Liverpool Taffy (40 page)

She was in bed by ten and so she wrote a bit more of her current letter to Dai, telling him all the silly, funny things about the Maitlands and adding that she hardly knew how she would wait until Christmas, and then she blew out her candle, said her prayers, including rather a lot of fervent ones concerning the safety and well-being of Dai, his craft, and the Gallagher family, and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. Dolly was heaved out from under the pillow, where she was unaccountably lurking, Biddy’s hand delved into the feathers, found and extracted the amber egg, and she fell happily asleep.

She came abruptly awake for no reason that she knew, to find herself staring into the darkness, convinced that she was not alone. She could see nothing, scarcely even the lighter patch which was the curtained window, yet she was almost certain … yes! She could hear someone breathing!

Biddy sat up and reached for the candle and the matches. She fumbled the box open and as she did so someone bumped into her bedside table and muttered a curse. Immediately she felt much better and her heart, which had been hammering fit to bust, slowed to a more normal rate. It would be one of the Maitland children, of course, in a strange house and losing their way in the dark … or perhaps seeking her out for comfort and reassurance.

‘Hold on,’ she said, therefore. ‘I’ll just light the candle and …’

She struck a match and in its quick flare she saw Mr Maitland standing by the door looking at once owlish and extremely foolish. He was wearing a nightshirt, a striped affair in grey and white, and beneath it his hairy, knobbly legs looked horribly bare and pathetic.

‘Mr Maitland, this is my room, you know,’ Biddy said in what she hoped was a motherly tone. ‘Have you got lost? Your rooms are on the floor below.’

He laughed, rather uneasily she thought. ‘Ah … yes, my dear, very understandable; yes, no doubt I am lost and need to be d’rected to the place I sh-seek. Perhaps we should have a li’l chat about it, eh?’

And to Biddy’s alarm he came across the room, sat on the edge of her bed, seized her by the shoulders and gave her first a little shake and then a squeeze.

Biddy stared at him, aghast. This plump, balding, middle-aged man with the hairy legs and the squashy pink lips couldn’t possibly be under the impression that she liked him, could he? Just in case, she brought her knees up under the covers and began to try to position her feet so that a good kick would send him flying off the bed. He seemed unaware of this strategy, but leaned forward and tried to kiss her. He missed her face altogether but got her on the ear, the kiss making a moist explosion which nearly deafened her.

‘Hey! Stop that!’ Biddy said crossly. ‘Gerroff me bed!’

‘Ah, you’d rather I got
in
your bed I daresay,’ the horrid old man said cheerfully, leering at her. ‘Anything to ’blige a lady, my dear.’

He heaved at the blankets and despite Biddy’s valiant efforts they slid down to her middle. ‘Move over,’ Mr Maitland ordered, his joviality slipping a little as Biddy made no effort to help him. He let go of her shoulders and stood up, in order to stick a hairy foot into her bed. ‘Come on, don’ hog the whole m-mattresh, my dear, or we’ll never have our li’l bit of fun before my goo’ lady comes back from her bridge; eh? Eh?’

‘If you don’t get out of me room this minute I’ll scream the place down and Master Samuel will doubtless come tearin’ up the stairs,’ Biddy said desperately. She doubted that a ten-year-old child would be able to do much against this horrible person, but it was a good threat. ‘And then I’ll tell Mrs Maitland of you, sir.’

Mr Maitland took his foot out of the bed and tugged peevishly at the covers again and, because Biddy was not expecting it, they descended much further. He gave a crow of triumph and sat down on the bed, then tried to swing his legs in so that he could lie down. And then he turned with surprising swiftness for one so fat and unfit, and clasped Biddy to his paunch.

‘Pretty li’l crittur,’ he mumbled. He kissed her neck, his arms imprisoning her. ‘Ooh, pretty li’l Biddy’s going to have such a wonnerful time wi’ her dear old mate Maitie in a moment! Oh, old Maitie givesh all the girls a wonderful time, you don’t know how lucky you are … experienshed man of the world … no time for these jumped-up youngsters, you wanna nolder man …’

Biddy managed to heave one hand free. It happened to be the hand which grasped the amber egg. She said, ‘Mr Maitland, I’m warning you, either you get out of my bed right this minute or …’

‘Never! Nevernevernevernever …’ Mr Maitland declared, trying to get his pudgy hand inside Biddy’s nightgown. ‘Oh, you’ll be coming down to fetch me up on a Wenn … Wess … Wednesday eve … evening, once you’ve met my famoush … famous …’

Biddy brought the amber egg down on Mr Maitland’s head. It was an awkward angle but she did her best, though she did not hit hard enough, since he did not lose consciousness but merely shouted ‘Ouch!’ and then added, ‘What wazzat?’ before slowly slithering out of her bed and onto the floor.

