I’ll be eagerly awaiting your reply.
Please say you’ll come. PLEASE.
All my love, as always,
John
There was an address along with a suggestion as to the best route to take once she reached Liverpool. At the bottom of the letter, a postscript: I’ve enclosed a sum of money to put away for the time being. It will cover train and carriage, with enough left over for refreshments and such along the way.
Lizzie sighed. You shouldn’t be getting wed to no stranger, she thought, for that was how she saw this Rosie Taylor. You should be here, son – here, wi’ me, and Emily.
Disheartened, she folded the letter and putting it back in her bag she withdrew a second one.
Taking it from its envelope, she read:
My dear,
I’m glad you’ve found a measure of happiness with this young lady called Rosie, though I must say, I hadn’t realised it had gone so far as you and she planning to be wed. All the same, if that’s what you want, then it makes me happy too.
As you already know, I’m not good at travelling. But I’ll be there for you on the day.
God bless. See you in a few short months.
Lots of love,
Auntie Lizzie
The letter was duly signed and now she slid it back into its envelope and sealed it.
‘There you are, luv.’ Bessie returned with a tray of tea and two buns. ‘My poor feet feel like two raw chops,’ she groaned, dropping herself into a chair. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m ready for this break.’
Oblivious to the fact that Lizzie would much rather be left alone with her thoughts, she launched into a harrowing account of how bad feet had always run right through her family. ‘My poor old mam was a martyr to them!’ she exclaimed. ‘A martyr!’
Some time later, with her ears ringing about bad-smelling feet and relatives who suffered from wind, Lizzie made good her escape. Dropping her letter into the post-box, she had to smile. ‘Poor Bessie,’ she murmured as she went for the tram. ‘I think she’s the martyr, working all day on her own in that café.’
A short time later, seated on the tram, she took out John’s letter and read it again, hoping with all her heart that he wasn’t leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire.
In spite of the hope and assurances in John’s letter, the stark truth was unsettling. Here was a man, in love with one woman and about to wed another. What good could come of it? Lizzie wondered.
Part 5
February, 1910
Hidden Truths
Chapter 14
‘WHERE ARE WE going?’
Half-asleep, his hair standing on end, and with two small squares of paper stuck over the areas where he’d sliced himself with the razor, old Archie was none too pleased to have been dragged out of his warm bed.
‘For Gawd’s sake, it’s seven o’clock on a February morning!’ he grumbled as they boarded the early tram. ‘It’s freezing cold and what’s more it’s Sunday – my only day for a lie-in. You work me like a dog from Monday to Sat’day. You’d think I’d be entitled to a lie-in!’
The three nights under Harriet’s roof that Archie had been grudgingly allowed had long since extended themselves to several years spent as the new lodger in the cosy back room – an arrangement that suited the little man down to the ground. Spruce and well-fed, he was more fond of his formidable landlady, and she of him, than either of them would ever admit.
Ushering him to a seat, John slid in beside him. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about. If Harriet and me can get out of bed on a Sunday morning, why can’t you?’
‘Because I’m a poor old man, that’s why.’ Archie folded his arms sulkily and slunk deeper into the seat. ‘Wake me when we get there.’
John let him sleep. He needed this quiet time anyway, to think about his future with Rosie. He had doubts – of course he did – but it had been years now, since he and Emily had made plans together.
His love for Emily was as strong as ever and always would be. But he knew now that in spite of everything, Emily had never felt the same way, or she could not have turned her back on him the way she did. It had taken years for him to accept the truth of that. Years when he had hoped and prayed there might be a way in which he could turn back the clock, but that wasn’t to be, he knew that now. And painful though it was, he had to look forward, or live a lonely, empty life till the end of his days.
Putting Emily behind him would not be easy, but he could no longer spend precious time yearning for something that could never be. Lizzie was right. It was time to accept that Emily had gone her way, and he must go his, for it was plain that they were never meant to be together.
