Liza

by Irene Carr

  ‘Ah!’ Gibson had shut the carriage door. ‘That’s right, Captain Morgan.’

  ‘And that’ll be the old man’s niece — Miss Cecily Spencer?’

  ‘Right again.’ Gibson had swung up into his seat. ‘D’ye want my name?’ They had both guffawed as the carriage rolled, and Galloway put away his notebook.

  Now he decided to eat a bite of breakfast, then catch a train south to take him home. Whoever wanted to know where Cecily Spencer lived, he was sure it would be bad news for her, but that was not his problem.

  18

  SUNDAY, 3 FEBRUARY 1907, AT SEA AND IN LONDON

  The coal thundered in a black torrent down into the hold of the Wear Lass where she lay under the Wearmouth coal staiths. As it did so it spewed out a cloud of dust that boiled about the ship then drifted away on the wind. Liza watched from a safe distance, standing on the bridge over the river. She squinted against the low sun, which was shining directly into her eyes.

  She had come out for a walk after lunch, claiming to need fresh air, but in fact just to be alone with her cares. William had said, ‘With that chap Barbour on the loose, you should not be on your own.’

  ‘He will still be hiding in London,’ Liza argued, ‘if he hasn’t been caught already.’

  He had seen the logic in this, but added, ‘Don’t forget we sail this afternoon.’

  Liza smiled now at his concern for her but the smile faded as her gaze focused again on the ship. She knew the Wear Lass, the ship that had brought her to this place. It had saved her life then and it might save her from disgrace now, because it would take her to London. She did not know how, only that she had to see Cecily Spencer and talk to her. Cecily had to come to Sunderland to claim her inheritance in just two weeks’ time. Liza could not claim it for her: she would be guilty of a criminal offence, she was certain. She also knew she could do nothing until she had seen the heiress. When Liza had taken on this task it had seemed simple — or so Cecily had made her believe. Now she decided that ten pounds and a reference were not enough.

  But she was looking forward, excited, to the journey south.

  She had time to call in on Iris, she decided, so she walked briskly to her house and found her sitting in her chair before the fire. Her shawl was around her shoulders and her head bowed over the knitting in her lap. She snored gently, but woke with a jerk as Liza entered. ‘I was just resting my eyes,’ she said.

  ‘I came to see how you were. We’re off to London this afternoon.’

  Iris lifted the needles and smiled at her. ‘I’m very canny now, thank ye. And London, eh? I always wanted to go there. Are you going with that Billy Morgan?’

  ‘He’s the captain of the ship.’

  ‘Yell have to do everything he tells you, then.’

  ‘Oh, no, I don’t,’ Liza riposted but felt her face colouring. To hide it she turned to peer out of the window, as if looking at the weather. ‘We should have a smooth passage.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Iris said. It was only later that Liza wondered what the old woman had referred to — the weather or William. Now Iris said, ‘You’ll have to come and tell me all about it when you get back.’

  ‘I will,’ Liza promised.

  She returned to the Spencer house, running the last furlong, skirts flying in a flurry of lace and a hand on her hat. Gibson sat in the back seat of the Vauxhall with their suitcases, the engine ticking over, while William stood by the driver’s seat consulting his wristwatch. Liza arrived panting. ‘Sorry if I’m late.’ She glanced at Cecily’s watch. ‘No, I’m not.’

  William grinned. ‘Nearly.’ He handed her in, then waited while she whipped a silk scarf over her hat and tied it on.

  ‘Right. We’re off.’ He drove away from the house and made for the town.

  They sailed that afternoon, the Wear Lass dropping down the river and steaming out between the piers, butting into the sea. Later, at night, Liza stood on the open bridge beside William. The air was chilly but instead of the fashionable coat she had brought with her, which was hanging in her cabin, she snuggled into a thick navy blue bridge coat with its wide collar turned up around her ears. It was a smaller copy of the one William wore and he had bought it for her. Made for a man, it hung down to her ankles.

