Hidden Currents Page 5

  ‘So what do you see for me?’ Elsie was less brash now, and Carrie could see the small film of perspiration on her forehead. The woman gave a reassuring cackle.

  ‘Nothing too serious, my pretty. Your fortunes may change within the year, but tell the truth and keep a calm head on your shoulders, and you’ll weather through.’

  She gathered up the cards and shuffled them several times, then handed them to Carrie.

  ‘Shuffle the cards well and do as your friend did.’

  Carrie knew by now that she’d far rather not do it at all, but unless she wanted to make Elsie furious, she could hardly back down. Besides, there had been nothing very terrible in what Madame Zara had said, and the advice had been so general as to apply to anyone.

  She shuffled the cards and separated them into the three piles. Madame Zara turned over the first. It was a diamond card.

  ‘The mystic seven,’ she commented, with a small nod. ‘It comes as no surprise to me. You have the look of luck about you, dearie. Whatever surprises appear in the future, you must welcome them.’

  She motioned Carrie to turn over the second card. It was the six of hearts.

  ‘The combination of two close-numbered red cards is a lucky omen,’ Madame Zara said. ‘But there’s a small warning in the six of hearts. Don’t take everyone on trust. There could be mischief-making in a friend, so keep your wits about you.’

  Carrie could hear Elsie’s impatient breathing at that, and she quickly turned over her last card to reveal the knave of hearts. Madame Zara sat back with a satisfied smirk on her coarse features.

  ‘So, I’m proved right about you, my pretty. Three red cards ending with the knave prophesies good fortune and a true lover. If you haven’t already met him, then you’re going to meet him very soon. You’re one of fortune’s favoured ones.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Carrie muttered, feeling stupid and uncomfortable by the way the old woman seemed to be fawning over her, and very conscious of Elsie’s fury beside her.

  ‘Can we go now?’ Elsie said. ‘Or are there any more little warnings you want to give us?’

  ‘Nobody’s keeping you here,’ Madame Zara said. ‘Just remember my words.’

  They stumbled out of the makeshift tent, blinking as the sunlight hit their eyes.

  ‘What bilge,’ Elsie said angrily. ‘I don’t believe a word of it!’

  ‘Well, you’re a fine one. It was your idea to go in there, and now you’re mocking everything she told you.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was going to believe it, did I? I thought it would be a lark, that’s all.’

  Carrie glared at her. ‘Why are you so upset if you don’t believe any of it? Did it really worry you to see the ace of spades?’

  ‘Maybe it did. Granpa always said it was the death card, that’s all.’

  Carrie just managed to stop herself saying that the most likely death to occur within the year was going to be Granpa Miller’s, anyway. It was the logical and natural way of things, but Elsie was in no mood to listen to logic right now.

  ‘Anyway,’ Carrie said resolutely, as they strolled on aimlessly around the Downs, ‘I don’t think I believe it either. It’s all a game, isn’t it? She could say anything to suit the way she felt about her clients, and you managed to annoy her from the start.’

  ‘And it was just as obvious she thought the sun shone out of your backside!’ Elsie stopped walking, so that Carrie was obliged to stop as well. ‘I suppose you think I’m going to be your mischief-making friend!’

  ‘We both know you’re not, so don’t get in such a fret about it,’ Carrie said, linking her arm in her friend’s. She suddenly heard Elsie give a mollified laugh.

  ‘Maybe she was right about the knave of hearts showing up your true lover, though.’

  ‘What are you talking about now? Sometimes you do talk in riddles, Elsie.’

  ‘I do not. The knave’s another name for the jack, isn’t it? And everybody knows that Jack’s another name for John. John Travis, see?’

  Carrie felt the hot colour flood her face, and she unhitched herself from Elsie’s arm.

  ‘Madame Zara was right about your devious mind too,’ she said. ‘You’re as daft as they come, Elsie Miller, and I’ve had enough of your nonsense. My feet hurt and I’m going home.’

  She marched away across the springy grass with as much dignity as she could. She didn’t care if Elsie followed her or not. The visit to the fortune-teller hadn’t been her idea, and she hadn’t wanted to go into the dingy little tent. But now that she had, the words of the old crone were filling her head and dazzling her mind, and if she wasn’t careful she could almost believe she had a special angel bestowing that golden aura of good fortune around her.

