A Liverpool Lass (40 page)

Lady Elcott had a proper lady’s maid, a stiff, sniffy woman known as Belter, which seemed wildly inappropriate to Lilac. She was not friendly and thought herself a cut above the rest of the staff, so when the Elcott servants discovered that Lilac, despite being their mistress’s cousin’s companion, was delighted to
give a hand in the kitchen, chat to the other girls and do anything she could for her mistress, they were pleased to welcome her to the kitchens and to show her the well-appointed house and extensive grounds. She was even conducted round the walled kitchen garden with its netted frames for soft fruit, its raised violet beds, the fan-shaped peach and apricot trees espaliered against the south wall and the glasshouses where vines and orange trees grew and fruited in their season.

Everything delighted her. The dairy with its gleaming marble tables, the laundry with its enormous copper and its range of mangles from the small, neat one for collars and handkerchieves to the huge monster which devoured household linen. The rose garden was nothing more than what looked like dead bushes, but Lilac could imagine how beautiful it would look in June, and right now the beds were ablaze with early tulips and camellias and daphnes delighted the eye and scented the spring air.

Within two days of moving in, however, Lilac had a problem, and the problem was George.

George was Lord Elcott’s eldest grandson, and was in direct line for the title. His father had been killed in October 1914 at the battle of Ypres, at a point where the German attack had been fiercest and most successful. He had died bravely, leading his men into a position where they might ‘putty up’ the gaps left in the dismounted cavalry division which had been deployed between Haig’s force and the III Corps. So young George was therefore being drilled in the craft of a country landowner by his grandfather in order that, when he came into the title, he might honourably take his father’s place in the scheme of things.

George was tall and handsome, with curly, light
brown hair, pale blue eyes and a charming, deprecatory smile. But his good looks hid a nervous disposition and a tendency to expect others to do things for him and at first Lilac found his sudden devotion a blessed nuisance. He hung about the kitchens waiting for her to be free and he frightened the life out of her by lurking in dark passageways upstairs, pouncing on her as she passed with hot water for her mistress, or a newly ironed morning dress.

He had served in the Rifles himself at the tail-end of the war but had been brought home by Lord Elcott, who knew him to be under-age, when a shell-splinter had pierced his lung and almost ended his life. The fact that he had hated every minute of his army career and had in fact written to his grandfather for help was something he did not boast about, but not unnaturally, he was proud of being wounded in defence of his country when not quite sixteen.

Being an only child he had never known the rough and tumble of family life and when he returned from France his mother might have ruined him by overindulgence, so his grandparents took over, treating him as an ordinary young man and insisting that he take instructions from them and from their staff so that he would understand the workings of the estate from the grass roots.

When Lord Elcott had brought him back from France there had been fears for his future health, and indeed he suffered from breathlessness if he overexerted himself and from occasional bouts of palpitations, when his heart seemed to go at double its normal rate and he had to sit quiet until it slowed. But being young and strong he had quickly regained his strength and had then spent the next six months avoiding his doting mother, eating a great deal to make up for his
enforced diet in France, and learning the craft of estate management.

He had been making excellent progress, until, like a bolt from the blue, Lilac – and love – had entered his orbit for the first time and reduced him from a hardworking young man who was fast being licked into shape to what his grandfather scathingly described as a gibbering idiot.

‘But it was bound to happen, I’m just glad he didn’t make a secret of his infatuation, because we can undo the damage now,’ he said, when he and his cousin were discussing the matter. ‘However, it won’t do, you know that, m’dear. Can’t have the lad getting ideas just because he’s young and she’s pretty. I’ve had a word with him, told him to remember he’s got responsibilities as my heir and they don’t include playing fast and loose with the servants, so if you tell young whatsername to keep him at arm’s length I’d be much obliged.’

It was a sensible approach and one which Mrs Matteson heartily endorsed. The trouble was that George, with all the instincts of a young and eager male animal, simply could not be shaken off. Lilac, though she was secretly very flattered by George’s attention, could still remember all too well the clammy hands and objectionable behaviour of Mr Rudolph Jackson. She thought George very handsome but also weak and easily led, and she had not forgotten Polly’s story of poor Maeve Malone. George only had to lay a finger on her sleeve and horrid thoughts of being slammed up in the workhouse went through her head, whilst she imagined the shame of it, and the pain of it ... and was able to skip out of young George’s way and scarcely regret at all that she had to do so. Besides, he was not half the man Stuart was – nor Art, for that matter.

