Gypsy (12 page)

Just a few days later her mother was dead, and rain washed the snow away. She had looked out of that same window and seen that everything had become grey, bleak and ugly again. It had seemed significant at the time, a warning perhaps that happiness and beauty could only ever be fleeting.

So much had happened since then. Such despair, hurt and worry, then finally the loss of their home in the fire. Yet the fire had been fortuitous in as much as they came here to live and found a measure of security and happiness again.

Both she and Sam had been forced to grow up fast, but perhaps the most important thing Beth had learned was that she couldn’t count on anything. Not on the Langworthys’ kindness continuing, nor that this job and home would last for as long as she needed it. She couldn’t even rely on Sam staying with her for ever.

The only thing she could be absolutely certain about was her own self. But that was a lonely, chilling thought.

Sam wasn’t expected to attend the funeral because the only time he’d met the old man was at Christmas when he’d carried him down to the dining room. But he had to go to work, so Beth put a shawl around her shoulders and crept into the living room to light the oil lamp, stir up the fire in the stove and put the kettle on.

Sam looked so peaceful and untroubled, curled up in the narrow truckle bed. It hadn’t occurred to him yet that old Mr Langworthy’s death might bring them more trouble, and she was reluctant to air her fears because he’d seemed so happy since he began working at the Adelphi.

‘Time to get up, Sam,’ she said softly, and shook his arm.

He opened his eyes and yawned. ‘Already! It feels as if I’ve only been in here an hour or two.’

‘It’s six o’clock and it’s been snowing,’ Beth said, struck by how handsome he was becoming. His face had filled out, he’d grown a little moustache, and his long eyelashes drew attention to his lovely blue eyes. She felt a little pang in her heart that before long he would find a sweetheart and she’d have to take second place.

He smiled and leapt out of bed, rushing over to the window like a child. Wearing just his woolly combinations he looked slightly ridiculous. ‘I love snow,’ he said, turning to grin at her. ‘In parts of America it comes in November and lasts right through till spring.’

‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ Beth said archly, kneeling down to pull out the ash box under the stove. That wasn’t true — she loved snow as much as he did and some of her best childhood memories were of going tobogganing with him — but she was tired of his constant references to America. ‘The water in the kettle should be warm enough for you to wash and shave. Your clean shirt is hanging on the bedroom door.’

‘You’re becoming like an old maid,’ he retorted.

Beth, Kathleen and Cook could only find room to stand at the back of St Bride’s, for they had been last in the procession of mourners following the six carriages taking family members to the church, and now all the pews were full. With the thick snow as a backdrop for the black plumed horses and the coffin banked high with flowers, it had been an impressive sight. Beth had expected that the snow would deter a great many people, but it looked as if half of Liverpool’s population was there.

Once the first hymn, ‘Abide with Me’, had been sung and the prayers had begun, Beth’s thoughts wandered to Sam’s remark earlier that morning. She supposed she
had
become like an old maid. Everything she did, or even thought about, these days was centred round Molly or the Langworthys. She didn’t care anything for how she looked, her clothes were hand-me-downs, she didn’t even go and look in shop windows any more, not just because she couldn’t afford to buy anything, but because she had nowhere to go to wear such things.

Before her father died she spent a great deal of time indulging in romantic daydreams, but she never did now. There was no point: she was never going to go to balls and parties or drive around in a carriage and pair wearing a fur coat and diamonds. Even the more humble dreams that Miss Clarkson had prompted, training to be a teacher, a nurse or working in a shop, were ruled out now because she had to take care of Molly.

In truth the only time she ever escaped into fantasy was when she played the fiddle. Alone in the coach house she could imagine she was wearing a beautiful, brightly coloured silk dress, with glittery pins in her hair and pretty shoes on her feet. For an hour or so she could float with the music, all responsibilities falling away.

As Reverend Bloom began to speak about Mr Langworthy, Beth came out of her reverie.

‘Theodore Arthur Langworthy wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth,’ he said. ‘His father was a poor Yorkshire farmer, and he expected his eldest son would follow in his footsteps. But young Theodore had other plans.’

Beth had known nothing about Mr Langworthy’s background, not even that his name was Theodore, and it was difficult to imagine the bedridden old man as anything but sick and frail.

