The Mersey Girls (42 page)

Mollie nodded uneasily. She was too young for such an upheaval, Linnet thought, but she could not interfere, especially since she was about to abandon both father and child.

‘I see. Then I’d better say my goodbyes before you go off on your adventure.’ Linnet bent and kissed Mollie, shook hands with Emma, then held out a hand to Mr Cowan.

‘Goodbye, sir, and good luck.’

Almost as she spoke the front doorbell pealed and Mr Cowan all but wrenched his hand out of hers and hurried to answer it. ‘Come along, Mollie. Emma, it’s our car,’ he said importantly. ‘Oh, Miss Murphy, you’d best tell Cook not to bother with dinner if you’re leaving, too.’

When the front door had closed behind them Linnet sat down on the stairs and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. She had said that she was leaving, but not until the end of the week. Mr Cowan, however, clearly did not intend to pay for her keep a moment longer than was necessary. Well, that was all right by her; she wanted to get away, and away she had got. There was no point in feeling sorry for Mollie, no point in missing her, since she would under no circumstances have gone with the family to London. And what was more, it was plain as plain that Mr Cowan did not intend her to do so.

So Linnet went upstairs and packed all her things into a large gladstone bag which she found in the lumber room. She left her uniforms but took her shoes since she doubted that Mr Cowan would want to hand them on to his new nanny. She went down to the kitchen and explained the situation to Cook, Mrs Eddis and the maids and then she lugged her belongings down the stairs and used the telephone in the hall to ring for a taxi.

Her twin was staying in Brownlow Hill, at a boarding house run by a Mrs Cordiner. I’ll go there, Linnet decided. If they haven’t got a spare room then I’ll find somewhere else, but it would be nice to be under the same roof as Lucy.

The taxicab drew up on the gravel sweep outside and whilst the driver carried her bag out to the car Linnet asked him if he knew a Mrs Cordiner on Brownlow Hill. He said he did, promised to take her there and to wait until she was sure Mrs Cordiner had a room free, and handed her carefully into the back of his vehicle.

A short while later, Linnet was standing in the hallway of Mrs Cordiner’s boarding house, paying off the cab and waiting for Mrs Cordiner to show her to her room.

‘Life’s full of coincidences, Miss Murphy, for I’ve another Miss Murphy stayin’ wi’ me this week,’ Mrs Cordiner said as she ponderously ascended the stairs. ‘She’s in the room next door to you; and a very nice, well-brought-up young lady she is, too.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, because she’s my sister,’ Linnet said with a twinkle. ‘She came over from Ireland to find me, and find me she did.’

‘Well, ain’t that a thing?’ Mrs Cordiner gasped. ‘Said she were searchin’ for a twin . . . you ain’t very like each other, norrat first glance.’

‘No-oo. But we’ve led very different lives,’ Linnet said. ‘Is she back yet? Only she won’t be expecting me.’

As she spoke they reached the landing and a door flew open. Her twin stood there, beaming at her.

‘Linnet! It
is
you! I got the oddest feeling that it was. What’s happened? Was he very cross? As soon as you’ve seen your room come and tell me all about it!’

Naturally enough, Lucy’s first thought was that now she could carry her sister back to Ireland with her without waiting until the end of the week, but Linnet speedily disabused her.

‘I’ve got to see the Sullivans,’ she said firmly. ‘Mrs Sullivan is Roddy’s mam and my greatest friend. They’re not at all well-off, in fact I suppose at the time they took me in they were miserably poor because they had six sons and not much money coming in, but when I was in need Mrs Sullivan rescued me and – and loved me. I couldn’t go
anywhere
without letting her know, certainly not across the sea to Ireland.’

‘Fair enough. Where do the Sullivans live?’ Lucy enquired, and was rather shocked when Linnet said that it was indeed Peel Square.

‘It is a poor neighbourhood, I know it,’ Linnet admitted when her twin remarked timidly that the area seemed crowded and poverty-stricken. ‘But everyone helps each other in Peel Square, not like in Sunnyside. Why, all Mr Cowan could think about this evening was his own advancement, he didn’t really give a thought to Mollie being taken away from her kindergarten and her friends. And the neighbours in Sunnyside hardly know one another, though their servants are friendly enough. If I had to choose somewhere to live for ever and ever I reckon I’d take Peel Square sooner than the biggest, poshest house in Sunnyside. Now, do you want to come with me or shall I go alone?’

