by Irene Carr
‘I’ve told you—’ Mark tried.
But Merryweather waved a hand, dismissing what he had been about to say. ‘I know what you said about her trying to get your old job back but I don’t believe it. You’re telling me you’re a farmer but you make your living out of playing cards. And that your wife here has plenty of money but no explanation of where it came from.’ Cecily was still maintaining that she was Mrs Mark Calvert, determined not to disclose her real name and be dragged back ignominiously to Sunderland. Merryweather had them charged and taken down to the cells.
* * *
Merryweather had a problem. There had been complaints before Joseph Connolly’s from men who had paid up to Piggy and Una but later laid information with the police. Not one was prepared to give evidence for fear of being laughed at — or worse, if their wives found out. Merryweather sighed. He had hoped the Calverts would confess, but now there was nothing else for it.
Next morning, in the magistrates’ court, he asked for them to be remanded to give him an opportunity to bring back his witness from the USA so that he could identify the prisoners. His request was granted.
* * *
Jasper Barbour scaled the twenty-foot prison wall in broad daylight with the aid of a rope tossed over to him by Flora Gibb. He found her waiting for him outside with a pony and trap. As he jumped up beside her she lashed the pony into a gallop and he laughed with jubilation. Inside the hour he was hidden in rooms she had rented and was telling her: ‘I’ll lie low here for a week or two until the first hunt dies down. Now come here. I’ve been dreaming of this for years.’ And he drew her towards him.
He had left behind a battered prison warder.
17
SATURDAY, 2 FEBRUARY 1907, SUNDERLAND
‘It’s time we made a start again, Miss Spencer,’ Elspeth Taggart began. Liza had just finished her breakfast and was lingering over her tea, having worked from six forty-five. She wore her brown dress and white apron.
William lowered his newspaper. ‘Not today, Mrs Taggart. Miss Spencer has had a busy week. You’ll recall it was only two weeks ago tomorrow that her ship sank under her. She is also Mr Edward’s niece, and all work and no play makes Jill a dull lady.’
The housekeeper sniffed. ‘It was Miss Spencer’s request that I taught her my duties and on Saturday I consult with the cook regarding the meals for the weekend, and then—’
William overrode her. ‘It is my request that she help you consult with the cook but that is all — for now and Sunday.’
Elspeth Taggart yielded: ‘Aye, verra weel, Captain Morgan.’
‘I’ll try again on Monday,’ Liza said, ‘and thank you, Mrs Taggart.’
‘You’re welcome, Miss Spencer. I’ll see you with the cook at nine, if that is convenient.’ She went off, back very straight. ‘She’ll be cross with me now,’ Liza whispered.
William shook his head. ‘Not you — me. Elspeth brought me up, used to play football with me in the garden. She sometimes thinks I haven’t changed, that I’m still six or seven with my socks around my ankles.’ He saw Liza’s startled gaze. ‘You find that hard to believe?’
‘No.’ Liza suspected Mrs Taggart was putting her through the mill because she was Cecily Spencer and needed to be taught a lesson. ‘I think she’s a dear.’
* * *
And as she went about her duties Elspeth thought, The lassie works hard and never complains, I’ll give her that, and no airs and graces about her. She had a growing respect for the slight, dark-eyed girl with the ready smile that could turn into a mischievous grin.
* * *
Back in the dining room, William tossed aside the newspaper and thereby missed two important items. ‘I have tickets for the first show at the Empire tonight and we can go on for a bite of supper afterwards. Would you like that?’
Of course she would. ‘Yes, please!’
He grinned and rose to his feet. ‘I have to go into the office this morning. I’ll see you at lunch. You have an appointment with the cook and Mrs Taggart.’
Liza saw that the time was a minute to nine and let out a squeak. She shot out of her chair like a scalded cat and ran out past the grinning William.
* * *
Liza could have got dressed alone for that evening, but she called on Martha because she was certain Cecily would have done. But she made sure that the dress and accessories Martha laid out were as she wished them to be. In the quiet of the afternoon, making the excuse that she was lying down, she spent an hour altering a dress that was not to her liking. Later she kept a wary eye on Martha as the girl ironed it.
