Storms Gather Between Us

by Storms Gather Between Us (retail) (epub)

  But this man today. He hadn’t looked at her like that. He had not catcalled, or whistled, or made rude gestures. He’d spoken what he must have thought was her name. Elizabeth.

  It had chilled her, frightened her. It was not the first time someone had commented that she resembled her missing aunt. One day she’d been walking back from her secret refuge among the sand dunes, when a smartly dressed lady had called out the name Elizabeth. She’d turned round, and the woman had apologised.

  ‘How remarkable. I took you for someone else. Someone I haven’t seen in years. I wonder… perhaps you are related. Her name is Miss Morton. Perhaps—’

  Mindful of her father’s edict not to speak to strangers, she’d said nothing and hurried away, leaving the woman standing looking after her. Hannah had regretted it ever since. It had been her one opportunity to find out something about her aunt. She’d often returned to the same street but had never seen the woman again.

  Now this man had called her by her aunt’s name. She’d not been able to see his face very clearly. He was wearing a cap pulled low over his brow; it was already dusk, and this stretch of road, poorly lit. His voice was unusual – some kind of accent. She didn’t know from where – it had an almost musical lilt and was not the scouse or Irish accent of most of the dockers.

  Hannah ran until she was within sight of her own street. Yet again she’d missed her opportunity to find out about Aunt Lizzie and the mystery of her sudden departure. All her mother had told her was that she was never coming back. Hannah had always imagined she had gone to join her father, Hannah’s grandfather, in Australia. But if she had, then why had she never written?

  Safely inside the house, she went upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her sister, stuffed her library book into its customary hiding place underneath the mattress and sat down on the bed. She took the photograph of her aunt out of her pocket and studied it. Did she really look like her? She would like to think so. But who was the mysterious man? How did he know Aunt Lizzie? She now regretted failing to stop and talk to him and not just because of her aunt. There had been something about him – she couldn’t say what – that made her wish she had waited to hear what he had to say. As she tried to sleep that night her thoughts kept returning to the man on the docks and the sound of his voice.

  * * *

  The Arklow was similar to the Christina in build and capacity but the waters it sailed over were very different from those Will had known around Africa. Here the sea was dark, as grey as the sky it reflected. He had been told most of the crew were Irishmen, the rest drawn from the wide variety of nationalities that sailed out of Liverpool. Friendly enough, but none of them inspired the close affinity he had experienced with Paolo Tornabene.

  The day passed uneventfully, as the crew loaded up the now empty holds with cargo, ready to return to Ireland. While the heavy lifting was done by the dock workers, the crew had to drag the tarpaulins over the hatches, keep the decks safe and operate the derricks and winches. It was hard work and the tarpaulins were huge – the size of a tennis court sometimes – and heavy.

  One of the dockers was an Irishman. He was friendlier than the others – dockers tended to keep themselves apart from the crew. There was an unofficial rivalry between the seamen and the stevedores. The seamen generally saw themselves as superior to these landlubbers and the dockers thought the sailors were wimps. Will had no truck with this animosity. He took all men at face value. The old naval expression ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ deriving from the days when the cat o’ nine tails was the common currency of punishment, had always made sense to him. When the man offered him one of his cheese and pickle sandwiches, Will accepted gratefully and offered the man a friendly grin and a handshake.

  The man told him his name was Eddie O’Connor and he had only recently relocated to Liverpool. ‘There’s more work and better money here than back home, you know. I thought I’d be giving it a go. But I miss the craic.’

  When Will looked puzzled, Eddie said, ‘You’ve not been knowing many Irishmen then? Craic mean the company, the chat. These Scousers are a close lot. Takes a bit to be accepted.’ He laughed. ‘Even though most of the buggers come from over the water themselves – or their mammies and daddies did.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘You know anyone in Dublin?’

  Will shook his head.