‘Albert Docks!’ The conductor’s voice rang through the tram. ‘Last stop before we turn round. All off that’s getting off.’
John gave Archie a nudge. ‘Time to go.’
The old man didn’t hear. Instead, with mouth hanging open, he remained seemingly unconscious, his robust snores shaking the tram while John tried frantically to wake him, but with no success.
‘Here. Let me.’ Impatient to be on his way, the conductor leaned forward and, taking the end of Archie’s nose between finger and thumb, he held on tight and squeezed hard. At once the snoring stopped and Archie was fighting for air. ‘Gerroff!’ With arms flailing and feet kicking, he lashed out at all and sundry.
‘There you are!’ Giving John a triumphant wink, the conductor moved on. ‘Pinch the nose till they can’t breathe. It’ll do the trick every time.’
As they got off the tram, Archie gave the conductor a hard stare. ‘I won’t forget you in hurry, matey.’
‘And a good morning to you, sir.’ The conductor tipped his hat and walked away grinning.
‘I’ve a good mind to smack him one!’ Archie rubbed his nose. ‘He could ’ave broken it!’
Glancing at Archie’s bright red nose, John couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘It’s a good job the rozzers aren’t after you,’ he said. ‘See you coming a mile off, they would.’
That tickled Archie’s funny bone, and at once his mood was lighter. ‘Where are we off to then, eh?’
‘Be patient,’ John answered. ‘You’ll know soon enough.’
As soon as they turned the corner to the boatyard, Archie guessed. ‘You’ve finished the house, haven’t you?’
‘I might have.’
Archie was excited. ‘You have!’ He gave John a nudge that nearly sent him hurtling into the canal. ‘What’s it like?’
John told him to wait and see.
They launched the narrowboat and were soon under way. On workdays it was a good half-hour to the site, but this Sunday morning, with fewer barges chugging about, the waterway was quieter.
Twenty minutes later they had moored the boat and were on their way across the site. ‘I still can’t believe what you’ve achieved here.’ Not for the first time, Archie looked at the place where they worked and was amazed. Where the site had been unusable and derelict, it was now a thriving business, with large, well-designed buildings, a small office, and dozens of watercraft lined up in different stages of repair or construction.
Instead of rubble and grass underfoot, it was all neatly paved, with areas of concrete and a slipway second to none, complete with winches and machinery to lift the craft out of the water like a child might lift a toy.
‘You’ve done yourself proud,’ Archie told him. ‘And thanks to you, we’ve all got work, so’s we can hold up our heads in anybody’s company.’
That meant a lot to Archie. There was a time back there when he thought he’d end up a tramp like Michael. And now, even Michael was respectable, thanks to John.
He mentioned the man now. ‘Funny that, you knowing Michael from before.’ Archie had asked about him many a time, but had always been given the same old brush-off. Now he tried again. ‘What did he do before? How did you know him? What made him turn out the way he did? Was it to do with a woman? It usually is.’
Taken off-g
uard by Archie’s barrage of questions, John tried to make little of it.
When, some time back, after Michael had cleaned himself up and John had recognised him, the man had pleaded to be left to sort out his own problems. He asked if John would mind not telling the others about his past and the shocking manner in which he had deserted his family.
John had readily done as he asked, for he knew that the man had suffered a complete breakdown, and he was sympathetic, as well as respectful to Emily’s father for her sake as well as for Michael’s. He did, however, inform Michael of Emily being happily wed, with child and all. It was cheering news to Michael, who was unaware of John’s heartbreak. He knew of the friendship between Emily and John, yet had left Potts End before it had developed into love.
‘Michael was a neighbour.’ John gave Archie the same answer as always. ‘As for his private business, I don’t reckon it’s anything to do with us.’
‘You know more than you’re letting on.’
‘D’you want to see what I’ve done to the cottage or not?’
Archie good-naturedly took the hint. ‘Go on then,’ he said, and gave him a push forward.
