Poor Little Rich Girl (21 page)

‘Aye, I’ll do that,’ Mr Frost said, heartily, in his booming voice. ‘Sorry to have troubled you, miss; may I wish you all the compliments of the season and a happy and prosperous New Year!’

Hester, still shivering, let herself back into the house, closed the front door and leaned on it for a moment, vigorously rubbing her upper arms with both hands. She was thrilled that Dick had made the first move and that they were actually going to meet again at last, but more than a little apprehensive over Mr Frost’s visit. She realised that she had spent a
good deal longer talking to him than she would have done had a missing glove been their only subject of conversation. She was still planning what she should say if questioned when the study door opened and Miss Hetherington-Smith’s long pink nose and beady eyes – how like a mongoose she is, Hester thought irreverently – appeared in the doorway.

‘Just what was all that about, Miss Elliott?’ Miss Hetherington-Smith enquired frostily. ‘You and that fat little man seemed to have a great deal to say to one another.’ She sniffed disparagingly. ‘A shopkeeper, I presume? I could smell trade even through the front window.’

What a disgusting old woman you are, Hester thought. A snob through and through and with no reason to think yourself better than anyone else since you live here by courtesy of your brother and are, in fact, his pensioner. Aloud, she said: ‘Yes, he is a shopkeeper, Miss Hetherington-Smith, a most respectable and honest man. Miss Leonora and I were in his shop just before Christmas, purchasing wrapping paper and some tobacco to give to Mimms. Apparently, one of his customers dropped a glove on her way out of the shop and he has been visiting the homes of all those he knows to see whether the lost glove belongs to one of them.’

‘And how did he come to know you, miss, since it can’t be every day that you buy tobacco?’ Miss Hetherington-Smith asked suspiciously. ‘And you could not possibly have spent so long simply discussing a lost glove which did
not
belong to you.’

‘One of next door’s housemaids came into the shop just as we left and must have told him where we lived,’ Hester said, with a glibness which astonished her. ‘And whilst he was telling me about the glove,
he happened to mention the children’s carol service at the High School this afternoon. He has a niece who sings in the choir and wondered if Lonnie and I might like to go along. Apparently, they will sell some tickets on the door and he told me it’s a very popular event. I asked him whether respectable people went and he assured me that it is well attended by folk from the big houses, since the tickets are not cheap.’ She gazed innocently at her employer. ‘I wondered if you might like to come along, Miss Hetherington-Smith? Children’s voices are so sweet and I know you are fond of music.’

This explanation must have satisfied Miss Hetherington-Smith for she half turned away, saying as she did so: ‘I’m visiting friends this afternoon, Miss Elliott. At what time does this carol service end?’

‘I don’t know, but I imagine about half-past four, maybe five o’clock,’ Hester said. ‘A longer service would be trying for the little ones. I’m sorry you can’t come with us, but I’m sure Miss Leonora will enjoy it and probably meet several of her little friends from the park.’

Miss Hetherington-Smith did not deign to reply but re-entered the study, then suddenly appeared to think of something and turned back. ‘Since you are out this afternoon, I take it that you will assist with the housework this morning,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘The dining room will need a good clean which will include brushing the carpet, dusting and polishing all the furniture and beating the Persian rugs. Kindly see to it.’

Hester opened her mouth to reply but was given no opportunity. The study door slammed almost in her face and, with a shrug, she turned towards the stairs. One of these days someone will teach
you some manners, you nasty old crab, she said to herself. If Lonnie’s father really does mean to visit England when his honeymoon is over, then Lonnie will make sure that he learns the truth about his sister.

But she could not think about revenge or Mr Hetherington-Smith’s possible visit. Right now, her mind was too full of Dick and the meeting planned for later that day. With a light step, she ran up the two flights of stairs, eager to tell Lonnie what had transpired.

Dick had not realised that the streets would be so crowded on Boxing Day. He had known nothing of the carol service at the High School, which was only a stone’s throw from St Augustine’s, and when Joey had mentioned it had scarcely taken it in. Now, however, watching the animated crowd surging past, he could only hope that when Hester arrived the majority of the audience would have disappeared into the school.

He had had no doubt that he would recognise her, yet when a slender figure in a navy-blue coat, scarlet scarf and matching perky little hat stopped beside him he drew back, thinking she wished to go into the church, before he looked into that small, perfect face and knew her at once.