  ‘Then take this.’ He scribbled with a pencil stub on a cigarette paper. ‘I’ve four brothers, three working the docks and one a seaman like you. The mammie’s a widow. The old fella was killed when a crane toppled on him ten years ago. If you need lodging or a bit of craic, go and see them. Mammie’s always glad of an extra bob or two since me da died. She’ll put you up. Cheaper than the seamen’s hostel.’ He searched in his pocket and pulled out a ten-bob note. ‘You’d better give her this. Tell her I’ll try and send more when I’m able.’

  Amazed that a stranger should show him such trust, Will grinned and shook the man’s hand. ‘Thanks, mate. I’ll see your ma gets it.’

  ‘And when you’re back in the Pool we’ll have a few jars together. You’ll find me in the Baltic most nights.’

  They would be away for four days: there was the crossing to Dublin, unloading and reloading, one night in port, then the return to Liverpool via Birkenhead where they were dropping off a quantity of live cattle. Will wasn’t too impressed when he discovered that fact. He disliked live cargo. It made for a messy ship, strong smells, and the cattle made him think of the slave trade – helpless creatures being shipped towards an unknown fate. In the case of the cattle, it was the abattoirs of the Wirral peninsula.

  For the first time since he had run away to sea eleven years ago, Will found himself looking back towards the land, thinking of someone in particular and wishing he was still in port. The image of that scared young woman haunted him. She’d been so like his Lizbeth – but he had frightened her away. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. As soon as he was back in Liverpool he would make it his mission to track her down and this time find a way to talk to her.

  Chapter Eight

  Judith burst into the bedroom like a small tornado.

  Hannah quickly tucked the photograph of their aunt under the welt of her cardigan, hoping Judith wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Where’s Father?’ Judith looked annoyed. ‘We still haven’t finished that bridal gown so I missed my dinner hour again and ran all the way home because I waited until the last possible minute, and he isn’t even here. I could have stayed late and finished that dress. Now I’ll have to go in early tomorrow and work through the dinner hour again.’ She pulled a face.

  ‘I have no idea where he is. He was only in the office for about half an hour this afternoon and you know he’d never consider telling me where he was going.’

  The two sisters chorused together, ‘Aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs. Thessalonians, Chapter Four.’

  They started laughing. ‘Bet you can’t remember the verse number,’ said Hannah.

  ‘You’re right about that – but don’t let Father hear you using the word bet.’

  They started laughing again, this time helplessly. Then Judith stopped and looked at her sister, head tilted on one side. ‘Has he talked to you yet about getting married?’

  ‘No!’ Hannah’s heart began thumping. Her worst fear might be coming to pass. ‘What do you mean? What do you know?’

  ‘Nothing. Just something Mother said.’

  ‘What? What did she say?’

  ‘That Father said it was time for you to be married. I reckon he’s hatching a plan to marry you off.’

  Hannah flung herself on her back on the bed. ‘He can’t do that. I’m not his property.’

  Judith gave a wry laugh in response. ‘Oh, no? Try telling him that.’ She sat beside her and pushed a stray lock away from her sister’s forehead. ‘Don’t get all sulky about it, Han. You’ve always known it would happen eventually. Father would never consent to either of us choosing our own husbands.’ She s
hook her head and sighed. ‘Even if we ever had a chance to meet any men, which we don’t. And at least it means you’d get away from him. You’d have your own home and be able to do what you like.’

  ‘If you believe that, then you’re dafter than you look, Jude. He’ll have made sure to choose some pompous Bible-basher just like him.’

  ‘Hannah! Don’t say that! He is our father after all. And it’s wrong to show disrespect for the Bible.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ She grabbed at Judith’s arm. ‘Did Mother say anything else? Did she say who it is?’

  ‘No. I don’t think she knows. Father only tells her what he chooses and that’s not much.’

  ‘I’ll run away. Like our aunt did.’ She bit her lip and wished she’d not let that slip out.

  ‘Aunt? What aunt? We don’t have any relatives since Grandmother Dawson died.’

