Our Lizzie

by Anna Jacobs

  “Oh, I don’t want to get married for years yet.”

  “How’s your Polly going on?”

  “She loves it at the Pilbys’.”

  “You must miss her?”

  “Yes. A lot.” It was far worse at home now, without Polly. Lizzie absolutely dreaded going back there each night.

  She was wondering whether to go and do some night classes like Percy, who was training to be a bookkeeper now, only she finished work later than he did and didn’t think she’d be able to get there in time. And besides she still got a bit tired by the end of the day. But on the nights when he was out, it was very hard going in the house in Bobbin Lane. Lizzie wasn’t sure she could stand it for much longer.

  * * *

  The sudden noise of raised voices drifted upstairs to the attic again. Emma exchanged long-suffering glances with her sister. “I’m not putting up with this much longer, love.”

  Blanche sighed. “No. It’s been very difficult lately. And this week, Mrs. Kershaw has been particularly sharp with poor Lizzie.”

  “More than sharp—vicious.” Emma hesitated, then said, “So perhaps it’s time for us to look for a house of our own to rent, eh?”

  Blanche looked round the room she felt so safe in, heard the sound of shouting again and accepted the inevitable. “Yes. Perhaps it is.”

  Emma sagged against the back of her chair in sheer relief. She had not expected to get her way so easily. “Do you want to make a start looking during the day?”

  “Not on my own. I think we should look together. I—I don’t feel very competent to interview landlords, actually.”

  “I think it’s they who interview you.” Emma stared at the sunset reflected in the big windows. The smoky atmosphere of the little town reflected the light back in a haze of bright colour, which had its own particular beauty. “I’m going to miss that view, though.”

  “Yes, so am I. And I’m not very sure about the cooking and cleaning. I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”

  “We’ll manage somehow. And we’ll get someone in for the rough work. I won’t have the time and you’re not strong enough. We can afford it now.” After a moment, Emma added thoughtfully, “I’ll go and see Mr. Cuttler first, I think. He may have a place that’s suitable.”

  Blanche’s thin face brightened. “Yes. That’s a good idea. And—do you think we should say anything to Mrs. Kershaw? About our intentions, you know. So that it doesn’t come as too great a shock to her?”

  “Certainly not, or she won’t hesitate to make our lives as miserable as she does her daughter’s—which means your life, my dear, as you’re the one who spends so much time at home. We only have to give her a week’s notice and that’s all she deserves.” Another thoughtful silence, then Emma added, “Or I might ask Sam what to do. He always seems to know.”

  Blanche’s face cleared. “Yes. Oh, yes. Do ask his advice. He might even go and see Mr. Cuttler for us.”

  Emma bit back a sharp comment. She was not afraid of Mr. Cuttler, but poor Blanche was nervous about everything.

  * * *

  Sam, invited up to take tea with Miss Harper and Miss Emma, knocked on the front door of number thirty and, when no one came, banged again and walked in.

  Lizzie came out of the kitchen, looking as if she had been crying, and he felt anger rise in him again. No need to ask who’d upset her. “I’ve come to see your lodgers. Been invited to take tea with them.”

  Mrs. Kershaw stuck her head out of the kitchen, “Oh, it’s you.” She didn’t go back inside, just kept watching them, as if she didn’t trust him to behave.

  “Aye, missus, it’s me.” He gave her a curt nod, for he no longer made any attempt to jolly her along, not with the way she was treating his lass. “Not got anything to do?” he asked pointedly.

  Meg disappeared back into the kitchen, but he noticed she’d left the door ajar. “Don’t let her eavesdrop on us, eh, lass?” he whispered. “The ladies won’t want her poking her nose into their affairs.” When he came down, he’d find out what was the matter with Lizzie today, but he was late for tea so it’d have to keep.

  “All right.”

  When he’d gone upstairs, Meg opened the kitchen door and found Lizzie standing in the hall studying herself in the mirror on the coat stand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Seeing if I suit my hair another way.”

