The Leaving of Liverpool (4 page)

‘No. I can remember my old mam on washdays. She fair wore herself out with rubbing and scrubbing, dollypegging and mangling, but when it was all blowing on the line, white as driven snow, she’d have such a look of pride and satisfaction on her face. It was a ritual, see, and God help anyone who dared to interrupt it!’

‘At least she didn’t have to contend with the soot and smuts! I’ve cursed many a time when the wash has been covered in it; black as the hobs of hell sometimes and the windows and doorsteps too.’

‘That’s city life, Lil. One day I’ll take you to the valley. Bit of a holiday like.’ A thought suddenly occurred to him ‘Would we go there soon? A honeymoon, like?’

She felt the colour rise in her cheeks. It was as though she was a tongue-tied, embarrassed girl. She shook her head.

‘Maybe it was a daft idea. I’ve plenty of work at the moment and can’t afford to lose it. Not the way things are. Maybe later on?’

‘I’m a lucky woman, Albert.’ She smiled.

 

Early on Monday morning, before dawn and before the streets were aired, as Lily put it, Emily and Phoebe-Ann walked up Lonsdale Street and around the corner into Bloom Street and then into Upper Huskisson Street which was a wide thoroughfare, lined with trees and flanked on either side by large, elegant Georgian houses; some with Corinthian porticoes and elaborately ornate facades; some with first floor balconies, bounded by delicate wrought-iron; all with gardens and drives. These were the residences of the rich: the shipowners, bankers, cotton merchants. Not so many of them now, Emily mused. Many had moved out to West Derby and even Crosby and Blundell Sands. She didn’t think it extraordinary that wide roads and avenues like Princes Avenue and Upper Parliament Street and the quiet squares with their own parks and gardens were surrounded by rows of narrow streets like Lonsdale, Almond and Pine Streets. Some of them very rundown; some with no windows at the back of the house at all. Splendour, ostentation and wealth side by side with poverty and squalor.

Phoebe-Ann carried a small, battered suitcase tied up with string and a brown paper parcel tucked under one arm. This contained her uniform, the case her few personal belongings. There had been no further arguments or attempts to persuade her to change her mind. They had all agreed to let sleeping dogs lie.

‘I like this time of the day. It’s so still and quiet and everything smells . . . fresh.’ Emily breathed deeply, savouring the newness of the day.

Phoebe-Ann wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t. It’s miserable and it doesn’t smell fresh to me. It smells of soot and unemptied middens. At least I won’t have to get up two hours earlier in future.’

Emily raised her eyes to the now pink-streaked sky. At least she would be spared having to listen to Phoebe-Ann’s carping and moaning each morning.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and ran lightly down the cellar steps that led to the kitchen and servants’ hall. Although the main part of the house was in darkness, the curtains still tightly closed, below stairs lights burned, their brightness diffused by the ever-strengthening rays of the morning sun. As Emily pushed open the door, three heads were turned in their direction. She grinned. ‘Mornin’ all! We’re back!’

Mrs Ransom, the cook, hauled her ample frame from the chair at the side of the table. A broad smile spreading across her face. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Emily, and you Phoebe-Ann! Come on in the pair of you!’

Young Kitty, who had only been with the family a month, stifled a yawn and peered at them with eyes still heavy with sleep.

‘Who got you ready?’ Edwin Leeson, the only man-servant, grinned at Phoebe-Ann, pointing to the parcel and suitcase.

‘Miss Olivia’s been on at me for ages to live in, so I decided to do just that. There’s no objection is there?’

‘None that I can think of,’ Cook replied, indicating that Phoebe-Ann put down her case. ‘You’d better see Madge first though.’

Phoebe-Ann slipped off her jacket. She’d always been able to get round Mrs Webster, although she’d never dared to address her as anything other than ‘Mrs Webster’. The ‘Mrs’ was a courtesy title. Madge was a spinster, a tall, thin woman who looked constantly harassed, an expression that belied the calm efficiency with which she’d always run the house. The war years with the shortages both in staff and provisions had etched the worry lines more deeply. ‘Where is she?’

‘In the pantry, putting the last touches to the week’s expenses. You’d best go and see her.’

Phoebe-Ann nodded as she smoothed down the collar and apron and donned the white starched cap.