‘I do hope you’re dead,’ Biddy said, climbing out of bed and leaning over him. ‘Are you dead, you old monster?’

‘Dead, but not forgotten,’ Mr Maitland said in a sepulchral voice. ‘Jus’ a teeny bit dead, thash all.’

‘You’re drunk,’ Biddy said, with the air of one making a surprising discovery. ‘You’re a dirty old toss-pot and I’m not staying in this room another minute.’

This statement galvanised Mr Maitland into action, of a sort. He turned his head so that he could squint up at her and said heavily, ‘Goin’, sho shoon? But we haven’t had our fun an’ gamesh yet, little lady.’

‘Oh yes we have,’ Biddy said grimly, packing her belongings with great rapidity into her trusty carpet bag. ‘And you owe me some wages, but I shan’t be stopping to claim ’em. You can find yourself another maidservant just as soon as you like, Monster. I’m off!’

She was crossing the front hall when a key grated in the lock and Mrs Maitland came in, unbuttoning her astrakan coat as she came. She looked puzzled when she saw Biddy fully dressed and obviously about to leave.

‘Biddy? What’s wrong?’

‘Everything,’ Biddy said, not mincing matters. ‘Your husband is lying on my bedroom floor; he’s drunk. He’s got some funny ideas, has Mr Maitland. I’ll come back in a day or so to pick up my wages and the rest of my things, but I can’t stay.’

‘You’re not leaving? Biddy, you can’t leave, not just because my husband is a – a little the worse for wear! Look, you sleep in one of the spare rooms tonight and we’ll sort things out in the morning.’

‘No. I’m going. In fact, if you’ll just give me some of my money now, I’ll run after your taxi and go in that. The last tram must have left hours ago.’

Mrs Maitland looked shifty. ‘I don’t actually have any money.… I’m afraid I lost rather heavily, in fact I had to ask several ladies if they would accept my IOUs. Biddy, why are you laughing?’

‘It’s worth having to walk to hear you say that,’ Biddy spluttered, opening the front door and stepping out into the balmy night air. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Maitland, I’m sorry things have turned out this way, but we in the provinces do have our standards.’

And with that Biddy walked rapidly away down the path, leaving her erstwhile employer staring after her.

It was one thing to walk out of the house in the middle of the night, laughing like a drain and talking airily about taxi cabs, but it was quite another thing to find one. Biddy had enough money, since she had been saving up for some time, and though the bulk of her cash, at Mrs Gallagher’s advice, had been lodged in the Liverpool Savings Bank on Smithdown Place, she still had several shillings wedged into her pillow. But there are times when money alone is not sufficient. In a quiet, suburban area of a large city there is little call for taxi cabs at one in the morning, so Biddy walked and walked and walked and began to realise that she might as well continue to walk; she would not find a cab until she reached the city centre, by which time she would have little need of one.

But she was very tired and not a little despondent by the time she arrived on Paul Street. She felt that the Bradley family would begin to believe that she was dogged by ill-fortune since she had already turned up on their doorstep, almost destitute, on a previous occasion.

The Gallaghers had been gone a week and she had worked for the Maitlands for only five days, that was the worst of it. What would Mrs Gallagher say when she found that Biddy had walked out after less than a week? For that matter, what would the Bradleys say when she confessed that she had not stuck with the Maitlands? Would they think she should have stayed, tried again? Or would they look back to her previous arrival on their doorstep and decide that she had no backbone and was always giving up?

Still. The last time she had cast herself on the Bradleys’ mercy had been a year ago and since then she had done quite well for herself, and had given as much as she could afford to Ellen and the baby. And the Bradleys were such a jolly crowd that they would probably simply welcome her in and tell her to put her bed-roll down on the floor by Ellen’s and not give a thought to her reason for coming.

Paul Street, when she reached it, was quiet and dark, save for a tabby cat which came out of a warehouse like a shot from a gun when it saw Biddy and curled itself fondly round her legs, purring like a sewing machine.

‘Hello, puss – been shut out?’ Biddy asked, bending to stroke it, though this meant temporarily standing her pile of possessions down on the pavement for a moment. ‘Well, you can walk with me if you like, but I’m afraid that’s no guarantee that either of us will have a roof over our heads tonight.’

