The Mersey Girls (35 page)

The nearest tram stop to Peel Square was Arden Street on Scotland Road but Linnet didn’t get off there because she wanted to get some cakes at Ernest Beasley’s. She and Mollie had fun choosing what Beasley’s called ‘pastries’, and watched with watering mouths as the cakes were tenderly placed in a white card box with
Beasley’s Bakery
on it.

‘It’s a nice present, isn’t it, Linnet?’ Mollie said, dancing along beside her nanny. ‘Your friend will like the dear little cakes – and so will we, won’t us?’

Linnet laughed and assured her charge that the cakes would give everyone pleasure and presently they turned in under the arch and entered Peel Square. It was, as usual, full of children playing a variety of games – hopscotch, jacks and ollies being the ones Linnet recognised – and Mollie hung back wistfully as they reached the front door. It was clear that to a child, Peel Square was a playground paradise and Mollie wished very much to stay out there whilst the adults talked.

Mrs Sullivan was delighted to see them, received the box of cakes with genuine pleasure, and made a great fuss of Mollie.

‘Aren’t you a big girl, young Mollie?’ she said. ‘Never did I see anything like it – you’ll be as big as our Teddy at this rate!’

‘I will,’ Mollie squeaked. ‘I do grow, don’t I, Nanny Linnet?’

‘She only calls me nanny when we’re in company, it’s plain Linnet most of the time,’ Linnet said, giggling. ‘Well, Auntie Sullivan, how are you – and the rest of the family, of course?’

‘We’re all well, even that stupid Roddy,’ Mrs Sullivan said. ‘Writ to you, did ’e?’

‘Yes. We’d had a quarrel so he wrote to say sorry. He sent me the loveliest present . . .’ Linnet shot out her wrist and the bracelet, donned for this special occasion, fell in a charming loop across her slim white hand. ‘What d’you think, Mrs Sullivan? Isn’t it the prettiest thing?’

‘I think our Roddy’s got good taste; and ’e’s learnin’ some sense an’ all,’ Mrs Sullivan said approvingly. ‘You’re fond of ’im in spite of everything, ain’t you, queen?’

‘Yes, he’ll always be my good friend,’ Linnet assured her. ‘But he does lose his temper, and then I lose mine . . .’

‘And my boy ends up wi’ a black eye,’ Mrs Sullivan murmured. Linnet shot her a conscience stricken look.

‘Oh . . . oh, that! He – he walked into me . . . but it was a mistake, we made it up.’

‘Glad to ’ear it,’ Mrs Sullivan said. ‘Now, young Mollie, why don’t you run outside an’ play wi’ the other kids?’ Mollie complied eagerly and Mrs Sullivan settled down in a shabby kitchen chair and smiled at her guest. ‘Put the kettle on, chuck, an’ you an’ I will ’ave a cosy chat an’ a nice cuppa,’ she said comfortably. ‘The littl’un can’t come to no ’arm out there, the other kids’ll see to that. Nor there ain’t no traffic to worry about, norrin the square.’

At first Linnet kept popping out to make sure that Mollie was all right, but the child was obviously enjoying herself and soon she ceased to worry. Instead, she and Mrs Sullivan caught up on each other’s news and presently, when Mr Sullivan came in, she was told all about his job as a nightwatchman and the dog which accompanied him on his rounds – it was a large alsatian called Grab and aptly named, apparently – as well as learning that Roddy was now on a bigger ship than the
Mary Rose
, carrying timber across the Atlantic. He could be away for as much as nine weeks at a time, but the money was good and he enjoyed the work.

‘I b’lieve he popped to see you when ’e was last ashore,’ Mrs Sullivan said tactfully, as they sipped their hot tea. ‘We don’t ’ave no address for ’im when ’e’s on the timber run so we can’t write back, an’ ’e ain’t ashore for long so ’e doesn’t write to us much, either. Still, nine weeks will soon go.’

‘In nine weeks’ time Christmas will be over and there will be snowdrops in the churchyards,’ Linnet said. ‘What’s the turn-round, Mr Sullivan?’

‘After nine weeks ’e’ll probably ’ave a week ashore,’ Mr Sullivan said after some thought. ‘You’ll be able to see a bit of each other.’

‘Yes. Only I think Roddy will have to come to me, because I’m having an awful job to get any time off.’ And in a few swift sentences Linnet explained her position.

‘Tell your boss ’e must gerra nurserymaid or you’ll leave,’ Mrs Sullivan said when Linnet finished speaking. ‘Fair’s fair, chuck. Everyone’s entitled to some time off. I don’t deny the child’s a nice kid, but you need to gerraway from ’er for a few hours each week.’

‘I know I do,’ Linnet agreed gloomily. ‘But it’s not so easy. Mr Cowan’s awful kind, but it’s much harder to speak to him, somehow, when you’re his nanny and not his secretary.’