  “Well, go and do that in your bedroom an’ shut the door on yourself. It looks bad, you standing in the hall to do that.”

  “You can see better in this mirror. That one in our bedroom’s all spotty. An’ anyway, I can stop fiddling around if anyone comes in. If it’s Sam you’re thinking of, he won’t mind.”

  “You always have a back word for me, you do!”

  “I only answered your question.” Lizzie was determined not to let Mam goad her any more tonight. They’d already had one shouting match because her mother hadn’t done Lizzie’s washing with the others’ things.

  “Well, I don’t want you lounging around in the hallway like that. It isn’t decent with a visitor in the house. Go through into the kitchen.”

  “I think I’d rather go and sit in my bedroom.” Lizzie didn’t wait for an answer but ran lightly up the stairs and left her bedroom door open.

  Meg watched her go, feeling jealous of many things but at the moment of two things in particular—the agility with which her daughter had gone up those stairs and the fact that Lizzie, her scrawny ungrateful wretch of a daughter, had a man courting her. There was no justice in the world, none. What Meg wouldn’t give for a husband again! She’d never stopped missing her Stanley. And it’d been weeks since Eva had last written. Weeks. She’d forgotten her family now, just moved on and forgotten them.

  Conveniently forgetting that on the last visit she herself had screamed at Eva to go away and never darken her doorstep again, Meg went to stand in front of the kitchen fire with her skirts raised at the rear, toasting her backside. It might be summer, but it still got cold of an evening. Especially when no one cared whether you lived or died. And why Percy had to do all that studying, she didn’t know. He’d never make a bookkeeper, never in a month of Sundays. He was common as muck, her Percy was, and always would be. No one would ever take him on for office work.

  * * *

  In the attic, Sam found himself being treated very formally, given a china cup of tea—which looked so fragile, he was terrified of breaking it—and handed some chocolate biscuits from Dearden’s, an offer he declined instantly because he didn’t want to try to talk with his mouth full. Somehow, he always felt he had to be on his best behaviour with the Harper ladies, for all they’d come down in the world.

  After a few minutes, he tired of the silly chit-chat and asked abruptly, “What’s up, then?”

  Emma took a deep breath. “We think it’s time to move out of here, Sam.”

  “Aaah,” he said softly. “Now that is going to throw the cat among the pigeons.”

  “I’m sure you understand why,” she went on quietly. “You must have noticed the atmosphere here.”

  “The old lady’s losing her marbles,” he said easily, enjoying the shock on their faces at his blunt statement. Then his face became grim. “But if she sets one finger on my Lizzie, she’ll regret it.”

  “Your Lizzie?” Blanche queried. Polly had said on her last day off that Lizzie didn’t really fancy Sam.

  “Aye, my Lizzie.” He obviously enjoyed saying that out loud.

  “You and she have an understanding?” Emma asked.

  He nodded. “We do. But we’re not saying owt to anyone at the moment, so don’t spread the word. I want to get wed before the winter, but she’s a bit reluctant. Well, she’s only young. But I’d make her happier than she is here, I know that.”

  “I hope—things go well for you,” Emma murmured. But she just couldn’t see him suiting Lizzie.

  Silence fell again.

  “So tell me about your plans an’ how I can help you?” he
prompted. Women were all alike. They needed a man to look after them. And it could be profitable being that man, with these two.

  “We wondered whether you could give us some advice about finding a new place to live?” Emma asked. “We’re not sure how to set about it?”

  “Buying a place or renting?”

  “Buying? We weren’t thinking of buying.” Blanche gaped at him. “What made you say that?”

  Sam smiled. He could add up and knew roughly what Emma earned a week, as well as what Blanche got from that annuity of hers. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been saving your pennies,” he teased. “You’ve got the annuity as well as your wages.” And they made their clothes last, didn’t spend much on anything really.

  Emma stared at him. She hoped other people hadn’t put two and two together like he had, though of course other people wouldn’t know about the annuity in any detail. “We were thinking of renting, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’? Your Mr. Cardwell’s building some new terraces of houses over in Northlea. You might have a look at one of those before you come to any decision.”

