Liverpool Taffy (33 page)

‘It’s a very fine piece of Succinite, which is what mineralogists call the substance known as amber,’ he had said impressively, having subjected the egg-like object to a long scrutiny through a pair of pince-nez spectacles which he produced from an inner pocket and perched on the end of his longish nose. ‘Amber is the fossilised resin from the extinct pine forests which flourished millions of years ago along the Baltic coast. For many years the currents have deposited it on our northern shores, but few have been fortunate enough to find such a magnificent example. The Ancient Greeks and Romans used it as a cure for a great many disorders, rheumatism amongst others, and Roman women wore amulets made of amber as a protection against witchcraft.’

‘Well I never,’ Dai said, astonished at such an outpouring of information. ‘But what use is it today? I don’t suppose there’s much belief in it as a charm, not these days!’

‘Nowadays we prize it for its translucence and beautiful colour and make earrings, pendants and the like from it. This is a very fine example; you must have it polished and give it to the woman in your life.’

Dai had smiled and put the amber in his pocket, thanking the man politely, but the remark about the woman in his life had stung. He had no woman in his life any more, not since Bethan’s death.

Now, though, Dai knew just what to do with his amber egg. He would give it to Biddy for a Christmas box, and tell her that, next Christmas, he would have it broken up and made into something pretty for her to wear. That would show her better than anything else could that he was serious. That this was not just a casual, here-today-gone-tomorrow friendship but a loving, lasting relationship. But right now he might just as well get up. He glanced at his watch, but it was still dark so he fumbled for matches, lit one, and read the time by its light.

Six o’clock, quite early still. But he was awake and he guessed that a maidservant would be expected to rise betimes, before anyone else. He would go downstairs now and put the kettle on – she would find a cup of tea waiting for her in the kitchen as well as Dai Evans! He could dress in two seconds flat; life on a trawler meant that no one ever undressed, though seaboots, jerseys and trousers were usually shed.

He dressed, dragged a comb through his curls and set off, in his socks so as not to disturb anyone, down the stairs. The house seemed wrapped in slumber still; Dai guessed that the twins, who would normally have been awake and investigating the stockings their parents had hung on the bedposts of their shared bed, were still suffering from the effects of their journey of the day before.

I’ll riddle the fire through and put the kettle on, pull back the curtains, find the tea and the pot, Dai was planning as he opened the kitchen door with infinite softness and care. What a surprise young Biddy will get, to find me down before her!

The shrilling of the alarm clock gave Biddy the most dreadful fright, though she and Ellen had owned one in the flat and set it each night. But Biddy had been worn out by the time she got to bed and then, cuddling down and waiting for sleep to overcome her at once, as it usually did, she was sadly disappointed.

All she could do was think about him, the young man who had rescued her, Dai Evans! How he looked when he was serious, how he looked when he smiled. How he had not once taken his eyes off her all the while she had been in the dining-room last night. How he had been the subject of conversation, for a few brief moments, when Mrs Gallagher and her sister had returned to the kitchen to help Biddy to wash up and clear away.

That had been quite mysterious, now she came to think about it. Mrs Prescott had kept starting sentences and not finishing them, and Mrs Gallagher had spoken, not sharply, but with a kind of definite finality, which seemed to have been sufficient to make Mrs Prescott change the subject at least.

Mrs Gallagher had explained about the relationship between her and Mrs Prescott, though – how she had been a maid of all work at Culler’s Orphan Asylum when a new-born baby had been left on the doorstep. The baby had been Lilac, which was Mrs Prescott’s first name, and Mrs Gallagher had told Biddy that for years the two of them had clung together, leaving the orphanage together
as well … how they were closer than sisters, sharing everything, even secrets.

It must be lovely to have a sister, Biddy thought wistfully, staring up at the dark ceiling above her head. And then, when she had given up on sleep and was lying there indulging in a beautiful fantasy in which Dai Evans came into the kitchen and said, deeply, ‘It’s you! I’ve searched the city for you, you lovely creature!’, she fell annoyingly asleep and dreamed, not of Dai Evans’s dark eyes, exciting smile and strong hands, but of Ma Kettle demanding that she return to Kettle’s Confectionery at once.

