as a plank an 'as no trouble gettin' or keepin' a job when she's not 'alf the worker you are. Willin', aye, but she's not got your . . . your way o' doin' things. All of a muddle she be wi'out me ter tell 'er what ter do, but you . .
“ Then why, Mrs Pearsall, why?" Annie's voice was rich with passion at the injustice of it but deep down where her female instincts matched those of Polly Pearsall, there was a growing understanding.
“ I think yer know why, duck." Polly's voice was sad and beneath her steady gaze Annie's face became flooded with colour. She hung her head and tears brimmed to her eyes.
“ It wasn't me, Mrs Pearsall. It wasn't my fault. D'you think I want an old man like . . ." like that fat pig who is your husband, the unfinished sentence said, but Polly finished it for her.
“ Like my Seth, is that what you were goin' ter say? Well, 'e's not much ter look at, I'll give yer that, but 'e's a good man really an' . . . 'e's mine, Annie. I'm fond of 'im, see, an' 'e is of me .. ."
“ Then why doesn't he leave me alone?" Annie's head lifted defiantly and her eyes flashed in golden brilliance. Damnation, but this lass has got troubles ahead of her, Polly had time to think. Wherever she goes it will be the same. Men after her like dogs chasing a bitch on heat and though she doesn't ask for it, not in so many words, the very way she walks, swinging her hips and twitching that little bum of hers, lifting them fine breasts, turning her head to smile, it drives them on until all they can think of is getting their hands on it all. Since the child her figure had ripened. Motherhood – and the good food she ate –had put flesh on her, a rich, creamy flesh and all in the right places, curving her breast and hip but the hard work she did kept her waist small and neat. Her hair grew and flourished, burnished with good health to the deepest copper, unconfined in its glory even when she plaited it where it fell in a swinging rope to her buttocks. She was happy, poor little bugger, and it showed in the vivid and startling loveliness of her eager smile and they were all mesmerised by it. Like my Seth, the old sod .
For a moment her female pride and jealousy for someone younger and prettier than herself took a hold of her and she wanted to smack the silly little cow in the face and tell her to 'hop it' and ply her wares elsewhere but her own sense of fairness returned.
“ 'E's only a man, Annie, like them all. 'E's right fond o' me an' we rub along right well. So you see, duck, you'll 'ave ter go. An' I'd be obliged if yer'd pack yer things an' leave right now. I don't want yer sayin' owt ter Seth or Hesper. They're both busy so it'd be best. I'll tell 'em you just upped an' took off. Try over Gretton way. There's a lot of inns on that road. 'Tis a busy one an' 'appen you'll get summat. Eeh, Annie, I'm right sorry this 'appened, me duck. I've got proper attached to that babby . . . an' ter you. ”
She had gone within the hour, speaking to no one, stunned and speechless, her few belongings – Lizzie Abbott's wedding-dress which she kept scrupulously mended and cleaned, and the baby's change of clothing –in a wicker basket Polly gave her. There was food, enough for a couple of days and the few shillings she had earned. It would keep her going until she reached Gretton. Catriona was carried on her hip, held with a length of clean grey cloth tied over Annie's shoulder. She clung there like a small animal, her thumb in her mouth, her enormous golden brown eyes gazing solemnly at Polly who was as close to tears as she had been in years .
It was the same wherever she went and she was never, in all her travels, to find a place so good nor a woman so kind as Polly Pearsall.
“ That babby just won't do, me duck. It'll be a nuisance what with the stink of it ... “
The stink of it, her sweet smelling, dewy fresh little daughter who was bathed every day and changed the very moment she soiled her napkin.
“ . . . an'
“ Then why, Mrs Pearsall, why?" Annie's voice was rich with passion at the injustice of it but deep down where her female instincts matched those of Polly Pearsall, there was a growing understanding.
“ I think yer know why, duck." Polly's voice was sad and beneath her steady gaze Annie's face became flooded with colour. She hung her head and tears brimmed to her eyes.
“ It wasn't me, Mrs Pearsall. It wasn't my fault. D'you think I want an old man like . . ." like that fat pig who is your husband, the unfinished sentence said, but Polly finished it for her.
“ Like my Seth, is that what you were goin' ter say? Well, 'e's not much ter look at, I'll give yer that, but 'e's a good man really an' . . . 'e's mine, Annie. I'm fond of 'im, see, an' 'e is of me .. ."
“ Then why doesn't he leave me alone?" Annie's head lifted defiantly and her eyes flashed in golden brilliance. Damnation, but this lass has got troubles ahead of her, Polly had time to think. Wherever she goes it will be the same. Men after her like dogs chasing a bitch on heat and though she doesn't ask for it, not in so many words, the very way she walks, swinging her hips and twitching that little bum of hers, lifting them fine breasts, turning her head to smile, it drives them on until all they can think of is getting their hands on it all. Since the child her figure had ripened. Motherhood – and the good food she ate –had put flesh on her, a rich, creamy flesh and all in the right places, curving her breast and hip but the hard work she did kept her waist small and neat. Her hair grew and flourished, burnished with good health to the deepest copper, unconfined in its glory even when she plaited it where it fell in a swinging rope to her buttocks. She was happy, poor little bugger, and it showed in the vivid and startling loveliness of her eager smile and they were all mesmerised by it. Like my Seth, the old sod .
For a moment her female pride and jealousy for someone younger and prettier than herself took a hold of her and she wanted to smack the silly little cow in the face and tell her to 'hop it' and ply her wares elsewhere but her own sense of fairness returned.
“ 'E's only a man, Annie, like them all. 'E's right fond o' me an' we rub along right well. So you see, duck, you'll 'ave ter go. An' I'd be obliged if yer'd pack yer things an' leave right now. I don't want yer sayin' owt ter Seth or Hesper. They're both busy so it'd be best. I'll tell 'em you just upped an' took off. Try over Gretton way. There's a lot of inns on that road. 'Tis a busy one an' 'appen you'll get summat. Eeh, Annie, I'm right sorry this 'appened, me duck. I've got proper attached to that babby . . . an' ter you. ”
She had gone within the hour, speaking to no one, stunned and speechless, her few belongings – Lizzie Abbott's wedding-dress which she kept scrupulously mended and cleaned, and the baby's change of clothing –in a wicker basket Polly gave her. There was food, enough for a couple of days and the few shillings she had earned. It would keep her going until she reached Gretton. Catriona was carried on her hip, held with a length of clean grey cloth tied over Annie's shoulder. She clung there like a small animal, her thumb in her mouth, her enormous golden brown eyes gazing solemnly at Polly who was as close to tears as she had been in years .
It was the same wherever she went and she was never, in all her travels, to find a place so good nor a woman so kind as Polly Pearsall.
“ That babby just won't do, me duck. It'll be a nuisance what with the stink of it ... “
The stink of it, her sweet smelling, dewy fresh little daughter who was bathed every day and changed the very moment she soiled her napkin.
“ . . . an'
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