  He glanced down at her. ‘Warm enough?’ She nodded, smiling, as errant locks of her hair whipped on the wind. ‘Seagoing ladies usually have a coat made to measure but I didn’t have time.’

  ‘Never mind. It was a nice surprise.’ Liza wondered if he had done it before. ‘Do many ladies go to sea?’

  ‘A few skippers take their wives, some occasionally, some as a regular arrangement. The latter are usually newly-weds without a family to keep them ashore, or older, with their children out in the world. Few stick it because of the wandering life, not knowing where you’ll be next week or next month.’

  Now they could see the lights of other ships pricking the darkness. ‘I didn’t think there would be so many,’ Liza said.

  ‘Most nights you have company on this east coast route. And talking of company ...’

  Archie Godolphin, the cook, had climbed up to the bridge, his bald dome gleaming in the dimness. ‘Tea, Skipper.’ He held out two thick white mugs. ‘Saw the lady come up here so I brought one for her too.’

  Liza took hers. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome aboard, Miss.’ He clattered away down the ladder.

  William and Liza stood in companionable silence for a while, sipping their tea, then Liza said, ‘I think I’ll say goodnight now.’

  ‘One last thing,’ said William. ‘I’ve arranged a party on the Saturday before your birthday, a sort of early celebration so that you can meet a few people. Dancing and a buffet.’

  ‘Thank you. What a nice idea. You are good to me.’

  ‘I thought if you got to know a few of us you might learn to like this North Country.’’

  ‘But I do like it. I love it,’ Liza said indignantly.

  His black brows lifted. ‘You always used to say you would never come back to the north.’

  Cecily again! She had mentioned something like that. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Liza said. Let Cecily talk her way out of it. Then she remembered where Cecily was and the point of this voyage. ‘Goodnight again.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  * * *

  William watched her climb down the ladder to the deck and make her way aft to her cabin, staggering a little with the motion of the ship. He was still amazed at the way the girl had changed in recent years. She’d said he was good to her. Maybe he was. Because of her transformation — as an expression of relief ? He gave a low growl of laughter at that. He knew the real reason.

  * * *

  Liza lay in her bunk, listening to the steady rhythm of the engines, not so much a sound as a sensation transmitted through the hull like a heartbeat. She knew that every second was taking her nearer to London and she had no idea how she might help Cecily — and herself.

  * * *

  The Wear Lass made eight knots all the way south and entered London’s river in the forenoon of Tuesday. Liza had spent a lot of time on deck, or on the bridge when William was keeping his watch. She was at his side as the ship steamed up the estuary. He pointed: ‘The ship ahead of us, she’s the Frances Hopkinson out of Newcastle. Jock McAvoy is her skipper and he has his wife aboard. They’ve been married about a year.’ Just then the other ship sheered away. ‘She’s docking at Tilbury,’ he explained. ‘We’re going all the way up to Battersea to discharge our coal at the power station, but we’ll probably have to swing to a buoy for a good while before they can fit us in. So I thought you might like a night or two ashore in a proper bed, and you could do some shopping in London. But, please, stay inside after dark. I’m concerned about Jasper Barbour. He may still be loose and in London.’

  Liza did not care about the bed, had become fond of her narrow bunk, but London? This was the answer to a prayer. ‘Thank you. I’d like that. And I’ll do as you say.’
If she could, but she had work to do.

  The Wear Lass stopped within sight of Tower Bridge to pick up the pilot who would steer her through the narrow passages between the bridges. Liza was waiting with an overnight case, and the cutter that brought out the pilot took her ashore. She was able to book a room and eat a hurried lunch in a quiet hotel. By four in the afternoon she was talking to Cecily Spencer.

  Liza had passed through grim prison gates and was led by a warder along dark, dank passageways that echoed to the tap-tap of her heels, through heavy steel doors that slammed shut behind her. They sat in a bare room, the single barred window set high in the wall. Liza was at one end of a table, Cecily at the other, with a bored wardress standing between them.

