Margaret returned his smile, realizing, in that second, how glad she was to see him. Even though she hardly knew him, his presence affected her. And any awkwardness there may have been was made easier by Daisy being there. Daisy was the reason for her own presence in his room and this made everything more relaxed.
‘She’s very enthusiastic,’ Margaret said.
‘Can I show Miss Hanson my bowl?’ Daisy said.
‘Paint the flux on the bracelet first.’ Her father came over, still in his own overall. It hung open to reveal his shirt and brown weskit. She could smell the chemical smells of the workshop, the way her uncle smelt.
‘You can show her while it dries. Oh –’ He took hold of the curved piece of wire. Margaret saw his nails, wide and flat, the large hands gently skilful. ‘You need to smooth the ends off first. Did you forget that, Daisy?’
He asked her in mock reproach, his face crinkling humorously. Margaret watched. She could not have said what colour his eyes were – a dark greenish-grey, perhaps – but she liked their quiet warmth and the hint of mischief they held today.
‘No-o-o,’ Daisy said, her own eyes wandering. ‘Can Miss Hanson have a cup of tea?’
Margaret started to protest, but Philip Tallis said, ‘I could certainly do with one.’ He glanced at her. ‘Will you join me?’
Once she had thanked him and he called the request to Mrs Flett, he went to a cupboard and brought out a silver item, obviously unfinished.
‘That’s my bowl,’ Daisy said. She seemed younger this afternoon and eager for attention and praise. ‘It’s not finished yet.’
‘So, Daisy.’ Philip Tallis seemed more at ease talking with his daughter. ‘What do we do first?’
‘We take a disc of . . .’
He held up a finger. ‘Before that.’
‘Oh – make a drawing.’
No wonder she’s so adept at drawing, Margaret thought, listening, fascinated.
‘And then?’
‘Calculate the size of the blank we need – the diameter of the bowl plus the height and then,’ she spoke in a singsong tone with impatient speed, ‘we use dividers and then we cut it out and file the edges, otherwise there’s blood everywhere!’ She giggled. ‘And then we put it on the head and we go bang bang bang!’
She pointed to a stump-like thing on the side of the bench.
‘We shape it on there.’ Margaret almost jumped as she realized Philip Tallis was actually talking to her. ‘And, Daisy, what do we not do?’
‘Go – too – fast!’ Daisy recited, as if she had heard this a thousand times.
Her father cuffed her affectionately about the head and Margaret laughed.
‘No trying to run before you can walk, eh, Daisy?’ he teased.
Daisy made a face. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘That’s just part of it.’ She recited, ‘Metals are malleable, fusible and ductile. They are crystalline in structure and you sometimes have to heat them up which is called annealing, to make them soft again so you can work them properly.’
‘Heavens,’ Margaret said, genuinely impressed. ‘You are already a little expert.’
‘She’s lived and breathed it,’ Philip Tallis said.
Margaret was about to say, I suppose she learned a lot from you and her mother. But she did not say it. She found she did not want to mention the late Mrs Tallis, both for his sake and her own.
Mrs Flett came in then with a tray of tea.
‘Hooray, cake!’ Daisy said. ‘That’s because you’re here, Miss Hanson.’
‘Anyone’d think you never had cake,’ Mrs Flett said drily. Margaret saw that despite her gaunt, almost sour look, she was a good soul.
‘Not usually with jam in,’ Daisy said, eyeing the sponge greedily.
‘Thanks, Mrs Flett,’ Philip Tallis said as the stiff-looking lady left the room. He laid a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘You pour, Daisy,’ he said. And as he did so, Margaret, watching them, found herself moved to tenderness. You need love . . . It was directed at both of them, her heart running startlingly ahead of her more balanced thinking. I could love you . . .
‘Shall I show you the file for smoothing off these ends?’ Philip Tallis was saying to her. ‘Come and sit here.’
She moved towards him, feeling a blush spread up her neck. She forced herself to concentrate on the loop of copper as he handed her a file. Again she saw the wide nails, the index finger of his left hand blue with bruising.
‘Just take the rough edges off. The ends need to fit flat together. Yes . . .’ He stood respectfully a little away from her, but bent to peer closely as she started to move the file around the rough metal end. She was enjoying herself, the feeling of using her hands to make something. She could hear his breathing not far from her ear. ‘That’s good,’ he said after a moment.
She looked round as he straightened up and their eyes met, friendly, smiling. His face seemed to her somehow inevitable, as if she had always known him, or known that she would meet him some day. As if something entirely new was happening to her which felt quite different from Charles, when her life had not felt her own. The letter from Charles was tucked under her mattress. In that moment it all felt distant, as if none of it mattered.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Come and have some tea and then I’ll show you the soldering. After that I’ll have to get back to the workshop.’
Daisy handed them tea and they sat in the chairs by the grate, Daisy perched on the arm of her father’s.
