Hidden Currents Read online

  ‘For pity’s sake!’ Carrie groaned. ‘If Ma hears such talk, she’ll stop me seeing you.’

  Elsie looked at her with her usual defiance. ‘Well, it’s just as well I ain’t got no Ma to tell me what to do, if it keeps you in chains.’

  ‘I’m not kept in chains! You say the daftest things sometimes, Elsie.’

  ‘You might just as well be, if you can’t even say what you think and do what you like.’

  ‘I took John Travis home, didn’t I? I don’t recall you ever taking a boy home before,’ she hissed, as the pies were passed along.

  Although it was hardly the way it sounded, the words effectively shut Elsie up for a while, and they munched their pies in silence. By now they were all starting to get impatient of waiting for a ceremony that seemed as far away as ever. But eventually, the whispering and rustling among the crowd heralded the fact that it was finally about to begin, and the most important personages appeared on the platform adjacent to the great ship.

  * * *

  ‘Well, I call it a bloody let-down,’ Elsie complained in Carrie’s ear. ‘All that time waiting, and we couldn’t hear a thing because of the cheering and jostling. All we saw was the bottle of champagne crashing against the ship, and then all hell was let loose with the guns and bands and bell-ringing. I swear I’ll be deaf for a month if it goes on much longer.’

  They were pressed tight together amongst the crowd now, having lost sight of the rest of their party as soon as people began to disperse. Sam Stuckey had shouted that he and Ma had hold of Billy, and were taking him back home, and the others could find their own way back when they liked. There was no work for anybody for the rest of that day.

  Carrie’s brothers had shot off in the direction of the platform to try to catch a closer glimpse of Izzy. Carrie had wanted to do the same, but she had reluctantly agreed that it was hopeless, still fuming that neither Wilf nor Frank had thought it important enough to take her along with them.

  But she couldn’t help agreeing with Elsie that the day had been a bit of a let-down. The great ceremony they had all anticipated so much had been no more than opening the dry dock sluices at the moment the champagne had burst against the ship’s bows. It was a fine achievement, of course, and the S.S. Great Britain was now sitting resplendently high in the water after being towed slowly out of the dock and into the floating harbour.

  Now it was virtually all over, and there was nothing else to do but wander about among the crowds, or go back home. There was no sense of order among the crush of people, and the girls were jostled on all sides as they struggled to move out of the Grand Stand and onto the waterfront.

  ‘I wonder what your friend’s doing for the rest of the day,’ Elsie said, scowling as she got a dig in the ribs from a ragged urchin, and promptly kicked him back.

  ‘What friend?’ Carrie said without thinking, and then felt her face flood with colour as she realised who Elsie meant. ‘John Travis is hardly a friend, for pity’s sake. I don’t even know him.’

  ‘You knew him well enough to hand over your Wilf’s clothes,’ Elsie sniggered. ‘I keep trying to imagine his face when he finds out. When are you going to tell him?’

  Carrie frowned uneasily.

  ‘Perhaps never. They were clothes he ain’t worn in ages, so he won’t be missing ’em. And our Billy will be too damn scared of what Pa will do to him for being so daft as to fall in the water to say anything. I wish they’d left him with us, though, so I could have made sure of it.’

  ‘Are you having second thoughts about the kid now?’

  Carrie shrugged. ‘Well, you can never tell with our Billy. He can be a contrary little devil when he likes.’

  Elsie grinned. ‘I shouldn’t worry. Your face was enough to scare the feathers off a duck’s back. He’ll do as you say, school-marm! Anyway, there he is.’

  Carrie felt her heart leap. For a moment, she thought Elsie was still referring to her little brother Billy, and she felt a brief panic. Surely he hadn’t slipped away from her Ma and Pa now? Then, among the flotilla of small boats paying court to the newly named giant ship, she recognised one of the paddle-tugs being expertly steered through the water towards it. The excited passengers sat on the canvas chairs that had obviously been put on board for the temporary conversion to a pleasure-boat. John Travis stood in the bows, as magnificent as any ship’s figurehead as he pointed out the detail on the Great Britain.

