‘Delighted, Miss Catchpole. So, you are a friend of Poppy.’
‘Oh, have bin for donkey’s years,’ Minnie affirmed with a grin. ‘I say, Captain, what’s that you’m a-drinkin’?’
‘Whisky. Do you like whisky, Miss Catchpole?’
‘Hey, I love whisky.’ She sat on the sofa beside the Captain. ‘And call me Min. I ain’t one for all this Miss Catchpole malarkey.’
‘As you wish, Minnie. And you can call me Cecil.’
‘Cecil?’ Minnie’s distaste for his name showed on her face. ‘No, I’d rather call yer Captain, I think. I like the sound o’ that better.’
He grinned. ‘Then Captain it is.’
‘Would you like me to pour you a glass of whisky, Minnie?’ Poppy asked.
‘Yes, if you can spare a drop.’
Poppy handed her a glass.
‘Ta, my wench.’ She took a good slurp.
‘You didn’t come to my party, Minnie. I wondered what had happened to you.’
‘I know. I’ve come to say sorry. I got me a lovely frock an’ all.’
‘So why didn’t you come? You’d have loved it.’
‘Well, to tell you the truth, it was ’cause I wun’t’ve knowed nobody else, only you, Poppy. And I knowed all the chaps would be wanting to dance with yer. I din’t want to be no wallflower.’
‘You’d have been no wallflower, Minnie, I’ll be bound,’ Captain Tyler remarked amiably. ‘We’d have wanted to dance with you as well, us men. No doubt, you would have looked absolutely exquisite in your new dress. You could most certainly have marked your card with my name … several times over … had it pleased you to do so.’
Minnie smiled interestedly at this man who was charming, a quality that had been missing in other men she’d known. And he was so much older than she was. ‘That’s kind of yer to say so, Captain. And I don’t see why I shouldn’t mark me card wi’ your name, neither. I bet you’m a good dancer an’ all, ain’t yer?’
‘Tolerably light on my feet, Minnie. I manage to get around the floor without too much stumbling.’
Minnie laughed. ‘’Cept when you’ve had a few, eh?’ She gave him a friendly nudge.
‘Indeed, Minnie.’ Now Captain Tyler laughed heartily. ‘Except when I’ve had a few, as you suggest.’
‘Poppy, I bought yer a present for your birthday.’ Minnie felt in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a smallish wrapped cube.
‘Thank you, Minnie. What is it?’
‘Open it and see. I thought it’d be useful.’
All eyes were focused on Poppy as she opened the package. At last she removed all the wrapping and held it up to inspect it.
‘An ink stand!’ she exclaimed with joy.
‘Wi’ silver cap and base. Hallmarked, an’ all,’ Minnie added proudly, and took another swig of whisky.
‘Oh, thank you, Min. That’s going to be most useful.’
Min licked her lips. ‘I reckoned as much, what with all the writing you must be doing these days.’
‘A fine gift,’ Aunt Phoebe confirmed, realising it must have been expensive. ‘It’s very good of you, Minnie.’
‘She’s worth it, Aunt Phoebe, my mate Poppy.’
The four continued with enlivening conversation. Captain Tyler was struck by Minnie’s artless chatter and her unpretentious manner. He teased her gently and made her laugh, and she made the others laugh in turn.
After about an hour, he said, ‘What o’clock is it, I wonder? I’ve left my watch at home. I’ve no wish to drink you clean out of whisky, dear Phoebe, nor outstay my welcome.’
‘I got the time,’ Minnie said helpfully, and pulled out an old and dented fob watch from another pocket in her skirt. She scrutinised it closely. ‘It was me father’s, this. Trouble is, it’s generally either ten minutes slow or twenty minutes fast.’
‘And which is it now?’ Aunt Phoebe queried.
‘Lord knows, Aunt Phoebe. I can never be sure.’
Captain Tyler chuckled. ‘There must be something wrong with its workings.’
‘You reckon, Captain? No wonder I’m either a mile too late or two miles too early for everything.’
‘Would you like me to have a look at it?’ he suggested. ‘I have a certain expertise with watches. I could let you have it back in a very serviceable condition in a day or two.’
‘Well, that’s very good of you, Captain, and no two ways,’ Minnie answered, delighted with the offer, for she would get to see him again when he returned it. ‘When it really plays up rotten I get a hairpin and give it a real good stir up inside.’
He roared. ‘Good Lord. I’m surprised it works at all.’
‘No, it don’t seem to do it no harm. The thing generally behaves itself all right for a week or two after that, neither losin’ nor gainin’ more than five minutes either road. But then it falls back to its old ways.’
‘Inevitably,’ Captain Tyler said. ‘Well, Minnie, you’ve stirred me up, I’m quite prepared to admit. If you are also about to leave the kind hospitality of Mrs Newton and Poppy, I would be happy to convey you home.’
‘That’s very decent of yer, Captain. Save me poor little legs it would, and no two ways. Not to mention me shoe leather.’
‘The pleasure is all mine, Minnie.’ He finished his whisky, put his empty glass on the occasional table in front of him and stood up. ‘Phoebe, dear, it’s been grand to see you again. You, too, Poppy … No don’t bother the maid. I can see Minnie and myself out … If you are ready, Minnie?’
‘Yes, I’m all ready, Captain.’
Baylies’s Charity School lay set back from the road in Tower Street, next door to a public house called The Lord Wellington and backing onto the glassworks in Downing Street. At each end of the early Georgian façade was a door, and set into the wall above each was an alcove in which stood a painted statue of a schoolboy wearing the uniform of blue coat and cap. The school was established in 1732 for the purpose of teaching and clothing fifty boys, chosen from some families of the town who could not afford to pay for their sons’ learning. Poppy, accompanied by Aunt Phoebe, was to meet the superintendent, Reverend James Caulfield Browne, the vicar of St Thomas’s.
The school comprised one classroom, which could be divided into two when needed. A blackboard and easel stood in front of a huge fireplace with a brass fender, a wrought-iron fireguard and a voluminous coal scuttle. The windows were vast and let in plenty of light, but you could not see the road outside because they were set so high in the walls. It was Friday, the boys were hard at work, their chalk sticks squeaking across slates as they wrote. Poppy felt self-conscious that their eyes were following her, however, as she glided across the wooden floor of the classroom to the master’s study, keeping close behind Aunt Phoebe. They exchanged pleasantries and Reverend Browne, who was already acquainted with Aunt Phoebe since she was one of his congregation, invited them to sit down.
‘How old are you, Miss Silk?’ Reverend Browne enquired, peering over his spectacles.
‘Seventeen, sir.’
He wrote it down. ‘Mrs Green, one of our benefactors, has recommended you, Miss Silk. She seems to think you could offer a good and reliable standard of help in our school.’
‘I’m