting for her.

‘How did you know I’d be here?’ she asked, delighted to see him.

‘Just a guess,’ he said laconically, as they began to walk along the towpath. ‘Your Mam and Dad said you might be coming back on the boat. I’ll not be wanting you walking home alone.’

Anna settled happily into step alongside him. She loved to hear Clancy talk. Although he had lived in Sandley Heath since he was ten years old, he still had a slight Irish brogue which she found attractive.

‘Oh, Clancy, I’ve had such a time you’ll never believe.’

Clancy smiled at her, and his blue Irish eyes twinkled.

‘I thought you might. You’d best tell me all about it then.’

They entered the dark lane which led up to the main road, where the soot blackened tree branches straggled weakly against the leaden sky, and Anna shivered. Clancy slipped his arm around her waist, and they strolled together deep in conversation, Anna extolling the delights of life at High Cedars. Just before they reached the road, Clancy pulled her to him and planted a light kiss on her lips.

‘I’m so glad,’ he said, ‘So glad you’ve enjoyed it. I was thinking of you, so I was.’

~

Anna remembered Clancy's words when she went to bed that night, earlier than usual because as it was Sunday her mother refused to allow her to do the ironing, and she wanted time alone to think about everything that had happened. Clancy was such a dear, she thought. So reliable and kind, you knew where you were with Clancy. In spite of the fact that he and his mother lived in that miserable hovel in Deakin Street, with only one tiny room downstairs and loft above, reached by a wooden ladder, there were not two more kindly people in existence. Things had been hard for Mrs. Sullivan since she was widowed when Clancy was twelve years old, but somehow or other she had managed to bring up her son as a decent and hardworking lad, and Anna knew his interest in her was serious.

She let her mind wander again over the events of the weekend, thinking of the dress Florence intended to have made for her, and wondering what colour it would be. This was the one thing she had not confided to anyone at home, not even Clancy. It would seem like showing off, she felt. Nevertheless she let her mind dwell on the dress, anticipating the style and the width of the skirt, would it have a low neck and the new sleeves?

Just before she fell asleep a last thought crossed her mind. Next week there would be another ten shillings.

The "baggin" apron, as it happened, was not needed for several weeks. Robert decided to complete the domestic scene of Anna seated over her sewing, the traycloth now having been replaced by a flannelette shirt which Anna was making for her Dad. When she had asked with some diffidence if she might bring her sewing with her Robert had laughed and said of course she must, adding with surprise, 'You didn't really think I was going to paint you sewing a traycloth did you?'

'I... I didn't know...'

'Anna, try to understand. Do you ever sit and embroider a traycloth like that at home?'

'No. We don't have trays at home.'

'Precisely. I have told you before, I want to paint you as are, I only gave you the traycloth to hold so I could get position of the arms right.'

'Oh, I see.'

Every week when Anna arrived at High Cedars she found her portrait a little more alive, a little more like herself. It was fascinating to watch the progress. During the week, while she worked at the forge, Robert would continue to paint from memory, but by the time Saturday came he was usually frustrated and angry at his efforts, only beginning to calm down when he had Anna seated before him, and could check what he had done. The Saturday afternoon session was therefore very concentrated, and Robert would rarely speak, apart from an occasional murmur of 'of course!' 'ah yes!' or 'that's better!' When he was so engrossed, Anna would often steal a glance at him, committing to memory the line of his head, the way his smooth fair hair was clipped straight across his neck, and how a piece at the front sometimes fell across his eyes, to be flipped aside with a quick shake of the head. These memories Anna would resurrect during the following week, as she hammered at the red hot iron rods, and as the weeks went by the impressions became more insistent, until she saw Robert shake his head in the flying sparks, saw Robert's eyes in the glowing coals, and heard Robert's voice in the very air she breathed, cutting through the tumultuous din of the chainshop. She knew it was a useless fixation and was a little ashamed of it, particularly when she thought of Clancy. When these feelings intruded she told herself there was no harm in dreaming, as long as it hurt no-one. It was like being in love with a hero in a story, wonderful to feel, but having nothing to do with real life.

