Beyond a Misty Shore (27 page)

Delightedly Katie pulled off the wrapping paper to reveal a hand-embroidered, lace-edged tablecloth from Hetty and a pair of silver serving spoons from Arthur.

‘God help us all, she’ll be getting fancy ideas now with real
silver
spoons and
linen and lace
tablecloths,’ Lizzie declared, although she was as delighted as Katie.

‘She can always pawn them when she’s hard up, Lizzie,’ Katie’s future mother-in-law added, admiring the delicate lacework on the edge of the cloth. Mary Seddon had never had anything so fine in all her married life.

‘Oh, Mam! What a thing to say and haven’t I got a steady job? I hope she’ll never have to set foot in a pawnbroker’s,’ Matt cried, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘And so do I,’ Lizzie added emphatically. ‘Now, let’s get you girls something to drink.’

It wasn’t long before Ben made his way to Maria’s side and she sighed inwardly as she smiled at him. ‘Hello, Ben. Don’t
they look happy,’ she remarked, nodding in the direction of his brother and her cousin.

‘I never thought our Matt would be the first to get engaged, Maria. I thought . . . I hoped it would be me.’

She nodded slowly, feeling her spirits sink, knowing she was about to completely ruin his evening. ‘I know, Ben, and I’m so sorry. I . . . I went home to Peel a few weeks ago.’ She paused, summoning up her courage. ‘You remember I told you I loved someone who had gone . . . away?’ She thought of Hans and the long, hazardous journey he’d made to be with her. ‘He came back and he wants to marry me and . . . and we hope to get married . . . sometime next year.’ She couldn’t look at him. She felt terrible; she should never have given him a shred of hope to cling to. How would she have felt if Hans had never returned?

‘Then . . . then there’s no . . .’ He was struggling with his emotions.

‘No. I’m sorry, Ben. I never meant to hurt you but . . . but Hans—’

He gripped her arm tightly, causing her to cry out. ‘
Hans!
What kind of a name is that? HANS!
HANS!
It’s a bloody German name!’ he shouted.

Conversation around them died as Maria backed away from him. She knew he was hurt, but she’d never expected this. ‘No! He’s
not
German. He’s Austrian and he had nothing to do with the war, he was interned on the island, that’s where I met him.’

Ben’s bitter hurt and disappointment had turned to furious
anger. ‘It’s the same bloody thing, Maria! Hitler was Austrian. You saw with your own eyes what
they
did to this city.
I
saw what they did to people all over Europe, shot, tortured and gassed them in their thousands. What do you think we fought the bloody war for, Maria? Me, Frank Ryan, your cousin John and all the other lads who fought and died. What do you think your cousin Albert
died
for?’

Maria was shaking and the tears poured unheeded down her cheeks. Never before had she experienced such vitriol – and she didn’t deserve it, Hans didn’t deserve it!

Sophie and Jim had both pushed their way to her side, Sophie looking as shocked as her sister, their uncle looking grim.

‘She’s telling the truth, Ben,’ Sophie said clearly so everyone could hear. ‘Hans Bonhoeffer fled his country with his family before Hitler took over Austria. They went to live in Kent and then spent the war years on the island. My father and my husband died in the war, Ben. Do you think that either my mam or I would encourage Maria if Hans had had any part in it?’

‘It’s true, Ben. The war left my sister and Sophie widows but now it’s over. I think you’d better go home,’ Jim said forcefully, although he was shocked himself to learn of Maria’s involvement with an internee.

Ben turned away and shoved his way through the crowd of neighbours.

‘I . . . I think we’d better go too, Uncle Jim. It’s not fair on Katie and Matt, we don’t want to ruin their night entirely.’

An obviously stunned Lizzie got their coats and after apologising again to her aunt, Sophie led her sister out of the house.

‘I just didn’t think . . . I didn’t realise, Sophie,’ Maria sobbed. ‘I . . . I never thought that someone as . . . quiet and . . . ordinary as Ben could be so . . . so . . . bitter. He wouldn’t listen; he just wouldn’t listen to me! Hans had no part at all in those terrible things . . .’

