‘Keeps it under the bed so I won’t light my pipe with the pages. They flare up a treat!’
Owen unfolded the note and held it high, as if proud of being able to recite in a singsong half-mocking tone: ‘I shall meet you on my walk in the wooded place near Newbridge, across from the tramway. I stroll there on most days, and pray you will do so as well.’
‘What name?’
‘No name. Only MD,’ Owen said. ‘But I’m sure you know who it is.’
Gratified at Minnie’s sense, Ernest thanked him, and held out a hand for the letter, but without meeting Ernest’s eyes, Owen smiled, and slowly tore the paper into pieces. Ernest had intended putting it into the forge in the morning, so the fool had saved him the trouble.
A man in collar and tie huffed and puffed uphill on his penny-farthing, alighting at the top to look at a sheet of paper to find where in the world he was. Ernest passed, and walked as far as the tramway, coal drays rattling in the opposite direction. Work never stopped, but had to for him, wanting to keep his tryst with Minnie.
He followed a hedge as far as the wood rather than going through the village where his conspicuous figure might be remarked on, not wanting to get her talked about. Sheep stared from a field, ran towards the middle chased by crying lambs. Cornflowers thrived on the windless bank, a flash of rosebay by fully-leafed trees bordering the scrag of woodland. The day was hot and dry, but he didn’t suppose the clouds would stay high for long because the wind was changing.
Last year’s twigs cracked under his boots, and he used all-round vision so as not to miss her, though in an area of such sparse trees she’d easily be seen. A rabbit panicked towards a patch of ferns, and when another followed he picked up a stone, but the thing was too fast. To get a rabbit on the hop was difficult without a shotgun, though you couldn’t use one in a wood for fear of hitting a person. If you did you’d be for Dartmoor or the rope. All the same, a rabbit would make a fine stew when caught and skinned.
She walked through a patch of sunlight on green, in the deepest of mourning still. Coal trucks had to pass before he could cross, so many glimpses of her through the gaps she looked a different woman every time. She took a hand from her muff, which he held for a moment, her fingers more those of a working woman. ‘The day’s warm, but the wind’s got a chill in it,’ he said.
‘I hurried. I was so hoping to see you.’
The same for him, though he didn’t say. ‘I’d been wondering how you were getting on.’ She stood a few feet away, but he went forward to kiss a face no longer pale. She had been eating well, at any rate. ‘They’re looking after you, I see.’
‘I’m very happy there.’
Memories of the train journey reminded him that he was only here for one thing. He gripped her hand, drew her towards denser vegetation. ‘We’ll walk over there for a bit.’
Her eyes half-closed, tears about to run. ‘Ernest, I must tell you. I’m with child.’
‘Are you, then?’ His exclamation indicated that the matter need have little to do with him. ‘You mean it’s mine?’
Her look of entreaty was mixed with some pleasure. ‘We fornicated on the train.’
Such a plain statement brought a flush of wanting that day over again. ‘Does the parson know?’
‘I told my sister, and she informed him.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me it was God’s final blessing on me and my husband. He was very happy. We sat around the table and read the Bible so that he could give thanks to the Lord.’
A few moments went by. ‘I suppose it could be your husband’s. It’s as well the parson thinks so.’
Pale eyes fixed him while she crushed an elderberry leaf. ‘It can only be from you.’
He hadn’t thought to send a child into the world just yet, though it was no shock to know that he could do so. It wasn’t a feat for any man, though the story was a good one to tell George, except that it would stay a secret forever. Her eyes and lips formed such a smile that he yearned to get her into bed, and have the delight of ploughing babies into her for the rest of his days. All cares swept away, she would have it in her to give both a lifetime of spending. ‘When it comes we’ll have to talk about what to call him.’
‘What if it’s a girl?’
‘It will be a boy. It’s got to be. Now come with me.’
‘I can’t delay. They’re expecting me for tea.’
‘They’ll keep it on the hob for you.’ He stepped back and took hold of her. ‘I love you. You know that, don’t you?’
She put her arms around his neck with a sweeter passion than he could recall from any woman. ‘We ought to marry, Ernest.’
‘A woman waits for a man to propose. Only I can’t. I’m promised.’ He might or might not be, though going by the glances he had got from Mary Ann he could claim to be. Lying was against his pride, but he wondered whether he would get the warmth from Mary Ann as now came from Minnie Dyslin.
‘If you’re promised, there’s nothing I can say.’
‘It can’t be that bad,’ he said at her tears. ‘What would your parson think of you marrying a blacksmith? I’m a journeyman still, and go everywhere to find work. I never know where I’ll be from one year’s end to the next.’ The space in her would have to be filled by the child.
She pulled him close. ‘See me as often as you can while you’re here. That’s all I ask.’
‘I’ll do that.’ It wouldn’t put him out. ‘You’re the finest woman I’ve known. There’s never been anyone I wanted more.’
She followed his long back into the bracken, noting where he trod. He turned: ‘Come on, Minnie. And don’t lose your muff.’
He sometimes wondered when he would go back to Nottingham, though homesickness was no part of him. Sooner or later he would go because that was what you did after a stint in a strange place. You did what mattered, not what you thought. He would be sorry to leave a girl in Tredegar Town, as well as Minnie, whose child he’d see into the world and get a look at, feeling such curiosity about the matter it was necessary to fix on his work with more than ordinary attention: hammer and tongs weren’t playmates, nor the anvil a silent partner. A blow at the glowing iron with the wrong weight behind might cause a spark and blind you. They mostly went wide, and looked pretty enough in their angles, but the odd little murderous fly, all metal and fire, could stop your sight forever before you even saw it, the one-eyed blacksmith not such a rare bird in the trade.
It didn’t do to think and work at the same time, no matter what pleasant features flashed to mind, best to save it for when the beer was going down your throat, or on your way to Pontllanfraith in the evening.
‘You’ve got something on your mind,’ George said while they were eating their bread and polony in the forge.
Ernest wouldn’t sit outside for his dinner, not wanting strangers to gawp while he ate. Anyway, it was raining. ‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Your head’s full of it. Not that you’ll say much.’
Ernest grunted in the way of their father. ‘Not more than usual I wouldn’t.’ When the boy came back with their beer jug from the Mason’s Arms he fixed him with a gaze. ‘You’ve had a swallow or two out of this.’
The boy was shoeless, stunted and half-starved, barely worth the half-crown a week George paid him for fetching and carrying. He reared at the accusation, an arm over his face to hold off blows, not so rare when he irritated George, who only took him on to have a body for knocking around. ‘I didn’t,’ he cried. ‘I would never do such a thing, Mr Burton.’
He’d be daft if he didn’t. Ernest had always taken a good sup as a child when sent to get ale. He passed the boy a large part of his sandwich, saw it find a good home in his mouth, then drank his share of the pot.