The White Empress (12 page)

‘Joe, what will we do?’

‘Call the police, I suppose.’

I
T WASN’T UNTIL AFTER THE
funeral that she opened the envelope that had been addressed to her. While looking for names and addresses of relatives Joe
and the police sergeant had come across the envelopes. One addressed to Cat, the other to Joe.

The Gorrys had been kindness itself in those bleak days that followed Mrs Travis’s death. She had refused to go back to Eldon
Street. Joe had argued with her, pleaded with her, telling her that she couldn’t stay, for the nuns from the convent had taken
the old lady to be laid out. It had been then that the realisation had come that not only had she lost a dear friend, the
house she looked on as her home, but also her job. In the end, in response to her half-hysterical pleas, he had taken her
to Marie’s.

Word had been sent to Eldon Street. Mr Gorry had dealt with all enquiries and formalities and Mrs Gorry had had a black dress
and coat speedily altered for her in time for the funeral. The interment had taken place in
Anfield Cemetery and afterwards she had politely declined the invitation, extended by Sister Superior, to attend the quiet
‘tea’ they had laid on. She also declined Marie’s offer of a trip into town to ‘take her mind off things’ and explained as
best she could, the desire to be alone.

She crossed the road intent on walking for a while in Stanley Park and found Joe waiting for her.

‘I thought you’d gone.’

He shook his head and tucked her arm through his. ‘I’ve hardly seen you since . . . well . . .’

‘I know. It’s only been a couple of days but it seems like weeks. They’ve been very good to me.’

They wandered for a while along the deserted pathway. Everything was still covered by heavy frost, although a watery sun had
broken through the clouds and was slowly melting it. The bare, gaunt branches of the trees and shrubs, the empty flower beds,
suited her mood. They skirted the frozen lake on which a few ducks huddled together.

‘You can’t stay with Marie forever, Cat.’

She sighed deeply and pulling her coat closer to her, sat down on the wooden bench beside the lake, staring out over its glassy
surface.

‘I know. I know I’ll have to go back sometime.’

‘Is it that bad?’

‘It will seem so now. I . . . I’d come to look on her house as . . . home.’

‘So, what will you do?’

‘Look for another job, I suppose.’

‘Not many people still have servants, Cat, and I don’t
think there is anyone who . . . Well, Mam says “God broke the mould when he made her.” I reckon that sums her up very well.’

He was forcing her to face reality and it depressed her further. ‘Then I’ll have to try for shop work, won’t I?’ she snapped.

He put his arm around her. ‘We could get married.’

She stared up at him, her eyes widening. ‘What?’

‘We could get married. I could look after you! You know how I feel about you!’

She leaned her head against his shoulder. She knew he cared and she cared for him, too. But she had never thought about marriage.
‘What would we live on and where would we live? With your Mam or mine? You’ve got no job either, Joe.’ The practicalities
sprang to her mind as a defence. She needed time to think. He had thrust it upon her so suddenly and at a time when she was
already so confused.

‘We could have our own house.’

She twisted her head to see if he was teasing. He wasn’t. ‘And where will we get the money for that? A decent house costs
12s 6d a week rent!’

‘Haven’t you looked in the envelope she left you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, look! Have you got it with you?’

She opened her bag and took out the envelope. She had forgotten about it. She ripped it open. She drew out a single piece
of paper and a bundle of crisp, white five pound notes. At first she looked at them as if she didn’t know what they were,
then she slowly began to count them. Fifty pounds! There was fifty pounds
right here in her hand! A lump rose in her throat. ‘Oh, Joe! Joe!’

‘She left me the same. A small fortune! With a note telling me to spend it wisely and hold fast to my principles. You see,
Cat, we can get married, we can have a fine house, and . . .’

She wasn’t listening, she was reading the lines of neat copperplate handwriting.

She could hear Joe’s voice, she could feel his arm around her shoulder, his body shielding her from the wind, but the words
of the letter stirred up a memory that had lain dormant for a long time. Instead of the dreary, barren park with its grey,
frozen lake, the flag-bedecked
rigging, the three yellow funnels and the towering white hull rose before her eyes. Her heart began to beat more quickly and
she clutched the note tightly in her hand. ‘Dreams can become reality!’ she heard the gentle voice whisper before it was drowned
out by the familiar sound of a ship’s siren as a captain called the last of his crew aboard from The Stile House pub, far
away in the distance. The vision danced before her and her lips formed the words, unknowingly spoken aloud. ‘The White Empress!’

‘Damn you, Cat Cleary, you’re not even listening to me!’

She was back in the park and Joe was glaring at her. ‘What . . .?’

‘I said, when shall I go and see Father Maguire?’

‘You won’t!’

The green eyes were clear and in them burned the light that had shocked him once before and he knew he had lost her.

‘Don’t be a fool, Cat! I love you, you’ve always known that! We can get married, we’ve got one hundred pounds between us!’

‘No! No!’

He drew her to him and crushed her lips beneath his and for a second she faltered. Then she drew away.

‘I’m sorry, Joe! Oh, I’m sorry!’

His eyes darkened. ‘No you’re not! You’re still set on making a fool of yourself over that damned ship! We’re rich, Cat, don’t
you understand?’

‘But it’s not everything, Joe, is it?’

He sprang to his feet. ‘For God’s sake what do you
want? You won’t ever get more money than that and you won’t have men running around offering to marry you! Oh, they’ll flock
around you, but it won’t be marriage they’ll be offering, and if they do it will only be to get their hands on the money!’