Sophie put her arm around her. ‘Neither did I, Maria, but now you understand why Hans can’t come here.’

Maria nodded, wiping her eyes, still shocked to the core by Ben Seddon’s outburst. Sophie hugged her, thinking that she would have to go and see Lizzie and Jim and explain.

C
HRISTMAS NOW SEEMED
so long ago, Sophie thought as she walked up Harebell Street towards Lizzie’s house that blustery but fine March morning. The wind still had a chilly edge to it but at least the sun was shining, she thought as she turned her face towards its increasingly strong rays. The streets were busy with people going about their work and women shopping or stopping to gossip, trams and buses trundling by and still many horse-drawn carts too; and when she’d passed Maggie Dodd’s shop she saw Mr Dodd out washing down the paintwork. It was as if the brighter weather had energised people, she mused.

After the New Year celebrations the weather had turned very cold with heavy frosts at night and snow, which made conditions underfoot treacherous, and that, combined with
the post-Christmas austerity that seemed to have affected most of her customers, had had an effect on her business. People did not appear to want new clothes, they were making do with what they had or asking for new trimmings to be added; nor did they seem prepared to venture out in such inclement weather. She hoped things would pick up now that spring had arrived and Easter was not far away.

The extra amount of time she seemed to have to herself was the reason why she was calling on her aunt this morning for a chat and to take back the skirt she had been altering for Katie, who like everyone else was not buying new clothes. Sophie smiled to herself; Katie was saving hard to get married. In fact Lizzie had told her that the girl was making all kinds of small sacrifices to save money.

She found her aunt sitting at the kitchen table, studying her rent book. There was a mug of tea at her elbow.

‘That feller said I was in arrears with the rent but I swore I wasn’t and I’ve just been checking up and I’m right. So I’ll be having a few choice words to say to him next time he calls, I can tell you, Sophie. The flaming cheek of him. Oh, I know what he’s up to, thinks he can con me into coughing up more money which will go straight into his pocket, not the landlord’s. Well, he picked the wrong one to try that trick on.’

Sophie smiled at her. Lizzie never changed; as Katie often remarked, her mam could talk the hind leg off a donkey. ‘I’ve brought Katie’s skirt back. I thought she might need it.’

Lizzie nodded her thanks and poured a mug of tea for her niece. ‘How is Miss Foster doing now, luv?’

Sophie sipped her tea before she replied. ‘She’s much better, thank goodness, and since I’ve had more spare time I’ve taken over more of the chores and all the cooking.’ Hetty had caused her some concern over the past months, having had a couple of what the old lady termed ‘little turns’. The last time Sophie had insisted on calling in the doctor and Arthur had backed her up. Dr Franklin had informed them that she had had a very minor stroke and had instructed Hetty to rest more. ‘I’m planning a little celebration for her birthday next month, she’ll be eighty,’ she added.

‘Really? Bye, that’s a good age, Sophie, there’s not many reach eighty in this day and age,’ Lizzie said with some admiration.

‘Just the family – which includes Uncle Jim and yourself – for tea, and I’m going to make and ice a special cake.’

Lizzie looked pleased; that was something to look forward to. ‘Have you heard from your mam?’

Sophie nodded; Sarah wrote regularly. ‘She’s well and so is Hans.’ Then she frowned, thinking of Sarah’s last couple of letters. After Christmas when the weather had turned so much colder and her mother had got to know Hans better she had insisted he stay with her at night. She couldn’t have him lying shivering on straw in Maude Sayle’s barn with just an old coat and a single blanket to cover him, she’d said, not when the frost was so severe that the water pipes were freezing up. So, when he finished his work at Sayles’ he now
walked down to Sarah’s cottage for his supper and a warm, comfortable bed for the night. Of course Maria had been delighted at this news and in payment he brought Sarah firewood and eggs he bought from Maude.

