Our Lizzie (23 page)

*   *   *

Sam was very careful not to touch Lizzie as they walked into the town centre together on Saturday, but he did take her hand when they were sitting in the cinema in the best threepenny seats. And after a jerk of surprise, she let him keep hold of it, enjoying the warmth, the human contact, the way they could laugh together at the funny bits. There were six different films shown that night, all one-reelers. The third one was so exciting, with the heroine in mortal danger, that Lizzie had to clutch Sam's arm with both her hands till the danger was past.

Afterwards, while the reels were being changed, he leaned towards her. “By, you've got a strong grip when you're frightened of summat.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, of course not. I liked you holding on to me.”

“Oh.” She could feel herself blushing in the darkness and was glad when the next film started; glad, too, that it was a comedy.

Afterwards, he bought her some fish and chips on the way home, as he had promised, joking that they had to fatten her up, get her strength back. He had a double helping himself and coaxed her into eating most of hers. He didn't like her looking so thin and washed out all the time.

At the door of her house, he took hold of both Lizzie's hands. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I enjoyed myself.” Honesty compelled her to add, “A lot.”

“There you are, then. We'll do the same thing next week, if you like? An' how about a stroll in the park tomorrow?”

“Don't—shouldn't we—people will—” She didn't know how to refuse him.

“I'll pick you up at two. You can bring your sister with you, if you like.” He leaned closer and said huskily, “But I'd rather have you to myself.”

Lizzie swallowed hard as she watched him walk off down the street whistling. She hadn't expected to enjoy herself so much. It had been nice to be spoiled. But she didn't fancy him as a man, not at all. And she still felt a bit nervous in his company sometimes, especially when he looked at her in a certain way.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” Percy asked the following day.

Lizzie beamed at him. “Yes, I did. Sam was really kind. He bought me a bar of Fry's chocolate cream. An' some fish an' chips afterwards.”

“What were the films like?”

Lizzie launched into an eager description of each film, laughing again at the funny bits, shuddering at the dangerous parts. Her happiness made Percy very thoughtful.

*   *   *

The following week, Mrs. D said Lizzie could work full-time, just to see how she went. For some reason, she was suddenly feeling much better.

“I hear you've got yourself a fellow,” Sally said when she and Lizzie were alone in the shop towards the end of the afternoon. Peter had told her—and had expressed his worries about who the fellow was. “Sam Thoxby, isn't it?”

Lizzie nodded, smiling at the memory of the outing.

“He's a good bit older than you. As old as my Peter.”

“Yes.”

“Be careful, won't you? You might be wiser finding someone nearer your own age.”

Lizzie flushed. “I don't—it's not—we're just—you know, seeing how we go.”

“Well, go carefully, lass. You're a long time married.”

“Oh, I don't want to get married for years yet.”

“How's your Polly going on?”

“She loves it at the Pilbys'.”

“You must miss her?”

“Yes. A lot.” It was far worse at home now, without Polly. Lizzie absolutely dreaded going back there each night.

She was wondering whether to go and do some night classes like Percy, who was training to be a bookkeeper now, only she finished work later than he did and didn't think she'd be able to get there in time. And besides she still got a bit tired by the end of the day. But on the nights when he was out, it was very hard going in the house in Bobbin Lane. Lizzie wasn't sure she could stand it for much longer.

*   *   *

The sudden noise of raised voices drifted upstairs to the attic again. Emma exchanged long-suffering glances with her sister. “I'm not putting up with this much longer, love.”

Blanche sighed. “No. It's been very difficult lately. And this week, Mrs. Kershaw has been particularly sharp with poor Lizzie.”

“More than sharp—vicious.” Emma hesitated, then said, “So perhaps it's time for us to look for a house of our own to rent, eh?”

Blanche looked round the room she felt so safe in, heard the sound of shouting again and accepted the inevitable. “Yes. Perhaps it is.”

Emma sagged against the back of her chair in sheer relief. She had not expected to get her way so easily. “Do you want to make a start looking during the day?”

