Liverpool Taffy (46 page)

‘Like it? Gawd, it ’ud be a real life-saver,’ Ellen said fervently. ‘But I couldn’t boil toffee wi’ Bobby on me ’ip, and I can’t leave ’im …’

‘You could leave him with Penny, the girl who does for Ma Kettle,’ Biddy said slowly and clearly. ‘Penny could keep an eye on him whilst you worked in the shop and the boiling kitchen. She’s a good little girl, sensible and hard-working. And Bobby’s no trouble, he’d be happy enough playing wi’ bits and bobs whiles you were workin’. Right?’

‘Yeah, absolutely right,’ Ellen agreed. She was beginning to look hopeful. ‘The trouble is, Biddy, that folk don’t believe you can work wi’ a baby around. There’s always someone wi’out a kid who’ll tek the job from under your nose. Believe me, I been for ’undreds o’ jobs an’ norra sniff ’ave I got.’

‘No, but you can make sweets, which not many girls can, an’ Ma Kettle’s desperate. An’ I’ll vouch for your honesty, because I’ve never known you take what isn’t yours, chuck, so the old girl won’t have to worry about you prigging her toffees or her cash. So what about it? Will you come back wi’ me now, leave a note for your Mam, an’ give it a go?’

‘Oh, Bid,’ Ellen breathed. ‘Oh, Bid, if it worked! If she liked me, wanted to keep me on! Oh, I’d work real ’ard, you know I would! Just to ’ave a place o’ me own to lay me ’ead, just to ’ave Bobby looked after by someone who wasn’t me, once in a while … oh, Bid!’

‘I’ll write the note, you sign it,’ Biddy was beginning, when Mrs Bradley came into the kitchen backwards, towing a large sack of potatoes. She straightened up and grinned at the girls through the sweat running down her face.

‘Gorrem cheap,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Spuds for a fortnight there, I reckon. ’Ello, Biddy, what’s up wi’ you, then?’

Breathlessly, Biddy explained about the job whilst Ellen flew upstairs to pack a few bits as she put it. And she was down almost before Biddy had finished her explanation, with a bulging bag and Bobby under one arm.

‘Is it awright, Mam?’ she said a trifle anxiously, standing her bag down for a moment. ‘Only it ain’t as if I get many chances.’

‘You go an’ grab it wi’ both ’ands, flower,’ Mrs Bradley said. ‘You’d be best out o’ here … too many of us.’

‘Thanks Mam,’ Ellen said. She picked up her bag and headed for the door. ‘Come on, Bid, in case someone else gets there first – it ’ud be just my luck!’

It would not be true to say that Ma Kettle welcomed Ellen with open arms, because she viewed both girls with deep suspicion, but she was very taken with little Bobby.

‘’Oo’s a fine feller, then?’ she cooed, dangling a sugar mouse before his rounding eyes. ‘Are you comin’ to sit wi’ Auntie Kettle for a moment then, whiles your Mam teks ’er bag upstairs?’

And seconds later Ma Kettle and Bobby were conversing in coos and gurgles and Ma was holding the child to the manner born, calling out to customers that she wouldn’t be a mo, but she’d a young gennelman caller what was tekin’ a deal of attention, right now.

‘Be firm with her,’ Biddy begged Ellen as they descended the stairs together. ‘Remember if you walk out she’ll be in a fair old pickle wi’ Christmas so close and all. Oh, thanks, Ell, for coming over, and the best of luck.’

‘But where are you off to?’ Ellen said suddenly, realising that Biddy was actually about to leave. ‘When’ll you be back?’

‘I’m – I’m going to Grimsby. I have to go and I dunno when I’ll be back but it probably won’t be more than four or five days. Thanks, Ell … bye, Mrs Kettle!’

‘I only ’opes you’re right about this young man’s Mam,’ an injured voice called through from the shop. ‘She can start off by doin’ me a boilin’ o’ the best Kettle toffee.… Don’t you dare leave me for long, Biddy O’Shaughnessy, or … or …’

‘Be good, both,’ Biddy shouted out, then banged the door and fled along the icy pavement. Glancing back, she saw the first flakes of winter begin to meander down out of the grey and lowering sky. If it really began to snow that might make her journey a difficult one, but there was no point in worrying. Get to the port, Biddy, she ordered herself. Worry then if you must, but get there!

She was snug aboard the tram when the snow really started in earnest. I hope to God the trains don’t get held up seriously by the snow, she prayed to herself, rubbing the steam off the window nearest her so she could look out. I need to get to Grimsby, I must get to Grimsby, I’ll get there if I have to walk!

