Liza

by Irene Carr

  ‘Perhaps we should put the past behind us and start again from here,’ he said. She did not answer, and he pressed, ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Very well,’ she replied flatly. And then: ‘I’d like to—’ She hesitated a second, could not say, ‘go to bed’. She finished, ‘Retire now.’ She lifted her head to look him in the eyes. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’

  ‘Goodnight, Miss Spencer.’

  * * *

  He watched her climb the stairs, a slight, slender figure, until she had gone from his sight. Then he sighed and went into the drawing room for his nightcap. He swallowed whisky and told himself he had been provoked but should not have lost his temper. He had always expected trouble from the Spencer girl and should not have been surprised. But she had seemed altogether different. And badly hurt over that incident two years ago. He sighed again and hoped that the morrow would be better.

  * * *

  Liza was determined it would be and had already decided on her course of action. But as she lay in her bed she felt battered by the row. And she wondered what other secrets of Cecily’s she was going to discover.

  When Elspeth Taggart had heard the carriage crunching on the gravel of the drive she had come out of her room in the servants’ quarters at the top of the house. She had intended to go down to welcome them home but had stopped at the head of the stairs. From there she could look down the well to the ground floor and the hall. She had heard the altercation and seen Liza wipe away tears with the heel of her hand as she mounted the stairs.

  She returned to her room, thinking: The lassie is more tender than I thought.

  14

  TUESDAY, 22 JANUARY 1907, SUNDERLAND

  At breakfast, William was mindful of his offer to start again and smiled at Liza down the length of the table. ‘Would you like to come down to the office with me today? I thought you might like to see the place and its workings. And a couple of the firm’s ships are in the river at the moment. I could show you round them.’

  She smiled back at him. She was cheerful this morning, exuberant even, and he was surprised by that, after their parting of the previous evening. Now she said, ‘No, thank you.’

  William inclined his head. ‘I thought you might have liked to see something of Edward’s life and his work.’

  ‘Another time.’ A polite but blunt refusal.

  He decided she was not interested. Yet she had been absorbed in what was going on around her when he had left her on the bridge of the Wear Lass. He decided that that was Cecily. The girl was always changing her moods as a chameleon its colour. She seemed happy, but was she still sulking over the row last night?

  He excused himself and went off in the Vauxhall, bound for his work.

  * * *

  Liza rose from the table. She was sorry now that she had not made a gentler excuse. When the housekeeper entered, she said, ‘I think Captain Morgan and Mr Spencer were close.’

  Mrs Taggart paused in her bustling. ‘Aye, they were, ever since William came here as a wee lad, just five years old. They always lived like father and son. But, then, they were two of a kind and appreciated each other. Not like some.’

  Liza caught the veiled reference and guessed it was aimed at herself. Better to say nothing, steer clear of strange waters. But was there something here that she should know, something that might trap her into a future, fatal, mistake? Then she remembered that Cecily had said she had never been to Sunderland.

  She smiled ruefully. ‘I know I wish I’d visited. I’m sorry that I didn’t.’

  ‘Aye. Well, it’s too late now, but Mr Spencer wouldn’t hold it against you.’

  Liza changed the subject. ‘I’m going to see something of the town today.’

  Mrs Taggart nodded. ‘I’ll tell Gibson to bring the carriage round.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Liza quickly. ‘I prefer to walk, and I’ll probably lunch out.’

  ‘As you wish, Miss.’

  Mrs Taggart had said William would not want to see her in mourning and Liza took her at her word. She set out suitably dressed for walking in a tailored lemon wool costume — a long, close-fitting jacket and pleated skirt — a neat little hat and low-heeled shoes. She went with the housekeeper’s endorsement: ‘You look a right bonny lass, Miss Spencer.’

  Liza laughed. ‘Thank you.’