“Not on my own. I think we should look together. I—I don't feel very competent to interview landlords, actually.”

“I think it's they who interview you.” Emma stared at the sunset reflected in the big windows. The smoky atmosphere of the little town reflected the light back in a haze of bright colour, which had its own particular beauty. “I'm going to miss that view, though.”

“Yes, so am I. And I'm not very sure about the cooking and cleaning. I'm not very good at that sort of thing.”

“We'll manage somehow. And we'll get someone in for the rough work. I won't have the time and you're not strong enough. We can afford it now.” After a moment, Emma added thoughtfully, “I'll go and see Mr. Cuttler first, I think. He may have a place that's suitable.”

Blanche's thin face brightened. “Yes. That's a good idea. And—do you think we should say anything to Mrs. Kershaw? About our intentions, you know. So that it doesn't come as too great a shock to her?”

“Certainly not, or she won't hesitate to make our lives as miserable as she does her daughter's—which means
your
life, my dear, as you're the one who spends so much time at home. We only have to give her a week's notice and that's all she deserves.” Another thoughtful silence, then Emma added, “Or I might ask Sam what to do. He always seems to know.”

Blanche's face cleared. “Yes. Oh, yes. Do ask his advice. He might even go and see Mr. Cuttler for us.”

Emma bit back a sharp comment. She was not afraid of Mr. Cuttler, but poor Blanche was nervous about everything.

*   *   *

Sam, invited up to take tea with Miss Harper and Miss Emma, knocked on the front door of number thirty and, when no one came, banged again and walked in.

Lizzie came out of the kitchen, looking as if she had been crying, and he felt anger rise in him again. No need to ask who'd upset her. “I've come to see your lodgers. Been invited to take tea with them.”

Mrs. Kershaw stuck her head out of the kitchen, “Oh, it's you.” She didn't go back inside, just kept watching them, as if she didn't trust him to behave.

“Aye, missus, it's me.” He gave her a curt nod, for he no longer made any attempt to jolly her along, not with the way she was treating his lass. “Not got anything to do?” he asked pointedly.

Meg disappeared back into the kitchen, but he noticed she'd left the door ajar. “Don't let her eavesdrop on us, eh, lass?” he whispered. “The ladies won't want her poking her nose into their affairs.” When he came down, he'd find out what was the matter with Lizzie today, but he was late for tea so it'd have to keep.

“All right.”

When he'd gone upstairs, Meg opened the kitchen door and found Lizzie standing in the hall studying herself in the mirror on the coat stand. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Seeing if I suit my hair another way.”

“Well, go and do that in your bedroom an' shut the door on yourself. It looks bad, you standing in the hall to do that.”

“You can see better in this mirror. That one in our bedroom's all spotty. An' anyway, I can stop fiddling around if anyone comes in. If it's Sam you're thinking of, he won't mind.”

“You always have a back word for me, you do!”

“I only answered your question.” Lizzie was determined not to let Mam goad her any more tonight. They'd already had one shouting match because her mother hadn't done Lizzie's washing with the others' things.

“Well, I don't want you lounging around in the hallway like that. It isn't decent with a visitor in the house. Go through into the kitchen.”

“I think I'd rather go and sit in my bedroom.” Lizzie didn't wait for an answer but ran lightly up the stairs and left her bedroom door open.

Meg watched her go, feeling jealous of many things but at the moment of two things in particular—the agility with which her daughter had gone up those stairs and the fact that Lizzie, her scrawny ungrateful wretch of a daughter, had a man courting her. There was no justice in the world, none. What Meg wouldn't give for a husband again! She'd never stopped missing her Stanley. And it'd been weeks since Eva had last written. Weeks. She'd forgotten her family now, just moved on and forgotten them.

Conveniently forgetting that on the last visit she herself had screamed at Eva to go away and never darken her doorstep again, Meg went to stand in front of the kitchen fire with her skirts raised at the rear, toasting her backside. It might be summer, but it still got cold of an evening. Especially when no one cared whether you lived or died. And why Percy had to do all that studying, she didn't know. He'd never make a bookkeeper, never in a month of Sundays. He was common as muck, her Percy was, and always would be. No one would ever take
him
on for office work.

