by Maureen Lee
‘Sorry, dear. I’m going to a garden party this afternoon. I’m urgently in need of a rejuvenating bath and you know how long it takes me to get ready.’
It took hours of massaging the sagging skin, painting the ageing face, teasing the dyed hair into a satisfactory style, trying on at least a dozen outfits, deciding which shoes went best with the frock or costume that had been chosen, searching for appropriate jewellery, the most flattering hat.
‘I need new shoes,’ Ruby growled. ‘All the ones I’ve got now are too small.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Emily bit her lip, feeling guilty that she was neglecting the girl. If Mim and Ronnie Rowland-Graves hadn’t appeared on the scene, Emily would have leapt at the idea of shopping for shoes. But to her everlasting relief, Mim and Ronnie had. They’d led a fast, slightly risqué life in India and were set on doing the same in England. In their early fifties, their main aim in life was to have a good time. They paid no regard to the married status of their guests, nor their ages, as long as they shared their quest for excitement, which involved drinking too much, engaging in spicy conversation, and even spicier party games, all of which would have shocked Edwin to the bones were he still alive.
She stared at Ruby’s thin face, no longer cheerful, still looking as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in ages, and wondered if she was lonely by herself for so much of the time. Emily couldn’t possibly have taken her to the Rowland-Graves’s, which was no place for a young girl. She had an idea. ‘If you like, later, I’ll drop you off at Kirkby station and you can go to Liverpool and buy shoes yourself.’
Ruby couldn’t have been more delighted had she been offered the Crown Jewels. She leapt off the bed and danced around the room. ‘Can I? Oh, can I? Oh, Emily, I’d love to. I’ve never been on a train. What time are you leaving? Shall I get changed?’
‘But how will you get home from the station?’ Emily was already wishing she hadn’t been quite so hasty. Was she being irresponsible? No, she decided after a few seconds’ thought. Had Ruby gone into service, she would have been given all sorts of onerous tasks to do, shopping among them. It would do the girl good to go out by herself.
‘I’ll walk home from the station. It’s not far, only a few miles,’ Ruby said fervently, her big, dark eyes suddenly anxious that the wonderful treat might be denied.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely certain.’
The big train came charging into Kirkby station like a monster, snorting clouds of dirty smoke. Ruby, in her best dress – white, patterned with rosebuds – climbed into a carriage, hugging herself with glee. She had two ten-shilling notes folded in her purse, as well as a further five shillings in coins for her fare and any other expenses that might occur.
All the way to Liverpool, much to the irritation of the only other passenger, a woman, she flew from one side of the carriage to the other to look at the view, at the way it changed from soft green fields to rows of cramped brick houses then to a forest of factories before drawing into Exchange station where she got off, marvelling at the vastness of the building and the steaming, panting trains.
Happiness bounced like a ball in Ruby’s chest as she made her way through the crowded, vibrant city to Lewis’s department store where, feeling terribly important, she bought a pair of Clarks’ sandals for four and eleven, and black patent leather shoes with a strap and button for seven and six. It had been almost true to claim she’d grown out of the shoes she already had. She’d said it in an attempt to persuade Emily to take her shopping. And it had worked better than she’d hoped. It was nice being on her own, able to go where she pleased, not having to keep retreating to the Adelphi Hotel for coffee and a cigarette, as Emily felt the need to do.
Emerging from Lewis’s, she stood on the busy pavement, buffeted by the crowds, breathing in the choking fumes and the various smells that she liked better than those of the country, wondering where to go next. Not back to Kirkby, it was too early.
She wandered along, starry-eyed, looking in shop windows – window-shopping Emily called it. Blacklers had a display of frocks and one in particular caught Ruby’s eye: navy blue with bold red spots, it had a frilly neck with a red bow and flared sleeves like little skirts, and was only one and elevenpence, about a quarter of what Emily usually paid. It was a lady’s frock, not a child’s, but Ruby was tall enough to wear it. She went inside and tried it on, twirling around in front of the cubicle mirror.
