Our Lizzie (43 page)

Then she was off again, running through the streets, coat flapping in her hand, trying hard to think. All she had was the money Mrs. D had given her, no clothes, no suitcase. And her rings. She needed help. Polly? No, it'd take too long to wake her sister. That left only one place. Dearden's. If they wouldn't hide her, she'd throw herself into the canal.

By the time she got there, breath was rasping in her throat and her legs felt leaden. The upstairs light was still on. She hammered at the back door, terrified that Sam would turn up and catch her.

Peter opened it.

“Sam's after me,” she said simply. “He came back and caught me leaving.”

He held the door open and she almost fell through it.

*   *   *

A little later, when Sam hammered at the front door of the shop, Peter went to answer it in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his mother behind him. If that man tried to attack her son, she was going to grab a tin of ham and clout him over the head.

“Where is she?” Sam demanded, shoving the door wider.

“Who?” Peter blinked and tried to look as if he'd just woken up.

“My bloody wife, the one as came round to see you here tonight.”

Sally stepped forward. “Your wife came to see me, not my son. She didn't even know he was home.”

Sam turned to sneer at her. “If you think I'll believe that, you must think I'm stupid.”

“You
are
stupid, ill-treating that poor lass, and even more stupid if you think she's got another fellow, let alone my Peter. She works here, that's all.”

“I want to see.”

“Pardon?”

“I want to come in and see that she's not here.”

“Of course she's not here.” But Sally stepped back and gestured to him to enter.

Sam tramped round the whole house and shop, taking great care that no one could slip from one place to another behind his back, and going over some areas a couple of times, to make sure.

Sally held Peter back when he began to get angry and simply let Sam go where he wanted. He'd never find the hidden cupboard where they kept their valuables and the shop takings. It had been very skillfully fitted. Lizzie would be cramped in there, but safe.

“Satisfied?” she asked when at last he stopped searching.

“You've got her hidden somewhere,” he accused.

“If she had come round, I'd have got her away at once, not kept her here,” said Sally scornfully.

He jerked towards her, fists clenched, and Peter moved in front of his mother. But although the two men stared each other in the eyes, their hatred clearly visible, the moment of danger passed.

“You'd better leave now,” Peter said. “We want to get some sleep.”

Sam went outside, made a great play of tramping off down the street, then crept back to keep watch, circling the house from time to time, rubbing his chilled hands, anger keeping sleep at bay. He'd known when he saw that sod was home that she'd go to him. He knew no woman could stay faithful. When he found she'd started working at Dearden's, he'd been prepared for trouble and had lied about the length of his leave. Well, she wasn't going to get away with it. Oh, no!

*   *   *

Inside the house, they made plans, then Peter kept watch at one of the windows while his mother packed some things for Lizzie by the light of a street lamp, and helped her change into some of his father's old clothes.

In the morning, their driver accepted a pound note to drive Lizzie out openly, dressed as a fellow, with her front hair cut into a fringe and flour brushed through to make it seem grey.

When Sam stopped the van at the yard gate and insisted on looking in the back, he hardly looked at the old fellow smoking a cigarette in the front. He checked behind the boxes, then waved the van on.

“They'll not get her out without me seeing her,” he muttered to himself.

In the front of the van, Lizzie sat rigid with terror, nearly choking on the cigarette. Peter had said it was best to do this boldly, but she was so afraid when Sam stepped up to the van that her whole body had gone numb. And still felt numb.

When the van stopped some time later, she couldn't move at first.

“You get out here, love,” the fellow said, looking at her curiously. By, she looked to be in a right state, and no wonder, with a husband like that. He only hoped Mrs. D didn't get into trouble for helping her. Thoxby could be a nasty sod when crossed.

When Peter left, going openly to the station, Sam followed him, leaving his friend Josh to keep watch on the shop. He saw Peter climb on the train, muttering, “I'll get that bastard one day, I will that. I don't know how they hid her, but she couldn't have got away without help.”

