Our Lizzie

by Anna Jacobs

  “I thought you needed extra money for your Eva?”

  “We’re managing, thank you.”

  After that, Percy went less often to the Carter’s Rest. They were a rough crowd down there. And anyway, he was thinking of doing some studying at night classes. Emma (she said it was silly to keep calling her “Miss Emma” when they were both folk who worked for their living) had told him there were some good classes being put on in the coming year. Elementary Bookkeeping, perhaps. He liked figures. Or Principles of Commerce. Not that a chap like him would ever get much chance to use such knowledge, but as Emma said, you could enjoy learning things for their own sake. And it’d cost no more than going to the pub.

  She was learning shorthand now, because she didn’t like the office where she worked, even though she’d learned a lot there. They were real slave drivers, apparently, the Sevleys, and the conditions in the yard outside were appalling, with rats running freely in the back privvy they all had to use. She was looking for another job.

  He both liked and admired their younger lodger. She was lively and pretty, kind to the children, especially Lizzie, who was often in the wars with their mother for something or other, poor lass.

  * * *

  Emma Harper dressed very carefully the next morning and for once could not face eating any of the breakfast which she had brought up to the attic on a tray because Blanche was at that delicate time of the month and wasn’t feeling too well. Emma had asked Lizzie to call in at Sevley’s on her way to Dearden’s and tell them she was sick. She certainly felt sick at the moment, she was so nervous about the coming interview.

  Millie Aspinall had told her about this job a few days ago. The man was a builder and needed more than just clerical help. He wanted someone who could speak nicely to clients when they came to his office. He’d apparently tried having a lad on the front desk and it hadn’t worked. And his last typist had left in tears when he swore at her.

  Well, he’d better not swear at me, Emma decided. I won’t take that sort of language from anyone.

  The builder’s yard was about a mile away. She arrived there early, but decided to go inside anyway. They surely wouldn’t count punctuality a fault!

  When she opened the front door, she found herself in a large, untidy room with no one to be seen. She waited a few moments, then cleared her throat loudly. Still no one appeared. “Is anyone there?” she called as the silence dragged on, her voice a bit wobbly with nervousness.

  Just as she was wondering whether she’d made a mistake about the time, she heard footsteps from the back. The man who appeared looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a ruddy, healthy face and a shock of dark hair in dire need of a trim. He had such a confident air about him that she decided he must be Mr. Cardwell, the owner.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, madam. The lad seems to have left his post. How can I help you?”

  “I—er—I’m not a customer. My name’s Emma Harper and I’ve come about the job. Miss Aspinall recommended me, I believe.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  He looked at her then, really looked, and his frown deepened. Her heart sank because he didn’t seem pleased by what he saw.

  “This isn’t a job for a lady to play at.”

  She gasped in shock. “Play at! I’m not playing at anything, I can assure you, Mr. Cardwell. You are Mr. James Cardwell?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I really need this job.”

  His eyes lingered on her dress. “You don’t exactly look poverty-stricken to me. That’s a rather fine dress for a clerk.” As fine as those his wife wore, though more flattering. You could always tell a quality material. Mind you, anything would be more flattering than what Edith wore. She had a real talent for picking unflattering shades of pink and dresses which made her hips look even bigger than they were.

  Emma had come prepared to be subservient, to do her very best to give satisfaction, but this remark made her angry, as did the way he was staring at her. She might as well stay at Sevley’s as take on another unpleasant employer. “I wouldn’t be in need of a job if my father hadn’t wasted all our money and then died leaving us in debt. And I’m wearing this dress because I can’t afford to buy any new ones. It’s left over from better days, when I did have the right to call myself a lady. Which I don’t now. However, if you have no job going, I’ll take my leave. I certainly can’t afford to waste my time.” She only hoped no one told Mr. Sevley they’d seen her in town today or she’d lose her present job as well.

  As she turned away, Mr. Cardwell moved to bar the way. “I didn’t say there wasn’t a job going, only that you didn’t look suitable.”

