Beyond a Misty Shore (19 page)

‘I think I’ll wait and see inside before I pass judgment,’ Lizzie answered succinctly.

It was a big house, bigger than she had imagined it would be, and so different to Harebell Street. It was roomy, certainly, but would it be homely?

A
FTER THEY HAD ALL
been introduced by Sophie the old lady took them on a tour of the house, and as they moved from room to room Lizzie realised that even though everything had been wrapped in dust sheets, the whole place was in need of a thorough clean. It must have been years since these rooms had seen a duster or a carpet sweeper, she surmised. Perhaps Martha would come to give them a hand?

Sophie had taken one look at the front parlour and decided that it would make an excellent workroom, but that a lot of the heavy, old-fashioned furniture would have to be moved elsewhere. Thick dark green chenille curtains and cream cotton lace ones shut out most of the light so the heavy drapes would have to come down to let in more light. The breakfast room seemed more suitable as a fitting room than the dining
room for it was smaller, contained less furniture and would be easier to heat. Also now that there would be four of them sitting down to at least one meal a day together they would need to utilise the dining room.

Lizzie was astounded by the size of the bedrooms and the quality of the furniture, bedspreads and eiderdowns, even though they were a little faded. With a good dusting, some elbow grease applied to the walnut and mahogany furniture, and laundering of the curtains and linen the place would be fit for the gentry, she thought rather enviously. Sophie noted how neat and tidy Hetty’s own bedroom was and that the faint perfume of lavender pervaded the air.

In the bathroom Maria gazed at the big enamelled bath with something akin to wonder. It stood on legs and had splendid taps that were brass, albeit in need of a polish. Oh, wouldn’t it be heavenly to lie back and soak in a bath like that and have the privacy of this special room? She’d only ever been used to the tin bath that was kept in the yard of her mam’s cottage, hung on a nail, which had been brought in and filled with kettles once a week. It was a ritual that was also carried out at Lizzie’s. Here there was also a separate washbasin with brass taps, a mahogany stand on which hung big white towels and, wonder of wonders, a flush toilet with a mahogany seat. No more having to go down the yard in all weathers – such luxury!

When they reached the attic, even though Sophie and Hetty enthusiastically pointed out all the advantages of having such a big room to play in, Bella was still very dubious.

‘It’s dark, Mam, and there isn’t much room because it’s full of boxes,’ she pointed out.

Hetty laughed. ‘We’ll sort through all the boxes and then put them in the cellar. And it’s not dark – look, there’s a big window and if you stand on tiptoe you can see right across the rooftops.’

Bella smiled politely and turned to her mother. ‘But who will I have to play with, Mam?’ she persisted stubbornly, still unable to see why her mam and the old lady thought this room was so great.

‘Your new friends from school, of course, and I’m sure Emily would like to come to play sometimes and maybe even Billy and Robbie too, if Aunty Hetty doesn’t mind.’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows in horror at the thoughts of the antics her son and Robbie Ryan could get up to up here. They would probably succeed in bringing down the ceiling of the rooms below. The attic too would need a good clean and a fresh coat of distemper to brighten it up.

When they returned to the living room, Hetty Foster announced they were all now going to have tea: Lizzie insisted on helping Sophie’s benefactress to prepare it. The kitchen was well equipped, she noticed: there was a gas cooker and shelves covered with green and white checked oilcloth for the pans and dishes; also a sink of the type known as a ‘butler’s sink’ with a wooden draining board, and two mesh-fronted food presses. There was a scullery off the kitchen and a pantry too, and the floor was of red quarry tiles which would only need mopping over to keep clean. Every
other room in the house she’d noted was carpeted, a luxury neither she nor any of her neighbours had never experienced.

After tea, when the dishes had all been washed and put away, Sophie, Maria and their aunt asked to go round the house once more to get a better idea of just what needed to be done and what furniture was to be moved, leaving Bella and Arthur with the old lady. Sophie had wisely brought along a bobbin and some coloured wool for Bella’s ‘French knitting’, which was currently the child’s favourite occupation; she and Emily were engaged in a competition to see who could make theirs the longest.