Emily, who had also taken off her jacket and was clipping on her cap, smiled at Edwin who was polishing the cutlery. A baize apron covered his morning livery. He was still the same cheerful Edwin, despite four years in the trenches from which he had miraculously returned unscathed. No sign on his face of the horrors he had witnessed and endured. She’d always liked him. He always had a quip and a smile that brightened the dullest hour and lightened the darkest moments. He had open, honest features and blue eyes that could shine with merriment or become cold and piercing when he was angry, which wasn’t often. His dark brown curly hair was plastered down each morning but refused to remain obedient to the brush or comb by early afternoon, much to his chagrin and everyone else’s amusement, except Madge Webster’s.

‘The Master told me a few days ago we were going to have the pleasure of your company again. How long for, though, I asked myself? I thought you’d both have been swept off your feet and married by now.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing! Besides, there’s not many princes or knights on white chargers come calling at munitions factories and, if they did, those awful caps and overalls and the stink of chemicals would soon have them “charging” in the opposite direction,’ Emily laughed.

Edwin grinned as he laid the last knife down on the tray and took off the apron. They were so different, he thought. Some would call Emily plain but he didn’t think so and she was far more intelligent and lively than Phoebe-Ann who he had to admit was a real beauty. ‘It’s great to see you. Both of you.’

Phoebe-Ann had returned, a smile on her face.

‘You might be changing your mind about that after she’s been back a few days,’ Emily laughed and nodded towards her sister.

‘Don’t you start, our Emily! Mrs Webster said she was pleased to see me and she’d hoped I would live in. So much more convenient. So sensible.’

‘Must be the first time you’ve ever done anything sensible!’ Edwin laughed.

‘And that’s enough from you as well!’ Phoebe-Ann tossed her head.

‘If Miss Olivia’s tray is ready, Cook, I’ll take it up to her.’

Cook indicated the breakfast tray. ‘Needs the toast making. You’re keen to get going, it’s only seven and she won’t thank you for waking her up at this hour, no matter how glad she’ll be to see you back.’

Phoebe-Ann hesitated. She wanted to appear eager, yet Cook was right. Olivia Mercer wouldn’t be overly delighted to be woken up quite so soon. ‘I expect you’re right. Maybe I should make up the bed and put this stuff away.’

‘Get the linen out of the cupboard, and I’d put a hot water bottle in that bed. It won’t be aired. It hasn’t been slept in for years.’

Phoebe-Ann nodded her agreement and, picking up her things, went upstairs by the narrow back staircase.

‘Kitty, pour Emily a cup of tea. There’s time for one before we have to get going.’

The girl did as she was bid and Emily sat down at the table.

‘She didn’t want to come back really. Mam said she had to because she’d promised.’

‘Oh, aye! What did the bold rossi want to do instead?’

‘Wanted to go on working in a factory, that’s if she could have got a job. The pay is better and she liked the company of the other girls.’

‘So, what
really
changed her mind then?’ Edwin asked. He’d been glad to get his old job back. So many of his mates hadn’t been so lucky, but then Mr Mercer was an honourable man. He didn’t make empty promises and good staff were getting harder to find. Higher wages could be earned in the factories and shops, when work was available.

Emily finished her tea. She’d have to tell them and it was better that they heard it from her and not strangers. ‘Mam’s getting married again and Phoebe-Ann’s being awkward. She won’t come with us to live with Mr Davies.’

‘By, that’s a turn up for the book!’ Cook didn’t try to disguise her surprise. In her position she felt she didn’t have to.

Emily was instantly on the defensive. ‘Why shouldn’t she? He’s a good man, he has his own cart and horses and he owns the house!’

‘Oh, get down off your high horse, girl! I didn’t mean anything. I’m just a bit taken aback that’s all. But if anyone deserves a bit of comfort in her life, it’s your mam. Each time I’ve seen her she’s looked worn to a frazzle.’

Emily was placated and she smiled at Edwin who tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. She knew what he meant. Cook was a nosey woman who liked nothing better than a bit of gossip.

‘So, that madam has got all uppity, has she?’

‘She just said she was going to live in, so we thought it best to let her get on with it.’

‘Must be bad if she’s all set to lodge here. She always swore she’d have to be desperate.’

‘Don’t you start teasing her Edwin Leeson or she might decide to move back home and we can do without her hysterics, thank you!’ Although her words were sharp her smile softened them. ‘I’ll go and start in the dining room.’

‘The fire’s laid but there’s no need to light it, it’s warm enough. Just put the screen in front of the grate,’ he called as she moved to the door.

‘Thanks. I’ll set the table.’

‘You’ll need these then.’