  “And if I were wearing ragged clothes, I would be suitable?”

  “Well, at least I’d know I’d get a good day’s work out of you. Hunger makes for good workers.”

  Emma drew herself up and could not stop her voice from sounding bitter. “You’re not even going to give me a chance, are you?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  His eyes were on her again, but not in an offensive way, rather as if he were still assessing her. She held her breath. Please, she thought, please let him give me a chance! He may be blunt, but at least he doesn’t look at me in that horrible, leering way Mr. Sevley does.

  Suddenly he stuck out one hand. “Let’s start again, shall we? How do you do? I’m James Cardwell.”

  She stared at his hand for a moment, then shook it, surprised at how warm and strong it felt.

  “Come in and tell me what you can do, Miss Emma Harper.” He grinned mockingly.

  A spurt of anger made her speak as bluntly as he did. “For a start, I can keep this place clean and tidy for you. I’m amazed you have any customers if this is what greets them when they walk through that door.”

  “You don’t mind getting your hands dirty, then?”

  “I don’t mind any honest work, Mr. Cardwell, if it pays.” She fumbled in her bag to produce the reference from her friend. “If you’d like to see what—”

  “I asked for someone who was good at her work. If Millie Aspinall’s sent you, I’ve no need to read that piece of paper as well.”

  A man clumped in from the back, his muddy boots dirtying the bare boards still further. “I need you outside, James lad. Young Nat’s fell over an’ broke his arm so Tim’s took him to hospital. But we’ve still got that stuff to sort out.”

  “Damnation! How did the young tyke manage that?”

  “Climbing on the pile of green timber.”

  “I’ll tan his bloody hide for him when he gets back, broken arm or not.”

  Emma breathed deeply and concentrated on the wallpaper. It was not for an employee to criticise her employer’s mode of speech, not if she wanted the job.

  Mr. Cardwell let out a long, aggrieved sigh. “Right, then, Walter. I’ll be out in a minute.” He turned to Emma. “I’ll give you a week’s trial. A pound a week. If you’re good enough.” He was already moving towards the back door. “I’ll have to leave you to hold the fort.”

  “But—what do you want me to do?”

  “Do owt you can until I get back.” He turned to give her another of his cheeky grins. “Use your initiative, Miss Harper. Prove you’ve got some. You’ll certainly need it if you’re going to work for me.”

  She stood there in the bare room, feeling stunned and not at all sure now that she wanted this particular job. Mr. Cardwell was—well, unlike anyone she’d ever met before. But if he meant what he said, a pound a week was better than seventeen shillings, the princely amount her wages had risen to at Sevley’s.

  There was a noise from the back yard and she hurried out to see what was happening. She was just in time to see a motor lorry loaded with timber pulling out of some gates at the rear. When it had gone, its chugging fading gradually into the distance, there was no sound and no movement at all.

  “Is anyone there?” she called across the yard.

  There was no answer.

  She shivered in the damp, chill win
d and went back inside, turning in a full circle to study the front room. What a dreadful, untidy place! This was no way to greet customers! Feeling like an intruder, she went exploring the rest of the old house. The door she had already gone through led out to the back yard through a narrow passage and there was another room opening out of it, full of boxes and pieces of wooden moulding and who knew what else. The room Mr. Cardwell had appeared from was his office. It had drawings of houses pinned to the walls, a big sloping desk by the window and mounds of paper all over the other desk and the floor. She tutted under her breath at the mess.

  On the other side, she found another room whose dusty floorboards barely showed beneath boxes of all shapes and sizes. Screws spilled out of one, pieces of sandpaper lay on top of another.

  The final door opened on to a second narrow passageway. Stairs led up on one side and at the rear she found a small kitchen, in a disgusting state, with unwashed cups and saucers piled in the sink and on the table, and in one corner a dirty gas stove with a blackened kettle on it. Among the crockery on the table was a cracked jug containing sour milk. She poured that down the sink at once, hating its smell, filling the jug with water from the tap to soak off the yellowing crust.