That evening, as she walked down the stairs, she saw her efforts had been worthwhile. The dress was of black lace with a black silk cummerbund. She had taken in the waist so that it emphasised the slimness of her figure and shortened the skirt to show a flash of neat ankles and white underskirt. They stared up at her, Mrs Taggart open-mouthed. William, elegant in his dinner suit, said, ‘You look ...’ He was lost for words.
The housekeeper supplied them: ‘You’re as pretty as a picture, Miss.’
Liza blushed and looked up at him shyly. ‘Am I late? I’m sorry.’ She knew she was not but wanted to make the point.
‘No, you’re not.’ He seemed surprised and pleased about that. He held her coat for her and she slipped into it, feeling the weight of his hands on her shoulders. Then they were in the carriage with Gibson driving, rolling down the drive.
Elspeth watched them go then locked the front door and hung the key in its usual place on the hook by the door; William carried his own key.
Liza was excited. It was almost a year since she had seen a show, and then it had been a cheap music-hall and she had sat at the back of the stalls. Tonight they would probably be in the royal circle. And she was driving to it escorted by a handsome — well, impressive young man. She had forgotten the size of him but he seemed to fill the carriage.
When they stopped outside the theatre he handed her down and called up to Gibson, ‘You can go home. We’ll find a cab afterwards.’ Then he was easing a passage for them through the crowds, they were inside and wending their way through softly lit corridors, quiet on rich carpets. An elderly uniformed man led the way and eventually opened a door and ushered her through. Liza obeyed and found herself standing at the front of a box. The lights of the auditorium were all on and the theatre was filled with several hundred people: they all seemed to be staring at her.
Liza gasped. She had thought she would be hidden in the crowd but instead she was the target for their stares. Surely a score would point and shout, ‘Impostor!’ She tried to step back but William was behind her. She felt his hands on her shoulders again, taking the coat from her. It was as if he was undressing her before those probing eyes.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.
Cecily wouldn’t have batted an eyelid when faced by this crowd, Liza thought. She knew that she must be just as confident. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ She smiled up at him, then found the chair at her back and sank into it. The eyes seemed to recede, the theatre grew bigger, the audience just looking about as she was, talking, laughing. There were still eyes on her but she accepted that they were only casually curious; there was nothing sinister in this and no likelihood of her being known. She was sure some of those looks were aimed at William, with yearning in them. Betty Dixon had said he was a very eligible bachelor. Liza relaxed and began to enjoy herself.
She laughed or sighed and applauded all through the show, but was always conscious of William at her side. Afterwards he stood to help her into her coat. Now we must find some supper.’ But that dilemma was solved for them as they stepped out of the box.
Liza had stopped in the doorway to allow a party to pass. A slim woman in her forties glanced past her, saw William and called, ‘Billy! Billy Morgan! I haven’t seen you for ages.’
‘Good evening, Mrs Summers.’ He made the introductions: ‘This is Edward’s niece, Cecily Spencer.’
Mrs Summers smiled
brightly at Liza. ‘Very sad about your uncle, a great loss, but I’m delighted to meet you.’ The passage was becoming crowded as the people departing from boxes tried to pass the party.
‘Move along now, ladies and gents, per-lease!’ the usher called.
‘Oh dear. We must get on,’ Mrs Summers said. ‘We’re having supper at the Palace. Will you join us?’
‘Glad to,’ said William. ‘Thank you.’
The Palace was a handsome hotel near the bridge over the river Wear. Liza and William mingled with the other guests in the hotel bar, talking, laughing, drinking. Liza stuck cautiously to water. Several girls brushed past William with words of greeting and a touch of the hand. He knew them all and they evidently didn’t want to be forgotten. Mrs Summers’s party from the Empire was boosted by more who met them at the Palace, so twenty sat down to eat. There were a dozen main courses to choose from, ranging from lobster salad to braised beef, turkey, ham, chicken and aspic of prawns. Then a choice of six desserts, jellies, creams and meringues. Liza knew that the food alone must have cost seven or eight shillings a head. She had seen it all before but only eaten the leftovers in the kitchen.