‘Did you grow up in the trade?’ Margaret asked him.
‘To a degree, yes,’ he said. He sat back, relaxed, his knees spread wide. Father would never sit like that, Margaret found herself thinking. William Hanson always sat straight as a ramrod, as if he was in a wooden pew even when he was at home in private. ‘My own father was a clock and watch repairer and I learned a certain amount from him. That’s what really started me off. But my brother took on his business and I was apprenticed as an engraver to start – not in Birmingham though – out in Alcester. I wanted to learn more so I came into Brum and got a silversmith to take me on.’
‘So you’re from the country too!’ she said, pleased.
‘It’s a small town,’ he agreed. ‘The countryside’s never far away – though I’ve been here a good while now.’ He took a sip of tea, the cup looking small and faintly ridiculous between his large hands. He looked up at her and, with some hesitation, said, ‘Will you be going back to it soon?’
Margaret looked down, unable to stop her blushes again. Any mention of her being here brought back all the reasons they had come and those letters . . . ‘I’m not really sure,’ she said. ‘We hope to stay until Christmas time at least.’
‘Oh, you can’t go away!’ Daisy cried. ‘Don’t go – stay here for ever and ever!’
They both laughed, and Philip Tallis, with tact, changed the subject. ‘How’s that lad – the one that turned up the other week?’
‘I haven’t seen him for a few days,’ Margaret said. With a sigh, she added, ‘That poor family. If only the father would come home – even if he’s not well, it’s better for them having him there, I think. He’s taken to the road again, I suppose. The poor man looked so sick and broken down.’
Philip Tallis shook his head gravely. ‘Terrible.’
‘He should come and learn with us,’ Daisy said. ‘The boy, I mean. You could teach him, Pa, and then he could get a better job and they wouldn’t have to worry so much.’
‘He’s only nine, I think,’ Margaret said. ‘Or perhaps ten by now.’
‘Well, I’m only ten as well!’ Daisy said. ‘I was ten on October the tenth,’ she added grandly.
‘I think –’ her father got up, putting down his empty teacup – ‘it’s time we showed Miss Hanson how to solder this wire. And then I must go.’
He lit the gas jet and invited Margaret to seat herself at one of the pegs at the bench. In fact it was a half-bench, with three pegs, the flat side pushed against the wall.
‘Take your time,’ he said.
They had balanced a tiny snip of solder on the gap between the two ends. She held the copper loop with tweezers and he showed her how to heat round the whole circlet of wire before training the flame precisely on the solder.
‘That’s good,’ he said encouragingly. All the time, she could feel him close to her, over her shoulder. The light was fading outside and he stepped away to light the gas lamps.
‘I’d best get back to the workshop before they all knock off,’ he said, but he spoke with an air of reluctance.
‘I like teaching Miss Hanson,’ Daisy said. ‘Can she come again, Pa?’
Philip Tallis smiled. ‘If she can stand being bossed about,’ he said drily, looking back at Margaret from the door.
‘Oh, I think I’ll survive,’ Margaret laughed. ‘I’ve enjoyed it so much – thank you.’
He nodded, then departed. Margaret felt a second’s bereavement as he left the room. The feeling was so strong it frightened her, as if he had been part of the light in the room.
I don’t know myself, she thought, tidying away the tea things. I don’t understand myself. With a sudden pang she thought of Charles Barber, of how she had been drawn so close to him and how she had loved that closeness. Perhaps there’s something wrong with me, needing such things? she worried. The anger she had felt when the letter arrived was dying and now the rift with Charles saddened her. He was sorry, she thought. Perhaps she should be more forgiving.
‘So,’ Daisy was saying, ‘now we have to put it in the pickle and then when you get it out you polish it and you can hammer it . . .’
‘Daisy,’ Margaret said, jolted out of her thoughts. ‘Perhaps I should go home now and help my aunt? Could I do it tomorrow, or another day?’
Daisy smiled in delight. ‘Yes! Yes! Come tomorrow!’
That night, as she left Masters, Hogg & Co., Annie stepped out into the foggy street among a crowd of other workers, all hurrying, talking, coughing, gobbing catarrh into the gutter. With mild surprise she realized she had become quite used to all this. No one was immune to colds and coughs and she was streaming herself, having to blow her nose every few minutes. She was looking forward to being at home in the warm and eating her tea.
As she hurried towards Chain Street, cutting along Regent Street, a small figure passed, hastening ahead of her, a cap pulled low over his face. In a moment he had disappeared and only then did she realize that the boy, who looked much like so many other lads, was Den Poole. Or she was almost sure he was.
‘Den!’ she called after him, but he did not come back.