They had their first argument over the visit to Peel Square, but it wasn’t a serious one. Over breakfast they discussed it and Lucy thought that Linnet ought to see Mrs Sullivan alone and not have someone she didn’t know hovering at her shoulder all the while. Linnet agreed in one way, but she desperately wanted Mrs Sullivan to meet this brand-new sister of hers. So, in the end, they compromised. Linnet was to go in under the arch first, and Lucy would window-shop up and down Cazneau Street.

‘The shops are bigger and better on the Scottie,’ Linnet said, buttering toast. ‘But there’s a florist or two in Cazneau, ever such pretty windows they have, and there’s Lewis Cann’s tearooms and of course there’s Laurence Meehan near the corner of St Anne’s Street. You could pop in there and buy a book, then go to Cann’s and have tea and buns. But if you want clothes, you’ll have to go up to Great Homer, or the Scottie.’

‘Cahersiveen’s a grand little town so it is,’ Lucy said loyally. She poured herself another cup of tea from the big metal teapot which their landlady had left on the table so that they could help themselves. ‘But the shops here – Holy Mother, they’re grand and big, even the small ones. Don’t worry, Linnet, I’ll be well-occupied for that half-hour. And I’m mortal fond of a good read – aren’t we all, when we live in the country? So I’ll be after taking a book or two back with me for Caitlin and me other friends. You’ll be lucky if I’m not an hour behind you instead of just the half with so much to see and do.’

‘Mrs Sullivan and me will settle down and gossip, or I’ll give her a hand with the washing or the ironing,’ Linnet said contentedly. ‘Take your time, sister. We won’t mind waiting on you.’

‘I will. Now is breakfast over? Because if so, we really ought to get started.’

They walked to the tram stop and caught a Green Goddess which would take them to the Juvenal Street stop on Scotland Road. Linnet was happy to see her sister’s eyes widen approvingly as they climbed into the tram.

‘Grand, isn’t it?’ she said, taking her place beside Lucy on the brown leather seat. ‘A few years back we only had ordinary trams with wooden slatted seats and slatted floors that the old fellers spat on, and the din they made had to be heard to be believed. But the Goddesses are wonderful, and so quiet!’

Lucy had not been on a tram before; she made enthusiastic noises but the tram’s very quietness scared her and she was glad to get off when her sister jumped to her feet and made her way along the swaying aisle.

‘Right you are. Now this is the Scottie – Scotland Road to you – and that there’s Juvenal Street.’ She pointed. ‘We go through there to Cazneau and I’ll show you the Peel Street entrance, then you can come back to it when you’ve had enough of window-shopping. Are you sure you’ll be all right, chuck?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Lucy said at once. ‘Don’t worry about me. I may be a country girl but I’ve got a good head on me shoulders so I have. See you in an hour?’

‘In an hour, then.’

And Linnet turned and dived under the arch into Peel Square, leaving Lucy in Cazneau Street.

Linnet didn’t bother to knock, she simply burst into the tiny, square living room and ran through into the kitchen, where her friend was labouring over a pile of sheets with irons standing against the fire despite the heat of the day outside.

‘Mrs Sullivan, you’ll never guess what’s happened to me!’ Linnet, lit up with excitement, saw Mrs Sullivan’s face grow anxious and pale. She shook her head at the older woman. ‘It’s all right, I’ve not done anything I’m going to regret for the rest of my life, I’ve left Sunnyside and Mr Cowan. Because my twin sister’s turned up!’

‘Your twin sister? Chuck, I couldn’t be more pleased! Your mam were always a bit quiet, like, about your sister and there were times when I wondered . . . but you say you’ve met the girl, and she really is your twin? Like as two peas in a pod, are you?’

‘No, not a bit,’ Linnet confessed. ‘She’s taller than me and rounder, somehow, and she’s got the most beautiful golden curls. She reminded me of my mam straight off, but she’s not like her really. Too big and tall for a start, and too – well, she’s not like little Evie, anyway. But she’s nice, Mrs Sullivan, real nice, you’ll like her, honest to God you will.’

‘Any sister of yours is bound to be nice, queen,’ Mrs Sullivan said loyally, ironing away. ‘So what’s she doin’ in the Pool, eh? Why’s she ’ere?’

‘Our grandfather died recently and he left the farm to the two of us, to be divided equally. And some money, as well. Apparently the family thought I’d gone to New York with Mammy, so first of all they advertised in the local newspapers over there and Maeve – she’s Mammy’s big sister – went over and looked for me. Only then Lucy said she got this feeling that I wasn’t in New York at all. She found some old letters and read them and she said it seemed to her that little Evie didn’t talk about me much because I wasn’t with her, though folk had got the impression that Mammy had put me in lodgings in the country because New York wasn’t a good place to bring up a child.’