Abruptly, he was overcome by shyness. She was smiling up at him but when he did not speak her smile faltered and a tide of rosy pink invaded her cheeks. She made as if to turn away and Dick knew that if she did so their conversation would never take place. He grabbed for her sleeve, saying hoarsely as he did so: ‘Miss Elliott! I’m that sorry I didn’t know you straight away, but last time I see’d you it were
summer and I hadn’t thought … hadn’t expected … you look ever so smart!’

To his great relief, Hester laughed and turned back towards him. ‘Don’t worry. I nearly walked straight past you, as well,’ she said gaily. ‘After all, we haven’t met for some time and, as you say, when we did meet it was summer. Now where on earth has Lonnie got to?’

Even as she spoke, the small girl Dick remembered appeared at her side. The child was wearing a matching cherry-red coat and hat, both fur-trimmed, and the face that she turned to Dick, though still recognisably the Lonnie of last summer, was altogether rounder and rosier; healthier in fact, Dick told himself.

‘Hello, Dick!’ Lonnie said cheerfully. ‘Have you brought Ben?’ Her face fell when Dick admitted that he had not.

‘I weren’t sure if either of you would be able to get away,’ he explained. ‘Me pal Joey met me this morning and I’ve not been back home since.’ He grinned down at the small girl, finding it easier to address her than to talk directly to beautiful, self-confident Hester. ‘If I’d thought you’d enjoy a chat wi’ Ben I might ha’ brought him along, but you’d not always been too friendly, had you?’

Lonnie giggled. ‘Oh, that was when I didn’t know him very well,’ she said frankly. ‘I was still thinking like someone who has spent her whole life in India, but now I’m quite different. Did Ben tell you about the sledging?’

‘Aye, on a biscuit tin lid,’ Dick said, grinning. ‘I wish I’d ha’ been there!’ He turned to Hester. ‘Don’t tell me you took part in their games,’ he said, twinkling down at her. ‘When I were a kid,
I were nearly killed shooting out on to Netherfield Road, squatting on a saucepan lid. I shot between a tram and a dray, the horse reared, the tram driver swore, a barrow boy wheeled his barrow straight off the edge of the pavement and tipped oranges all over the road … my, were I popular! Luckily for me, they were all so keen to have my hide that I managed to slip away whiles they were squabbling over who could get to me first.’

Hester and Lonnie laughed heartily with him and Dick realised that he had unwittingly broken the ice by recounting his hair-raising ride. He was seeing Miss Elliott once more not as his social superior but merely as a sweet and friendly girl whom he would like to know better. Confident now, he took her hand and tucked it into his elbow. ‘I thought we’d go along to Shaw Street gardens and have a stroll around there to get our circulation going,’ he said. ‘How long can you be away from the house, Miss Elliott? I’ve all the time in the world, but I know it’s not the same for you.’

‘I think we’re safe until about five, five thirty,’ Hester said. ‘I waylaid Allsop, the chauffeur, when he came down to the kitchen this morning and he said his orders were to pick madam up at two, take her to Great Sutton and call for her at half-past five since she and her companion would be having tea after the game of bridge was finished. It takes about half an hour, if not a bit more, to do the journey from Great Sutton so wouldn’t you think, Dick, that we’d be all right if we got back to the house about six? And by the way, please call me Hester, because I intend to call you Dick. After all, I hope to be able to visit your parents again some day and there will be two Mr Baileys … three if you count Ted.’

‘Four, if you count Ben,’ Lonnie contributed, laughing up at them as they turned into the gardens. ‘We’re pretending to go to a carol service, Dick, but won’t we get terribly cold, just strolling round the gardens? I know our coats and hats must look warm and cosy to you, but to Hester and me they feel pretty flimsy.’

Dick looked down at his thin jacket and flannel trousers. He would have scorned to wear gloves and had left his muffler at home, thinking it was not smart enough for such distinguished company. Even so, he did not think it particularly cold. However, he understood from Lonnie’s remark that she and Hester were still what he would have called ‘nesh’ from having spent almost all their lives in India’s sunny clime. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, struck by inspiration, ‘we’ll gerron a tram and go to the Pier Head. There’s a canny-house not too far from there where I’ll bet they’ll still be serving, despite it being Boxing Day. What do you say?’