Hetty was quite content to sit in an armchair by the fire watching Bella work the wool over the four little pegs, while Arthur studied the numerous leather-bound volumes on the shelves of the large bookcase, which took up most of one wall.

‘You have a wonderful collection of literature, Miss Foster. Do you enjoy reading?’ he asked, carefully extracting a book and admiring the gilt-edged pages and the gold-embossed lettering on the spine.

‘I used to, Mr Chatsworth, but my eyesight isn’t what it was, nor is my concentration. I’m rather afraid magazines are my limit these days. My brother Harold loved to read, he collected most of the books. You may borrow that one if you wish. I can see by the way you are handling it that you will take care of it.’

‘That’s most generous of you. I do use the public library but have to spend quite a lot of time there as many of the
books I find of interest are not available to take out on loan.’

Hetty nodded. She liked him; he was obviously a cultured and well-educated man. His speech had no trace of a local accent, or indeed any accent, and his manners were impeccable, as was the way he was dressed. His suit had been pressed, his shirt and winged collar were spotless and his boots highly polished. She wondered why he lodged with Sophie’s aunt. ‘Do you have no family at all, Mr Chatsworth?’

He seated himself opposite her. ‘Not any longer. I . . . I’ve been a widower for many years. My wife . . . died young and we had no children. I had an older brother but he was killed on the first day of the Somme and of course my parents are long dead. I have one cousin who lives in America, in Vermont. We correspond occasionally, mainly at Christmas.’

Hetty sighed; his was a lonely life too, or so it appeared. ‘My brother fought in the Great War, he was at Ypres, but thank God he survived. My dear sister Ada passed away three years ago and I’ve been alone ever since.’

Arthur smiled at her. ‘But not for much longer, Miss Foster. I have to say it’s most generous of you to offer Sophie and her little family a home, I know she’s been worrying about finding decent rooms. I’m very fond of her; she is a lovely girl who deserves a far better hand than fate has so far dealt her.’

Hetty smiled at him. ‘I agree and you recognised her potential and invested in her talent, didn’t you, Mr Chatsworth? She told me she could never have managed it without your generosity and your help in wording the advertisements.’

He nodded. ‘Please do call me Arthur, and yes, I had a little money put by and wanted to help and she’s paid me back – with interest, although I didn’t expect or ask for that. I just wanted to give her a chance, a better life than slaving away in a factory all day and then helping her aunt to manage in that cramped, overcrowded house.’

Hetty frowned. ‘Arthur . . . er . . . I hope you won’t think me impertinent but I’m curious as to why you reside in Mrs Quine’s house? It can’t be . . . comfortable? You said yourself it’s cramped and overcrowded, surely you could find more . . .’ She paused, searching for the right word. Mrs Quine was a kind, good-hearted woman and Sophie’s aunt and she had no wish to cast aspersions on either the woman or her home.

‘The bombing in Liverpool was very extensive, Miss Foster, I’m sure you’ll agree. So many families lost their homes that lodgings of any kind were – and still are – hard to find.’

She sighed. ‘Yes indeed, we were very fortunate not to be bombed out although Ada and I spent many nights down in the cellar, terrified we wouldn’t survive it all. But did you never have a “family” home?’

He looked discomforted. ‘Once . . . once I did, but then I was . . . away from where I lived for many years, so I had to let it go.’

Hetty realised she was being discourteous and got up to put more coal on the fire but he was instantly on his feet.

‘Let me do that, Miss Foster. That scuttle is much too heavy for you to lift.’

She watched as he expertly banked up the fire and tidied
the hearth, just as Harold had used to do, and she came to a decision. The idea had been forming in her mind as she’d been conversing with him and learning that, like herself, he had no family. But, unlike herself, he had no real home either, just one small, cramped room in an overcrowded house that had few of the basic amenities . . . and he’d been very good to Sophie. ‘Arthur, would you . . . would you consider coming with Sophie? To live here, I mean? I . . . it . . . would feel so much
safer
having a man about the place. This area is still quiet but it’s not as . . . affluent as it used to be.’