As the train chugged out of the station, he went back to Dearden's, going into the shop openly.

“Have you found Lizzie, Mr. Thoxby?” Sally asked at once. “I've been right worried about her.”

“Not yet, missus. But I will.”

Then he had to leave Overdale to go back to the sodding barracks. But he went round to his friend Josh's house first to leave instructions with young Fred—and money, too—to keep watch on the house in case Lizzie came back. As he climbed into a late afternoon train, rage boiled within him. She might have got away for the moment, but he'd find her. And make her very sorry indeed.

*   *   *

Percy didn't discover for a couple of days that Lizzie was missing. When he went round to her house one evening, a strange lad opened the door.

“Is my sister in?”

“She's not here.”

Percy stared at him. “Who are you?”

“Friend of Mr. Thoxby's. Looking after the house for 'im.”

“Tell my sister I called, will you?”

“She's left.” The lad slammed the door shut.

Percy went straight along to the Harpers' house. “Have you seen Lizzie lately?” he demanded, before he even got inside the door.

The two sisters exchanged glances and Emma spoke. “We haven't seen her for several days. But—well, there was a hubbub one night and she chased off down the street with him following her and yelling at her to come back.”

“I had the toothache,” Blanche explained. “We don't usually spy on neighbours, but I couldn't sleep and when the noise started, I looked out of the window. But I didn't see her come back.”

“I hope she got away,” Emma said. “He's a wicked brute.”

*   *   *

Percy went round to Dearden's next, knocking on the back door.

Mrs. D opened it, a rolling pin in her hand. “Oh, it's you, lad.”

“I was looking for Lizzie.”

Sally looked round the yard, then gestured to him to come in. “She's left him. She came round a few nights ago to say she was going, then later on Sam came round, thinking she was here.”

“And was she?”

“We're not sheltering her,” Sally said obliquely, because she and Peter had decided to tell no one, not even Lizzie's family, any details.

“Where can she be?” worried Percy, then thanked her and left.

She almost called him back to say Lizzie had got away all right, but Peter had stressed that no one should know, so she bit back the words.

*   *   *

Percy knocked at the back door of Redley House next. “Can I speak to Polly, please? I'm her brother, Percy.”

Mrs. Frost nodded, scenting more trouble. “Just a quick word. It's late.”

Polly was there within the minute. “Percy? Is something wrong?”

“Have you seen Lizzie lately?”

“Not for a few days, no.”

“She's not in Maidham Street.” He told her all he knew, watching her anxiously. “I was sure she'd have come to you.”

Polly shook her head. “No. I knew she was going to leave, but she said she'd do it on her own. Oh, Percy! I do hope she got away.”

“So do I.” He stood there for a minute, worrying. “You'll let me know—if you hear anything, like?”

She nodded.

But no one heard anything for quite a while.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Manchester: January 1915

Lizzie didn't realise the train had pulled into the station in Manchester till one of the other passengers touched her arm. She had flinched away before she realised what she was doing. “Oh, sorry! I was miles away.”

The young woman frowned, then sat down again and said bluntly, “You look to be in trouble, love. Would you like to come and get a cup of tea? We could talk. They say two heads are better than one.”

Lizzie blinked and tried hard to concentrate. “I—I don't know—”

“Let me buy you that cup of tea, then.” The voice was firm and the stranger reached out to pull Lizzie gently to her feet.

“All right.” She picked up the bag of necessities Mrs. D had packed for her and stumbled off the train, finding it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. Lying on the sofa in Mrs. D's sitting room through the long, dark hours of the night, she had had no sleep, terrified that Sam would break in and get her. Now, she felt stupid and muzzy-headed. Maybe a cup of tea would help.

When they were seated in a corner of the café, with two steaming cups in front of them, the other woman held out her hand. “I'm Peggy Garrett.”