Beyond the working area was the site of the cottage. With a screen constructed all round it, the building was hidden from view and no one – not Rosie, Archie or anyone else – was allowed inside – apart from the delivery men, who were too tired and preoccupied with their jobs to notice what was going on right under their nose.
‘Mind you don’t walk that muck into the cottage,’ John warned as he led Archie over the rubble. ‘And don’t say a word until you’ve seen everything,’ he ordered, ‘upstairs and down. I want you to look properly, and then tell me what you think after we’re done.’
‘I should have thought Rosie would be the one to see it before me,’ Archie pointed out. ‘I mean, it’s her who’ll live here with you.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Or am I invited into the happy home as well?’
John was horrified. ‘Good God, man! Don’t you think I’ve suffered your company long enough? Harriet and I have put up with your snoring, sleep-walking and smelly feet, and now she and the other lodgers can have you all to themselves. So, no! You’re definitely not invited to share the cottage with me and Rosie.’
‘Ah, go on. You’ll miss me really,’ Archie said fondly.
‘Yes, I will, even though you’re a crafty old bugger. Now then, shipmate – inside with you, and like I say, don’t utter a word until we’ve gone all over. After that, I’ll want your honest opinion.’
‘What if I don’t like it?’
‘You will.’
‘Mebbe, but what if I don’t? Have I to say so, or would you rather I pretend?’
‘I want the truth, Archie. Whether you like it or not, I need you to tell me the truth.’
‘All right. Lead on.’
John entered the cottage first, with Archie treading carefully behind. As John had instructed, he took note of everything as they went from room to room.
‘Good Lord above!’ The old chap was flabbergasted. ‘However did you do all this by yourself? I can’t believe it. Since when were you a builder and decorator?’
‘Since I set my mind to it,’ John replied. ‘Once you get started, it all seems to fall into place.’
Pointing to the sitting-room floor, Archie was about to speak, when John stopped him. ‘Not a word, remember?’ he warned. ‘Until you’ve seen it all.’
Archie duly clamped his mouth shut and followed John upstairs, growing more and more amazed as he went. The last time he had been in this place, it was shabby and neglected, complete with crumbling walls, dipping floors you tripped over, and ceilings that sagged to a dangerous low. But now it was as pretty as a picture. Every wall and floor was straight as a die and made good; the floors had new floorboards and colourful rugs; the walls were finished in soft, subtle colours, and at each and every window were hung curtains of dainty floral fabric.
There were four fireplaces throughout the cottage; small, beautifully tiled ones in each of the three bedrooms, and a larger one in the sitting room. As with the other three, this one was newly fitted; blackleaded to a bright shine, and with a marble hearth surrounded by a smart brass fender – though unlike the other three, this one had a slipper-box at each end of the fender. The fireplace itself was a grander feature as this was the room where they would do their living and entertaining, if any.
The furniture had been chosen to complement the warm, homely character of the place: a deep brown horsehair sofa, matching armchairs and a delightful, honey-coloured deep-drawered dresser beneath the sitting-room window.
In front of the fireplace was the loveliest peg-rug of browns and greens, with a splash of cream round the edges. Hung on the wall above the hearth was a picture of a ship in full sail, and covering the mantelpiece, a tasselled cream-coloured velvet runner set the whole thing off to perfection.
The bedrooms, too, were furnished in the same simple but attractive manner.
‘Well? What do you think?’ Eager to know what somebody else made of his handiwork, John could hardly wait for the verdict.
As they came out, Archie closed the freshly painted front door behind him. ‘I can’t believe what I’ve just seen,’ he answered quietly, shaking his head.
‘What?’ John’s disappointment was etched on his face. ‘You don’t like it, do you? Rosie will hate it – that’s what you’re saying?’
Smiling, the old man put him out of his misery. ‘I think it’s the prettiest little palace I’ve ever seen,’ he said proudly. ‘You’ve done wonders!’
John laughed out loud. ‘So, you think Rosie will like it, do you?’