‘It looks the gear on you, luv,’ the assistant said.
‘I’ll take it.’ The frock was calf-length, whereas all her others came to just below the knees. She thought it made her look very adult. She handed the assistant half a crown which was sent whizzing high across the shop in a little tube attached to a wire towards a woman in a glass case who removed the tube and, a minute later, Ruby’s change whizzed back with the bill. She never ceased to be facinated by this process.
Outside again, she decided to wear the frock on Saturday in case Jacob came. She crossed the road, dodging through the traffic, and just missed being mown down by a tramcar with Number 1 and its destination, Dingle, on the front.
‘Dingle’. She said the word aloud. It sounded pretty, like something out of a fairy-tale. She noticed that the tram had stopped and people were getting on. It took barely a second for Ruby to decide to get on with them. She’d always wanted to ride on a tram. She climbed to the top and sat on the hard front seat, which gave a perfect view.
The tram set off, clicking noisily along the lines, swerving round bends, breaking suddenly, when a queue appeared, waiting to board. Ruby clutched her parcels with one hand, and held on to the edge of her seat with the other, worried she might be thrown through the window as the tram rocked dangerously from side to side. They passed the soaring tower of the Protestant cathedral which had been started in the last century but still wasn’t finished.
The conductor came. Ruby bought a penny ticket which would take her all the way to the Dingle. ‘Will you tell me when we get there?’ She’d heard him shouting the names of the stops.
‘You’ll know, luv. We don’t go no further than the Dingle.’
The tram was rolling along a long, colourful and very busy road, full of traffic and lined with every conceivable sort of shop, interrupted frequently by little streets of terraced houses. Groups of men lounged outside the pubs that seemed to be on every corner, hands in pockets, idle. Women chatted eagerly over their bags of shopping, children hanging on to their skirts or chasing each other up and down the pavements, in and out of the shops.
Ruby’s eyes were everywhere, taking it all in, the way the women were dressed, some almost as smart as Emily, some with shawls over their heads like poor Mrs Humble. There were men in suits and bowler hats, and jackletless men with braces showing, no collars to their shirts, tieless. She saw scrubbed, neatly dressed children, glowing with health, and felt a surge of pity when she saw the scabby-faced mites with bare, dirty feet who were much too thin.
It was like being at the very hub of the universe and Ruby, clutching the seat, knew with utter certainty that this was where she belonged: amid people, noise, and city smells. She felt at home in the clutter of the busy streets in a way she never would in Kirkby where there wasn’t another house in sight.
‘I’ll come back,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow or the next day, and one of these days, I’ll come back for good.’
She got off at the tram sheds and walked up and down the tiny streets. Women sat contentedly on the whitened steps outside their neat houses, enjoying the brilliant sunshine. Children swung from the lamp-posts, played hopscotch on the pavement, whip and top, or two-balls against the walls.
Ruby sighed enviously and supposed she’d better be getting home.
On Saturday night, Emily went to the theatre wearing a new grey silk costume and a little matching hat with a veil, her fox fur laid casually around her shoulders despite the gloriously hot day.
‘You’ll be all right won’t you, de
ar?’ she said worriedly. ‘You can read a book or listen to the wireless. I’ll tell you what the play was about when I get home.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Ruby said stoutly.
As soon as Emily had gone, she went upstairs and changed into the spotted dress from Blacklers. It clung to her thin body and, she was pleased to note, emphasised her small breasts, making her look very grown-up, particularly when she piled her black hair on top of her head, securing it with a slide.
She went into Emily’s room, searched through the jewellery box on the dressing table which had been left in a terrible mess, and helped herself to a pearl necklace and earrings – Emily had gone out wearing her ‘good’ pearls. She tried on a pair of red, high-heeled shoes. They were only a bit too big.
Downstairs, she switched on the wireless and was met by a thunderous blast of classical music which she turned off in disgust, deciding to play one of her favourite records instead: a selection of ballads sung by Rudy Vallee, and so hauntingly lovely, they made her go all funny inside.