  “I don’t think we’d have enough money for that. It’d cost too much.”

  “You might if you had anything else left to sell. Or you could ask that aunt of yours for some help. Make up the quarrel. It’d be worth it if she has as much brass as folk say.”

  The two sisters looked at one another, both feeling uncomfortable at how much he’d worked out about them.

  “Goodness, I never even thought about buying somewhere,” Emma confessed.

  “Well, think about it now. If you bought, you’d have no rent to pay.” And if the two of them had to sell things, he’d be bound to profit.

  “Well, we do have one or two bits and pieces of our mother’s jewellery,” Blanche admitted before her sister could stop her, “though they have great sentimental value for us and we’d rather not sell them.”

  Sam nodded. He’d wondered about that. She’d liked jewellery, old Mrs. Harper had. He’d seen her wearing quite a few different bits and pieces.

  Emma frowned. “But we certainly won’t ask our aunt for money. She’s never tried to get in touch with us. I doubt she’d even open a letter if we sent one.”

  “It’d be worth a try. Only cost you a stamp.”

  They both shook their heads firmly.

  Too proud to wipe their own arses, he thought scornfully. If he had a rich aunt, he’d be buttering her up till the grease ran off. “Talk to your Mr. Cardwell, then. He might let you pay him a deposit and so much per week.” Sam grinned at Emma. “Seeing as you’re such a valuable employee of his. And if he says yes, well, I can sell some more stuff for you, if you like?”

  “We’ll have to think about it,” Blanche replied. “It doesn’t do to rush into things.”

  “Yes, have a think. But don’t take too long. Them houses are goin’ to be snapped up once they’re offered.” In fact, Sam was thinking of buying one himself. If you didn’t have to pay rent, you’d feel very secure indeed. They were very nice houses, quite large, with three bedrooms and good attics as well, and even an indoor toilet and bathroom built on to the back upstairs over a scullery-cum-washroom. One weekend not long ago he’d been to have a look round them, unfinished as they were, and had liked what he saw. Cardwell was a good builder.

  When he was leaving, he saw Lizzie sitting in her bedroom and beckoned her out, not wanting to enrage the old sod by being caught inside her daughter’s room. “Feel like a breath of fresh air, lass? It’s a lovely evening.”

  Lizzie hesitated, then the thought of sitting up here for hours made her say, “Yes. Why not?”

  It was while they were walking along that Sam swung her round against a wall and kissed her for the first time. Lizzie wasn’t sure she liked this and it was hard to breathe with his mouth covering hers, but all couples who were walking out kissed one another, so she’d been a bit curious about it.

  He felt vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t responded to his kiss, but on the other hand, she hadn’t protested or pushed him away. When they were wed, he’d make sure she responded properly, he would that. And when she nestled against him afterwards with a sigh, he found himself smiling down protectively at her slight form.

  “Are you my girl?” he breathed throatily in her ear.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Good, ’cos I don’t want no one else but you, Lizzie, and never have done.”

  She looked up at him doubtfully in the soft light of dusk. “Don’t you, Sam?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Do you—love me?”

  He didn’t believe in that sort of nonsense. A man had his needs and women were there to fill them, and it took two of you to make children—but, on the other hand, there was no one like Lizzie so far as he was concerned, so he supposed it must be love. “I’ve fancied you ever since you frit us all by walking along that bloody wall,” he offered. “You’re the only one for me, lass.”

  She sighed and nestled against him again. “It’s nice when you cuddle me, Sam,” she whispered. She liked it much better than that wet kissing stuff.

  “Aye, I like it mysen.” But he wanted a lot more than cuddling. Still, this was progress, it definitely was.

  “Well,” he said after a minute, getting tired of just standing there and worried that if Lizzie felt the hardness he couldn’t control pressing against her, she’d take fright, “I suppose I’d better get you home, or your Percy will be having a word with me about keeping you out too late.”