‘Already fascinated by machinery, he ran off to Liverpool where he got himself an apprenticeship as an engineer,’ Reverend Bloom went on. ‘He was just twenty-two when he designed and made a water pump in a shed at the back of his lodgings. Ten years on he had fifty men working for him and exported his pumps all over the world. Later he diversified into making steam engines for ships, and Langworthy Engineering became one of Liverpool’s biggest employers.’

Reverend Bloom’s eyes scanned the congregation. ‘Many of you here today owe your present prosperity to him for he took you on when you were young lads, showed a fatherly interest in you and trained you well. Others of you connected with charitable institutions will remember how he championed your causes and made generous donations to keep them going.’

Maybe it was because Mr Langworthy had followed his dream that Beth found herself drifting off again in thoughts of Sam. She had hoped that when he made new friends at the Adelphi he would lose interest in America. But he hadn’t. He pored over maps, read books and articles in magazines and saved every spare penny to go.

Until now Beth had been inclined to view Sam’s passion to emigrate as merely adventuring, but it suddenly occurred to her that it wasn’t so different to Mr Langworthy wanting to be an engineer. If he hadn’t been bold enough to defy his father and strike out for what he really wanted, many of the people here today wouldn’t have had work, charities would have been poorer, and who would have made those water pumps and steam engines he sent all over the world? Maybe Sam’s desire to go to America wasn’t going to benefit anyone else, but on the other hand if he didn’t go, he might become bitter and end up blaming her. Beth was afraid of being left here alone with Molly, especially now when the future was so uncertain, but she thought she was more fearful of losing her brother’s affection by holding him back.

At five that afternoon Beth was washing up in the kitchen while Cook put leftover food away in the pantry, when she heard Mrs Langworthy saying goodbye to the last of the guests at the front door. Even from some distance she could hear the weariness in her mistress’s voice and feel the strain she had been under all day as she tried to hold her emotions in check.

The front door closed. Beth heard Mrs Langworthy asking Mrs Bruce and Kathleen to clear away the last of the glasses and food in the dining room, then a few minutes later she came down the stairs to the basement.

She looked pale and wan in her black dress, but she smiled at Beth and Cook. ‘I just wanted to thank you for doing so much today,’ she said.

Cook looked up from putting away some leftover cakes. ‘We were glad to,’ she said. ‘But you look very tired, mam. Can I get you anything?’

The mistress sighed and put her hand to her forehead as if it hurt. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Cray, you’ve done quite enough for one day, you go on home. If we want some supper later, we can find something ourselves.’ She turned to look at Molly who was sitting on a blanket in the corner playing with a couple of wooden spoons.

‘You’ve been a very good girl today,’ she said, bending down to pick her up. ‘I haven’t heard a peep from you.’

‘She’s a little angel,’ Cook said fondly. ‘I think she knew we were all too busy to play with her.’

Holding Molly in her arms, Mrs Langworthy slumped down on a chair and cuddled her. She remained silent, bent forward with her face against the baby’s hair.

Beth suddenly realized her mistress was crying, and in alarm she moved forward. ‘What is it, mam?’ she asked.

‘Losing my father-in-law has made me realize how empty my life is,’ Mrs Langworthy said, lifting her head a little and trying to wipe her tears away.

‘You’re bound to feel a bit adrift for a while,’ Beth said soothingly. ‘But you’ll be able to do all the things you never had time for now. Shall I make you a nice cup of tea?’

‘This is what I want,’ Mrs Langworthy said, holding Molly against her chest. ‘A baby to love. Without a child a woman has nothing.’

Mrs Cray made a warning face at Beth and a little sipping movement with her hand as if to explain the mistress had had one sherry too many.

Beth put her hand comfortingly on the older woman’s shoulder. ‘We can all share her,’ she said.

‘I don’t want to share her, I want her all for myself,’ Mrs Langworthy replied and she looked up at Beth with a pleading expression.

At that moment Mrs Bruce came down the stairs with some dirty glasses on a tray. ‘This is the last of them,’ she said cheerily, unaware she had walked in on something.