  ‘He’s certainly a fine-looking boy,’ Elsie breathed admiringly. The sun had dried his thick hair, and it was ruffled by the river-breeze. Dark and unkempt, it merely added to the dashing figure he made.

  For a moment, Carrie thought about the grey serge shirt that John Travis was wearing now. Her brother Wilf’s shirt, that Carrie had washed and ironed so many times. She thought about it caressing John Travis’s skin and maybe catching on the hairs on John Travis’s chest, the way Wilf used to complain that it did on his. She thought about John Travis’s chest, and how broad and strong it was, and let herself dream about how it would feel to lay her head against it and hear his heartbeats …

  Carrie was aware of her own erratic heartbeats, as John Travis caught sight of the two girls and raised his hand. Before she could even lift her hand to wave back, Elsie was waving furiously with both arms.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, stop making a spectacle of yourself,’ Carrie said crossly, still caught up in the dream, and embarrassed by the wanton foolishness of it. ‘Let’s get away from here and get some fresh air. We’re in danger of being pushed into the harbour ourselves by these crowds, and all these boats are churning up the stinking river mud.’

  Before she got too disdainful of it, remarking that the stink would get into their clothes and their hair if they weren’t careful, she remembered that Elsie wouldn’t be too bothered by the stench of the river, living so close to it.

  ‘Where do you want to go, then? I don’t feel like being indoors today, and me granpa won’t be expecting me back for hours yet,’ Elsie said, just as rattled.

  ‘Let’s go up on the Downs. There might be a fair up there, and if not we can sit on the grass above the cliffs and watch the boats on the river.’

  ‘Or watch the rich folk go by. That’s what you really want to do, isn’t it? Playing your old games in your head that you’re one of ’em, I suppose.’

  Carrie reddened again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a harmless game.’

  ‘It’s not harmless to try to get too much above yourself, Carrie Stuckey. You think yourself better than the rest of us, don’t you?’

  Carrie stopped walking so suddenly that the people behind cannoned into her. As they moved away, she heard them complaining loudly, but she ignored them and glared at Elsie.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Elsie glared back. ‘Just because you wash the clothes of those posh Clifton folk, don’t mean you’re one of ’em, does it? Just because you’ve tried a few fine frocks on, don’t mean you’d ever fit comfortably into ’em, either. You don’t talk like one of ’em, and you ain’t got the white hands of a lady, so don’t go acting like one.’

  ‘I never do! And even if I did, I’d rather put on airs and graces than act like a tart!’

  ‘And I know why you want to go up on the Downs, too. You’re hoping one of they fancy ladies you wash for will recognise you and pass the time of day. Just as if!’

  The two of them were breathing heavily now. But they had both let off enough steam, and their eyes were beginning to sparkle with the exhilaration of one of their regular bouts of hurling insults. They’d hardly noticed the small crowd of urchins that had gathered around them, egging them on to what was obviously better than a bun-fight. One of them leered encouragement at Elsie.

  ‘You give ’er what for, duck. She ain’t worth bothering about, wiv ’er ’igh and mighty airs. Come and have a jar of ale at the Old Tavern wiv us, instead.’

  Elsie rounded on him at once.

  ‘Piss off, dumb-bell. When I w
ant your help, I’ll ask for it. Meanwhile, me and my friend have got better things to do than bandy words with river-scum!’

  She linked arms with Carrie at once, and the two of them fought their way through the cat-calling crowd. By the time they reached Jacob’s Wells Road, they were both laughing. Their arguments were often fast and furious, but they never reached breaking point in their friendship. It would take a major clash between them to do that.

  * * *

  Clifton Downs overlooked the city of Bristol with a benevolent air. The grass was summer-soft now, sweet and green and fragrant. It was a toiling, uphill walk from the teeming city below, but worth it once you got there. The forest of ships’ masts in the docks, and the thriving river-life, appeared no more than a leisurely activity seen from the wide expanses of open grassland, and the spacious mansions of Clifton. But aesthetically, the two entities were worlds apart.