‘Hmm,’ Mrs Sullivan said thoughtfully. ‘Hmm.’

And then there was a shriek from outside which rivalled description. It had all the hair standing up straight on the back of Linnet’s neck even as she scooted for the door. She wrenched it open and almost fell out into the square – and there was Mollie, engaged in a fierce battle with a small redhead over the piece of wood the kids used as a cricket bat. The redhead was the one emitting the terrible screams.

‘Matty Stevens, shut your bleedin’ gob or I’ll shut it for you,’ a slatternly looking woman screeched from her blotched and filthy doorstep. ‘Come on you two, leggo that bat or I’ll crucify the pair of ye!’

Mrs Sullivan peered out past Linnet, who was urging her charge to let go of the bat and come in this instant, not that Mollie was taking any more notice than the red-haired Matty. Both small girls continued to battle grimly whilst the other kids looked on, grinning.

‘Break it up, you two,’ Mrs Sullivan called. ‘Mrs Stevens, we’ll gerrours off if you’ll do likewise wi’ Matty.’

Mrs Stevens sighed and descended onto the battlefield, as did Linnet. Silently, both laid hands on her own child and tugged. Matty screamed once more and then turned and bit her mother’s wrist. Mollie, meeker by nature, let go of the bat and said loudly, ‘Bad girl, Matty, I’ll crucify ye!’

Linnet gasped and shook Mollie’s shoulder, whereupon Mollie looked up at her and grinned quite unrepentantly. Mrs Stevens laughed and dragged her small child towards her door. ‘They ain’t done no ’arm,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Turble temper this ’un ’as – I guess it’s the red ’air. Sorry, one an’ all.’

‘She’s no worse than mine,’ Linnet said grimly. She picked Mollie up and carried her into the Sullivans’ kitchen. ‘You’re a bad girl, Mollie, what were you fighting over, anyway?’

‘The bleedin’ bat,’ Mollie said primly. ‘Freddy said I might have a go next.’

‘It’s norra bleedin’ bat, chuck, it’s a cricket bat,’ Mrs Sullivan said, her voice shaking with laughter. ‘Wharrever made you think it were a bleedin’ bat?’

‘Everyone else called it that,’ Mollie said. ‘Freddy said it was my turn next wi’ the bleedin’ bat.’ She allowed herself to be picked up and sat on a kitchen stool, then reached eagerly for the mug of milk Linnet was holding out. ‘I’m thirsty, I am!’

‘I just hope she forgets it by the time we get home,’ Linnet said in a desperate under-whisper as she and Mrs Sullivan began to slice and butter bread and set out the cakes Linnet had brought. ‘I don’t think her father would be too pleased if she started cussing before her fourth birthday.’

‘It ain’t cussing, just sayin’ bleedin’,’ Mrs Sullivan objected, cutting bread like a machine in thin, equally sized slices. ‘It’s just – just a way of describin’ something, I guess.’

But Linnet, smiling noncommittally, knew that her employer was unlikely to agree with this cheerful sentiment.

When Linnet and Mollie got home, rather late, from Peel Square, they found that Mr Cowan was entertaining visitors. Fortunately, perhaps, it did not occur to him to ask Linnet where they had been, he merely came into the hall as they entered it and said in an undertone: ‘Miss Murphy, my elder brother and his wife, Mr and Mrs Edgar Cowan, have arrived for a short stay. I’d be obliged if you would tidy Mollie up and bring her down to the white drawing-room before dinner. They’ve not seen her since she was a small baby and my sister-in-law is particularly keen to renew the acquaintance. Could you be ready in, say, twenty minutes?’

‘I think so, sir,’ Linnet said, remembering that Mollie would be showing traces of the jam she had eaten for tea to say nothing of chocolate cake. ‘She’s been playing out – should I, perhaps, bath her first?’

But Mr Cowan shook his head. ‘No, no, that won’t be necessary, Mrs Edgar is very fond of children, she’ll not be put off by a touch of dirt. Well, off with you both, I’ll see you presently.’

Linnet and Mollie hurried up the stairs and along to Mollie’s bedroom where Linnet stripped the child down to her liberty bodice and woolly knickers and then regarded her critically. Battling with Matty had scratched Mollie’s left cheek and both her wrists, but other than that . . .

‘Bathroom, for a quick wash, darling,’ Linnet decided. ‘Aren’t you a lucky girl, you very own aunt and uncle are here to see you! You won’t remember them, but they love you very much. They haven’t been to see you since you were a tiny baby.’

She felt it politic to tell Mollie frequently that she was much loved, for Mr Cowan still found it difficult to show open affection towards his little girl.

‘Don’t ‘member,’ Mollie said now, as she was washed, brushed and dressed in a clean red woollen dress with patent leather strap shoes and long white socks. ‘I’m hungry, Linnet.’