‘They certainly all ate and drank their fill,’ Cook said loudly, clearly trying to break the tense atmosphere. ‘Isn’t it time you took Molly home now, Beth?’

Mrs Langworthy got up abruptly and handed Molly back to Beth. ‘I’d better get back to my husband,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘He’s feeling a bit low too. I’m sure everything will be fine by tomorrow.’

The mistress didn’t get up the following day. Kathleen took in her early morning tea as usual, and reported back in the kitchen that she was feeling poorly.

‘Too much sherry,’ Cook said with a wink at Beth, but she kept her voice down so Mrs Bruce wouldn’t hear.

Mr Edward was out of sorts too. He snapped at Kathleen because his breakfast toast was cold, then went into his study and stayed there instead of going to his office.

‘It wouldn’t be fitting for him to go back to work today,’ Mrs Bruce said, as if she was trying to justify his actions. ‘He’ll have to sort out his father’s affairs and he must have dozens of letters to write. But I must say he’s taking this harder than I expected.’

Beth understood why Mrs Bruce was a little perplexed, for Mr Edward had gone to his office even on the day his father died, and had seemed perfectly composed yesterday at the funeral. It was understandable that Mrs Langworthy had taken to her bed — she had after all been run ragged for over a week arranging everything. But putting together Mr Edward’s uncharacteristic behaviour today, and his wife’s emotional state yesterday, Beth felt sure they’d had a quarrel last night.

Had she blamed him because she didn’t have a child of her own?

Three days after the funeral, Mrs Langworthy was still in her bed. Mrs Bruce had been taking up her meals on a tray, but she only picked at them.

‘The doctor said he can’t find anything wrong with her,’ Beth heard her saying to Cook. ‘He thought it was just melancholy and that perhaps Mr Edward ought to take her away for a holiday. But who would want to do that in this weather?’

It hadn’t snowed since the day of the funeral, but the temperature was so low that the snow was still lying and the wind was icy. It was so cold in the coach house that Beth stayed over in the house as long as possible, and she had been taking Molly into bed with her at night to keep her warm. Sam had been staying later at the hotel too, perhaps for the same reasons, so Beth hadn’t even had an opportunity to speak to him about America.

‘Beth, why don’t you go up and see her?’ Mrs Bruce suggested. ‘Take Molly with you, I’m sure that will cheer her up.’

It was mid-afternoon, and as there was no more work Beth could find that would give her an excuse to remain in the house, and it was far too cold to go out anywhere, she was only too glad to agree.

Mrs Langworthy was lying back listlessly on the pillows, not even reading, but when she saw Beth and Molly her face lit up. ‘What a nice surprise. I was just thinking about Molly. Let her come on the bed with me,’ she said, patting the coverlet.

Beth lifted her on and pulled up a chair for herself by the bed. Molly bounced around, then made the mistress laugh by playing peekaboo with her with the blanket.

‘What
is
wrong, mam?’ Beth asked after chatting about Molly for a little while. ‘Do you hurt anywhere? Have you been sick?’

‘No, nothing like that,’ Mrs Langworthy replied, and looked down fondly at Molly who was now snuggled up beside her as if intending to go to sleep. ‘I just feel weary with the pointlessness of my life.’

‘My mother said something like that to me once,’ Beth said thoughtfully. ‘I was a bit hurt at the time, but I suppose she meant just cooking and cleaning all day.’

‘Women do get weary.’ Mrs Langworthy sighed. ‘I know I should be counting my blessings, I’ve got a lovely home and a kind husband, but you see, I always counted on having children, and now it doesn’t seem as if I’m ever going to be blessed with any. I didn’t let myself think about it too much when my father-in-law was alive, I had too much to do. But now I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel so sad.’

Beth felt a little uncomfortable hearing this. To her Mrs Langworthy had a perfect life, and she thought she ought to go down to some of the squalid courts in the Scotland district of Liverpool and see how life was for the women there.

Perhaps her mistress picked up her thoughts because she reached out and put her hand over Beth’s. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I was forgetting how much sadness you’ve had in your young life. Whatever must you think of me?’

‘I think of you as the very nicest, kindest person in the world,’ Beth replied truthfully. ‘You took us in when we had no one else to turn to. I’ll always be so grateful for that.’