  She walked into the town, exploring Mowbray Park on the way and smiling at the children, too young for school, playing on the two cannons brought back from the war in the Crimea. Then she walked quickly along Fawcett Street and the High Street, noting the shops, offices and public buildings. She would need to be able to talk about them if questioned later. She visited only one shop, a confectioner, and bought a bag of sweets. From there she strolled down to Wearmouth bridge and leaned on the parapet. She could see again the busy shipyards and engineering works, with their towering cranes, and the ships lying in the river. She watched for some minutes until the chiming of the town hall clock in Fawcett Street told her it was time to go. She took a train from the central station to Newcastle.

  She arrived mid-morning, when she had reckoned the children would be at school, men at work and women cooking the dinner. She knew her expensive, fashionable clothes would make her stand out in the working-class area to which she was heading, but hoped to avoid being noticed. She was successful, finally slipping down a back lane and through a yard hung with washing. The kitchen door was closed but she turned the handle and walked in. There was the scrubbed table, the fire glowing in the grate, its light reflecting from the polished brass fender. A rag doll was propped against it, as Liza had propped hers when she was a child. Her mother stood at one end of the table, ironing, while the little girl played on the scrap of rug before the fire. Liza smiled into Kitty’s eyes as her mother stared at her disbelievingly. ‘Hello, Mam.’

  ‘Liza! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Germany.’ Then, ‘Susie! Here’s your mammy come to see you.’ Susan climbed to her feet and ran into Liza’s arms. She lifted her daughter and hugged her, danced whirling round the room while the child laughed.

  She halted before her mother. ‘I’d love a cup of tea, Mam.’ That would give her a few minutes to decide how to break the news she had brought.

  ‘Oh, aye. I’ll put the kettle on.’ Kitty set it on the coals with the iron beside it. Then she glanced again at Liza, now seated in one of the two old armchairs, Susan on her knee. ‘You haven’t come home on account of the money that was stolen? I was heartbroken over that, couldn’t sleep for days.’

  ‘That can’t be helped and it’s past now. Never mind the money,’ Liza soothed her.

  ‘Then what brought you back? You haven’t got the sack, have you?’ Liza nodded, and Kitty sat down in the other chair with a bump as her legs turned to jelly. ‘Oh, God help us.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, Mam.’ Liza fumbled in her bag. ‘Close your eyes,’ she said to Susan, ‘and open your mouth and see what God sends you.’ Her daughter obeyed and Liza popped in one of the sweets she had brought. Then she looked up at her mother. ‘It wasn’t my fault but nobody would listen to me.’ She told her story while her mother made the tea.

  At the end Kitty sighed. ‘I don’t see what you could have done, except what you did. That lass who took his word against yours, she’ll learn her mistake one o’ these days —but that doesn’t help us now. You’ll have trouble getting a job of any sort, and you were doing so well.’

  Liza reached into her bag again, but this time brought out her purse. ‘I’ve got another job. And I’ve brought these.’ She gave her mother four of the five sovereigns Cecily had given her. One she retained for her own use, for purposes that had nothing to do with her acting as Miss Spencer. She had the funds William had given her for her everyday expenses. While she was Cecily Spencer she could use Cecily’s money.

  Kitty stared at the sovereigns in her palm, then at the purse. It was evidently fat with banknotes. ‘Where’s all this money come from? And all these fine clothes?’ She gest
ured at the costume, the glimpse of white lace above the silk stockings. ‘What are you doing?’

  Liza had known this would be the difficult bit. She slipped out of the jacket in the warmth of the kitchen. ‘Nothing I’m ashamed of, Mam, but I’m not allowed to tell you what it is. I earned the sovereigns I gave you and the clothes are what I have to wear, just as I did when I was in service. The money in my purse isn’t mine. It was given to me to meet expenses.’

  Kitty struggled to take this in, bewildered. ‘So you’re not in service, not working for some lady as her maid?’

  ‘There’s a lady, but I’m not her maid.’

  ‘Is there a man?’

  ‘Well — yes, but I’m not working for him.’

  ‘He’s her husband?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what is he?’

  ‘Just a man,’ Liza said desperately.