‘You’re bound to me; your dear mother wished it,’ Ma Kettle said, trying to persuade her to take a bath in a huge vat of cooling toffee for some obscure, dream-like reason. ‘In you ’ops love, an’ soon you’ll be twice the woman you was! One lickle dip in this ’ere mixture an’ you won’t ever want to run away from me agin … poor but honest, that’s us Kettles, from the best of us – that’s me – to the worst, what’ll be you when you wed our Kenny.’

‘But I’m not going to wed your Kenny, I’m going to wed Dai Evans,’ Biddy protested. ‘And I’ve got a good job now, Ma, a job where they value me. I aren’t leaving there for anyone!’

‘Ho, an’ ’oo might this wonderful employer be?’ Ma Kettle sneered, struggling, now, to pour the vat of toffee over the recalcitrant Biddy. ‘Per’aps she won’t want you to stay when she sees you’re jest a lickle toffee-girl!’

She tipped the vat, Biddy screamed … and woke.

The alarm was shrilling beside her ear, fairly hopping on the small bedside table, and the hands, when she lit her candle, pointed to six o’clock.

‘Drat, I set it wrong,’ Biddy muttered, standing the alarm back on the table again, for she had picked it up and peered, the better to make sure of the hour. ‘Mrs Gallagher said seven this morning, because they would all be late up. Still, no point in lying here, I might easily dream about Ma Kettle again. I’d rather get up and take my time preparing for the day ahead in the kitchen.’

She lit her candle, then got slowly out of bed, because it was Christmas Day, after all, and she had no need to hurry. Then she padded across the icy linoleum to her fire, turned on the gas, lit it, and went over to the window to draw the curtains back a tiny bit.

It was snowing! Lazily, the flakes floated down, each one big as a florin.

That’s not the sort of snow which lies, Biddy told herself wisely. Not usually, anyway. It’s the small, fast-falling flakes which build up. Still, it’ll look like a picture-book out there by breakfast I reckon. I wonder if they’ll go sledging? Wish I could, I used to love it so much.

But sledging was a pastime for the rich or for kids, she knew, not for maidservants, so she pulled the curtains back across again and went over to her gas ring. A panful of water boiled quite quickly so she had a hot wash, then dressed proudly in her new uniform. It was really pretty, especially now that Mrs Gallagher had taken the dress from her and put deeper darts around the waist and bust, so that it fitted well.

‘It’s hard-wearing stuff, unfortunately,’ Mrs Gallagher had said as she pinned the new darts in place. ‘I’m not keen on grey, but it doesn’t need washing as often as prettier colours. In fact if you put it down for the laundry on a Friday morning and wear the other one the following week, you should do quite well.’

‘The laundry?’ Biddy had echoed. ‘Don’t I do your washing, Mrs Gallagher?’

‘Bless you, no! You’ll have quite enough to do without laundering, Biddy. Mind you, small things, underwear, stockings, things like that, are washed at home, but not big things, like sheets and dresses. Now, how does that feel?’

‘Fine, thank you ma’am,’ Biddy said. She would have said the same had a pin been driven an inch into her side, but it happened to be the truth. ‘Shall I go and change so you can alter the other one?’

‘No need, it’s a simple job. I’ll have both dresses done before you go to bed tonight and of course you’ll wear your black to serve dinner.’

So here she was, putting on her pretty, pearl-grey dress and adjusting the big white apron over it. The cap was tricky, but she perched it on her head, clipped it in place with the white kirby grips her mistress had provided, and then turned and made her bed.

‘I’ll leave you in the warm today, Dolly,’ she told her rag doll, sliding it under the covers until only its face showed. ‘There, isn’t that snug? Because it’s snowing, and I’m going to turn the gas fire off before I go downstairs.’

She suited action to words, then doused the candle, went over and drew back the curtains, thought about opening a window to air the room but decided against it, and set off down the stairs, her slop-bucket swinging gently from one hand.

It was a modern house, which meant that the guests would use the bathroom and the upstairs toilet – no slop buckets for them, thank goodness. But she had to riddle the stove through and get it blazing, fetch more coke in so that it could be made up as soon as it caught hold, and then start on the other fires.

Bedrooms, again, had gas fires, which meant no work because when she asked Nellie if she should bring a tray of tea upstairs Nellie said at once that it wouldn’t be necessary.