Arthur was astonished and for a few moments he just stared at her, trying to take in the fact that she was offering him a home too, and such a comfortable and pleasant one. ‘Miss Foster, I don’t know what to say. I never expected . . . I never dreamed . . . but . . . but I will be
delighted
to. You have such a fine, comfortable and spacious home and I’m sure there are numerous ways I can make myself useful. I’m temperate in my habits and I hope well mannered—’

Hetty smiled at him as she interrupted: ‘Indeed you are, I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise. “Manners maketh the man”, poor Ada always used to say, and Sophie has spoken of you often and with affection. And please do stop calling me Miss Foster, it’s Hetty and I think we’ll get on famously. You put me in mind of Harold, God rest him.’

Lizzie relayed every single detail of the house in Laurel Road to Martha next morning and when she’d finished Martha agreed to go and help with the spring clean, as Lizzie was
calling it, wanting to see for herself the luxury in which Sophie, Maria, Bella and, surprisingly, Arthur Chatsworth too would soon be living.

‘When do they intend to move in then?’ she asked, sipping her tea.

‘The weekend after Sophie finishes at Marsden’s.’

‘Fancy her asking Mr Chatsworth to go too. Mind you, you’ll miss his money, Lizzie.’

Lizzie nodded her agreement. ‘I will, but we’ll manage. I’ll miss the help in the house those girls give me too. You can be sure our Katie will revert back to her idle self once they’ve gone, all she thinks about these days is getting dressed up and going out with Matt Seddon. But we will have more room. Mr Chatsworth’s always kept himself to himself, so we may hardly notice he’s not there. And I can’t blame Sophie, she does need proper workrooms now, her business is going from strength to strength.’

Martha looked thoughtful. ‘And at least she’ll have moved before our Frank arrives home. I had a postcard from a place called Las Palmas, wherever that is, saying he should be back in Liverpool by the nineteenth, weather permitting.’

Lizzie sighed and nodded. ‘Will he be home for long, Martha? Did he say?’

‘A week, he thinks. Then he does a short trip before going off for three months again.’

‘And I suppose he’ll be stopping over there or will he stay with you?’ Lizzie jerked her head in the direction of Nellie Richards’s house.

Martha shook her head, frowning. Her relationship with Frank was so much better these days but she didn’t feel it would be right if he moved back into his former home. ‘He can leave his stuff in our house and have a few meals with us too but he’ll have to stay over there. He
is
still married to Nora and we don’t want any more trouble with her.’

Lizzie pursed her lips, thinking no doubt it wouldn’t be much of a homecoming for him. Nora seemed to be out enjoying herself most nights and the Lord alone knew with whom. There were bound to be rows. ‘You’ll have to tell him Sophie’s moved, Martha, but tell him not to be going down there trying to see her. I don’t think Hetty Foster would approve, do you?’

‘No, I don’t, but I don’t know if he’ll take any notice of me, Lizzie. He hasn’t done up to now.’

‘Then he might take notice of me. Sophie’s getting on with her life, making a success of things, and she doesn’t need him upsetting the apple cart or giving flaming Nora any reason to start carrying on. In the name of God, Martha, can you just imagine what Hetty Foster would think if that trollop fetched up on the doorstep yelling abuse about Sophie and your Frank?’

Martha finished her tea, her lips set in a line of determination. ‘Leave it to me, Lizzie, I’ll do my utmost to keep him away from Laurel Road,’ she promised.

The time had just seemed to fly by, Sophie thought as they arrived in Laurel Road with the last of their belongings two
weeks later. Her sewing machine and all her things had been transferred by her uncle and cousin John, with the aid of Arthur Chatsworth, during the week, and Lizzie and Katie had helped with their clothes and Bella’s toys.