  ‘What’s he like?’ Kitty was appealing for reassurance, Liza knew. ‘Is he a good man?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ Liza stopped then, wondering why she had said that. She and William were polite but distant, and she blamed him for that. So why ... But she had said it now and she would not take back her words, for her mother’s sake and peace of mind.

  Kitty sighed. ‘It’s no good. I can’t understand it, but as long as you’re not doing wrong ... I just hope you’ll be all right.’

  ‘I will,’ Liza said, with confidence, and hoped it was true.

  She talked with her mother, cuddled and played with Susan until Kitty lit the gas-light in the early dusk of winter. Then Liza rose to her feet and pulled on her jacket. ‘I have to go now, Mam. Don’t worry.’ She knew Kitty would worry anyway but she had had to say it — and it might help. She gave the bag of sweets to her and hugged Susan. ‘Be a good girl and Granny will give you one every day. I might be home before you finish them.’ Kisses and tears. Then, so as not to prolong the pain, she walked out. The washing had been taken in now and she crossed the empty yard but paused at the back gate. She turned, and saw Susan in Kitty’s arms, waving. Liza raised her hand, then passed out into the lane.

  On the train she looked back on her visit with pleasure, happy that she had found her mother and daughter well. She treasured each snippet of what Susan had said, how she had looked, the soft pressure of her arms round Liza’s neck.

  The rain began to fall as the train neared Sunderland. At first just scattered drops speckled the windows, but as they crossed the bridge over the Wear it fell heavier. In the gloom she could see the ships only as black silhouettes on the dark glinting surface of the river. Never mind, she thought, soon be home. Then, But it’s not my home.

  She remembered that she had to prepare an account of her day in case she was closely questioned. Once in the house she would be on her own again, surrounded by people who might see through her impersonation of Cecily Spencer.

  Liza walked from the station through the rain, which soaked her. She recalled walking up to the Grange through a downpour, wet and bedraggled — it seemed so long ago. She remembered Toby with a moment of sadness. But as her heels crunched on the gravel of the drive she saw a welcoming light in the hall.

  Elspeth Taggart opened the door to her ring, and stepped back, shocked, as she entered. ‘Why, lassie, you’re sopping wet.’

  Liza laughed. ‘I’m afraid so.’ The lemon costume hung damply against her legs, rain-darkened on the shoulders.

  Now William appeared, striding out of his study. He stared at Liza, her face wet, hair hanging, but glowing as she met his gaze. ‘You look like a drowned rat,’ he said.

  Liza managed a curtsey, dipping low and grinning up at him. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m sorry. No insult was intended. Why didn’t you take a cab?’

  Because it had never occurred to her, and she knew she had made a mistake. Cecily would have taken a cab rather than trudge through the rain. Too late now. She smiled into his eyes. ‘I never gave it a thought.’

  ‘You seem to have enjoyed your day.’

  ‘I had a lovely time, walked in the park.’ She broke off there. That was enough, it was time to change the subject — and seek a friend. She recalled what her mother had said about housekeepers and it being a profession for ladies in reduced circumstances. ‘I’ve been thinking about my training for a position in life, and I wondered if Mrs Taggart would teach me how to be a housekeeper.’ She looked at her.

  Elspeth Taggart was shocked into silence.

  ‘Good God!’ William said. ‘A housekeeper? You?’ He admitted that it was not unknown for a lady to take such a position, and that they were usually distressed gentlefolk. But Cecily?

  Liza laughed inside to see him so disconcerted, but she kept a straight face as she said reprovingly, ‘And why not, sir? If I marry one day then I may have the ordering of a household.’ But that was her answer for Cecily. For herself, with no intention of marrying now after Vince Bailey, she thought it would be useful experience. She might yet aspire to be a housekeeper, as her mother would wish.

  ‘Yes, but I never imagined that you would be able to carry out the duties performed by Mrs Taggart. But this is a matter for her to decide.’

  Liza had guessed as much, too. Elspeth Taggart was capable of telling him: ‘Awa’ wi’ ye!’ She looked appealingly at her.