‘Normally I would ask you to bring us a tray, but not over the holiday,’ she said. ‘And there’s a gas-ring and a kettle in the Prescotts’ room if they want a hot drink. As for Mr Evans, young men aren’t used to being waited on, particularly seamen.’

Biddy thought of Luke, impatiently banging on his bedroom floor with the heel of a shoe if he thought she was late bringing his tea, and even of Kenny, who would put his head out into the hallway and holler, ‘Bid? Have you dropped dead, our Biddy? Where’s me cuppa?’ No wonder it had killed poor old Ma Kettle, having to do all that herself after I left, she thought now, reaching the front hallway and crossing it, to push open the baize door which separated it from the kitchen regions. Glad this set-up is so different – oh, I’m so lucky!

She was still smiling at the thought of her own luck when she pushed the kitchen door open … then stopped in the doorway, staring.

The fire glowed through the bars, the gaslights hissed, illuminating the room which looked homely and warm, not at all quiet and deserted, as a kitchen should look to the first person down in the morning. The curtains were drawn back too and someone, who had been standing in front of the sink looking out at the lazily falling flakes, turned round and smiled at her.

‘The compliments of the season to you, Biddy! Awake I was, so I thought you’d mebbe like a bit of company on Christmas Day.’ Dai came across the kitchen and took the slop-bucket from her nerveless hand. ‘Let me empty that now whilst you pour us both a cup of tea. It’s made and mashed, all ready for you.’

‘Oh … no, it’s all right, I can manage quite …’ Biddy began, pink-cheeked, trying to snatch the slop bucket from him, but he warded her off, laughing. ‘Look, it’s me job to …’

He ignored her, taking the bucket over to the sink and emptying it whilst Biddy continued to stammer helplessly. He was here, perhaps not uttering quite the words of her fantasy, but it was enough, suddenly, that they were in the same room. And alone, for a while anyway. A quick glance at the kitchen clock showed it still lacked five minutes to half past six. Yes, she was in good time.

But how did one behave when a young man you thought the world of appeared in your place of employment as the guest of your employer? As Dai turned away from the sink and stood the bucket on the draining board Biddy gave a little half-bob of a curtsy, looking down at her shoes as she did so. Immediately Dai crossed the room in a couple of strides and took both her hands in his.

‘Biddy, this sounds daft, but I recognised you the moment I set eyes on you the other night. You – you were special to me, I could tell, my heart could tell. We’re two of a kind, Biddy, and don’t you go behaving with me as you would with other people – I don’t think maids curtsy to anyone now, in any event – but you and I, we – we belong together.’

Biddy pulled half-heartedly at her hands but Dai just gripped them tighter, looking down into her face with eyes which blazed with sincerity.

‘Isn’t it all … oh, Mr Evans, you’re here as a guest and I’m …’

‘I’ll leave,’ Dai said promptly. ‘I’ll leave right now, I’ll walk out through that back door and then knock and walk in again. Just Dai Evans I’ll be, wanting to pay court to Bridget … what’s your last name?’

‘I’m Bridget O’Shaughnessy,’ Biddy murmured tremulously. The feel of his hands on hers was doing very odd things to her stomach and there seemed to be a bird held captive in her rib-cage from the way her heart was fluttering ‘You are daft, aren’t you?’

She had not meant to say it and gasped at herself, but he just smiled more lovingly man ever and let go of her hands for a moment to tilt her chin with one strong, tanned hand.

‘Course I’m daft, people in love do always act daft. Biddy, I never believed in love at first sight until I saw you struggling with that great bully in the market, and then I knew it was true because it had happened to me. Biddy? Do you like me a little bit, too?’

Ellen would have tossed her head and said it was all very well to talk about love … she would have given Dai sly glances through her lashes and flirted outrageously, her mouth saying ‘No, no!’ whilst all the rest of her said, ‘Yes!’ And men were good at conversations like that, they could make the sort of remark which had Ellen bubbling with laughter, saying, ‘Oh, you are awful … what a tease you are, sir, I don’t believe a word you say!’ whilst the man pressed closer to her, tracing shapes with a forefinger in the palm of her hand, an arm brushing against her breast, the quick, double-meaning remarks tripping off his tongue whilst his eyes made bolder remarks still, just for her to see.

But Biddy was not Ellen, had never really understood the complex games of come and go, do and don’t, which her friend had played with such consummate ease. She was just Biddy, who said what she thought, what she meant.