  On the other side of the kitchen another door led out into the big back yard and to the left, just outside, there was a small lavatory. Feeling guilty, like an intruder, she used it while the place was quiet, then went back inside.

  When James Cardwell came stamping in two hours later, clearly not in the best of humours, he found the floor swept and Miss Harper sitting behind the table that was supposed to serve as a desk, her neat ankles showing beneath it, her head with its shining, honey-coloured hair bent over a pile of papers which she seemed to be sorting out. The draught of the door opening made some of the top papers shift and she squeaked in dismay as she tried to hold them down.

  He nodded his approval. “Well, I see you’re settling in. Any chance of a cup of tea? There’s a kitchen at the back.” He jerked his head in the appropriate direction.

  “I’ve already explored the ground floor, Mr. Cardwell, and washed up the dirty dishes in the kitchen.” She stood up and used the receipt book and a ruler to hold down the piles of paper. “I’ll bring your tea through to you when it’s ready.”

  “Walter would probably fancy a cup, too.”

  “I’ll take one out to him as well, then.”

  “We both like plenty of sugar. Three good spoonsful. Oh—and don’t forget to make one for yourself.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cardwell.”

  “And after that,” he grinned at her, his eyes full of mockery, “you can finish clearing up this desk.”

  Her eyes met his and she felt exhilaration course through her. “Thank you. I’ll try to satisfy you, Mr. Cardwell. I—I really do need a job. But I’ll have to give a week’s notice at Sevley’s, I’m afraid.”

  His smile faded. “Do you really have to? I need you here.”

  “Yes, I do have to. It’s only fair.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But I can stay and help you today.” A blush stained her cheeks. “I’m afraid I sent word to Mrs. Sevley that I was indisposed.”

  He roared with laughter. “Indisposed! All right, I’ll pay you for today’s work, then you can let me know when you’ll be able to start.” Edith wouldn’t like him hiring a pretty young woman to do the office work, but then, his wife didn’t like anything very much since she’d had their second child, him included. His lips tightened at the thought of her. She’d brought him money, and ownership of this yard, but she hadn’t brought him much joy. And she wasn’t even a good mother, either, preferring to go out and have endless cups of tea and eat cakes with her gossipy friends, leaving the children to the maids. Which was probably why they couldn’t keep their maids for long.

  He banished Edith from his mind, as he usually did at work. He was going to enjoy teasing Miss Emma Harper. So prim and ladylike, though not too ladylike to get her hands dirty. And pretty as well. It’d be a pleasure to have her around.

  * * *

  Lizzie continued to turn to Polly for companionship and the two of them often went for walks together when it was fine, just to get out of the house and away from their mam’s sour comments about anything and everything. Polly never said much, but she was a good listener and Lizzie always had plenty to talk about from what had happened in the shop.

  “I don’t think I’d do very well in a shop,” Polly said thoughtfully one day. “I’m not quick enough at sums.”

  There was no denying that, Lizzie admitted to herself. “What do you want to do, then?”

  Polly stopped walking for a minute to think things over, then decided to confide in Lizzie. “I think I’d like to go into service, actually.”

  “What, do housework all day? I’d go mad.”

  “Women do housework all day when they’re married,” Polly pointed out. “And they don’t get paid for it then. I like doing housework an’ Mam’s told me what it was like in service. I think it’d suit me just fine. She says rich folk can’t always find maids nowadays, because modern girls don’t want that sort of job, so I’d have no trouble getting a place, I reckon. I think I’d like to work in a big house, though, where there were other people to talk to, not get a place as a general. I wouldn’t like to work on my own all the time.”

  “But you’d have to go away from home if you did that. You’d have to go and live in!” Lizzie was horrified at the mere thought of losing her sister’s company.