‘Don’t you like me, Lilac?’ George asked plaintively after one such rebuff. They were crouched over the basket of puppies in his grandmother’s small sitting room and he had put out a gentle finger and stroked her cheek. ‘You behaved as if I’d meant to throttle you, dammit!’

‘I like you very much, but you shouldn’t pat me, you know,’ Lilac said. ‘You’re going to be Lord Elcott one day, and I’m just plain Lilac Larkin, although ... ’

She stopped, eyeing him uncertainly over the head of the puppy she had snatched up into her arms. It was a fat spotted spaniel with a drooping, humorous eye and long, silky ears. It wriggled in her grasp, then reached up and licked her chin with its soft pink tongue, nudging her at the same time with its wet button nose. Lilac sneezed and laughed at the same time, then put the puppy back in its basket.

‘What do you mean, you’re plain Lilac Larkin? You aren’t plain, you’re by far the prettiest girl I know.’

‘It’s nice of you to say so,’ Lilac said, not bothering to deny the undoubted truth of the remark. ‘But you know what Lord Elcott said.’ She looked thoughtfully across at George. It had suddenly occurred to her that George might have the key to her own particular mystery ... it was clear that he really did like her, so why did she not put his liking to some real use? Why not see if she could involve George in her Quest, as she had come to think of it. Her Quest to find her rich relatives?

‘No it’s not
nice
, it’s the truth,’ George said rather crossly. ‘As for my Grandfather, he shan’t rule me over this. I mean to be your friend. Come to the woods for a walk, Lilac! There are heaps of rabbits and sometimes you see a weasel or a stoat. And of course there are lots of squirrels and birds by the score.’

Lilac guessed he had seen her fascination with the puppies and had noted the way she hung round the stables and brought sugar lumps and bits of bread for the horses. Naturally, he thought she would like to see rabbits and he was right, furthermore. She was entranced by the prospect, though it would not do to let him see how easily pleased she was, not if she really meant to make use of him.

‘Well, all right, I’ll come,’ she said. ‘But George, there is something you could do for me, if you would.’

‘Anything!’ George said, ardently. ‘You have only to ask.’ He then rather spoiled it by adding apprehensively, ‘Only if you’re going to tell me to go away and let you walk by yourself, that ain’t fair!’

Lilac looked across at him. His chest was heaving rather; she must not forget that the shrapnel had collapsed his lung, for though he was now quite well excitement or too much exercise could make him wheeze and gasp for air. If he was to help her – and she was more sure with every moment that passed that he could – he must remain in good health!

‘No, it’s all right, it was just something you might know. Look, we can’t talk here, I’ll tell you all about it as we walk.’

And once they were away from the house she did. What sort of sense George made of her garbled tale – truth, fiction, dreams and downright wishful thinking jostled for first place once Lilac really got going – she could not tell, but he was certainly excited by it.

‘It’s a real romance,’ he breathed. ‘And you are the heroine of it, Lilac.’ He took her hand and she did not snatch it away. How sensible he was, he had taken the point at once. When he squeezed her fingers she smiled at him and fluttered her lashes.

‘Yes, it is rather romantic, isn’t it? So you see, I feel
it’s very important to find my mother and father, or at least to discover who they were. If, as I suspect, they were well-to-do, perhaps even famous, or at least people of substance, then there could be no reason ... I mean it would be very much easier ... ’

‘You mean Grandfather would allow me to ask you to be my wife,’ George said, jumping to a conclusion Lilac had not even considered. But now that George had said it, she began to see that a rich parent would indeed be advantageous if it meant she could marry George. She loved Elcott Hall already and might well grow fond of its heir, in time. But George was smiling at her, speaking. ‘Not that anything or anyone would stop me asking you to marry me, dear Lilac, when we’re old enough. I’m only seventeen and you’re three years younger, but one day ... ’

‘So if you could ask around, Georgie, we might discover who I really am,’ Lilac said when his voice faded into silence. George slid an arm round her shoulders and she tried not to stiffen and pull away. And once she got used to it, it was rather nice, a warm and friendly feeling. ‘Will you do what you can to help me with my Quest?’