The pavements were wet so the snow was not yet lying, but the shoulders of passers-by were soon speckled with white and as the tram came to a halt on St George’s Plain Biddy could barely see the big hotels which lined the other side of the road. This was not going to make her journey any easier, but she hopped down and hurried across the road, feeling ridiculously light-hearted. It was because she was doing something, not just waiting for whatever news was to come.

She reached Lime Street Station and glanced up at the clock; it was nearly three o’clock – what an hour to start a long, cross-country journey! But she went straight to the ticket office and put her problem to the expert, who was a rather tired-looking young clerk behind the little window. He was sipping a cup of tea, chewing a bun and reading what looked like a timetable, all at the same time; but he put everything down when Biddy tapped and shot up his little hatch.

‘Sorry, queen, ’avin’ me snap,’ he said rather thickly. ‘First quiet moment I’ve ’ad all day. Can I ’elp you?’

‘I want to get to Grimsby, by tonight if possible,’ Biddy said promptly. ‘Can you work me out a route, please?’

Dai always moaned about the changes necessary on a cross-country route, but she was prepared for anything so long as she ended up in the port.

‘You couldn’t ’ave come to a better person,’ the clerk said, picking up the big book he had been reading and flourishing it at her. ‘New timetable, see? Just been familiarisin’ meself with it, so to speak. Now Grimsby, you said, queen … hmm …’

Ten minutes later, with directions scribbled in the clerk’s neat writing on a piece of L & NWR paper, Biddy set off again. She had half an hour before her train left, so she could go into Lime Street and buy herself a magazine and something to eat on the journey. The clerk was sure she would find herself waiting on various platforms and said she could probably nip out and buy herself something to eat then, but Biddy was taking no chances. Homelessness had taught her the importance of being prepared for anything, and she had no desire to spend a hungry, cold night on some lonely station in the middle of the country.

She found a café and bought sandwiches and some buns, then added a bottle of lemonade. It was rather heavy, but the horrors of thirst on a long journey could be imagined all too clearly. A nice new edition of
Woman
magazine came next, then Biddy returned to the station, brushing snow off her shoulders as she went.

She was in good time and easily secured a seat in the third-class section of the train.

‘It ain’t near enough to Christmas for the rush to ’ave started, and since folk don’t travel much when it’s wintry, wi’ Christmas preparations to make, you won’t find the trains overcrowded,’ the clerk had explained as he sold Biddy her ticket. ‘Good luck Miss, an’ a pleasant journey.’

I don’t think it will be all that pleasant, Biddy thought as she settled into a corner seat. It was already dusky outside but the train was not yet lit up and suddenly the adventure seemed more like a vain hope. Why am I going to Grimsby, when the ship isn’t back and I’m a stranger there? Biddy asked herself helplessly as the train chugged out of Lime Street and into the whirling snow. I must be mad!

But in her heart she knew she was not mad at all. She had simply obeyed a feeling that Grimsby was the place to be and she intended to go on obeying that feeling until she felt the docks beneath her feet.

Presently she got her directions out and went over them again so that she would know when to get off the train and which connection she needed next. And having read it until the words were engraved on her memory she pushed the paper into her pocket, leaned her head back on the prickly upholstery, and allowed herself to doze.

‘Thank you love, that was a kind thought. Now you go and – and do whatever you want and leave me quietly here. I need to think.’

Elizabeth smiled at her mother, then slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door gently behind her. On the opposite side of the galleried upper landing, Flora hovered. They had only been in Scotland a short while, Elizabeth reflected, but already Flora was extremely fond of her mistress and that fondness was reflected now in the worry on her small, bony face.

‘Is she all right? No’ ill, is she?’

Elizabeth shushed the maid with a finger to her lips and then walked round the gallery to where Flora stood.

‘Hush, Flora, I gave her a couple of aspirin tablets and a hot drink; now I’m hoping she’ll sleep. We – we had some sad news this morning.’

‘Oh aye? Was it that telephone call?’ Flora’s small face reflected her distrust of the machine. ‘I might ha’ known it boded no good; that thing is an instrument o’ the devil, have I no’ telled ye so often and often?’

‘Yes, you have,’ Elizabeth admitted. ‘But it wasn’t the fault of the telephone, Flora. A friend called me to tell me that someone called Dai Evans, who is my Mam’s friend’s son, is lost at sea. Mam is fond of him, and I think since his own mother’s death he looks on my Mam as her deputy. We – we were hoping he’d spend Christmas with us. It’s been a sad blow.’

‘Aye, aye,’ Flora muttered. ‘You’ll get in touch with your father, nae doubt, tell him your mother is unwell?’

