Liza (25 page)

Liza went to her room and was joined by a breathless Martha running up from the kitchen. She was just in time as the two men laboured, sweating, up the stairs with the first of two large trunks. Liza found the keys Cecily had given her and fumbled to get them into the locks, her thoughts already on the contents. Were there more shocks for her?

She opened the lid of the first, and breathed a sigh of relief. The only problem was where to store everything. She let Martha hang up all the dresses. Liza would not wear them — like the first, they fitted well enough but were too long. She would use the things she had bought. The shoes she put away in a corner of the wardrobe; they were all size six, too large for Liza. It was at that point that Mrs Taggart knocked and entered to ask, ‘Is everything in order?’

Liza smiled up from where she knelt by the wardrobe.
‘Yes, thank you.’

The housekeeper picked up a pair of Cecily
’s shoes that had strayed, a size six in black patent leather. She examined them and sniffed as she passed them to Liza.

‘
Those heels are too high.’

Liza tucked them away.
‘I probably won’t wear them.’

‘
I’ll leave you to get on, Miss.’ She stalked out, taking her disapproval with her.

If Elspeth Taggart had noticed that the shoes were a size bigger than Liza
’s she would have wondered. Liza did not want that: it could lead to suspicion — and her unmasking. She told herself again to be constantly on her guard.

16

MONDAY, 28 JANUARY 1907, SUNDERLAND

‘Today we’re carrying on with cleaning the dining room.’ Elspeth Taggart eyed Liza, whose course of instruction was continuing. Indeed, it had not ceased over the weekend, when she had done some general dusting and cleaning, and numerous other duties under the housekeeper’s supervision. Now: ‘Carpets to be swept, loose rugs beaten, all furniture dusted ...’ She reeled off the list. ‘This is usually Doreen’s job, but today she can help me sort the linen. If you want any advice just ask me.’

Liza had come to know all the servants: Mrs Bainbridge, the cook, little Mabel, the scullery-maid, and the three maids, Martha, Doreen and Hilda, a placid country girl. Doreen gave Liza a sulky look, then her eyes slid away and she followed Elspeth Taggart out of the room. Liza had read that look and guessed what it meant: Doreen resented someone else, particularly a lady, being given her job. She shrugged, rolled up her sleeves and set to work. She soon discovered that, if this was Doreen
’s job, she had not been doing it properly. The rugs had not been beaten, the carpets not properly swept and there were pockets of dust everywhere. Liza left a few because she was supposed to be a raw recruit, but when she had finished she was satisfied that the place was much improved.

She reported to the housekeeper who said,
‘Finished already? Sure you’ve done it properly? Doreen takes a lot longer than that. I’ll look at it. Come on, Doreen.’ She inspected the dining room with her sharp eye, found the dust Liza had left, and finished examining the mirror polish on the long table in the centre of the room. She nodded. ‘You’ve done very well, Miss Spencer. I inspect this room every day and this is the best it’s been for weeks.’ Her gaze shifted to Doreen and her tone became acidic: ‘A sight better than you ever leave it. Miss Spencer should be learning from you but she could teach you a few things. I’ve spoken to you before but this is the last time I’ll tell you. Either you mend your ways or you’ll be looking for another place. Now, get on with sorting that linen.’

Doreen flounced away, pouting, and Mrs Taggart sighed.
‘Yell take note, Miss. That’s another of the housekeeper’s responsibilities and not my favourite. Now, come along.’ She led out into the hall, saying, ‘This afternoon I want you—’

This afternoon is free for Miss Spencer, Elspeth.
’ William had come out of his study. ‘From what you tell me she’s making good progress and she’s supposed to be learning, not performing. From now on she finishes at lunch.’

‘
As you wish, Captain.’ And to Liza: ‘Till the morning, then.’

‘
Yes, please, Mrs Taggart.’

That afternoon Liza walked down through Mowbray Park and posted a letter. It had been written in the privacy of her room and was addressed to her mother and Susan. She tried to write to them daily. She walked on towards the river until she came to the tagareen shop. For the last hundred yards she was accompanied by the usual crowd of grubby urchins, drawn to her by her fashionable clothes. Some remembered her. One little lad called,
‘Have you come back to see the auld witch again?’

‘
She’s not a witch,’ Liza corrected him. ‘Just a nice old lady without any bairns to keep her company.’ He looked taken aback by this and none too sure, so Liza left the message to sink in. She walked through the shop and found Iris sitting in her armchair before the fire, her shawl round her shoulders, her cap square on her head. ‘Hello, Mrs Cruikshank, how are you today?’

She looked up at Liza.
‘Oh, it’s you, bonny lass. I’m canny. Just having a rest now it’s quiet. Sit down and I’ll make you a cup o’ tea.’ She rose creakily to her feet.

‘
Then we can have a bit o’ crack.’ But she raised that gnarled finger again, this time in warning: ‘Not a word about them Spencers, though.’

Liza agreed laughingly.
‘But I’ll make the tea.’ She boiled the kettle on the fire and took cups and saucers from the sideboard at Iris’s order. It was her best china. Then she sat beside the old lady, who poured tea from cup to saucer then blew on it to cool it before sipping, her little finger fastidiously crooked. They talked for half an hour. Iris wanted to know all about Liza’s past life, her work, her parents, her daughter, her ambition. Only at the end did she speak of herself.