‘A Quest, by golly! Yes, of course, I’ll do anything! And Lilac, you go home in a few days.’

‘Yes, I know. But although I’m in Liverpool and you aren’t, I still think you’re more likely to discover the truth than I, because you are on easy terms with the sort of people I’d like to question,’ Lilac pointed out. ‘I’ll do my best, of course, but it’s harder for me. And we can exchange letters, you know.’

‘Don’t forget that my mother lives in South John Street, so we needn’t just write, we can meet quite easily when I’m at home,’ George said at once. ‘We’ll keep our friendship dark, of course, but Uncle
Matteson is my doctor, so I can always make some excuse to pop in.’

‘Yes of course, I quite forgot,’ Lilac said rather apprehensively. She had not bargained on George actually pursuing her to Liverpool, though she supposed that it was unfair to say ‘pursue’, since the young man could scarcely help living in the city. ‘It might not be too sensible to come to Rodney Street though, George, since I’ve never told Mrs Matteson anything about my Quest or the mystery of my birth.’ She liked that;
my Quest
was good, but
the mystery of my birth
was better. It sounded a whole lot more romantic than saying
I don’t know who my mother was
, which smacked of carelessness on someone’s part, if not on hers. ‘We’ll make an assignation.’

She liked the sound of that, too, and so did George, she could tell. He brightened; he had looked momentarily sulky when she had suggested it was foolish of him to visit her in Rodney Street.

‘Oh, right ... an assignation! Still, that’s for later. Now we’ll walk very quietly into the woods and see what we can see.’

They stayed in Southport for a fortnight in the end, and both Mrs Matteson and her protege enjoyed every minute of it. The food shortages, which had affected everyone in Liverpool except the really rich, did not seem to make much difference here. Besides, with the war well and truly over, goods from abroad were coming back into the shops. Lilac was given oranges which she peeled and ate with great enjoyment and she watched cook making a syllabub with real lemons, a great deal of sugar, thick cream and Napoleon brandy.

When they first reached the hall, April had been
more than half over. By the time they left, May had arrived. The trees were in early leaf, the rhododendrons were blossoming. The drive was a tunnel of blooms of every shade from deep purple to palest pink and the rockeries were brilliant with blue aubretia and pink rock roses. Lilac tried rather half-heartedly not to consider the place as good as hers, but it was tempting to stroll around the gardens and plan what changes she would make, or to examine the dreadful, faded wallpaper in the state bedroom and consider how nice a bright, floral pattern would look.

Whilst she was with the Elcotts, in fact, the mystery of her birth was usually on her mind, particularly when Mrs Matteson took her shopping in Southport and she saw the slim, beautifully dressed women who walked down Lord Street. She watched enviously as they visited the wonderful shops and sauntered into the cafes and restaurants to while away the time with coffee or a meal. And try though she might she could not help eyeing these fortunate people a little wistfully. How nice it must be to stroll around the shops, buying whatever took your fancy, to go into the biggest cafe of them all and order coffee and fresh cream cakes, to fritter a morning away chatting to your friends! When my mother claims me ... Lilac’s thoughts usually began, despite her intention not to let her dreams run away with her.

And at Elcott Hall itself there was still George. Despite Lord Elcott’s strictures he was very attentive, particularly over their mutual aim – to discover her parentage. He, who had never taken any interest in the many beautiful women who came within his social sphere, began to look at them with real attention. Anyone who resembled Lilac in the slightest – and it was surprising how many golden-haired ladies there were,
he told his young friend – was immediately the object of his interest. He got a list of names and, when possible, their addresses, as well as whether they had at some stage resided in Liverpool.

‘You were born just before Christmas, 1905,’ George said, as the two of them sat on a mossy bank in the wood, watching from their hiding place as tea was laid out on the terrace. ‘So we want to know what all our suspects were doing at that time – right?’