Authors: Rosie Clarke
Lizzie's Secret
Rosie Clarke
About
Lizzie's Secret
It's 1939, and Lizzie Larch is a twenty-year-old hatmaker in London's east end. She is happy and popular, but she carries a secret. Seven years ago she was viciously attacked, and recovered in a private sanatorium where she miscarried a child.
Lizzie has no memory of the night of the attack, but secrets cannot stay secret for too long. When she starts courting her boss's nephew, shocking revelations surface, and threaten to destroy their new-found happiness.
Set in the East-End of London at the dawn of World War II,
Lizzie's Secret
is about how ordinary people learn to survive â and triumph - through hardship and tragedy.
Prologue
It was dark, so dark and cold. The girl shivered as she heard the footsteps behind her. They were coming closer and the alley seemed endless. She would never reach safety before he caught up with her. The sound of his harsh breathing was close and she gave a cry of fear as she ran faster. She had to get away or he would catch her and then the nightmare would be real. Taking a deep breath, she ran harder and faster, but as fast as she ran he was always there, pursuing her down the dark alley, and she knew that whatever she did he would geter.
âNo, please no, don't hurt meâ¦' She could smell the stink of foul breath and knew he was too strong for her and she screamed, but it was no good⦠no goodâ¦
âWake up,' a strident voice broke into her nightmare. âIt's all right, girl. You're quite safe here. You were just having a bad dream.'
âWhere am I?' she asked, aware now of the narrow bed with its hard mattress and the low, shaded light. The woman standing over her was dressed in the uniform of a nurse, her dark hair peeping from beneath a white starched cap. âWhat happened to me? Where am I?'
âYou don't remember â any of it?' the nurse looked disbelieving.
âNo, I only knowâ¦' She broke off as she realised she didn't even know her own name. Fear scythed through her as she saw the bars on the windows. âWho am I â and why am I here?'
âDon't play games! You've been brought to this place because your aunt felt it impossible to keep you at home in the circumstances.'
âWhat circumstances?' The fear was rising in her, because she was gradually becoming aware that this was an institution of some kind and she somehow knew that she was a prisoner here. âWhy am I in this place? What have I done? I want to go homeâ¦' And yet she did not know where home was. âPlease tell me where I am. What is this place?'
âIt's an institution for fallen girls. Don't worry; you're only here until after the event. Your uncle insisted that they want you back â but your aunt wants to hush this upâ¦'
âHush what up? What have I done?'
âFrom what I gather it's more a case of what someone else did to you,' the nurse said. âYou were attackedâ¦'
âNurse Simpkins!' A sharp voice cut in. âYou know what Doctor said. No talking to this patient until he's seen her.'
âSorry, Sister, but she was asking questionsâ¦'
âWell, that's an improvement, young lady,' an older version of the nurse came into her view. âWe'd begun to think you would never come back to us. I'll tell Doctor you're awake. Would you like a drink of water?'
âCould I have a cup of tea please?' She reached out to touch the Sister's arm. âPlease, why am I here? Have I done something wrong? Who am I?'
âSo many questions all at once. I think we'll leave it to Doctor to explain â and just water at first. We don't want you being sick all over the place. You've been asleep a long timeâ¦'
âHow long?'
âDoctor will explain. Rest now and my nurse has a glass of water for you.'
âLittle sips now,' the nurse held the glass to her lips. She swallowed a few sips, found it more difficult than she'd expected and fell back against the pillows, her eyes closing.
âI think she's fallen asleep againâ¦'
âYes, but it is a proper sleep this time. I daresay she's exhaustedâ¦'
âDo you think she really can't recall anything?'
The voices seemed to come from a long way off, as if she were shrouded by an impenetrable fog, their words making no sense, as she lost the battle to stay awake.
âI think it's genuine. She was very ill after the miscarriage â sometimes a long illness like that leaves the patient unable to recall, but the amnesia may not be permanent.'
âPerhaps it's best for her if she never remembers exactly what happened. She'll grieve for the babe if she remembers itâ¦'
âWe're not supposed to get too friendly with these girls. They are here for discipline and because their families are ashamed of themâ¦'
âYes, but she was attacked and rapedâ¦'
âThat's enough, nurse. Perhaps this case is a little different, but the outcome was the same â the uncle and aunt wouldn't have the child had she gone full term⦠at least, the uncle might have done, but
she
was set against it. It's best the girl doesn't know too muchâ¦'
The darkness was claiming her. She was sinking back into its welcoming arms, shutting out everything, leaving all the pain and the distress behind. She wasn't ready to know, didn't want to remember, because it hurt too much and she wasn't strong enough. If she once looked back and saw his face she would remember and that would be too painfulâ¦
âAre you here for the job too?' Lizzie Larch looked at the girl sitting next to her on the hard wooden chair. She was a pretty girl with soft fair hair and blue eyes. âI don't reckon we stand much chance, do you?'