  ‘How nice of you to come!’ Cecily was obviously delighted to see her. ‘How on earth did you manage it?’ And before Liza could tell her: ‘Never mind. The important thing is that you’re here. This is a frightful place. I have a room — a cell — to myself, but some of the other women in here are rather awful.’ She grimaced. ‘When we were on that ship I said I doubted I’d ever see the inside of a cell, but I was wrong.’

  Liza had a bone or two to pick with Cecily. ‘You didn’t warn me about William Morgan, that you and he had met before, in Hampshire. And he is now your guardian.’

  ‘My — I didn’t know that!’ Cecily giggled. ‘I forgot about him. I was naughty then, but I paid for it.’

  ‘Edward left everything to him.’ Liza decided to let Cecily find out for herself about the training in housekeeping.

  ‘He probably deserves it. I thought he was just one of Edward’s captains but Aunt Alexandra told me later that he was a partner.’

  Liza decided to get back to the point of her visit. ‘I’m going to try to get you out.’ She saw that Cecily was far from her well-groomed self, showing signs of having worn the same clothes for some days. ‘But can I fetch you anything in the meanwhile?’

  ‘A change of clothes, please. You know the sizes, of course.’ Cecily grinned. ‘Just as long as you bring me something. That’s important.’

  ‘So is your freedom. I’ll tell them all about — you know.’ Liza’s gaze flickered across to the wardress and back again. ‘Then they’ll see you can’t be guilty.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Cecily decisively. ‘I am Mrs Mark Calvert, as far as the world is concerned. I won’t have my reputation besmirched. Mark would be terribly upset. I will stick anything,’ she pulled a face, ‘even this awful hole, to avoid that.’

  Liza was bewildered. ‘But you’ve to claim your inheritance in two weeks’ time! I can’t do that! It would mean I’d be guilty—’ She stopped. The wardress was showing some interest now.

  ‘I won’t hear of it. You don’t need to worry about getting me out. When they fetch that man from America, and he tells them we weren’t the couple who tried to blackmail him, they’ll let us out. I’ll be there in two weeks’ time.’ Cecily explained how Joseph Connolly, an American, was the sole witness apart from Randolph Stevenson. ‘He’s admitted we didn’t ask him for money, that he’d jumped to a conclusion. So, please, just bring me some clean underwear and a dress or two.’ And then, steely now, ‘If you let the cat out of the bag, you won’t get your five pounds.’

  That silenced Liza: she needed the five pounds due to her when Cecily inherited. And now she knew why Cecily was so blasé: she was confident she would be released. Liza did not share her optimism. Suppose the American mistakenly identified Cecily as the guilty girl? Suppose he was short-sighted? But she could not see how she could help here. She rose to go. ‘I have a lot to do.’

  Cecily followed suit and giggled again. ‘You know, I think you must be a jolly good lady’s maid.’

  ‘I wish that’s all I was,’ Liza said bitterly, and walked out.

  She had only gone a dozen yards when she was confronted by a worn, melancholy man in a serge suit shiny with age. He put a forefinger to his skimpy forelock, which was oiled down in a quiff, and asked, ‘Miss Thornton?’

  Liza remembered she had given her own name when applying to talk to Cecily. She had been wary of giving a false one at the prison. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I’m Sergeant Merryweather. Would you be so good as to come this way, please, Miss. I’d like to have a word if you don’t mind.’

  Liza realised his request had not been a question, and entered the room he indicated. He followed her. ‘Please be seated, Miss.’ It was a poky little office with a desk, a chair behind it and another in front. Merryweather edged round the desk to sit behind it so Liza took the chair in front.

  ‘They sent a man to tell me you were here so I hurried round to catch you,’ the sergeant said. Liza did not like the sound of ‘catch’, but he went on, ‘I understand you’re a friend of Mrs Calvert.’

  Liza swallowed. That was how she had described herself when asking permission to see Cecily. Now she saw that if she said, ‘Yes,’ then she would have endorsed Cecily’s false name. Wouldn’t that make her an accessory?

  But Merryweather was going on: ‘Are you also a friend of Mr Calvert?’

  That was easy: ‘No. In fact, we’ve never met.’