Anna now knew several of the dinner guests who had been invited to High Cedars, and had met Robert's elder brother Andrew, a tall, elegant man with long bony fingers and a kind smile. He talked to her at length about the family business, and proved to have inherited all the sensitivity and kindness of his mother, explaining his views and encouraging her interest, without a hint of patronage. Robert Nicholson and his family, their lovely home and gardens, their friends and dinner parties, were so far removed from the drudgery of Sandley Heath that it seemed to Anna that she led two lives. In one, she wore a grand dress, spoke carefully, and drank wine from a crystal glass in the company of people who laughed a lot, and were witty and interesting. In her other life she emptied the chamber pots before she went to work, pushed her father up the narrow stairs to bed when he was drunk, and helped her mother in and out of the tin bath which was set in front of the fire every Friday night. At work she was hot, dirty and exhausted most of the time, but as soon as she left the chainshop she was freezing cold in the raw December air which penetrated her thin shawl. It was a world of constant noise and blistered hands, as she hammered as if to save her life, trying to shut out the screeching of Ma Higgins, who exhorted her to 'Gerron wi' it, Miss Toffeenose, no time fer yer fancy notions 'ere.'

The only comfort which had crept into this second life of Anna's was provided by the extra money. She now bought an extra booster each day, and quite often there was enough of the big loaf left to be made into a delicious bread pudding, which her mother cooked in the oven at the side of the fire. The cold bread pudding was cut into thick slabs to be taken to work by herself and her Dad. She had also been able to buy a piece of beef every Friday since she had been going to High Cedars, and knowing her parents were enjoying a good dinner on Saturdays and Sundays made her feel less guilty. For Anna certainly suffered from guilt, as being waited on hand and foot still did not seem quite right. The staff at High Cedars treated her as they would any other guest, although they knew her background. On one occasion when the upstairs maid brought hot water, Anna had attempted to engage her in conversation, saying that she was not used to being served. The maid had smiled quite openly and then had said simply, 'Then I should enjoy it, if I were you,' without any hint of rancour.

Although she endeavoured to enjoy it, Anna couldn't help but feel it was unfair for some to have so much and others so little. It was not her own situation which weighed on her mind, but that of several of her neighbours who lived in the most abject poverty. She often reflected on these contrasts as she sat huddled in a corner of the canal barge, as it made its slow progress back to Sandley Heath on Sunday afternoon. She was not envious by nature, and told herself repeatedly that everyone couldn't be bosses, but there was one aspect of life at High Cedars which she did envy, and it had nothing to do with material possessions.

Everyone seemed to know so much, and about so many different things. Anna's mother had always been proud that her daughter was intelligent, and had done so well at school. Despite George Gibson's protests that 'the wench should be bringin' in,' she had insisted that Anna stay at school until she completed Standard seven, and had been proud to watch her daughter ascend the platform to receive her book prize at the end of term. Largely because of her mother's influence, Anna had been accustomed to think of herself as having had a better education than her colleagues, but at High Cedars she was out of her depth. She would listen avidly to the conversation around the dinner table, being persuaded by first one argument and then another, until she hardly knew what she thought.

Florence Nicholson was a witness to Anna's confusion. Having been married for so many years to a man who was both an industrialist and an artist, Florence now enjoyed the friendship of a wide variety of people, whose opinions ranged from the strictly traditional to the most enlightened liberal. After her guests were gone she would often talk to Anna about the evening's conversation, discussing and explaining points which Anna had missed or misconstrued. As much as Anna enjoyed these evenings, they served as a forcible reminder of her own lack of knowledge.

After Christmas had come and gone with a succession of icy cold mornings and searching bitter winds, Anna found she had saved enough for a long craved personal indulgence, a pair of boots from the leather and shoe shop in Dudley, and some thick knitted stockings. Florence had provided her with some good leather shoes which were ideal for High Cedars, but Anna was loth to ruin them in the mire of Sandley Heath, and so left them in the wardrobe at High Cedars, with the other clothes Florence had provided. When Will called one evening in late January he was quick with praise for the boots.

'I'm glad to see you'm doin' summat fer yerself at last, ma wench. You 'm earnin' all this extra, an' yo' ay 'ad a bit o' treat fer yerself. My, they'm bostin' boots an all, they'll last a year or two.'

'Well, they should, they cost enough,' Anna answered briefly, as she took a bread pudding from the oven. 'I'm glad you've come Will, this fillbally is for your Mary. It'll be cool soon...'