‘What’s wrong, Sophie? Is she having trouble with that lad?’ Lizzie asked. After that outburst from Ben Seddon Sophie had come to see them and told them Hans’s story in full and both she and Jim had come to terms with Maria’s choice. Sarah had also written to them saying that the more she saw of the lad the better she liked and respected him. Over the months, her sister-in-law had said, he had opened up to her about his hard decision to leave his family and return to the island and of the hardships and dangers of the journey.

She’d also learned what his life had been like before the family had fled Austria and how he had written many times to his parents but had no way of knowing if they ever received his letters. If he could be certain they had he would have tried to enclose some money, though he had little enough himself, he’d told her. Sarah had warned him against doing that until he heard from them, which up to now he hadn’t.

Sophie sighed. ‘He seems to be getting more and more determined to come across to Liverpool, even though Mam is trying her best to dissuade him. Oh, Aunty Lizzie, I can understand how he feels and Maria is always fretting that she’s only been able to go over three times since Christmas because of the bad weather and work and she’s often depressed about it all. But it will be pointless because . . . well,
we know how most people would treat him. Mam’s afraid he’ll get so desperate that he’ll just up and leave.’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘That wouldn’t help anyone and he might even lose the bit of a job he has and then what would he do? Nor do I suppose that Mrs Sayle would be very pleased if he left them in the lurch. Farming is a seven-day-a-week job and she’s been good to him.’

‘I know. All we can do is hope that Mam can try to calm him down and keep him there. Maria should be able to get over more frequently during the next months so that should help.’

Lizzie finished her tea and tucked the rent book into her apron pocket. ‘Frank Ryan was home last week, he’s gone again though. Off on one of the short trips this time.’

Sophie’s feelings at this news were mixed. Regret that she hadn’t known he was home mingled with relief that she hadn’t bumped into him on one of her visits. Much as she longed to see him she knew it would only reinforce the hopelessness of their situation. ‘How is he, did Mrs Ryan say?’

‘She said he looks well but he told her he was getting tired of being away for so long and that he might try another shipping line, one that does shorter trips, now he’s got more experience. Martha said she tried to talk him out of it but . . .’ Lizzie shrugged. ‘Of course, I don’t suppose
that one
cares much how long he’s away.’

Sophie said nothing; she didn’t want to hear anything at all about Nora Ryan. ‘When will Frank be home again, did his mam say?’

‘Next Monday and due to sail to South Africa again the following Friday, unless he signs on with someone else.’

Sophie got to her feet. ‘I’d better be getting back. I know Arthur is planning to go out later and since Hetty’s “turns” we don’t like to leave her alone.’

‘Give her my regards, Sophie, and Mr Chatsworth too.’ Lizzie reluctantly got up and looked without much pleasure around the still untidy kitchen. ‘I still miss having you and Maria here, you were both such a help to me. Our Katie is useless even though I keep telling her she’d better make some sort of effort or she won’t turn out to be much of a catch for Matt. Mary Seddon keeps that house like a little palace. And she’d better learn to cook as well; Matt’s used to coming home to a decent meal.’

Sophie relented and helped her aunt to wash up and then she kissed her and left to catch the tram home.

As she turned into Laurel Road she stopped dead, unable to believe her eyes. Hans Bonhoeffer was walking towards her. He looked a little older and thinner than when she had last seen him, his hair was longer and his clothes creased and well worn, but she would recognise him anywhere.

‘Sophie, I have been waiting for you. I called at the house and the gentleman said you were not at home.’

So, Arthur knew he was here, she thought, but had not invited him in, although he must have guessed who the tall, blond young man with the guttural accent was.

‘Hans, you shouldn’t have come. Didn’t Mam explain it to you? Does she even know?’ Sophie asked.

‘Your mother did all she could, Sophie, but . . . but I could not be apart from my Maria any longer. Do you not know how much I love her?’ he pleaded.

‘I know, Hans, but does Mam know? If she doesn’t she’ll worry about you. I’ll have to send her a telegram.’