Annie frowned, hurrying after him. Where can that little scallywag be off to? she thought, managing to get him in view again in the gloom of the street. At first she thought he might be heading towards Chain Street, but he scurried past the turning, hugging close to the buildings. She saw him each time he reached the pool of blurred light round a lamp, then would lose him to the dark between. She was not sure why she felt compelled to follow, except that the boy looked somehow shifty, not answering her call, and he worried her, scampering about the streets like that.
It was not long before she found out where he was going. Further down on the right, Den stopped on one corner, at a public house called the Rose Tavern. She moved as close as she dared, not liking to hover near such a place. What might people take her for, lurking about the street corner outside a drinking den? She crossed the road from where she could just make Den out, in the faint light from the pub’s windows. She pulled her scarf tighter round her neck, coughing. Winter was drawing in and within a moment the damp cold settled clammily about her.
Den stood outside the pub looking back and forth, his feet constantly shifting as if he was ready to run at any second. After a moment, Annie saw a burly man with a hat pulled low over his face move into view. He seized Den roughly by the shoulder and dragged him back into the shadows. Words were exchanged that she could not hear. She narrowed her eyes, sure she could see Den taking something from under his jacket and handing it to the man, who appeared to put something into Den’s upturned palm. Then the man nodded and walked quickly back the way he had come.
‘Oi. Where d’you think you’re off to now?’ Annie caught Den by surprise as he came tearing across the street. She grabbed him by the collar and he squirmed and hit out at her with vicious force.
‘Gerroff me! Let me go!’ He twisted away from her, taking off along the street.
‘Den – it’s me – Miss Hanson.’
He slowed and turned round to look at her. Hurrying towards him she could just make out his hostile features in the gloom.
‘What’s going on, Den?’ Taking his arm she pulled him aside, up close to the wall. ‘Who was that man?’
‘No one.’ He put his head down.
‘Den – tell me the truth.’
But he shook his head mutinously.
Annie thought she had better try a different tack. ‘Fancy something to eat?’
There was a pause before he looked up at her again, slyly.
‘I happen to know that Mrs Watts has a great big steak-and-kidney pie on the go tonight.’
He sat shovelling food into his mouth. The others were all waiting for Uncle Eb to finish out in the workshop, but Aunt Hatt found Den a plateful straight away before retreating into her office. Annie and Margaret sat watching him eat, like a ravenous little wolf.
‘Den,’ Margaret said, ‘would you like some jam suet and custard?’
The boy looked agonized. ‘Can’t,’ he said. ‘I gotta go. Gotta go now.’
Annie and Margaret looked at each other.
‘We just don’t want you to come to any harm.’ Annie let Margaret do the talking. She had a gentler way with her and Annie knew that Den had a special feeling for her sister. ‘Won’t you tell us what you were doing for that gentleman? What was it you gave him?’
Den swallowed and looked resentfully at them both. ‘Gems,’ he said. ‘I can’t stop ’ere – I gotta take the money or the bloke’ll finish me.’
‘What bloke?’ Annie said.
Den shrugged. ‘The bloke. In Tenby Street.’
‘How much did he pay you for delivering them?’ Annie asked, beginning to get the picture. The gems must be stolen, she thought, or at the least irregular in some way. She had no clear idea of how these things worked.
Den lowered his head. ‘Four bob.’
Margaret gasped. It would take Mary Poole hours of her toiling work at home to earn that much.
‘I dunno anything about the bloke or what they’re for,’ Den said quickly. ‘I gotta get the four bob for our mom.’
‘Have you done this for the man before, Den?’ Annie asked.
He shook his head, then, looking down, said, ‘Once.’
It certainly beats selling firewood, Annie thought. She was taken aback at the immorality of her thoughts. The boy was turning into a little criminal! But she wondered if she would do the same in his position.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You’d best go and finish the job. But Den, you’ve got to stop this – you could get into terrible trouble.’
‘I know it’s good money, but you don’t want to end up in gaol, do you?’ Margaret spoke very seriously. ‘Then where would your mother be?’ She looked into his face. ‘Is it any good me coming with you?’
‘No!’ Den said in alarm, shoving his cap back on his head. In a moment he had run out of the house. Annie sank her head into her hands.
‘I hope he’s going to be all right.’
‘He should be,’ Margaret said. ‘So long as he just does what he’s been asked.’
‘He must never, ever do it again,’ Annie said fiercely. She gave Margaret a surprised look.
‘You don’t seem shocked. You would have been – before.’
‘So would you. I am shocked – and it’s got to stop, but . . . Yes, not how I would have been once, it’s true.’
They both smiled, then Annie yawned, stretching her stiff back. ‘Oh – it’s been a long day.’
‘There’s one more thing,’ Margaret said. Annie could see from her expression that she had been saving this up to say all day. A feeling of foreboding grew in her as her sister reached into the waistband of her skirt and drew out a letter.
‘From Father,’ she said. She had decided not to show Annie the one from Charles – not yet, anyway.