Archie had no doubts whatsoever. ‘She’ll love it!’ A thought occurred to him, though. ‘How did you know what colours she liked? And what about the furniture – did she tell you what she wanted? Is that how you went about choosing it all?’
‘I haven’t even asked her.’ John was made to think at Archie’s observation. ‘I just listened and watched and made mental notes when we were out and about. I saw how she’d furnished her father’s cottage, and I got a sense of what she might like.’
‘Hmh!’ Archie thought he was a brave man. ‘Women can be funny about such things.’
John was really worried now. ‘I should have asked her, shouldn’t I?’ he groaned. ‘I should never have done it without talking to her first.’
‘Don’t be daft!’ Archie snorted. ‘Rosie knew all along that you were doing the cottage up.’
‘Yes, but she didn’t know I was furnishing it and everything.’
‘Oh, don’t start worriting, man! Any woman would give her right arm to have that cottage. Trust me, she’ll be over the moon.’
What Archie had said touched John deeply. ‘Any woman’? And John couldn’t help but wonder if Emily would have liked this place, too.
As though he had read his thoughts, Archie said gently, ‘Don’t go upsetting yourself about things you can’t change, lad. The past is the past and this is your future – yours and Rosie’s. You remember that, and you’ll be all right.’
John nodded. ‘You’re right. The past is the past, and there’s no going back.’ He slapped Archie on the shoulder. ‘You’re the best mate I’ve ever had, did you know that?’
Archie made light of it. ‘Does that mean you might still let me come an’ live here too?’
John laughed out loud. ‘Nice try, but no. And think how poor Harriet would miss you!’
Archie had noticed something else as he went through that delightful little cottage, and he told John now. ‘You put an awful lot o’ work into that place. For somebody who claims not to be getting wed for the love of it, there seems to have been a lot of time and care in the choosing of things.’
Taken aback, John swiftly put him right. ‘That’s because I was spending good money and I wanted it to be right for Rosie. She’s a good woman, as you well know. What! If it hadn’t been for her, I doubt we’d have a business at all.’
&n
bsp; Archie had his own thoughts on that but he brushed them aside, as he asked hopefully, ‘I know it’s early, and I know it’s Sunday, but there’s a friendly landlord who might just serve us with a pint of good ale, to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials. What d’you say to that?’
John liked the idea. ‘I say we should pay this friendly landlord a visit.’ And that was exactly what they did.
The wedding took place on 1 March, at St Peter’s Church in Liverpool. It was a cold day, but with a welcome smattering of sunshine. The church was packed, and it seemed that everyone the couple knew had turned out to wish them well.
There was Archie as best man, all done up ‘like a penguin’, as he aptly put it. Then Rosie’s family: her father, Lonnie, a large-boned man who hid the pain of his physical disabilities behind a warm, proud smile, and her older sister, Rachel, who with her long fair hair and brown eyes looked uncannily like Rosie, but without the smiling eyes and sense of mischief.
Harriet Witherington was a guest of honour, looking grand and very overcome, her hankie at the ready for when the emotion of the occasion became too much.
Michael Ramsden lingered at the back of the church, his mind on his own wife and family, and the need to go home becoming stronger with every passing day.
The congregation kept arriving: the eight men who had been given work by John and who had come to admire and respect both him and Rosie for the honest and good people they were; and with them they brought their families, who also felt a need to wish the happy couple well on their special day. Two public-house landlords turned up, expressly to witness Archie in his unlikely role as ‘best man’. They were followed by many other townsfolk, who packed the church. Everyone loved a good wedding, and they all knew of John Hanley’s story – how he beat the big boys and bought the derelict site at auction, then turned it into a thriving place of work.
The bride looked very fetching in her long white gown, with its high buttoned neck, tiny waist and swirling hem, and pretty tight sleeves culminating in an extravagant lace frill at the wrist. Her long fair hair was piled on top of her head and loosely draped in a veil of silk, cascading from a mother-of-pearl headdress.
Lovers and Liars Page 26