  There were already swarms of people on the Downs. There was no organised fair, but the more enterprising folk had set up stalls for the sale of trinkets and goods, and the street entertainers had found their way up here early, hoping to get a good day’s takings from the richer Clifton folk. And there were the usual orators who could always be relied on to gather crowds around them.

  Carrie and Elsie paused by one of the soap-box orators now. He had the nerve to describe Bristol as a money-grabbing den of thieves and entrepreneurs, while Clifton was filled with elegant gentlefolk who wished to keep their village as far removed from the trade concepts of their neighbours as possible.

  ‘Cheeky bugger,’ Elsie snapped, as the pompous orator urged all Clifton folk to resist any idea of further building infiltrating into their green and pleasant hillside oasis. ‘Me granpa says they’ll never stop folk building houses, and one day the small towns will be all one big one anyway, no matter how these toffs look down on us.’

  ‘Don’t you mind being looked down on?’ Carrie said, almost swayed by the charm of the orator’s accent, and the fine cut of his clothes. She felt Elsie poke her with her elbow.

  ‘Nobody looks down on me, ninny, and I’d cuff the first one who did.’

  ‘They do, though. Look down on us, I mean. We’re all tarred with the same brush, just because we live near the river.’

  Elsie tossed her head. ‘You take too much notice of what people think, Carrie Stuckey. What’s it matter, anyway? You’re as good as you think you are, and I reckon that makes me as good as anybody. You’re getting to be a real snob, you know that?’

  Carrie laughed uneasily. ‘Don’t be daft. People with money and big houses are snobs, not folk like us.’

  Elsie shook her head. ‘Living in a smart house don’t make you a snob. It’s what’s inside you that does that.’

  Carrie tilted her chin, deliberately ignoring the implications in her friend’s remark. But sometimes, she was forced to concede, Elsie had more sense in that air-head of hers than might be credited.

  * * *

  She was still brooding over it when she heard a cultured female voice speak close beside her.

  ‘Why, it’s Carrie, isn’t it?’

  She turned quickly, and blushed scarlet as she saw one of the young ladies whose silk gowns and lace underpinnings she regularly laundered. She had a swift vision of the young lady’s huge stone-built mansion where she collected the soiled clothes, and later delivered them, fresh and clean. They had only ever met at the Barclay mansion, with Carrie in her servile capacity, and Carrie immediately felt all fingers and thumbs at seeing her in a different environment.

  ‘It is, Miss Barclay,’ she stammered.

  ‘And what’s Carrie doing up here today?’ Helen Barclay said in amusement. ‘I thought you’d have been watching the launch of the great ship.’

  ‘Oh I was, miss. But then me and me friend came up here for a breath of fresh air.’

  She bit her lip, hearing her own deferential speech. Even worse, being aware of her own shortcomings in it, with none of the beautiful rounded vowel sounds of the young lady. Helen Barclay was just a little older than herself, but that was the only similarity between them. Helen had the palest gold hair, as soft as silk, and eyes of the roundest china-blue. Behind her stood a gentleman of quality, whom Carrie knew from the Barclay kitchen gossip was an admirer whom the particular and pampered Miss Barclay would soon discard like all the rest.

  ‘Well, it’s good to see you enjoying yourself, Carrie,’ the young lady said. ‘I’ll see you again soon.’

  Elsie breathed out a snort of derision as the couple moved away.

  ‘Well, if that don’t just beat all. You acted like a puppet the minute her ladyship spoke to you. You’ll never be one of ’em, and the sooner you realise it, the better.’

  Carrie spoke angrily. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s a very nice young lady, and at least she was gracious enough to speak to me.’

  ‘Oh yes. ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ ’ Elsie mimicked. ‘What she means is, she’ll be seeing you when she’s got some more dirty clobber for you to wash.’

  ‘Sometimes, Elsie, I wonder why I ever put up with you,’ Carrie said deliberately.

  ‘It’s because you know you’ll get the truth out of me, and I’ll still be your friend. Even if you are a snob,’ she added, ducking the arm-lashing she knew would follow.