  Hannah had no choice but to go on. ‘We used to have an aunt. Mother’s sister. I can remember her. You were just a baby.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’ve such an imagination, Han.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Then why does Mother never mention her?’

  Hannah squeezed her lips together. ‘I don’t know. I think they must have quarrelled.’

  Judith snorted, her expression sceptical.

  ‘A lady once stopped me in the street and called me by her name.’

  ‘Silly! She probably meant somebody else.’

  ‘No, she said Elizabeth Morton.’

  Judith frowned. ‘There are probably lots of Elizabeth Mortons. Just because the surname is the same as Mother’s maiden name doesn’t prove anything. And anyway I’d have known about her if she existed.’

  ‘They never spoke of her. She just disappeared. I got into trouble whenever I asked about her so in the end I stopped asking. And you were too small. I forgot all about her, until…’

  ‘Until what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You can’t get away with that. You have to tell me now.’

  Hannah let out a long breath, then reached under her cardigan. ‘Until I found this.’ She handed the photograph to her sister.

  Judith gasped. ‘Where did you get this? It could be you.’

  ‘I found it in the attic in our old house, years ago. Before we moved here. It was in a frame with the glass shattered. Her music and her violin were there too. The violin had been smashed to bits. It was thrown in an old trunk. Sheet music too. It’s probably all still up there, unless the new owners threw it out.’

  ‘I’d no idea.’ Judith studied the photograph, running her hand over the image. ‘She’s so like you, Han. Beautiful. Is she really our aunt? Where do you think she is now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Hannah grinned. ‘Maybe she fell in love and eloped. Ran off to Gretna Green with some handsome chap.’

  ‘There you go again. Always making up stories.’ She handed the image back to Hannah.

  Once Judith was out of the way, she would put it under the mattress with the book she was hiding. Better that her sister know nothing of her secret library book cache. It would only mean she’d be in trouble too if their father ever found out.

  ‘I think we should ask Mother about her,’ said Judith.

  Hannah immediately wished she’d never mentioned Elizabeth. She grabbed her sister’s hand, relieved that she hadn’t gone on to mention the man on the docks that afternoon. ‘No, Jude. Please, no. Mother used to fly into a rage if Aunty Lizzie was mentioned. And as for Father. Please, please, I beg you. Don’t tell either of them. Let it be our secret.’

  Judith looked doubtful, but said, ‘Very well. But don’t you go thinking any more about running away. Even if Father does want you to get married. It has to be better than living here under his thumb. He doesn’t pay you any wages and I have to hand mine over and we’re still poor. You never know, your future husband might be rich and handsome.’

  Hannah gave a dry laugh. ‘More likely old, fat, ugly and broke.’

  ‘Look on the bright side. No one can be as bad as Father. And you’ll have a home of your own and, before long, babies to care for. So much nicer than our lives now.’

  ‘Perhaps I should suggest to Father that you marry whoever it is then.’ She saw the look of horror on her sister’s face. ‘Exactly. You’d hate the idea as much I do. Easy to dole out your advice to someone else, isn’t it?’

  Judith smiled and shrugged. ‘I’m only trying to help. It will happen to me too, I suppose, in time. Right now, though, I think Father’s glad of my wages coming in.’

  ‘I know.’ Hannah smoothed out the surface of the bedcover with the flat of her hand. ‘Judith, do you ever wonder why we’re so poor? Morton’s used to be a prosperous business when Mother’s father ran it. Mother told me she used to have fine clothes and go to balls and things. And they had a big motorcar when hardly anyone had cars. And Trevelyan House was huge compared to this place.’ She swept her arm around the room. ‘Just look at it.’