  ‘Hey, mind where you’re going, can’t you!’

  A raucous voice bawled at her as she tripped over the feet of some rough-looking youths sprawled out on the grass, and she muttered a swift apology. As she moved on down the hill, she heard them cat-calling after her.

  ‘No need to apologise, pretty maid. What’s your hurry? Come back and take a jar of ale with we.’

  ‘How about a quick tumble in the bushes, girl?’

  ‘Never you mind what this ’un says, lovely. I’ll show ’ee such a good time, you’ll be paying I for it —’

  She didn’t look back as the voices faded behind her. But the golden aura had vanished. Those louts would never have yelled so bawdily after Miss Helen Barclay or any of the elegant young Clifton ladies. Their rowdiness reminded her of who she was., and all she wanted to do now was to get home and be inside the comfort and safety of her own front door.

  After the excitement of the day, and meeting John Travis, and the brief euphoria of the gypsy’s words, she felt humiliated and depressed. She smarted over the argument with Elsie, despite the fact that it was no worse than usual. But somehow it was made worse because she knew they’d both be remembering the various things Madama Zara had told them. And somehow it divided them.

  She knew it was foolish to take such heed of it all, but it was like her Ma always said. Words once said could never be unsaid, and the uneasy messages from the unknown stuck in her memory like little barbs.

  * * *

  ‘Ma’s gone to sit with old Mrs Dewhurst up the road. She said you’re to give me a bath,’ Billy greeted her belligerently. ‘She says I smell like the river.’

  ‘You didn’t tell her what happened, did you?’ Carrie snapped, everything else forgotten at once. ‘You know what I told you.’

  ‘I never told nobody,’ he howled. ‘Why are you so cross-faced?’

  Immediately, she was full of compunction. It wasn’t his fault that she was out of sorts with Elsie and the whole world right now. It wasn’t his fault that she’d met a handsome young man that day, and she was unaccountably depressed at knowing she might never see him again. It wasn’t Billy’s fault that she’d listened to a fortune-telling gypsy, and wanted so much to believe that she had already met her true and future lover.

  Her brother stood in the middle of the room, as snappy as an aggressive mongrel, and she stooped and gathered him up in a hug. She caught the strong whiff of the river in his hair. She had scrubbed him well enough earlier, but there had been no time to wash the river out of his hair, only to rub it dry.

  ‘All right then. We’d better get you bathed before Ma comes back,’ she said, as he squirmed away from her. ‘Where’s Pa and the boys?’

  ‘Pa’s gone drinking, and Ma says he’d better not come back roaring out of his skull,’ Billy recited, ‘and I ain’t seen Wilf nor Frank since they left the wharf. I daresay they’ve gone a’whoring.’

  Carrie felt her mouth drop open at the careless words, and she gave him a little shake.

  ‘Where did you hear such talk? You’re not to repeat such words, do you hear? If you say ’em again, I’ll scrub your mouth out with soap.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I say ’em? Our Frank does. What’s it mean, anyway?’ He was full of resentment, but his las
t words slowed Carrie’s anger down.

  ‘It’s something bad, and if you don’t know what it means, it’s because you’re not old enough to know. Just don’t say it again, do you hear?’

  He glowered at her sullenly, not answering at once, as he tried to digest all that she’d said. He spoke up after a minute or so. ‘Well, do you think that river man’s doing what I ain’t got to say as well?’

  She went blank for a minute, and then realised Billy was referring to his hero, John Travis. She turned away, aware that her heart was beating fast. The last thing she wanted to imagine was John Travis visiting one of the waterfront inns where it was well known that a man could pick up a girl for a ten-minute fumble for the price of a meat pie.

  ‘Mr Travis did a good thing in saving you, so I don’t think he’d do anything bad,’ she said, knowing very well that the one thing didn’t exclude the other, but trusting in Billy’s simple reasoning to believe it.