Biddy turned into Samson Court, and the cat followed her. There was only one gaslight in the court and it was at the far end; it barely illuminated No. 7, where the Bradleys lived, but Biddy stumbled up the steps and raised a hand to knock … then hesitated.

It really was not fair to wake the entire household and it was a mild enough night. She would sleep on the doorstep, close up against the front door, then if by some unlucky chance a scuffer came by she would explain that she lived here but had been accidently locked out. Or if anyone tried any funny business she would screech and bang on the door.

Having made up her mind Biddy unfastened her carpet bag, withdrew her pillow, and placed it on the top step, resting it against the door. It looked really comfortable, she thought, and pulling out her blanket, carefully spread that out below the pillow. The cat, inquisitive as all cats are, climbed up the steps and examined both pillow and blanket carefully, and then, apparently deciding that Biddy had unpacked her possessions especially for its benefit, it gave a prolonged purr of approval and settled down on the pillow, curling into a neat ball.

‘You cheeky devil,’ Biddy said, but rather appreciatively than otherwise. ‘Oh well, two’s company, cat.’

She lay down on the blanket with her head on the pillow. The cat opened a yellow eye and stared at her, then closed it decisively. Now’s the time for sleeping, it seemed to say. Don’t watch me or I’ll never drop off.

‘Nor me,’ Biddy muttered. ‘G’night, cat.’

The cat did not again open an eye, though it continued to purr – or was it snoring? Biddy was still trying to work it out when she fell asleep.

Biddy woke when someone screamed right in her ear. She sat up groggily, her heart racing uncomfortably fast, and as soon as she did so she remembered where she was and why. She was on the Bradleys’ doorstep because Mr Maitland had tried to get into her bed, and she had doubtless just given someone the fright of their life.

She looked up; Ellen, in a pink party-dress with her coat buttoned up wrong and no hat, was staring down at her. Biddy saw that her friend’s face was greyish and unhealthy-looking, that her once-lovely blonde hair was lack-lustre and hung straight as string, and then, as sleep retreated, she realised that the front door was still firmly closed and it was still not morning. The sky was grey with dawn, but she doubted whether anyone in any of the houses was yet stirring themselves. It stood to reason, therefore, that Ellen had not just emerged from the house behind Biddy. She was returning to it after what, judging from her appearance, had been a rather wild night out.

‘Good God, Biddy, you give me the most awful skeer! I th-thought you was a feller with a ’uman body an’ a cat’s ’ead! What in Gawd’s name are you a-doin’, lying on our doorstep?’

‘I
was
minding my own business and sleeping soundly,’ Biddy said in an aggrieved voice. ‘Did you have to shriek like that, Ellen? And come to that, where have you been until this hour?’

Ellen looked a little self-conscious. She put a hand defensively to her mouth and Biddy realised that it looked sore and swollen.

‘There were a dance … only when it ended I’d gorra friend, an’ ’e asked me ’ome to ’is place …’

‘Oh come on, Ellen pull the other one! What really happened?’

‘Don’t talk so loud,’ hissed Ellen, looking agonised. ‘You know what me Mam’s like, she’d tell the Father soon as look at ’im, an’ ’e’d start goin’ on about mortal sin an’ duty an’ what’ll become o’ me an’ I just can’t abide lecturin’. Come inside, I’ve gorra key ’ere somewheres.’

Biddy rolled up her bedding, stuffed everything back into her carpet bag, and watched with some amusement as Ellen went through her clothing until she ran the key to earth. She had hidden it so well that it took her several moments, but she found it at last.

‘Gorrit!’ she hissed triumphantly. ‘Now don’t mek a sound, Biddy, or we’ll both gerrit in the neck.’

Biddy followed her friend as silently as she could and they gained the tiny back bedroom where all the girls slept, without rousing anyone. In the bedroom five girls were all packed into one not very big bed, three in the bottom, two in the top, and Ellen’s bedding lay against the wall with Bobby in a cardboard box beside her.

‘E’s too big for that bleedin’ box,’ Ellen hissed, pulling off her coat and pink dress and kicking off her shoes. ‘I’m gonna gerra cot nex’ week. I seen a lovely one in Paddy’s Market, goin’ cheap.’ She pointed at a spare bit of floor. ‘Kip down there, Bid. We’ll talk in the mornin’.’