‘
I must be going,’ Liza said. She rose from her chair.

So did Iris.
‘I’ll come as far as the door wi’ ye, then I’ll shut this place for the day.’ As they walked through the shop together, she said, ‘There won’t be much doing now. I went to see the doctor about that fall. He said I was all right only my heart’s bad and I should give up the shop. I’ll have to think about that, though.’

‘
You take his advice and ease up.’ Liza kissed her. ‘I’ll come and see you when I can.’

Liza walked back to Spencer Hall, unhappy at the news. She knew Iris was frail — she had discovered the old lady was
just skin and bone when she helped her after the fall. And now her heart.

She went on with her
training under Mrs Taggart, complimented on her work by that strict judge. It was on the Wednesday that the housekeeper told Liza, ‘I’ve had all Mr Edward’s clothes taken out of his room — that’s yours now —but there is a top shelf in his wardrobe that still needs clearing out and a good dusting. Will you do it?’

Liza borrowed a pair of steps and had Gibson carry them upstairs for her. She climbed up them and found that the shelf contained a number of hatboxes holding toppers, bowlers and trilbys. A long, rectangular case held a silk-lined, navy blue cloak. Then there was a shoebox, which contained a number of papers. Liza sat down on the floor with it. There were several items dealing with William, his school reports and letters he had written to Edward. Also another bundle of letters, tied with a piece of string, written by a woman, Liza thought. She did not open them. With them was a small leather box containing a jewelled comb, wrapped in tissue. She admired it and guessed that it had belonged to the writer of the letters.

Finally there was an envelope addressed to Captain Edward Spencer in a careful copperplate. Liza hesitated, then saw the name and address of the sender on the back of the envelope: Michael Donnelly, SS
Eastern
Star
, Pool of London. And another hand had written across it: ‘Lost with all hands in China Sea, 23 August 1876.’

Curiosity drove her — and this was no love letter. She took out the letter and read:

Dear
Captain
Spencer
,

This
is
written
in
haste
as
we
sail
for
the
East
tomorrow
.

While
we
have
been
lying
here
waiting
for
a
cargo
a
sailor from
another
ship
out
of
the
Wear
passed
on
to
me
a
copy
of
the
Sunderland Daily Echo
and
I
saw
the
report
of
the
accident
.
I
had
stepped
ashore
from
the
ferry
,
after
crossing
the
river
on
the
way
to
join
this
ship
,
and
I
saw
what
happened
.
There
was
a
pulling
boat
out
in
midstream
that
ran
across
the
bow
of
your
vessel
.
It
carried
no
lights
and
I
could
see
no
one
at
the
oars
.
I
could
not
delay
as
my
ship
was
about
to
sail
but
I
hope
this
will
help
.
I
will
gladly
give
evidence
,
if
you
require
,
when
I
return
.

I
am
,

Your
obed
’
t
servant
,

Michael
Donnelly
,
Boatswain

Liza read it again, at first with excitement, but then with a little shiver. Michael Donnelly
’s offer to give evidence had not been taken up, his ship ‘Lost with all hands’.

But why had Edward not produced this letter? Then she remembered William saying that Edward thought Iris had suffered enough. He would not produce a letter that showed Barney Cruikshank had been lying dead drunk in the bottom of his boat. But Iris swore that Barney had been sober
...

Liza tucked the letter into her chest of drawers and took the rest to Mrs Taggart.
‘Aye. The captain will be wanting all those. I think I know who the letters came from and they will go to him too.’ She knew, as Liza did not, that William was the son of the woman Edward had loved and lost to his friend. ‘I expect he’ll give away the hats, but the cloak may as well stay in the wardrobe for now.’

‘
And the comb? Shall I lock it away?’ Liza asked.

‘
Aye, just to be on the safe side.’

Liza obeyed, then changed. She called on Cully in his hothouse and he gave her a huge bunch of carnations. Then she hurried to the tagareen shop. Once more she
had to run the gauntlet of the children, but this time the boy who had asked about the witch called to her, ‘I went down to the shop for that auld woman and she gave me a ha’penny.’

‘
See?’ Liza smiled at him.

Iris sat before the fire in the kitchen in cap and shawl.
‘There’s a canny lass.’

‘
I’ve brought you some flowers.’

Iris took them tenderly.
‘By, lass, they’re lovely.’

‘
I’ll put them in a vase for you.’ Liza arranged the carnations and set the vase on the table. Then she pulled up a chair beside Iris, and hesitated. Women of Iris’s age — and men for that matter — had been born before education had become compulsory. Was she illiterate? Then she saw a copy of the
Echo
on the sideboard. ‘I found this in a cupboard in Edward Spencer’s room.’ Liza put the letter into the bony fingers.

Iris read the two inscriptions on the envelope, her finger tracing the words.
‘Edward Spencer.’ She hissed the name, then muttered, ‘Lost with all hands. Poor lads, poor lads.’ She saw that the envelope was open and looked up at Liza, who nodded. Iris took out the letter and read it. Then she sat still, head bowed.