‘Grand idea, but what’s a canny-house?’ Hester asked curiously. ‘Is it – is it the sort of place I ought to take Lonnie, Dick? Only if it’s by the Pier Head, it might be a – a disreputable sort of place.’

Dick laughed. ‘A canny-house is a sort of working men’s dining room. In fact, Miss Annie Conboy’s place really is a dining room, but in times past it was just a canny-house and the fellers still tend to call it that,’ he explained seriously. ‘Miss Conboy is a very respectable woman. She’s an excellent cook and would be most insulted if you suggested that her customers were disreputable. Most of them come off the ferries from Birkenhead and Woodside and are respectable working people, popping in for a hot meal or perhaps just a mug of tea and a bun, before returning to their lodgings in the city.’

‘It sounds
lovely
,’ Lonnie squeaked, before Hester could reply. ‘If we have a nice meal there, then Hester won’t have to bother with making our tea when we get back to Shaw Street. And that means no washing up either!’

‘Aye, our Phyllis don’t think much to washing up,’ Dick agreed. He smiled to himself at a mental picture of Phyllis, standing four-square on the stout wooden box which brought the smaller children of the family up to sink level whilst she lashed around in the greasy water, grumbling all the time that none of her pals did washing up, so why should she? ‘She’s only just five, mind, so I guess she’s got reason to have a bit of a moan now and then. It’s good training for later, though, when you’ve a home of your own,’ he added encouragingly.

By this time they had reached the tram stop and presently a green goddess, as the modern trams were nicknamed, drew up alongside. Dick saw the girls aboard, then sat down beside Hester with a sigh of relief, for although trams were notoriously draughty it was still a good deal warmer than out in the open street.

It was almost impossible to talk much, for trams are noisy vehicles and this one was no exception, but it did not take long to reach the Pier Head and the three of them disembarked. The wind was blowing straight off the Mersey and Dick turned his two companions towards St Nicholas Place. ‘We’ll walk up to the floating road and go across it on to the landing stage,’ he said. ‘That’ll bring some colour to our cheeks. I’ll show you where the Birkenhead ferry docks. I catch it every day along with a couple o’ hundred others who work over the water,’ he added.

As they reached the floating road and faced into
the wind, Lonnie actually staggered from the force of it and Dick put an arm round her. He could see that Hester, too, was having difficulty remaining upright, so it seemed only natural to put an arm round her as well. He half expected her to pull indignantly away but instead she clutched his jacket, laughing up at him and screaming into the wind: ‘Gracious, this is a gale, isn’t it? I truly believe the wind is strong enough to carry me over the rooftops if I spread the skirts of my coat and held them out like wings.’

Dick chuckled and tightened his hold. ‘Well, I wouldn’t like that to happen so I’ll hang on even tighter,’ he shouted. ‘Are you all right, though? Would you rather walk inland?’

‘No indeed,’ Hester assured him, rather breathlessly. ‘This is wonderful. It makes me feel so – so alive! And when we get to the canny-house, I’ll have a
huge
appetite. I hope your pockets are deep, Dick!’

Dick assured her solemnly that he had been saving up for this moment for a month and, in fact, this was in a way true. He had dipped into his savings in order to make sure his family had a good Christmas, and the remainder of that money was in his pocket now. Joking with Hester about how much they could all eat, he reflected ruefully that neither girl had any conception of the hardship suffered daily by people such as the Baileys. And at present, we are luckier than most, he reminded himself. Dad’s little pension doesn’t go far but with me and Ted both earning at Laird’s and young Ben contributing a share, at least we can be pretty sure of paying the rent and getting a square meal each day. But any extras – treats, clothing or doctor’s bills – are a terrible worry.

But it did not do to dwell on such things, so he drew the two girls to the railings and pointed at the surging
river and the ferry moored close to the landing stage. ‘There you are, that’s one of the ferries me and the fellers catch each workday morning,’ he said. ‘This place heaves wi’ workers all pushing and jostling to get aboard the ferry so’s they’ll be in work on time. Me and my pal Joey – he’s me foreman joiner – usually gets here ten minutes at least before the ferry sails, so as to be sure of a place. It’s worse coming home, though, because when the hooter goes you all stream out at once, running downhill as fast as you can to get aboard.’