  Quickly, she told him to get undressed, while she ran upstairs to change out of her finery into her working dress and sacking apron. Then she went into the back yard to haul in the smaller wash tub that Billy could fit into well enough by buckling up his knees. There was water heating in the copper in the scullery, and two buckets of hot and two of cold filled the tub adequately.

  Billy stepped into it, and sat down cautiously with his usual grumbles. Carrie ignored them and began soaping him all over, instructing him to lean his head back while she paid particular attention to rubbing the lather into his hair to rid it of the river smell.

  ‘What does it mean, though, our Carrie?’ he said suddenly, between yells of protest that the soap was going in his eyes.

  ‘What does what mean?’ she said, concentrating on his ears now, in which Ma always said they could grow potatoes.

  ‘Going a’whoring. I ain’t really saying it,’ he added hastily. ‘I’m only asking what it means, so I don’t say it when I shouldn’t.’

  She avoided giving him a swipe with a soapy hand, knowing the question had been innocently asked. But it was difficult to explain, especially when it was something she and Elsie had only ever surmised about when they saw one of the painted women mincing along the street in her furs and feathers.

  ‘It’s when a man takes a fancy to a lady and just stays with her for an hour or so, instead of marrying her and living with her all the time,’ she said at last, hoping this would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

  ‘And is that bad?’

  Carrie resorted to safety. ‘If the Bible says it’s bad, it must be —’

  ‘But what if our Wilf and Frank go doing it? They ain’t bad, are they?’

  Carrie scrubbed his back vigorously, making him holler out. It wasn’t her job to tell him such things, and nor did she know whether or not her older brothers had ever paid street women for their favours. It wasn’t something they’d be likely to tell her, or anybody else.

  ‘I don’t think for one minute that Wilf and Frank do any such thing. They may just have mentioned the word for some reason, but I’m sure that one day they’ll find nice girls and marry them, and be as happy and Ma and Pa.’

  ‘Our Frank fancies Elsie Miller,’ Billy said. ‘He told me so.’

  ‘Well, that’s just too bad, because Elsie fancies our Wilf,’ Carrie said smartly, and immediately wished she hadn’t as his mouth opened to ask more questions. ‘Now, just shut up about it and stand up and let me get you dry before Ma gets back. You’re clean enough to whistle through.’

  He stepped out onto one of the rag rugs that she and Ma had made from scraps of material from the big Clifton houses, and Carrie wrapped the towel around him.

  She felt a surge of guilt about Elsie. Elsie was her friend, and she was loyal to her friend, but the truth of it was, that she wouldn’t want Elsie marrying either of her brothers. Elsie was too flighty, and she’d flirted with too many boys already to stay faithful to any of them. Once she’d made a conquest, she strayed to somebody else. It was probably why she found Wilf so attractive, because he’d made it so plain that he wasn’t interested.

  With a foresight as good as anything Madame Zara could offer, Carrie had long seen trouble ahead for Elsie. Most of the married men around here were lusty and possessive, and viciously intolerant of flighty wives.

  ‘You’re done,’ Carrie said, giving Billy’s backside a final slap with the towel. ‘Get your clothes on again while I bale out your bath water, then you can help me peel the potatoes and carrots for supper, to save Ma a job.’

  ‘Have I got to?’ he grumbled.

  ‘Yes, you have. If Ma’s good enough to go and sit with Mrs Dewhurst, then you can help me to save her a job when she gets home.’

  ‘Ma said Mrs Dewhurst’s going to die soon, and probably won’t last out the week,’ Billy said, word for word as usual. ‘Is Elsie’s granpa going to die soon?’

  ‘I don’t know. Only God knows that,’ Carrie said evenly. For a fleeting moment, the words ‘within the year’ came into her mind. Madame’s Zara’s words … but she hadn’t specifically referred to a death, despite the ace of spades, and such predictions were vague and general … she’d only implied that Elsie’s fortunes were going to change within the year, and that could apply to anybody.

  She turned with some relief as Frank came into the house. Her thoughts were becoming altogether too serious and self-questioning for her peace of mind.

  ‘Good. Now you can help me bale out,’ she told him. ‘Where’s our Wilf?’

  ‘He went to see somebody. He’ll be back for supper.’