Afterwards there was dancing and she could practise what she had learned when working for the Greshams and polished during her stay in Paris. A young man on Liza’s right asked her first, then another from her left. She noticed that she was being watched once more and, in her seat, murmured to William, ‘This is lunch all over again,’ reminding him of how she had met his business acquaintances over lunch. He grinned. ‘You can’t blame them. You turn up out of the blue, not stepping from a humdrum train but escaping from a sinking ship! Naturally they’re going to be curious.’
‘I don’t mind.’ She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘This is a lovely evening.’
William’s brows lifted. ‘I’d have thought you’d seen lots of parties like this.’
Liza could answer truthfully: ‘Yes, but this is nice.’ She did not tell him that her previous experience had been as a waitress.
Then a tall, corseted lady appeared at her side. ‘Hello! I’m Maudie Fitzgibbon. We’ve not met before but you were at school in Switzerland with Clara, my eldest. She talked so much about you.’ There was a glint in her eye.
Liza was struck dumb. She stared past Maudie, expecting to see this Clara who had talked so much about Cecily. And what had Clara said? William knew Cecily as the girl who had offered herself to him. What did Maudie know —and suspect of Liza?
‘Oh, yes?’ she said, with concealed apprehension.
Maudie’s smile seemed malicious. ‘Clara is in Greece at present on the tour, but when she returns in April you must come over to us.’
‘Thank you.’ Now Liza saw another young man bearing down on her as the band struck up. ‘Your dance, William,’ she said, stood up and seized his arm. And to Maudie, ‘Please excuse us. I did promise him.’ Then they were out on the floor.
‘What is this all about?’ William asked. ‘You hadn’t promised me a dance, though I’ll gladly claim it.’
‘I just felt that I had to dance this one.’ Liza smiled up at him. She had thought for a second or two that she was about to be exposed, had been given a nasty fright, and now she clung to William for safety. She shuddered.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Then she changed that: ‘Yes.’ She could not tell him of her fear.
‘Which?’ He laughed.
‘Cold, but just a shiver.’
They circled the floor and she recovered her nerve. Clara would not return until April and by then Liza would be gone.
Cecily could face whatever scandalous disclosures Maudie Fitzgibbon had planned.
When the dance ended Liza was riding a tide of happiness. She danced with several other men as the evening wore on, but always looked forward to returning to William. When they left they thanked Mrs Summers, and Liza called gaily to Maudie, ‘Give my regards to Clara!’
They sat close in the cab perforce, Liza very conscious of William beside her. It was then that he told her, ‘I have a surprise for you. The cruise I promised: I have to skipper one of our colliers down to London and we sail tomorrow afternoon.’
Liza clapped her hands. ‘That’s lovely.’ Then she remembered: ‘But I promised Mrs Taggart I would train with her next week.’
‘I’ve already spoken to Elspeth and made your excuses.’
‘Oh.’ Liza thought about that for a moment and did not like it. She was sure that the housekeeper would think this was just a way for her to wriggle out of her work. ‘I will ask Mrs Taggart if she minds. I think that is only fair.’
‘As you wish.’
Once he would not have believed that Cecily would care about the housekeeper’s feelings, but he remembered how she had changed. He was happy with the arrangement, however, knew Elspeth had a soft heart.
They did not speak again until he used his key to let them into the hall, which was silent save for the ticking of the clock. He took her coat and she turned to face him. ‘I’ve had a lovely time.’ She stood on tiptoe, put her arms round his neck and pulled his head down. ‘Thank you.’ She kissed him and ran up the stairs. He watched her go, flitting light-footed like a ghost, silent as her own shadow, but her voice came softly back to him: ‘Goodnight, William!’
Liza had told Martha not to wait up for her so she undressed herself and slid into bed by the light of the fire. She lay still, and in the quiet house heard his heavy tread on the stairs, then in the passage outside her room. Did it hesitate there or did she imagine it? But it went on and she heard his door close.
She had made an important discovery, while in William’s arms. She lay small in the big bed and thought that the man was impossible — wasn’t he? From their first meeting he had been cold and distant, his disapproval verging on dislike. But not for a while now and that had been intended for Cecily. So ... Still, an affair was impossible.