Ruby began to sway as she watched the record spin around. ‘Goodnight, Sweetheart’ was one of her favourites. Unable to resist, she kicked off the shoes, flung her arms in the air, and danced around the room, very slowly, hugging herself. The music was causing a sweet, nagging ache in her tummy, it always did, making her want things she couldn’t define. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine someone in the room with her, a man. They were dancing together. She was being kissed by invisible lips in a way she’d never seen people kiss before. Ruby had no idea where the thoughts came from. She must have been born with them.
Rudy Vallee began to sing ‘Night and Day’, and still Ruby danced, losing herself completely in the glorious, romantic music, unaware that she had an audience.
Outside the window, Jacob Veering, his face shiny after a thorough scrubbing, wearing his one and only suit, didn’t think he had ever seen anything so beautiful as the strange young lady fluttering like a butterfly across the room. He had never known anyone like her. His tongue would form a lump in his throat whenever she spoke to him, and it was all he could do to answer.
Jacob already had a girlfriend, Audrey Wainwright, whose father owned a farm much bigger than Humble’s. There was an unspoken agreement that they would marry one day and he would transfer his labour from Humble’s farm to Wainwright’s, where he would live and work for the rest of his life. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the future, but nor did he regard it with dread. As long as he could work on the land, have a place to live, enough to eat, and no one abused him, Jacob would be content, if not happy. Being a man he would need a wife and Audrey Wainwright would fill this role. He assumed she felt the same. The word ‘love’ had never been uttered during their relationship, but if either had noticed they didn’t seem to mind.
But now, as he watched Ruby dance, sensations he’d never felt before were causing tremors in Jacob’s normally stolid heart. It was pounding for one thing, so hard and so fast that he felt frightened. He had the urge to smash the window, climb inside, catch Ruby by her tiny waist and twirl her round and round till they both fell dizzily to the floor in each other’s arms. Yet he knew he could never bring himself to touch her. She was out of bounds to someone like him. She was a creature from another world to which Jacob, the farmhand, didn’t belong.
She looked so strong, and yet so frail, and there was an expression on her face that he envied, a dreamy, lost expression, as if she was somewhere else entirely than the room in which she danced. Jacob had never felt like that and he wondered what it was like. He also wondered if she remembered she had invited him to the house that night. Well, there was only one way of finding out. He knocked on the front door.
When she answered, Jacob gasped. Her eyes were starbright, her cheeks were flushed, and she bestowed upon him a warm look of welcome that caused his heart to pound even more.
‘I didn’t think you’d turn up!’ She reached for his hand. ‘Come and listen to the music. I’ve been dancing. Can you dance?’
‘No,’ Jacob said thickly. He allowed himself to be pulled inside and immediately felt ill at ease in the richly furnished house with carpets on the floor and ornaments and pictures all over the place. There were velvet chairs in the room into which she led him and the music was louder here. A man was singing about his heart standing still and Jacob wished his own heart would do the same. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the little curls that clung damply to Ruby’s slender neck and his hand was tingling from her touch.
She smiled at him. ‘Would you like something to eat? There’s a big apple pie for tomorrow, but Emily won’t care if we eat it.’
‘Wouldn’t mind,’ Jacob grunted, wishing he didn’t sound so surly.
He was dragged into a big scullery where he gaped at the extraordinary cream stove, the shallow cream sink, the green painted cupboards, the black and white check-tiled floor. She took a golden-crusted pie out of the larder. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ She gestured to him to sit at the big table in the centre of the room.
‘Tea.’ He had never had coffee and had no idea what it was like. She made him feel very ignorant, a bit of an oaf, with her gramophone and coffee and a scullery the likes of which he’d never seen before – he had a feeling people like her called them ‘kitchens’.
He watched as she poured water into what was definitely a kettle, but instead of putting it on the peculiar stove to boil, she attached it to the wall with a plug. Overcome with curiousity, he said, ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s an electric kettle. Haven’t you seen electricity before?’