‘Aye, that’s your mam all over,’ Mrs Sullivan said frankly, switching irons and standing the old one back before the fire to reheat. ‘She were good at givin’ impressions, I noticed it meself. So why didn’t this sister of yours come searchin’ right away, after she’d read the letters? Why wait till now?’

‘I don’t know when she read the letters,’ Linnet said. ‘But she came now because she had this news for me, that I owned half of Ivy Farm. I suppose, before Grandad died, she was pretty busy herself, what with the farm and looking after him and everything. But she’s here now, Mrs Sullivan, and she’s coming round to meet you, only she said she’d let me get it all off my chest first – the inheritance and everything.’

‘Right, go on then, tell me,’ Mrs Sullivan commanded. ‘An’ while you talk fold this sheet wi’ me, there’s a good girl. It ‘alves the work if there’s two of us.’

‘Course. Let me have a go with the iron whilst you sit and listen to me telling you,’ Linnet said and as soon as the sheet was folded she seized the iron and began to pass it briskly across a white linen sheet. ‘I don’t mind ironing sheets, it’s the shirts and frilly petticoats I find hard. Why don’t you put the kettle on?’

Mrs Sullivan chuckled but complied. ‘You’re just like me, chuck, you do like your cuppa,’ she said approvingly. ‘Go on, then . . . your twin turned up. And what about old Cowan, eh?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Linnet warned her, shaking out the sheet and sprinkling water from the jug over it to smooth the creases. ‘But I’ll start right at the beginning, when I got on the ferry to go over to visit Mollie’s great-aunt, in Birkenhead. Mollie didn’t come with me since it was my day off, but the old girl’s been kind to me and she does like a bit of company, so I set off quite early . . .’

At the end of the story Mrs Sullivan’s eyes were round. ‘Wharra strange thing, you two meetin’ up like that,’ she declared. ‘The Murphy girls’ first meetin’ was on the Mersey! Only wi’ you marryin’ so soon, queen, you won’t be the Murphy girls for long.’ She chuckled. ‘We’ll call you the Mersey girls instead. And wharra strange feller that Cowan chap o’ yourn must be, to go off to London at the drop of an ’at. An’ ’e didn’t even arst you to go along o’ the rest?’

‘No, he didn’t mention it. I knew at once that though I might have been all right as the wife of a regional manager, there was no way he thought I’d rise to being wife of the chairman of the board. Which was so much easier, Mrs Sullivan, than having to tell him I was turning down his proposal of marriage.’

‘Ye-es, I see that,’ Mrs Sullivan said doubtfully. ‘But ’ow ’e could jest walk out on you, queen . . .’

‘He’s a strange feller, I’ll grant you that,’ Linnet admitted. ‘But it was all for the best, so let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about me going to Ireland with Lucy – what do you think of
that,
eh?’

‘You’re actually goin’? You’re leavin’ us? But not for good, queen? You’ll come back in a couple o’ months? Roddy’ll be ashore again in a fortnight, you was goin’ to tell ’im mebbe you ought to get wed, wasn’t you?’ She sighed deeply and then snatched the kettle off the fire as it began to splutter and hop its lid. ‘I dunno, I shouldn’t try to influence you, but I’ve always loved you, queen, an’ I want what’s best for you, an’ Roddy’s ’avin’ an ’ard time . . .’

‘I’ll be back, but I don’t know exactly when. Only, Mrs Sullivan, there’s money due, Lucy swears it and she’s not the sort of girl to – to muddle things. So with half a farm and some money of my own, maybe things will be easier for me and Roddy. Maybe we could work on the farm, d’you think?’

‘Work on a farm? Eh, queen, our Roddy’s not gorra clue about farmin’, we don’t even ’ave a patch to grow a spud or two, norrin the square. ‘Sides, farmin’s gorra be in your blood, they say. Mind, we was farmers ourselves way back, ’cos my fambly come over durin’ the ‘forties, when the tater famine came,’ Mrs Sullivan said thoughtfully. ‘But that’s something you’d ’ave to talk to our Roddy about. An’ when’ll you see ’im, at this rate?’

‘Well, I thought he could take a voyage out, people do, he’s mentioned it before. Then he could come over to Ireland and have a look at things,’ Linnet said eagerly. ‘Oh, Mrs Sullivan, we’ll work something out so we will.’

‘So we will? Now that’s Irish if you like – you’re catchin’ the brogue off your sister an’ she’s not been wit’ you a week, yet,’ Mrs Sullivan said, laughing. ‘Leave Roddy a letter, chuck, I’ll see ’e gets it, an’ if ’e can, ’e’ll come to you. ’Cos ’e do love you,’ she added softly. ‘We all loves you, our Linnie.’