Yet she smiled as she fell asleep.
When Liza ran down the stairs to breakfast she met the housekeeper in the hall. ‘Good morning, Mrs Taggart. Captain Morgan tells me he asked you to excuse me for a week to sail to London. May I go, please? Or will it be inconvenient?’
Elspeth Taggart eyed her. ‘I’m thinking you’ll have packed already.’
‘Yes, I have,’ Liza admitted. Quickly, that morning.
Mrs Taggart looked down her nose at her. ‘I expect I’ll be able to manage on my own for a week.’ Then, with a shadow of a smile, ‘Aye, you get away, Miss Spencer. Ye’ve worked awful hard and learned verra quick. We’ll soon make up for lost time when you come home.’
Liza blinked. Come home? That had a warm sound to it. ‘Thank you, Mrs Taggart.’ She swung an arm round the woman’s waist and planted a kiss on her apple cheek, then whisked in to breakfast.
William had been only minutes ahead of her. ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘I did, thank you.’ She was flushed and smiling as she served herself from the dishes on the sideboard. She thought that Mrs Taggart had justified her assessment as a dear. She could go to London with William so that was all right. Perfect.
He thought that this new Cecily had always seemed a pretty girl, but now she had blossomed.
They talked easily as they ate and William left the newspaper untouched by his plate. Only at the end, as they sat over coffee, did he glance at it casually. Then he said, ‘Good Lord!’ Liza wondered idly what had seized his attention. He stood up and walked round the table. ‘That chap Jasper Barbour has broken out of prison and half killed a warder. You’ll remember him.’
She did not. ‘Oh, yes.’ What now?
William was going on: ‘I was at sea at the time but Edward told me the story later. You testified against Barbour when you were only fifteen or so, and he swore to have his revenge, threatened you.’ He laid the paper on the table before her and pointed at the headline: ‘Prisoner Assaults Warder and Escapes’. ‘But he’s a long way away and no doubt he’ll be recapture
d in a day or two.’ He frowned, then added, ‘Still, I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t go out alone from now on.’ He glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I’ve work to do before we sail. I’ll see you at lunch.’
He strode off and Liza read the story. She thought wryly that she need not fear Barbour unless he found her before Cecily returned. If he did, would he shout to the world, ‘This woman is a fraud!’? She giggled. But then she saw the small item at the bottom of the page or, rather, one word of it: Calvert. Wasn’t that the name Cecily had said she would use? she thought. And now she took in all of the report with one swift scanning. Mr Mark and Mrs Cecily Calvert had been remanded in custody on charges of attempted extortion and blackmail. Cecily jailed! Liza stared at the newspaper, Jasper Barbour forgotten. Cecily would not come back to claim her inheritance now. What was she to do?
* * *
Herbert Galloway, private investigator, ex-policeman (dis-missed from the force for accepting bribes), awoke late in his lodgings near Sunderland station. He lay on his back staring up at the cracked ceiling and thought with satisfaction that he had done a good day’s work on the Saturday. Now he could get back to London and collect his fee from Flora Gibb. For a moment or two he thought he would include hotel costs on his account, although his lodgings were little more expensive than a seaman’s boarding-house. Then he decided against it. Flora was obviously acting for someone else, and the very fact that she had come to him meant that that person might be criminal and violent.
It had been an easy enough job, anyway, to find that the girl’s parents had died but her uncle and guardian lived in Sunderland and was a prominent citizen. When he had got there he had found that the uncle was dead but a Captain Morgan was living in the house — the electoral roll had shown him that. All he had to do then was watch the place, mark the tall captain driving the Vauxhall and the young lady who must be the one he wanted — whom Flora had asked him to find — and then confirm it. He had hired a cab and followed the carriage on Saturday night. At the theatre he had edged up to Gibson and asked, awed, ‘Your governor — Captain Morgan, isn’t it?’ He flourished a notebook. ‘I’m doing a bit for the Echo, "who’s who at the Empire tonight". I know most of them by sight but I’m not sure about your feller.’