‘They have it in the pub by the station, The Railway Arms.’
‘I didn’t even know electricity existed until I came to live with Emily. We had paraffin lamps in the convent and the food was cooked in an oven by the kitchen fire. It was called a range.’
‘The convent?’
She put milk and sugar on the table and sat opposite him, folding her thin arms. ‘The convent where I grew up.’
‘But Mr Humble said you were Mrs Dangerfield’s niece or something, a relative.’
‘Oh, no.’ She laughed and her wide mouth almost reached her ears. ‘I’m an orphan. The convent was an orphanage, still is. Emily just wanted a friend and she picked me.’ She preened herself.
‘Don’t you mind being an orphan?’ Jacob missed not having a father, but at least could boast a mother, even if she hadn’t been up to much.
Ruby shrugged carelessly. ‘Seems a waste of time, minding. What help would it be?’
Jacob stared at her, blinking. The fact that she was an orphan, that she didn’t truly belong in a grand house like this, had brought her, in a way, down to his level. At the same time, it only made her seem more remarkable and untouchable that she had so quickly made herself at home, fitting so easily into rich people’s ways, though she didn’t talk posh like Mrs Dangerfield.
The kettle boiled. She got up, switched it off, and made the tea. ‘Do you take sugar?’
‘Two spoons, ta. How did your mam and dad die?’
‘I don’t know if they’re alive or dead. Sister Cecilia said I wasn’t even a day old when I arrived at the convent. There was a note to say I was called Ruby O’Hagan, that’s all.’
‘O’Hagan sounds Irish. Ruby’s nice.’ Jacob blushed.
‘So’s Jacob. Would you like some pie?’
Jacob nodded. ‘I’ll have to be going soon. I’m meeting someone in the pub for a drink.’ He didn’t say it was his future father-in-law.
‘Oh!’ Ruby pouted. ‘I thought you’d come for longer. You can come again next week. Come whenever you like, ’cept when Emily’s here. You can tell if the car’s in the drive.’
‘OK, ta.’
The pie finished, Jacob left by the rear door. When he got to the front, he heard music. Looking back, he saw Ruby bending over the gramophone. Suddenly, she turned and began to dance. Jacob stood watching for ages and ages, and it was all he could do to tear himsel
f away.
From that week on, life for Ruby was no longer dull. Two, three, sometimes four times a week, whenever Emily was out, she would catch the train to Exchange station and explore Liverpool – the centre of the city and its environs. She discovered the Pier Head where ferries sailed across the Mersey to Birkenhead, Seacombe, and best of all, New Brighton where, if she had enough money, she bought fish and chips, ice cream, and made herself pleasantly sick on the fairground.
‘I hope you’re not coming down with something,’ Emily would say in a concerned voice when she couldn’t eat her tea.
‘I’ll eat it later.’ She usually did, better by then. Her appetite was voracious, though she never put on weight. Emily remarked she was growing taller.
She went by tram to every possible destination: Bootle, Walton Vale, Aigburth, Woolton, Penny Lane, getting off along the way, or at the terminus, where she roamed the streets, envious of the way people lived so closely together. A few times, she strolled along the Dock Road, possibly the busiest and most frenziedly noisy place of all, with its foreign smells, hooting, blaring traffic nose to tail, the funnels of enormous ships soaring over the dock walls. The pavements were packed with people jabbering away in languages that were rarely English. She had to push her way through, heart lifting at the exhilerating strangeness of every single thing.
The Dingle remained her favourite place, perhaps because she’d gone there first. A few of the tram conductors got to know her and greeted her as a friend.
The money for fares Ruby found in Emily’s large collection of handbags where there were always a few coins that would never be missed. It wasn’t stealing. She knew, if asked, Emily would give her money to buy sweets or comics or coloured pencils from the post office, but possibly not to travel the length and breadth of Liverpool by various means. It seemed less troublesome to help herself to money than tell a lie.
Sometimes Emily arrived home before her and when she got in Ruby would say she’d been for a walk.