It was 1939 and the country was still recovering from the deep depression that had gripped it for most of the thirties.
âIt depends how many jobs are going,' the other girl replied. âI'm Beth Court. I'm after a job in the officeâ¦'
âDo they want an office girl? I thought they were looking for seamstresses and apprentices to make hats?'
âWell, yes, that's what they advertised,' Beth offered her hand. âBut when I asked about the interview they said there would be a job for a typist too. I'm good at typing, but my shorthand isn't fast enough.'
âI'm not a trained seamstress, but I can sew, so I'm hoping to get the apprentice's job.'
âHow old are you? I'm eighteen. I worked for two years in a cardboard factory but then took typing classes and shorthand. Girls in offices get more than a measly thirty-five bob a weekâ¦'
âYes, I suppose they do. I was in a canteen on the docks, earning more than two pounds, but I saw these jobs advertised and thought it would be better to learn a trade.'
âMiss Beth Court please,' a woman said and Beth looked nervously at Lizzie, pulling at the blue dress she was wearing under a dark jacket.
âWell, good luck. I hope you get taken onâ¦'
âGood luck to you too,' Lizzie glanced around at the opposition: twenty girls after two jobs. It was unlikely that Lizzie would be picked, especially since she had no experience. Aunt Jane had warned her it would be a waste of time, but Uncle Jack had supported her.
âWhy shouldn't the girl have a chance of a better life,' he had said. âIf you're thinking of that other business, don't. Lizzie's a good girl, aren't you, love?'
âYes,' Lizzie had nodded. She knew why her aunt was so strict, of course she did. It was to do with that time she'd been so ill⦠Lizzie couldn't remember much about it, but she knew she'd been in a sanatorium for a long time. She didn't know why and she couldn't remember much from before that time. She'd remembered her name after Doctor Morrison started to treat her, because he'd been kind and gentle, explaining that she'd had a nasty accident and hit her head.
âYou were concussed, Lizzie,' he told her. âBecause of that you've become confused. You were in another hospital before you came to me and they neglected you â but now we're going to make you well. There is nothing to be frightened of now, Lizzie, my dear.'
âLizzie Larchâ¦' she'd repeated the words after him. âI live with Aunt Jane and her husband Uncle Jackâ¦'
âYour parents died years ago of diphtheria and your aunt kindly took you in. You can go home to her and your uncle when you've accepted who you areâ¦'
Lizzie had been fifteen then; she knew that because the doctor had told her so and that meant she must have had her accident when she was fourteen. She'd tried so hard to remember what had caused the accident, but all she knew was that she'd had a nasty fall and been very ill for a long timeâ¦
âMiss Lizzie Larch, pleaseâ¦'
A man of about forty was calling her. Wearing a well-worn suit of once-good pinstriped cloth, he didn't strike her as being important at first glance and she thought he might be a clerk or something. Lizzie got to her feet and followed him, not into an office, as she expected, but to a large room where two men and three girls were working at benches. Hats were in various stages of development, piles of them everywhere. The floor was strewn with bits of felt, silk and cottons, and several pins. Girls were machining felt or sewing on feathers and trimmings, but the men were either cutting or shaping the hats with the aid of steamers and moulds.
âThis is the workroom. It's where you'll be working if we take you on as our apprentice, Miss Larch. What do you think of it?'
Lizzie was fascinated. âIt's very busy, sir, and it looks interesting.'
âInteresting, eh? Do you think you'd like to work here?'
âYes, sir, if I were given a chanceâ¦'
âWhat can you do?'
âMy aunt taught me to use a sewing machine. But I'd like to learn all of it â the cutting and the shaping and the trimmingâ¦' She hesitated, then, âI'd like to design hats, sirâ¦'
âWould you indeed?' he asked, his bright beady eyes intent on her face. He was a small man, wiry with a thin face, hair that was receding at the temples and faded grey eyes. âAre you any good?'
âI shouldn't think so,' Lizzie said honestly. âMy aunt says it's a waste of time, but Uncle Jack says my designs look pretty.'
âHumph,' the man grunted. âWell, we stick to fairly basic shapes here, Miss Larch, but I like a girl with ambition. You know we pay our apprentices twenty-five shillings a week?'