  He sounded evasive enough to arouse Carrie’s curiosity at once.

  ‘Who’s he gone to see? Somebody about a job, do you mean? Pa will be thankful about that.’

  ‘It’s not somebody about a job. It’s just a person he had to see.’

  The conversation with Billy was still uppermost in Carrie’s mind. A person Wilf had to see could mean anything. It could mean one of the fellows he’d been working with lately; a tavern acquaintance; a female of the lowest variety, who’d find Wilf Stuckey’s tall, handsome appearance far more alluring than some of the sweaty sailors who frequented the waterfront inns … dear Lord, Carrie thought in alarm, wondering where her thoughts were leading her to today.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ Frank began to laugh. ‘He hasn’t gone to the devil, just because he didn’t come home with me, Carrie. We don’t have to stick to one another like glue, just because we’re brothers.’

  She gave an embarrassed smile, thankful Frank hadn’t been able to follow her thoughts. She hesitated, then said what was uppermost in her mind.

  ‘Does our Wilf have a lady-friend, Frank?’

  She expected him to pooh-pooh the idea at once. Neither of her brothers had shown more than a passing interest in girls. Pa had always been strict about such things, and in any case, the three men of the house shared such a keenness for their work, inside and outside the home, that it had always seemed enough to occupy their time.

  ‘It shouldn’t come as a surprise if he does,’ Frank answered. ‘You wouldn’t expect Wilf, or me, to stay unwed for ever, would you?’

  It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but before she could sort out the questions brimming in her mind at his reply, Ma came bustling indoors with an empty basket, and Carrie guessed it had gone out full for the ailing Mrs Dewhurst along the road. The Stuckeys might not have much, but there were always folk who had less.

  She persuaded Ma to sit down for five minutes while she turned to the black kettle singing away on the hob. She made them both some tea before Ma returned to Mrs Dewhurst’s bedside, and tried not to listen too closely to the finer details of the unfortunate woman’s medical condition. But it momentarily allayed her curiosity about her brother Wilf.

  * * *

  Wilf Stuckey was unused to ordering afternoon refreshments in Park Street tea-houses, but nor was he used to asking out the daughter of his boss, and having her accept his invitation.

  The fact t
hat both had happened that very afternoon was in danger of making him tongue-tied. It was only the fact that the beautiful Miss Nora Woolley was going to think him a bloody buffoon if he didn’t speak up to the waitress hovering alongside them with her pencil poised over her note-pad, that gave him courage.

  ‘Tea and cakes for two, please, miss,’ he said, as if he was in the habit of doing this kind of thing every day.

  He looked across the window-seat table of the tea-room at the hazel-eyed girl seated opposite him. ‘I trust that will be all right for you, Miss Woolley?’

  ‘Oh yes. That will be lovely,’ she said.

  The waitress in her black dress and starched white apron and cap, gave a little bob and went away. There was a small silence between the two at the table, which Wilf tried frantically to break. He was thankful there was a buzz of conversation all around them.

  He cursed the fact that ever since he was a small boy, his Pa had made such a point of sternly instructing his two elder sons never to bring home disgrace to the family, that he had never really managed to cultivate any easy talk with the opposite sex. It gave him an air of aloofness that seemed to attract them, all the same.

  All through the launch of the Great Britain, Wilf had been aware of Miss Nora Woolley’s lemon yellow bonnet bobbing up and down some three rows of seats in front of him on the Grand Stand. And when gaffer Woolley had caught hold of his arm, and asked him to escort his daughter home, since he was going to be busy for the next couple of hours, Wilf had finally overcome his natural reserve and suggested they make a small detour for some refreshment.

  He’d caught Frank’s approving wink, and was glad his brother had made himself scarce at that moment. He’d probably be even more tongue-tied if Frank had come along with them, since Frank was a mite less repressed than himself when it came to women.

  ‘Did you enjoy watching the waterfront festivities today, Miss Woolley?’ he said finally, knowing he was on safe territory there.

  ‘I did indeed — but please won’t you call me Nora? And I know your name is Wilf, because I’ve heard my father call you by name so many times. He always speaks well of you and your family, you know.’