A Man of his Time

He had asked her twice, and at twenty-one she ought to know her own mind. ‘I’m happy here,’ she said. ‘It’s a good situation, and I don’t know what Mrs Lewin would do without me.’

‘It’s me I want you to marry, not Mrs Lewin.’

‘I know, and if I marry anybody it will be you.’

Such uncertainty wasn’t good enough. He only wanted a plain yes. ‘I’ve chosen you.’

‘I can tell you have. But you can’t choose me like you would a horse, or a piece of iron you work with.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘You haven’t said you love me yet.’

‘I wouldn’t be talking to you like this if I didn’t.’

‘But you’ve got to say it.’

‘I’m saying it now. I’ve never loved anybody but you, so you can give me a yes as soon as you like.’

Mrs Lewin came into the bar; Ernest was attracted by the high forehead, dark hair pulled back, the interesting mould of her lips, and middling bust under a striped shirt fastened at the neck with a brooch of amber. He wouldn’t have minded sliding into her, widow or not, though she must be nearing forty. Her luscious brown eyes looked at them. ‘Mary Ann, I’d like you to go to the kitchen and make some bread – that is, if Mr Burton will allow you.’

The ‘mister’ and her smile softened his annoyance, and he wondered whether he wouldn’t do better with her, except she wouldn’t have him in a million years, and he didn’t fancy running a pub.

‘I still can’t make up my mind,’ Mary Ann told him.

‘Let me know when you can, then,’ he said off-handedly, and noted the lift of Emma Lewin’s eyebrows before walking away, telling himself she can think what she likes, as well.

‘He’s a bit of a devil,’ she said to Mary Ann as he closed the door. ‘But I suppose every woman likes a devil.’

A state of uncertainty wasn’t for him. He’d never lived like that, and didn’t see why he should. When the hammer hit the anvil it always bounced up for another blow. He wanted her, and would have her, so the only solution was to go on asking, though he let a fortnight go by in case she thought him in too much of a hurry.

She haunted his waking dreams, which could be dangerous in his sort of work. Auburn hair flowed over naked shoulders, her eyes enchanting him, a lovely young woman in season, with outstretched arms and saying come to me, there’s no other man I want. Her face would shock its way before his eyes, taunting with a prospect to last a lifetime.

He left his pie and hot tea at the forge, hungry only for what had to be done. George and his father wouldn’t mind. They would eat the lot. There were fewer people in the pub at midday, though had it been packed he wouldn’t have cared. The usual greetings were followed by a call for ale, not so much to swamp his thirst as to see the working of her arms, which would be better employed in a house they’d one day live in. He was at a disadvantage in his smithing clothes, but couldn’t help that. She must take him as she found him. Her finger traced the small print of a newspaper. ‘I’ve come to ask you again,’ he said, not waiting for her to look up.

She glanced from the advertisement sketch. ‘I still don’t know.’

Her tone sent a spark of hope, the uncertain smile telling him that a favourable decision might be close, so he ought not to be sharp with her, better to stand quietly and give her space to think, the opportunity to make up her mind, and talk, even if only to ask something. He stayed away from the bar, never one to put his elbows on the wood.

She showed him the illustration. ‘I’ve been looking at these gloves. They’d go halfway up my arm, and look very fine.’

He admired their style, having an eye for clothes that went smartly on himself, but also those which adorned a woman. ‘Why don’t you get them?’

‘I’d like to, but it’s three weeks till my day off, and I only saw them in the paper today. They’re on sale at a shop in town, for one-and-eleven-pence three-farthings.’

‘That’s not a sight.’

‘I know, so they might be sold out in three weeks.’

‘I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Shall you go and get them for me, after you’ve finished your work this evening?’

He pushed his half-finished ale aside, having sensed what was coming. ‘I’ll do it now.’

Her delight convinced him he had said the right thing. She took a florin from her pinafore as if, he thought – and he was to think so for the rest of his life – she’d had it there all the time and knew what he would offer. ‘You don’t have to go this minute.’

‘That’s true.’

She tore out the pattern so that he could show it and make no mistake, and wrote down the size she wanted. ‘It’s at that big millinery shop on Exchange Walk. You can’t miss it.’

He put her coin in a pocket that held no money of his. ‘I’ll be back when I can. If you’re not at the bar I’ll ask Mrs Lewin for you.’

He could walk the couple of miles into town and back, but the less time taken the higher he might go in her esteem, so he caught the first train, and if the shopkeeper looked down his nose at working clothes he could jump up his rear end, because he loved Mary Ann, and by God he would have her, and go through fire and flood to do this little errand. Even if she said no to him again he wouldn’t stop thinking about her, and never stop asking either. He felt a letch at seeing any pretty woman, but it was more than that with Mary Ann, and he only knew that after their marriage she would adorn him as much as he would dignify her.

It was a quick ten minutes from the station to Exchange Walk, between St Peter’s church and Old Market Square. He had to wait while a woman was being served, but it didn’t seem too long on thinking about married life with Mary Ann. The sallow assistant climbed three steps of a wooden ladder and took the white cotton gloves from behind glass. She laid them into paper, and he paid at the till with two one-shilling pieces from his own money, and put the farthing change into his pocket.

On Lister Gate he knelt to retie a bootlace, and standing up saw Leah in his way, too close for his liking. ‘Don’t you know me?’ A basket overarm, her hair was untidy, and she wore rouge. ‘Why haven’t you been to see me?’ she smiled. ‘It’s over a year, and I’ve been hoping all the time that you would.’

He knew her, such a handsome woman it was easy to see why he’d had a fling, but you never answered anyone who accosted you on the street. Yet he wondered why he had meddled with someone who did it on her husband and had the cheek to greet him with people going by.

‘What do you want?’ he had to say.

‘What do I want?’ she cried. ‘How can you ask me what I want?’

He ought to have been pleasant, even promised to see her again, but with Mary Ann’s face before him such a response was less than reasonable. ‘Is your husband still shunting then? I haven’t seen him hurrying to work lately.’

‘What a rotten thing to say,’ she hissed. ‘After what we’ve done together, this is how you treat me.’

‘Get away from me.’

‘Don’t you want to see me anymore?’

He pushed her aside. ‘God will pay you out.’ If only she hadn’t shouted. He wanted to turn back and knock her down, which was what she deserved. A slut with no pride. Tackling him on the street was the last thing she should have done. It was true enough that he’d had his way with her, but so had she with him. It was over a year ago, all fair and square, and now she pestered him, people beginning to stare, though what could you expect from a woman like that?

He wondered what the world was coming to, as the train jangled out of the station, though with Mary Ann back in mind and the vital package in his large hands he became calmer. The Castle glared less severely from its rock now that his errand was done. Then it was gone, leaving Mary Ann’s face so present in the glass that Lenton station was being called.

She looked as fresh and tempting as when he had left an hour ago. If his father ranted at his staying out so long from work he would tell the old so-and-so what to do with himself. He laid the packet on the bar, with the florin given to pay for it in the centre.

‘Are they in there?’

‘They were when I last saw the young woman pack them up. Nobody’s tampered with them since.’

‘What’s that florin for?’

‘Put it back in your pinafore.’

She looked at the Queen’s image in her palm, then held up the gloves so clean and neat and, above all, fashionable. ‘Thank you, Ernest.’