She got to her feet. ‘I’m not interested in other men and I want to be more than just rich, as you put it. I want to be respected,
admired! I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and know that what I’ve got I’ve earned. That I’ve achieved something,
made something out of my life! She understood, why can’t you?’ The still painful memory of her rejection and her inadequacies,
so patiently explained by the clerk in the Booth Line offices, now added strength to her desire to gain respect and with it
a measure of revenge for all the slights suffered.

He just stared at her, his eyes like pieces of hard, glittering coal. He had offered her himself, his love and protection
for the rest of her life and she had flung it all in his face and for what? So she could chase a dream!

‘You’re a fool, Cat! And a greedy fool at that! You can’t see when you’re well off! You’ll go on wanting more and more, you’ll
never be satisfied!’

She grasped his arm. ‘Joe! I don’t want to hurt you, really I don’t! You should know how I feel, you have your own dream!
Can’t you understand it’s not greed, it’s ambition!’

He threw off her hand. ‘Then take your ambition, Cat, and I wish you well of it! But don’t come crawling to me when the money’s
gone and you’re worn out working like a skivvy, because that’s all you’ll be! A
skivvy at the beck and call of people who are no better than you and who have even less money than you have! It’s not all
millionaires, those ships carry emigrants to Canada, too!’ He turned on his heel and walked away, his boots crunching on the
gravel path and the sound cut through her.

She didn’t go after him. She just sank back on the bench, the note and the money still tightly clasped in her hand. Was she
a fool? For an instant she thought about running after him. Telling him she hadn’t meant it and that she would go with him
to see Father Maguire and post the Banns. She fought down the impulse. She wanted to try! She hadn’t lied to him. She hadn’t
wanted to hurt him. She’d held on to her dream, although as she watched his disappearing figure, she wondered how much that
dream would cost her.

She discussed the whole matter with Marie. It was the first time she had really opened her heart to her friend and asked for
advice. There was no one else she could ask.

Marie looked serious. ‘Cat, it wouldn’t be right of me to tell you what to do. Only you know how you feel, about Joe and about
. . . this ambition. But if it were me, well . . . marriage is something for life, isn’t it? And it would be a different life.
Totally different to anything you’ve known. Only you can say you would be happy. Only you know how you feel. Only you really
know Joe.’

‘I . . . I am very fond of him and I know he would be good to me, but . . .’

‘But? It’s the
but
that worries me, Cat. It shouldn’t be there at all.’

‘But am I throwing everything away for a dream? What if I don’t make it, or hate it?’

‘Is it what you really want to do?’

‘I want to try, Marie! Ever since I saw the
Empress of Japan
at the landing stage, the day I arrived, I’ve dreamed of sailing on a White Empress!’

‘Then all I can say, Cat, is try it. You won’t know until you try it!’

Some of the depression lifted. She had given the money to Mr Gorry for safekeeping for there was no place to hide it in Eldon
Street. Reluctantly she had returned to the little house, to suffer all the overcrowding and the jibes of Shelagh. ‘I feel
better now. I’ll give it a try – if they’ll have me.’

Marie laughed. ‘I’ve always wanted to take a trip on a liner. Swim in those fantastic pools, have cocktails and dinner with
the captain.’

‘It won’t be like that for me. It will be hard work. At least that’s what Joe said.’

‘What else did he say about it?’

‘That I’d need to speak properly, dress well, have qualifications and know the right people.’

‘You can learn to speak correctly and you can buy some really nice clothes, but I don’t know about the “right” people. Dad
might though.’

‘What about the qualifications?’

‘You’re not stupid, Cat, you could easily learn. They have evening classes you know, where you can go and learn and take exams.’

‘Where?’

Marie stood up. ‘There will be a list in the library.
Come on, let’s find out and our Mam knows a lady who teaches elocution. She’s always threatening to send me!’

The elocution lessons were duly arranged by Mrs Gorry who added that it wouldn’t do ‘Hazel’ any harm either to spend an hour
or two with Mrs Grindley. Cat was enrolled for evening classes at Warbreck Moor School. To study English, arithmetic and –
as the sea was her intended career – geography.

On the following Saturday she followed Marie and Mrs Gorry through the lofty portals of George Henry Lee & Company in Basnett
Street. If the doorman had any doubts about her inferior attire they were not noticeable as he held the door open for Mrs
Gorry, bedecked in a camel-hair coat and large-brimmed hat, a fox fur draped around her shoulders. After her forays into C
& A Modes, Frost’s on County Road, where Miss Kay superintended the ‘rigging out’ of those customers who had paid into a savings
scheme called a ‘cheque’, and the slightly more competitive Marks & Spencer, this emporium reminded Cat of a church.

It sold furniture and toys, dress materials and household linens, but it was to the model dress department that Mrs Gorry
steered them first. Here Cat selected – helped by a very deferential sales assistant – one wool day dress. In the outerwear
department she bought a smart herringbone tweed coat with a shawl collar, fastened down the front with large red buttons.
In the shoe department she bought good quality leather court shoes in black and a matching handbag and kid gloves that were
as soft as satin. She also bought three pair of silk stockings. They spent nearly an hour in the
millinery department as, despite Marie’s protests, she insisted that she could only afford one good hat which would have to
match everything. She settled in the end for a stiffened, black velvet picture hat, decorated with a single red feather that
curled around the base of the crown, forming a bandeau. To her horror she realised that she had spent twelve pounds of her
precious fifty and was determined to spend no more.