Our Lizzie (25 page)

Lizzie tried and failed to look unconcerned. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now.”

“No one should have to get used to that. Oh, Lizzie, I wish—”

“What do you wish?”

“Wish you liked housework! There's a place going at Mrs. Pilby's. We could share a bedroom, be together, then no one could force you into marriage.”

There was silence as they started walking again, then Lizzie said abruptly, “I'd rather marry Sam than do that, Polly.”

A sigh was her only answer.

“He's—he can be lovely. He holds me sometimes, just holds me, and I feel all safe. And we have fun together. We go to the pictures and we walk in the park and he buys me ice creams.”

But Polly could not help noticing that her sister had never said she liked Sam for himself. Not once. “Well, I suppose we'd better get off home or she'll be complaining again. What shall we do this afternoon?”

“Not go to church.”

Polly laughed. “Definitely not.” Though their mother would make a fuss about that. She always did. One day, Polly was determined to get a job away from Overdale, far away. She'd miss Lizzie dreadfully, but if she never saw her mother again, it'd not worry her in the slightest. And she didn't even feel guilty about that. Their mother was a spiteful woman who had made Lizzie's childhood a misery, and had bashed Polly and young Johnny, too.

*   *   *

When they got home, they found that Eva had turned up for a visit. “What are you doing here?” Polly asked in delight.

“Miss Blake wanted to visit her cousin, Miss Pilby, the one who runs the school, so I thought it'd be a good chance to see you lot.”

From behind her, Meg said sourly, “We only get a visit when her ladyship can spare your sister.”

Eva rolled her eyes at Polly. “How about a walk in the park later? Three sisters together.”

“How about spending some time with your mother?” Meg said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I'm spending some time with you first, aren't I? And you'll be at church this afternoon, anyway.”

“So should you be, all three of you. Do you ever go, Eva?”

She breathed in deeply. “Yes, of course I do. Miss Blake and I go most Sundays.”

“You'd cut off your own fingers if that woman told you to.”

“Mam, please, let's enjoy this visit,” Percy said quietly.

“How can I enjoy it when my daughters are all godless, when they won't spend any time with me?”

“Is that something burning?” he asked.

Meg shrieked and rushed across to the cooker, sighing with relief to find everything all right. “No, of course it isn't. I don't know why you should think that, Percy Kershaw.”

By that time, Lizzie had gone out to the lav and Polly had gone to hang up her coat in the hall.

Eva followed her out. “She's getting worse. If it goes on like this, I'm not coming here again.”

Polly looked at her anxiously. “Please keep coming, Eva. She does like to see you, even if she doesn't show it.”

“I sometimes think she doesn't like anyone or anything since our Dad died.”

“Well, it's hard for her. She's the sort of woman who needs a man.”

“It's not that hard. Percy hands over most of his wages, so does Lizzie, and she has the money from the lodgers. It's not hard at all, if you do the sums. She just pretends it is.”

They stood for a moment in silence, then Polly shrugged and led the way back into the kitchen. Lizzie didn't come in to join them for a while.

*   *   *

That afternoon, Sam turned up in Bobbin Lane, determined not to take no for an answer when he wanted Lizzie to walk out with him. But by that time she had gone out with her sisters, and since Eva had to get to the station by three o'clock to meet Miss Blake, they didn't go to the park but went to walk by the canal instead, which was closer to the station.

“Sorry, lad,” said Percy, not inviting his friend in because this was a rare moment when he had the house to himself and could just sit and read in peace. Such small mercies helped him cope with the rest.

When he didn't find Lizzie and her sisters in the park, Sam grew angry again. “I'm not going on like this,” he muttered as he sat on a bench, scowling at the people promenading in their Sunday best. “She'll not go off with her sisters once we're wed, that she won't.”

*   *   *

That same Sunday, since the weather was fine, Emma persuaded Blanche to go out for a walk, and of course they went to look at the houses being built in Maidham Street.