  She chuckled. “Percy wouldn’t worry if you kept me out all night. He trusts you, Sam.”

  He chuckled too, but for another reason. Anyone who trusted other people as completely as Percy Kershaw did was a fool. But in this case, the lass was quite safe with him. Because Sam wanted to do things properly and marry a virgin. The idea pleased him for some reason, perhaps because it proved Lizzie was so very different from his mother.

  He’d better go and see Cardwell about one of those houses for himself before they were all taken. It didn’t occur to him to take Lizzie into his confidence about that. Or to ask her along with him to see what she thought of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, Emma waited until past her usual time for leaving the office, knowing that James always came back here before he went home, wherever he was working, to make sure that the place was locked up properly.

  When he saw her, he stopped whistling and raised his eyebrows. “No home to go to, Emma Harper?”

  “I wanted to see you—if you can spare me a minute or two?”

  “Of course.” He yawned, stretched, then looked at his pocket watch.

  “If you’re too tired today, I could—”

  He looked at her sharply, wondering why she sounded so nervous. “I’m not tired, and of course I can spare you a minute or two. And since I’ll already be in trouble for getting home late, another few minutes won’t make any difference.” Edith never could understand that work didn’t necessarily finish at the same time every day, that sometimes emergencies cropped up or jobs took longer than you expected. Anyway, he wouldn’t mind a bit of a sit-down before he went home to the usual evening of complaints and carping. Though it’d mean his children would be in bed and no chance of a romp with them.

  “Look, you go and make us a cuppa, eh? My throat’s as dry as a ditch in summer. That house I’ve been doing estimates for is full of dust and cobwebs. I’ll just nip out to the back and then we’ll lock the front door and sit here like Lord and Lady Muck, supping tea together. You wouldn’t happen to have a biscuit or two tucked away as well, would you?”

  Emma smiled. “I might have.” He always seemed hungry, so she made a point of keeping a supply of his favourite biscuits, buying them from the petty cash, keeping meticulous accounts he never even glanced at before initialling them each month.

  When they had settled down on the comfortable armchairs in the waiting area, she fiddled with her cup, trying
to think how best to broach the matter.

  He looked at her and frowned. “Good grief! I never thought but—you’re not going to give notice on me, are you, Emma Harper?” Let alone she was a most efficient employee, he enjoyed her company around the place, liked teasing her, seeing the delicate colour stain her cheeks sometimes. Most of all, he liked making her laugh, something she didn’t do often enough in his opinion.

  “What? Goodness, no! That’s the last thing I’d want to do, Mr. Cardwell.” Emma looked away, afraid of revealing her feelings, for she found him all too attractive, her untidy, warm-hearted boss. “No, I’m perfectly happy here, especially with my recent rise.”

  “What is it, then? You might as well come straight out with it.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s—well, it’s those new houses on Maidham Street. I was wondering about—” She took a deep breath before putting her fragile dream into words. “That is, my sister and I were wondering about—well, buying one.”

  He leaned back and looked at her thoughtfully. “And can you afford one of my houses?”

  “I think so. My sister and I are very careful with our money. Blanche has a small income of her own, and we have some jewellery of my mother’s left we could sell. Just a few pieces but one or two of them are really nice. We’re fond of them, but—well, quite frankly we need a house more than we need gold brooches and bangles.”

  “I thought your father’s things were all sold up?”

  Vivid colour flared in her cheeks. “Mother’s jewellery was left to us. It wasn’t part of Father’s estate. You don’t think we should have used it to pay off his debts?” The thought had preyed on both their minds for years, which was one of the reasons why they hadn’t tried to sell the jewellery before.

  “No, of course not. It was yours, not his.”

  Emma let out a long sigh of relief. “I’m glad you think so. Anyway, we feel the time has come to sell it—if it’s going to be enough to help us buy a house, that is.”

  “How are you going to do the selling?”

  “I expect we’ll give it to Sam to sell for us.”