  ‘Um. Pity.’ He shifted uncomfortably, ran a finger through the dust on the desk and wiped it off with a handkerchief. ‘How long have you known Mrs Calvert?’ There it was again. Liza felt she was being drawn further and further into deep waters. But Merryweather gave her no chance to reply: ‘Are you an accomplice?’ He scowled at her.

  Liza was shocked. Accomplice! ‘No!’

  ‘A young man and two young women, well dressed and possessed of money. You and Mrs Calvert look two of a kind to me.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And you’ve not been very forthcoming about Mrs Calvert. Is that her real name?’ He leaned forward over the desk. ‘D’ye see, when they tried their trick on earlier victims — and it was always the same trick, old as the hills — they called themselves Wood or Armstrong, Dobson or Hunter. Now, was the lady in the case always Mrs Calvert? Or did she share the job with you? The description I’ve got would fit either of you.’

  He waited but Liza sat silent. He prodded, ‘Cat got your tongue? Is Liza Thornton your real name? And how did you pay for those fine clothes?’

  The description would fit either her or Cecily? Liza could well believe it. That was at the bottom of all this trouble, the reason why she was here and now under suspicion of blackmail. If she was arrested and sent to prison, how would Kitty and Susan survive? Her mother and daughter would starve. She would do all she could for Cecily, but now she must care for her own. She looked into Merryweather’s eyes, which were now hard and accusing. ‘It is my name. I’m a lady’s maid but at the moment—’ She broke off and instead asked, ‘When were these crimes committed?’ And when he told her: ‘I can tell you that at the time of the first the lady and I were on a ship sailing from Hamburg to the Tyne ...’

  Liza related how the Florence Grey had been in collision and she and Cecily were rescued by the Wear Lass. She said nothing of her posing as Cecily but spoke with the confidence of truth.

  * * *

  Merryweather became uneasy. He was still waiting for his only witness and would be for some time. He could have asked the staff at the other hotels to identify the Calverts and confirm that they had been there, but as the victims had refused to bring charges there had seemed no point. The staff at the Jefferson had confirmed that the Calverts had been there for more than a week but they could have gone out to do the jobs — couldn’t they?

  Merryvveather did not like it. He had been sure he had caught two villains, but now?

  * * *

  Liza stood up. She had sensed his indecision. His eyes were thoughtful now and his brow furrowed. ‘Your prisoner asked me to bring her some clothing,’ she said, ‘and I will do so early tomorrow.’

  He nodded reluctantly, accepting that he had to let her go. ‘But give me your address.’

  She told him, and added icily, ‘I’m staying ther
e alone.’

  He said nothing to that, only, ‘If you think of anything you want to tell me you can find me at my station.’ He gave her a slip of paper with directions, then watched her leave with her accompanying warder.

  * * *

  Piggy Cooper and Una had celebrated their return to business with a good dinner in the hotel restaurant, accompanied by a discreet half-bottle of wine. Afterwards they drank their coffee in the lounge and fell into conversation with Major Roxborough (retired). He was florid, with a large moustache and bulging eyes, and said he was in London on business to talk to his solicitor and his stockbroker. His wife had stayed in the shires: ‘She prefers her horses, y’know.’

  He and Una talked a great deal but Piggy hid behind a news-paper, apparently studying the business pages. Eventually he broke up the party by glancing at his watch and rising. ‘Busy day tomorrow.’

  Una sighed. ‘Business again. You men! Goodnight, Major.’ ‘Goodnight, ma’am. Goodnight, Hawthorn.’ Piggy acknowledged him with a wave of the paper.

  The couple retired to their room and were soon enjoying a bottle of gin they had bought earlier that day. ‘That dress always works,’ Piggy said. It showed off Una’s shoulders and swelling bosom. He began to unhook it down the back. ‘Old Roxborough’s eyes were popping out.’

  Una guffawed, then hiccuped. ‘Every time I leaned towards him! It took me all my time to keep my face straight.’ She swallowed some gin and breathed sensually, ‘Do that again.’