‘Well, you had bread and jam and cake, but you didn’t eat much at luncheon because you were so excited,’ Linnet remembered. ‘No time for a snack now, love, but we’ll get you a buttie and a drink of milk before you go to bed. Am I tidy? You look very smart indeed.’

‘So’s you,’ Mollie said, eyeing Linnet’s navy suit and crisp white blouse. ‘Can we go down, now? I’m very so hungry!’

‘Ever so, not very so,’ Linnet corrected automatically as they made for the stairs. ‘Never mind, sweetheart, you’ll soon be fed I promise you.’

They entered the white drawing-room rather tentatively, for Linnet had got it into her head than the older Cowans would be difficult and severe, but this proved anything but the case. Mrs Edgar was a plump, pretty woman in her early forties with her richly curling golden hair cut into a fashionable bob and a good deal of make-up on. She was wearing a tea-gown in tangerine silk with coffee-coloured fringes and shoes which exactly matched and when she saw Mollie she gave a crow of delight and held out her plump white arms.

‘What a little treasure! Come to Auntie Bertha, Mollie darling, and tell me all about your day.’

Mollie was nothing loath. She settled herself on her aunt’s lap and began to prattle happily, and presently she jumped down and ran out of the room to return with a new game which she very much wished to master. Auntie Bertha began to show the child how to flip one tiddlywink counter with another and Mollie was soon absorbed.

This left Linnet time in which to meet Mr Edgar and to tell him how bright Mollie was for her age, how intelligent. Mr Edgar proved to be a taller edition of his brother but, she thought, with more self-confidence yet a softer, less harsh attitude. It was hard to remember how gentle and shy Mr Cowan had been at work because in his own home he was rather dictatorial, but his brother, beaming at Mollie, demanding to be introduced to the new nanny, was clearly immediately at ease.

‘So you’re Nanny Murphy,’ he said jovially, taking her hand and smiling into her eyes. ‘You aren’t very old and I always think young things get on best together, so you and Mollie should deal famously. I gather from my brother here that Mollie had a bad time with her previous nanny.’

‘Yes, she did,’ Linnet admitted. ‘But that’s all behind her now, sir. In a few months she’s changed completely, and definitely for the better. Why, she’s only just three but already she knows her letters and can count up to ten.’

‘That’s excellent; we’ll have her addressing the House of Lords before she starts school at this rate,’ Mr Edgar said jovially. ‘Does she eat well? Sleep well?’

Linnet assured him that Mollie was a model child, enjoying her food and sleeping the clock round at nights, but after a few such remarks she heard the scuttle of Edith’s feet in the hall and then a tentative
boiiing
as the gong was struck very gently. In the normal course of things Edith would have poked her head round the door and announced, ‘Dinner’s ready, sir,’ for Mr Cowan did not allow the gong to sound for fear of waking Mollie. But since the child was still up and they had visitors to dine Edith clearly thought that a more formal approach was called for.

But it seemed as though Linnet was the only person who had heard the gong, or grasped its message, for the brothers continued to talk and Mrs Edgar went on playing with her little niece. I’d better say something or dinner will be spoiled, Linnet thought, so she went over to Mollie and took her hand.

‘Come along, love; that was the gong for dinner, it’s time you were in bed,’ she remarked. ‘You’ve not had your bath yet, either.’

Mollie slid reluctantly off her aunt’s lap, tried to pick up the game board, and everything crashed to the floor, tiddlywinks bounding everywhere whilst the pot into which one was supposed to aim them fairly flew across the drawing-room parquet and disappeared under the chaise longue.

‘Oh drat!’ Mrs Edgar exclaimed. ‘All my fault, I should have held onto it. We’ll clear it up in a trice, but I’m afraid we may be a little late for dinner.’

Mollie, scrabbling on the floor with both fists full of tiddlywinks, looked up.

‘Late for dinner? Mrs Eddis will crucify you,’ she remarked conversationally. ‘I’m going to have a buttie though, aren’t I, Nanny Linnet? Because I only had bleedin’ bread and jam for my tea.’

Linnet knew there would be trouble, though at the time Mr Edgar had turned away to hide a twitching lip and Mrs Edgar had laughed without attempting to cover up her amusement. But Mr Cowan had looked mortified – and no wonder, Linnet thought crossly. Why on earth did Mollie have to repeat that particular phrase? But that was kids for you.

She didn’t have dinner with Mr Cowan, of course, not when he had guests, so she and Mollie had a delicious high tea in the kitchen with the staff. Egg and cress butties were accompanied by tiny chicken pies, a speciality of which Cook was justly proud, and then they had a large helping of trifle, finishing off their meal with milk for Mollie and a large cup of tea for Linnet.