  Their shared bedroom was little more than a box room. The wallpaper was stained and peeling away, and there was a cracked pane in the window that they covered with a piece of cardboard, reducing the daylight but keeping out the worst of the elements. The curtains were threadbare and stopped just short of the ledge. The floorcloth was worn and had shrunk so that it didn’t reach as far as the skirting. A moth-eaten carpet brought from Trevelyan House lay on the top of it – it was serviceable but had seen better days. Charles Dawson believed that spending money on rooms used only for sleeping was an unjustified expense. The sisters were grateful there were only four of them in the house – the adjoining properties in Bluebell Street were home to much larger families.

  ‘Maybe Father’s not very good at business.’

  ‘That’s certainly true. But there should still be enough for us to live comfortably, even if not in the grand style.’

  ‘Didn’t he say once that the market was bad?’

  ‘People still buy the coffee. Just not for very high prices.’

  ‘Maybe people don’t drink much coffee. We never do. Always tea. Even though it’s Father’s business.’

  ‘Exactly. Don’t you find that strange?’

  ‘Not really. I don’t ever think about such things. I’m not like you, Han.’ She smiled at her sister, fondly.

  ‘Now where’s that hat of yours? I smuggled out an off-cut of grosgrain ribbon and there’s just enough for me to trim it for you.’

  ‘Oh, Judith. What if you’d been caught?’

  ‘It was on the floor and Miss Finch told me to sweep everything up and put it in the bin. Waste not, want not.’

  Hannah leaned over and flung her arms around her sister. ‘Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ She jumped off the bed. ‘Time I got the supper ready. It won’t cook itself.’

  Chapter Nine

  Will was on the fo’c’sle as they sailed up the Liffey into Dublin. He was ready to operate the steam windlass and release the heavy ropes they would fasten to the bollards on the quayside. It was a sunny day, the cold biting into his face, but the azure blue sky lifted his spirits.

  This was his first time in Dublin and he was looking forward to exploring the place. The bad news was they would only be in port for one night, before they were due back in the morning to load up the return cargo and any passengers. At least the cattle would be managed by drovers – he wasn’t keen on the idea of chasing angry bullocks round the deck. The Dublin cattle market began at three o’clock in the morning and it would be early afternoon when the drovers brought the beasts onto the ship. The rest of the cargo needed to have been loaded before then – it wouldn’t do to have heavy sacks and crates winched on board over the heads of the cattle, which were kept in open pens on the deck.

  The dockers having finished the unloading, Will was free. Other crew would be on hand for the task of supervising the loading up for the home run. He now needed to make a decision on what to do with his free time. He didn’t relish the ide
a of lodging with Eddie O’Connor’s family. The thought of staying with unfamiliar people didn’t appeal so he decided to return on board to sleep instead – but after he’d enjoyed a few jars first. There was no harm in calling on the O’Connors and finding out if one or two of Eddie’s brothers might be up for a bit of craic, as Eddie had called it, and a couple of pints of the black stuff. They’d know the best pubs to go to – and hadn’t Eddie told him that the Guinness tasted better in Dublin than the exported stuff they served in England?

  The Arklow was moored on the north side of the Liffey. Remembering Eddie had told him his family lived close to the North Wall, Will set off, stopping occasionally to ask the way.

  The O’Connors home was in a tenement building about fifteen minutes’ walk from the docks. Will was reminded of his visit to the Tornabenes in Naples. Here though, there were no fascists marching through the streets and at least they ought to be able to understand each other, although the thick Irish brogue of many of the crew was sometimes a struggle to comprehend.

  As he climbed up through the stairwell of the building he could hear shouting. With a sinking heart he realised it was coming from the second floor where Eddie’s family lived. He hesitated outside, then knocked loudly. A woman’s voice boomed out from behind the door. ‘If it’s the rent you’re after you’ll have to come back tomorrow.’ Then the door was flung open.

  ‘Who are you?’ The woman was about sixty, with dark grey hair loosely pulled back into a bun. She was wearing black – a skirt that was long and looked like it was from decades ago. Her face was heavily lined and her eyes had a cloudy look. ‘You can tell your boss he’ll get his money at the end of the week. There’s none now.’