  Mrs Taggart seemed to be getting over her surprise. ‘I’ll think aboot it.’ And she took herself off: ‘I’ll chase that girl Martha to run you a bath.’

  Liza called after her, ‘Thank you!’ Then she turned to William: Now I’ve seen a little of the town today I’d like to accept your offer. I said "some other time", remember? Will you take me to see where Mr Spencer worked, please?’

  She had surprised him again — she could see it in his face. But he answered quickly, ‘I’ll be glad to. We’ll leave tomorrow at nine?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Then away you go for your bath.’

  * * *

  William watched her run light-footed up the stairs. She was full of surprises. He would never have thought that Cecily would offer to train as a housekeeper — train as anything for that matter. But if Elspeth Taggart agreed to take on the task — a big if — then the girl would find life very different below stairs. It might do her a world of good.

  * * *

  That night Liza lay sleepily in her bed while the rain rattled softly at the window. She looked back over her day and was content. She had seen her mother and Susan. That alone had lifted her heart. Another day had passed and she was more comfortable in her part. So far she had met with hostility but not doubt. She had not been challenged, let alone denounced. It was just as Cecily had foretold, save for this Captain Morgan who had known her before. He had said that Cecily had painted her face on that occasion. Liza thought that the girl must have been daubed like a Red Indian if William could not tell her from Liza — but anything was possible with Cecily.

  Liza had only to play her part until the girl inherited, then take her fee. Roses all the way ...

  She woke to a sky washed blue by the rain and a pale winter sun. There was a distant clanking, a noise she recognised, of an iron bucket being moved from one step of the flight at the front door to the next. A maid was washing the steps and Liza remembered doing that job, the pain of chapped hands in water on a winter morning. She stretched luxuriously, then remembered what lay ahead today and rose from her bed. Martha had dried and pressed her costume. It was not up to Liza’s standard and she would have loved to show the girl how to do it, but she had to hold her tongue. And because Martha had done her best, Liza thanked her with a smile.

  When she went in to breakfast William was seated over his second cup of coffee, his copy of The Times spread in front of him. He laid it aside when she appeared. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Good morning. And you may read your paper. I’m not a talker at breakfast — unless you wish to?’

  He grinned. ‘Thanks. Something here I want to finish.’ He lifted the paper again and hid b
ehind it.

  Liza helped herself deftly from the food laid out on the sideboard. She filled a cup with coffee, the pot in one hand, jug of hot milk in the other, pouring from both at once.

  ‘You’re a dab hand at that,’ William said.

  Liza realised she had made another mistake and improvised quickly: ‘It was a trick I learned because it amused me.’

  ‘You learned it well.’ And the paper lifted again.

  Liza let out a silent sigh. Be careful! she told herself. She watched him covertly as she ate, but his eyes were intent on his reading. She had told her mother he was a good man, but that had been for Kitty’s peace of mind. Still, he was not so distant now and that made her happier. Not that it mattered, of course. She did not care one way or the other so long as he did not see through her deception. How would he react if he did? She saw the strong line of his jaw, the mouth set firm, recalled the cold gaze he had turned on her more than once. She shuddered. He must not find out — or she must escape before he could vent his fury on her.

  He looked up. ‘You’re very serious. Penny for them?’ He was not intimidating now — quite the opposite, in fact.

  ‘They’re not worth a penny,’ Liza replied. ‘I was just thinking about our tour today.’

  He set aside the newspaper as Mrs Taggart came in. ‘Good morning, Miss Spencer,’ she greeted Liza. ‘I’ve thought about what you asked me last night and I’m prepared to teach you my trade, if you still feel that way inclined.’

  Liza nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  Evidently the housekeeper had not expected that: she blinked rapidly but soon recovered. ‘Aye? Would you be wanting to start now? No time like the present.’

  ‘No,’ William answered firmly. ‘Miss Spencer is coming with me to see Mr Spencer’s office and one or two of his ships.’ He still thought of them as belonging to his late guardian, though they now belonged to him. ‘I think tomorrow will be early enough to start Miss Spencer’s training, if that is agreeable to her?’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Liza.