‘I was going to, but Mam doesn’t want me to worry him; she says there’s nothing anyone can do, not even my Da, but I thought perhaps the newspaper could help in some way.’

‘Och no, men are lost at sea all the time,’ Flora said. ‘I’m frae a trawlin’ family. Terrible sad it is, but all ye can do is pray, Miss Liz.’

‘Yes. And now I’m going downstairs to make my mother a rather late luncheon. What do you recommend, Flora? I thought hot soup, because it’s still snowing, and perhaps an egg on toast?’

‘Aye, she’s gae fond of an egg,’ Flora said. ‘I’ll gi’ you a hand, we’ve already got some fine leeks an’ a ham bone in the larder an’ Jamie will fetch in onions frae the shed if we need ’em.’

The two of them descended the stairs and presently began working companionably in the kitchen. Elizabeth, cleaning leeks, said that they might as well make sufficient soup for tonight since the snow, which had whirled ever since breakfast, showed no sign of letting up and it would be pleasant to have leek-and-ham soup at dinner.

By one o’clock the tray was laid, the meal ready. Flora went ahead to open doors, Elizabeth carried the tray with the soup steaming gently and the egg on toast under a silver cover.

They reached the bedroom and Flora threw open the door. Elizabeth sailed through with a big smile … then stopped suddenly. The soup, unwarned, slid across the tray, teetered frantically on the edge for a moment and then plummeted to the floor.

‘Mam? Oh, she must have popped out for a minute to … hang on, what’s that on the pillow? Oh Flora, I wish I’d not listened to her, I wish I’d telephoned my Da! There’s an envelope addressed to my father and a tiny note for me, telling me not to worry, she’s had to go out. Oh dear, I
knew
she was ill, I’ll have to find her!’

‘She won’t be far, no’ in this weather,’ Flora said, having thought about it for a second. ‘We’d best tell the men … we’ll soon find someone who’s seen her.’

And Jamie, the gardener, knew at once what had happened to his mistress.

‘Went off on the bus into Edinburgh,’ he said in his soft, elderly voice. ‘Right as rain, she was, gave me a big smile an’ said it was the Christmas shopping she was tackling today.’

‘There, we’re worrying for nae reason,’ Flora said comfortingly. ‘But telephone your father, Miss Liz, because of the letter.’

Elizabeth was on the phone almost before the maid had spoken, but she presently put it down again, disappointed. ‘He’s out on business, not expected back until five,’ she said. ‘Oh Flora, I am worried! Whatever ought I to do?’

Nellie boarded the first of her trains in mid-afternoon, and sat in a corner of the carriage wishing her feet would warm up and wondering whether she was doing the right thing. Not that she had had any choice. Once she had got over the initial shock of Elizabeth’s news she had simply longed, with the whole of her heart, to be near Dai. I should have told him, she mourned, sitting icy in the carriage. I should have told him, quietly, that he was my boy. That way at least we could have exchanged letters, he could have confided in me. If only I’d not been so secretive …

But she had not wanted – still did not want – to hurt Stuart. The fact that she had run away to see whether there was anything she could do about the missing trawler should not worry or hurt him, she told herself, because he would simply think she was concerned for her friend’s lad. But she could not sit at home and wait in idleness, this was the least she could do.

When the train stopped she got out and went into the small station buffet. She drank hot tea and ate a ham sandwich and wondered whether to telephone home from the booth just outside the station, but it would only lead to a lot of questions she did not feel capable of answering. So she climbed aboard the next train and settled herself for a long and very cold journey.

Dai was on deck when they first sighted the Spurn light, but the gulls were already aboard by then and circling overhead so everyone knew a landfall was imminent. The
Bess
was still proceeding cautiously, like an old lady with a gammy leg, low in the water and lopsided, too, but at least the coal would last out – just. And though the meals now consisted of fish with fish, followed by fish, with chunks of Bandy’s soda bread the only relief, at least meals were still being provided – just. And no one was badly hurt; Dai himself nursed a sprained wrist from ice-breaking, Greasy had pulled a tendon in his leg and limped, the Mate was still in pain from the blackened toe. But there had been no loss of life though it had been a near-run thing.

They broke out the bonded rum in the Humber estuary and several of the men got drunk, but Dai was too excited to take more than a token sip. The
Bess
would be in dry dock for six weeks, possibly longer. The iceberg’s toothmarks were deep and the damage done in the collision would take a deal of work to put right. The little donkey engine toiled ceaselessly, pumping her out, and whenever you looked in the forward hold you had to wonder at the little ship’s stubborn ability to remain afloat with so much water sloshing around below.