Lizzie reached out automatically to clasp the hand. “Lizzie … Smith.”

The other woman's smile said she knew the name was false. “I know I'm interfering, but I can see you're in trouble and maybe I can help.”

“I don't think anyone can.” Lizzie found it hard to say the words, but forced them out. “I'm running away from my husband. He—” Her face crumpled and she bent her head, too ashamed to finish.

“Ill-treats you?”

Lizzie nodded.

“Then you did right to run away. Got anywhere to stay tonight?”

A shake of the head was her only answer.

“Would you like to come home with me? You'll have to sleep on the floor, I'm afraid.”

Lizzie could only stare at her and ask, “Why should you—I mean—” Her voice tailed away.

“He beats you, doesn't he?”

“Yes.”

“My father used to beat my mother. I like to help women in the same sort of trouble when I can. I couldn't help Mam, you see.” There was silence for a moment, then Peggy glanced at the clock. “Look, I have to catch a train in ten minutes' time. Do you want to come and stay with me for a night or two or do you have other plans?”

“No plans. I just ran. And some f-friends helped me get away.”

“Come home with me, then. I promise you I don't bite—though my friends tell me I do tend to organise other people.”

Then, for the first time, Lizzie noticed the knot of green, white and purple ribbon in the stranger's lapel. “You're a suffragette!”

“Yes. Does that upset you?”

“Oh, no! I think you're right about votes for women.” She felt reassured, somehow, by that knowledge. “And—and if you really mean it—I'd be so grateful for your help. I can't seem to think straight today.”

“Come on, then. Drink up. We'll have to buy you a ticket. I live on the outskirts of Manchester, in Murforth. I work in a munitions factory there.”

At the ticket office, when the stranger reached for her purse, Lizzie said, “I have some money. I can pay for my own ticket.” Thanks to Mrs. D. “But I don't have many c-clothes.”

“That's all right. The girls will lend you some things. Come on! We'll have to hurry!”

*   *   *

The hard floor didn't prevent Lizzie from sleeping soundly because she felt so safe with Peggy. In the morning—well, it must have been morning, but it was still dark—she was woken by stealthy sounds and found her companion trying to get dressed quietly by the light of a candle lamp.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I have to go to work. I'm on early shift this week.”

Something crystallised in Lizzie's mind then. Why did she have to go to London? Sam could be posted anywhere in the country. Nowhere was really safe from him. So she might as well stay here, if her new friend didn't mind. “Are there any jobs going at the factory?”

“Yes. They nearly always need new hands.” Peggy hesitated then added, “But it's dangerous work. People get injured, though we haven't had anyone killed here yet.”

“How much do they pay?”

“About thirty shillings a week, once you're trained.”

“That much?”

Peggy smiled. “It's hard work and a seventy-two-hour week.”

“I've never heard of women getting so much money.” Lizzie could surely live well, and even save from that, then she'd be able to pay back Mrs. D. “Are there other lodgings round here?”

Peggy smiled. “Yes, lots. With so many men away, women are making money any way they can.”

“What time is it?”

“Half-past five. I've told my landlady about you. She'll give you breakfast later, then you can spend the day here resting.”

“Shouldn't I come in with you to ask about the job?”

“It'll still be there tomorrow. You look as if you need a bit of peace and quiet today.”

*   *   *

Sam was having a bad time of it. He'd never been at his best in the mornings and it nearly killed him to get up so early and do drill before breakfast. Even the food was poor. And though he had earned some money at first by lending to other fellows, a Sergeant had found out about it and put a stop to that. So he didn't have a lot to spare to buy extra food—even if he'd been able to get away from the camp.

Since he couldn't get back to Overdale, he wrote to Josh's wife and offered her two shillings a week if young Fred would sleep in the house at night and write to him straight away if Lizzie came home or was seen in the town.

He wasn't surprised when his offer was accepted. With Josh in prison, Dora would be finding it hard to make ends meet.