Emily picked up the tray on which the cutlery had been laid and Cook stirred herself with a heavy sigh.

‘You, Kitty, move yourself! Tidy this lot up while I make a start on the kedgeree. Shake yourself, girl! You always look half asleep, what time do you get to bed?’

‘Never later than ten, ma’am, an’ that’s the God’s own truth! I’m worn out, gettin’ up at four an’ all.’

‘Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain! I’ll not have it in my kitchen and especially from a chit like you! When I was a young skivvy I was up at four and not in me bed until midnight most nights. Soft, that’s what life is for you now!’

Kitty pursed her lips. Soft. She called this soft! She must be joking. As soon as she was old enough she intended to get a job at Ogden’s like their Annie. The hours were shorter and the money nearly three times what she got here.

 

Emily had begun to lay out the fine china and heavy silver cutlery. She smoothed the crisp, white damask tablecloth. It was good to be back, to be surrounded by good things and good friends. She was contemplating the future, idly polishing a knife on her apron, when Edwin came in carrying a huge tray on which were half a dozen covered dishes.

‘I’ve already done that! Here, give me a hand with these, seeing as you’ve nothing better to do than stand day-dreaming!’

‘I wasn’t!’

‘You can’t kid me, I know you too well. Standing there looking all gormless and polishing a knife that’s already been polished to death and, what’s more, you watched me doing it! I thought we’d seen the last of you.’

‘I hated that damned factory! It was filthy work, some of the stuff turned your hair green and rotted your fingernails. I’m glad you came through it all, I really am,’ she said, sincerely.

His face clouded and he nodded curtly. He had no wish to look back over the last four years. ‘Poor Master James wasn’t so lucky.’

‘What’s the matter with him? He wasn’t wounded, was he?’

He moved the dishes around and pretended to study their layout more closely. ‘No, he wasn’t, but he’s not the same. He’s changed. A lot of men have.’

She sensed his reluctance to discuss it further. ‘And what about Miss Olivia and the Master?’

The old grin was back. ‘Oh, aye, they’re still the same. The Master’s getting older and a bit more portly and as for Miss Olivia . . .’

‘Still spoiled rotten.’ It was a statement not a question.

‘I don’t envy the man that gets her. He’ll have a dog’s life unless he can control her. Any of those feeble-looking blokes she calls her “friends” just couldn’t cope. She’d have ground them down in no time.’

‘Is there anyone special then?’

‘No. You know her. Flighty. Can’t think of anything other than what’s she’s going to wear and who she’s going to meet and will she have any fun!’

Emily gave the knife a last polish and placed it down. ‘That makes two of them then,’ she muttered, thinking it was an apt description of Phoebe-Ann.

 

Phoebe-Ann had made up the bed and had arranged her brush, comb and hair pins neatly on the washstand, next to her soap and toothbrush and towel. Her few clothes she had hung up in the oddly-shaped cupboard under the sloping eaves. She’d stood on tiptoe and peered out of the tiny window that gave a wonderful view right over the city and the river. Then she’d readjusted her cap and peered at herself in the tiny, speckled mirror on the wall, the only concession to adornment in the room. She rubbed an imaginary smut from her cheek. Maybe she’d buy a picture or one of those fancy calendars with paper lace threaded with ribbon she’d seen the street pedlars selling for a penny. That would look nice. She sat down on the bed and looked around. It wasn’t the height of luxury but then it was
hers
and she’d never had a room to herself in her entire life. The thought pleased her. Perhaps she’d get a small vase and put some flowers in it and change the curtains for something prettier and the bedspread. Then she shrugged. What was the point? She wouldn’t spend much time in here. She was getting carried away with herself. Any money she got would be spent on clothes.

The realization that she wouldn’t have much time to spend in her room dampened her spirits. Up at five in summer, six in winter, working all day and most of the evening, she knew from past experience that she’d fall gratefully into bed at night without even noticing chintzy curtains or vases of flowers. She could earn twice as much and have more free time if only Mam had let her try for one of the factories. And she’d have had lots of other girls and women to chat to, laugh with, confide in. Maybe Mam would change her mind later on. She wished now she hadn’t been so hasty about deciding to live in. She’d waited for one of them to say something, to try to coax her to change her mind and last night it really wouldn’t have taken much effort, but the subject hadn’t even been mentioned. All Mam had said was ‘Make sure you ask for the time off to come to the Registry Office’. And that had been that. Oh, blast them all! It must be time to take Miss Olivia’s tray now. She brightened up and went down to the kitchen.