  Immediately, Carrie wished she hadn’t done it. It was common to be seen brawling, especially here, when they were as good as mingling with all sorts. Oh yes, she was a bit of a snob, she thought ruefully, but she couldn’t see how a little snobbery could hurt if it meant you wanted to better yourself. And that didn’t hurt either, she thought, with a touch of defiance, no matter what Elsie thought.

  The two of them wandered about the Downs, pausing to listen to the hurdy-gurdy man and watch the antics of his little monkey when the toffs tossed him a copper or two. They watched several mummers performing, and marvelled at an impromptu magic act where the magician apparently swallowed a coin and then drew it from behind a sailor’s ear, amid gasps and applause. After the unusual leisure of whiling away an hour with no work to do, they each bought a rosy red apple glazed with honey-coloured toffee, and lay face-down on the edge of the cliffs to watch the progress of the river craft, hundreds of feet below.

  ‘I wonder where they’re going,’ Carrie said dreamily, as a tall-masted ship moved majestically towards the mouth of the river into the Bristol Channel and the open sea. ‘I wonder if I’ll ever be rich enough to take a sea voyage. Helen Barclay’s parents took her to France on a ship last summer —’

  Elsie’s hoot of laughter stopped her in mid-sentence.

  ‘Your head is completely turned by these Barclays and your stupid Izzy.’

  ‘He’s not stupid. And my head is not turned at all. If you’d ever seen the inside of their house, you wouldn’t be able to resist being envious, either.’

  ‘What’s it like then? I bet you’ve only seen the kitchens, anyway.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. Mind you, I admit it was while the family was away from home,’ she said with a grin. ‘One of the house-maids gave me a look around the drawing-room and Miss Helen’s bedroom.’

  Her voice grew wistful with envy. The Bible said it was wrong to covet what others had, but how could it be wrong to wonder what life might have been like, if you’d been born into different circumstances? But that was definitely wrong, because it meant denying Ma and Pa, and that was something she would never do …

  ‘Go on, then. What was Miss High-and-Mighty’s bedroom like?’ Elsie encouraged, and Carrie knew she’d got her attention at last. She rolled over on her back, remembering.

  ‘It was as big as our entire house. There was a white coverlet on the bed, and a thick flowered carpet on the floor, so your feet didn’t make a sound when you walked. The window looked out over the Downs, and there was a writing table and chair next to it —’

  ‘Well, that wouldn’t be any good to you and me then, would it? Who would we write letters
to, even if we were any good at it? Or were you thinking of writing to John Travis?’

  ‘Why would I write to him?’ she said, cross with Elsie for interrupting her reverie.

  Her ability at writing wasn’t that good, though she constantly strived to make it better. Her schooling had been sparse, but fluent reading and writing was something that separated the gentry from the scruffs. She knew that, even if Elsie didn’t. And she had enough pride to want to do it, however laboriously.

  ‘You don’t need to write letters to him anyway, when you can just as easily talk to him, if you dare.’

  Elsie said it so slyly that Carrie knew he must be within sight. She sat up quickly, wishing the toffee apple hadn’t made her fingers and mouth feel so sticky.

  There, not ten yards away from her, and wearing another change of clothes that were obviously his own, and not Wilf’s working clobber, was John Travis. He looked different, away from the river environment. He looked slicked down and smarter, almost halfway between being a working man and a toff. Carrie reasoned that that’s what he probably would be, if he was part-owner of a family tug-boat.

  And she was suddenly petrified of him. How had she ever had the nerve to invite him to their mean little house on Jacob’s Wells Road and offer him Wilf’s clothes? He’d clearly discarded them fast enough, once the day’s business was over.

  ‘Go on then,’ Elsie urged. ‘Go and talk to him. He’s not with anybody.’

  Her voice trailed away as a small group of young men and girls joined him at that moment. They were all laughing together, and Carrie turned away quickly, not wanting to be seen staring at them.

  ‘I wish you’d mind your own business for once,’ she said savagely to Elsie. ‘What a fool I’d have looked if I’d called out to him just then.’

  ‘Why? You’re as good as any of them. They’re nobodies.’

  ‘They’re friends of his, and I’m not. Just leave it alone, will you? Or I’m going straight back home this minute.’