*   *   *

In the attic, Sam found himself being treated very formally, given a china cup of tea—which looked so fragile, he was terrified of breaking it—and handed some chocolate biscuits from Dearden's, an offer he declined instantly because he didn't want to try to talk with his mouth full. Somehow, he always felt he had to be on his best behaviour with the Harper ladies, for all they'd come down in the world.

After a few minutes, he tired of the silly chit-chat and asked abruptly, “What's up, then?”

Emma took a deep breath. “We think it's time to move out of here, Sam.”

“Aaah,” he said softly. “Now that
is
going to throw the cat among the pigeons.”

“I'm sure you understand why,” she went on quietly. “You must have noticed the atmosphere here.”

“The old lady's losing her marbles,” he said easily, enjoying the shock on their faces at his blunt statement. Then his face became grim. “But if she sets one finger on my Lizzie, she'll regret it.”

“
Your
Lizzie?” Blanche queried. Polly had said on her last day off that Lizzie didn't really fancy Sam.

“Aye,
my
Lizzie.” He obviously enjoyed saying that out loud.

“You and she have an understanding?” Emma asked.

He nodded. “We do. But we're not saying owt to anyone at the moment, so don't spread the word. I want to get wed before the winter, but she's a bit reluctant. Well, she's only young. But I'd make her happier than she is here, I know that.”

“I hope—things go well for you,” Emma murmured. But she just couldn't see him suiting Lizzie.

Silence fell again.

“So tell me about your plans an' how I can help you?” he prompted. Women were all alike. They needed a man to look after them. And it could be profitable being that man, with these two.

“We wondered whether you could give us some advice about finding a new place to live?” Emma asked. “We're not sure how to set about it?”

“Buying a place or renting?”

“
Buying?
We weren't thinking of buying.” Blanche gaped at him. “What made you say that?”

Sam smiled. He could add up and knew roughly what Emma earned a week, as well as what Blanche got from that annuity of hers. “Don't tell me you haven't been saving your pennies,” he teased. “You've got the annuity as well as your wages.” And they made their clothes last, didn't spend much on anything really.

Emma stared at him. She hoped other people hadn't put two and two together like he had, though of course other people wouldn't know about the annuity in any detail. “We were thinking of renting, of course.”

“Why ‘of course'? Your Mr. Cardwell's building some new terraces of houses over in Northlea. You might have a look at one of those before you come to any decision.”

“I don't think we'd have enough money for that. It'd cost too much.”

“You might if you had anything else left to sell. Or you could ask that aunt of yours for some help. Make up the quarrel. It'd be worth it if she has as much brass as folk say.”

The two sisters looked at one another, both feeling uncomfortable at how much he'd worked out about them.

“Goodness, I never even thought about buying somewhere,” Emma confessed.

“Well, think about it now. If you bought, you'd have no rent to pay.” And if the two of them had to sell things, he'd be bound to profit.

“Well, we do have one or two bits and pieces of our mother's jewellery,” Blanche admitted before her sister could stop her, “though they have great sentimental value for us and we'd rather not sell them.”

Sam nodded. He'd wondered about that. She'd liked jewellery, old Mrs. Harper had. He'd seen her wearing quite a few different bits and pieces.

Emma frowned. “But we certainly won't ask our aunt for money. She's never tried to get in touch with us. I doubt she'd even open a letter if we sent one.”

“It'd be worth a try. Only cost you a stamp.”

They both shook their heads firmly.

Too proud to wipe their own arses, he thought scornfully. If he had a rich aunt, he'd be buttering her up till the grease ran off. “Talk to your Mr. Cardwell, then. He might let you pay him a deposit and so much per week.” Sam grinned at Emma. “Seeing as you're such a valuable employee of his. And if he says yes, well, I can sell some more stuff for you, if you like?”