  “I wouldn’t mind that—except for missing you.” Polly certainly wouldn’t miss her mother shouting at her and slapping her. And she wouldn’t miss Johnny, either. He was a sneaky little devil, Johnny was, and she’d caught him trying to break into her savings box the other day. Now, Miss Harper kept it for her up in the attic room and even Mam didn’t know where it was.

  “Well, I’d mind. I’d miss you a lot.” Lizzie scowled and walked along for a minute or two in silence before cheering up again. “But you’ve got a year or two before you have to think about that, Polly. Eeh, you’re as bad as our Eva, for planning ahead. You’re only just turned twelve now. You might change your mind when you get older.”

  Polly shook her head. “I don’t think I will.”

  * * *

  While Lizzie and Polly were drawing closer, Eva was feeling more and more distanced from her family. She loved school, and being with her friend and mentor, Alice Blake, but she absolutely hated the time she spent at home.

  With her third year at secondary school approaching, Eva had to work out what to do afterwards. What she really wanted was to train as a teacher, but her mother had already started hinting about clerical work.

  “I don’t fancy office work,” Eva said one day.

  “You’ll do as you’re told, young lady!” Meg snapped. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to when uppity young madams,” she scowled sideways at Lizzie, “cheek their mothers and tell them what they want—want, indeed. You should think yourself lucky to have a roof over your head. That secondary school has given you some very airy-fairy ideas. If I had my way, you’d be leaving this year, not next. No! I don’t want to hear any more cheek from you. Just get that table cleared, then do the darning.”

  “But I have some homework to do.”

  “Well, it’ll have to wait, won’t it? Sometimes you must do things for others, instead of expecting them to do things for you all the time. I work my fingers to the bone for you children, I do that. It’s a poor look-out if I can’t have an hour off now and then.” And she slammed the mending basket down in front of Eva and stamped up the stairs to get ready to go out with Fanny Preston. They always sat together in the Hare and Hounds, making disparaging comments about the world and exchanging gossip. Whenever Sam came in, he’d buy them a half of stout each. Otherwise they’d make one or two glasses last all evening.

  “I’ll help you with the mending, Eva,” Polly said, coming in with her hands still damp and redden
ed from the washing-up. “I don’t mind.”

  Lizzie came to sit at the other side of the table. “When’s the homework due?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’d offer to help as well, but Mam would soon notice the difference between my darning and yours.”

  “Go and do your homework,” Polly urged. “I like mending. It makes me feel peaceful.”

  “Thanks,” Eva said gruffly. “You’re all right, you two.”

  “Tell that to Mam,” Lizzie said sourly.

  “There’s no telling anything to her.”

  Chapter Eight

  1911–1912

  Emma Harper found working for James Cardwell disconcerting. It was a while before she thought of a word that satisfied her, but that one did.

  “Ah, you’re here at last!” was the greeting he gave her the first day.

  “What do you mean ‘at last’? It’s not quite nine o’clock.”

  “Well, we start work in the yard at eight o’clock, so I expect you to be here by that time, too.”

  She took off her coat to give herself a moment to think and by the time it was neatly folded over her arm, had decided not to take any bullying from him. “You said nothing about hours, so I assumed it’d be the standard nine o’clock start. Perhaps you’d like to discuss the hours with me now? And am I to work in here?” She gestured around her then looked pointedly at her coat.

  He looked round, really looked. “Mmm. It’s a right old mess, this place. Put that coat back on. We’ll have to go out.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Put—your coat—back on!” He took it off her arm and shook it at her.

  “But where are we going?”

  “To buy some new office furniture.”

  She snatched her coat back from him and put it down on the desk. “Before we go out, shouldn’t we make a list of what we need?”

  He scowled. “Are you looking a gift horse in the mouth, Miss Harper?”

  “I’m suggesting we work out what we need before we buy anything. I shan’t know yet, since I’ve only spent a few hours here. But if you know what furniture and equipment to buy, that’s fine by me.” She picked up a pencil and found a scrap of paper.