“I have a key,” Emma said as they stood looking at the end four houses, which were further advanced than the rest. “Mr. Cardwell says it's safe to go into number seven.”

Blanche nodded but didn't move immediately. Even with all the mess of building, she could see what the street would look like. Neat little houses with bay windows and attics. A tiny garden in the front of each. You'd be able to grow flowers. She loved flowers. She looked sideways at Emma. “Are you sure we can afford it?”

“Yes. Well, fairly sure.”

Blanche took a deep quivering breath and allowed a dream to creep into her heart. Net curtains across the bay window, tied in swags. Flowers. A shiny brass door knocker.

“Just wait until these people have passed,” Emma said suddenly. “We don't want anyone telling Mrs. Kershaw we've been poking around here. She'll get suspicious. We don't want her to know anything until it's all settled.”

“No.” Blanche shuddered. “Oh, no. And even then—you'll tell her for me, won't you, Emma? I know I'm a coward, but she can be very—intimidating.”

“Leave that to me.”

Inside the house was a long, narrow hall, with just enough room for a hallstand. There was a front room to the right, not large but of harmonious proportions.

“It could look very nice,” Blanche admitted.

Emma, who had already seen the house in the company of her boss, nodded. “Come and look at the back—see, there's a morning room and then a kitchen and scullery. You can have your piano in the front room and continue to give lessons.”

Blanche nodded.

Upstairs there were three bedrooms, the smallest very tiny.

“I think we could use this one for a sewing room,” Emma suggested, worried that her sister wasn't saying anything. “It's too small, really, to use as a bedroom.”

After another silence, Blanche said quietly, “It's a baby's room. Or a child's.”

They both took a moment to move on. They knew they'd never have children and that knowledge hurt each woman from time to time. It was one thing they never discussed. No use opening old wounds. Better to look to the future, concentrate on what they could have.

Finally, there were two attics, proper rooms, with a dormer window to the rear one and a sort of bay dormer to the front one in line with the bays to the other floors. “I'd like to take this room for mine,” Emma confessed, standing by the window. “It's got the best view through that gap between the houses. Would you mind?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Can we really—?”

“Yes, we can. If we sell Mother's jewellery and use all our savings.”

And suddenly Blanche was weeping in her sister's arms. “It seems like a miracle, having our own place again. I can't believe it's going to happen, somehow.”

“Well, it is. We'll
make
it happen. That's why we've been so careful these past few years. No one's given us this. We've earned it ourselves.” And she felt rather proud of that.

“What about Aunt Gertrude?” Blanche asked as they stood in the kitchen again, looking out at the small yard.

“What about her?”

“I think we should at least let her know when we move.”

“She's never made any attempt to contact us, though you've written to her every Christmas.”

Blanche shrugged. “I know. But if we do what's right, then I can sleep peacefully. And she is our only surviving relative.”

“Write to her if you want. And tell her we're doing all right, buying a house.” Emma spun round, arms spread wide. “Oh, I love it already!”

Chapter Fourteen

August–October 1913

One week later, Sam called in at Cardwell's on his way home, having seen through the window that Emma Harper was still at work.

She looked up as he entered, her heart sinking when she saw who it was. “Hello, Sam.”

Removing his cap, he nodded. “Good evening, Miss Emma. I saw you were still here, so thought I'd just pop in and find out if you'd given buying a house any more thought?”

When he came right up to her desk, looming over her, she pushed back her chair, feeling suddenly uneasy and wishing someone else were around. “We're still thinking about it.”

“It's just that if you have to sell your jewellery, well, I've met a fellow who can help.”

“Thank you, but we've already sold it.” For a moment, she saw an ugly expression cross his face, too clear to be mistaken, then it was wiped off and replaced by a smile, but not a pleasant one.

“Oh? I thought I was going to help you with that. As I've helped you with other things.”

She shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I found someone who had better connections—who could get us a higher price.” She felt annoyed with herself for feeling nervous and added sharply, “Actually, he got us a much better price than you did for the other stuff, too, Sam. Nearly double, at a rough estimate.”

There was a moment's silence during which the only sound was his breathing, always rather stertorous. He's like a pig, she thought now, listening to it in the silence of the large waiting area where her desk was located. No, not a pig, that's too tame. A boar.

“I'm right glad for you, then,” he said.

His smile didn't reach his eyes. Looking at him, she believed what James Cardwell had told her, accepting fully now what she had denied before: that Sam had cheated them, on the furniture and on the jewellery. “So am I.”

He didn't leave and she swallowed, wishing he would go. He was still much too close.

“You'll be buying a house in Maidham Street, then?”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

He nodded and his smile was a sneer by now. “We may be neighbours, then.”

She hoped her dismay hadn't shown in her face, but suspected it had. His eyes went glassy for a moment and the silence seemed to go on for a long time.

Sam took a step backwards, staring round him. “That's the other reason I came here. To see that boss of yours. Is he in?”

“I'll—um, go and see if he's come back.”

To Emma's relief, James was out in the yard, talking to Walter, gesticulating wildly as he always did. He looked wholesome and healthy. The mere sight of him made her feel better, cleaner somehow.

When she called him over and explained what Sam wanted, he frowned. “I don't like selling to him. And where the hell did he get that much money on his wages?” He looked at her, lips pursed. “He must be on the fiddle somehow.”

“There's nothing proved.”

“No. But I still think he diddled you and no doubt he's diddled others, too. Has he been pestering you about something?”

“No. Just asking if we still want him to sell things for us.”

James laid one hand on her arm. “You'll let me know if he annoys you? Promise.”

She could only nod. But she guessed Sam would do nothing obvious. “I could do without him as a neighbour,” she admitted.

“Aye. But if he's got the money, I can hardly turn him away, can I?” Because it was all taking longer than James had expected and they both knew he had to sell one or two of the houses quickly to get more cash to finish the rest. And for all he had offered to let Emma pay off part of her purchase weekly, he was glad the jewellery had provided her and her sister with the money to buy the house outright, because with the best will in the world, he couldn't have subsidised them. “All right, then. Give me a minute to wash my hands, then show him into my office.”

*   *   *

The following weekend Sam took Lizzie out to the cinema as usual, then on the way home, swung her round into the alley where he still lived in the house he had shared with his gran, keeping a firm hold of her hand as she tried to pull back.

“I have to get home,” she said nervously as he opened the front door.

“We need to talk. In private.”

“Sam—”

He chuckled, scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside, taking her by surprise, so that she could only let out a squeak of shock before the door was closed. “This is what I want to do for real,” he murmured against her throat as she lay in his arms, trembling a little. “I want to carry my bride across the threshold an' shut the rest of the world outside.” And then do all the things he had dreamed of.

“Oh, Sam, can't we—wait a bit?”

“Why?”

“I'm only seventeen.”

“Seventeen and a half now. A woman grown.” He set her down, but kept hold of her hand, stroking her fingers with his big rough thumb. “Aw, Lizzie, I need you to marry me now.” He drew her down on the couch, gritting his teeth against the urge to take her there and then, willing or not. He didn't want to frighten her off. He'd seen over the years how stubborn she could be if she set her mind against something. “I want to be with you every night,” he growled in her ear. “You and me, husband and wife. And no bugger else! I want to come home and find you waiting, a meal on the table, a fire burning—not an empty house with dust in the corners.” He waved one hand at the neglected room.

She didn't say anything, but as usual nestled against him.

He hid a smile. This was how to get to her. The cuddling. “An' don't tell me it's easy for you, Lizzie love, going home night after night to
her
shouting at you.” He felt her shudder against him and pressed his advantage. “Wouldn't you like to have your own home? No shouting? No fuss? Just you an' me?”