Lovers and Liars (16 page)

‘Well, what d’you think?’ Her voice rose above the medley of distant noise.

‘I’d like to see the other before I make up my mind,’ John decided.

‘Right then, young man! Follow me.’

Gathering her skirts, she lumbered along the landing until coming to the second room. Here she stopped and flinging open the door invited him inside. ‘See what you make o’ that.’

As in the first room, the dry smell of snuff tickled his nostrils, though he did wonder whether that was because Harriet was near him wherever he went. Either way he wasn’t too bothered by it. On board ship you had to endure many different smells; in their spare time, some sailors took comfort from chewing or smoking a wad of pungent baccy, or from drinking a drop of rum, and there were others who, like Harriet here, preferred a pinch of snuff.

‘I’ve a feeling this room will suit you better.’ Harriet’s voice boomed in his ear.

‘Maybe.’ As yet, John had not taken stock of it. When he did, he found it to be much smaller, and somehow not quite so homely as the other. Furnished much as the first room, it was definitely a far quieter place.

On going to the window, he saw how it overlooked the back of a huge warehouse. ‘I’m sure this is much more suitable,’ Harriet told him. ‘The doors to the warehouse are at the other side, and all you’ll ever hear are a few bangs and noises, and the clip-clop of horses as they trot over the cobbles. All in all though, I would say there’s nothing to break your sleep, or disturb you in any way.’

John thought about that, and felt unsettled all the same. ‘I prefer the other room,’ he told her. ‘I’m used to noise and besides, I reckon I’ll get a deal of comfort from all the comings and goings.’ He moved away from the window. ‘I wouldn’t be content in all this quiet. No, not content at all.’

‘Right! So now you’ll want to see the bathroom.’ With John in tow the big woman sailed out of the room, down the stairs and across the yard. In the outhouse she proudly gestured to her newly appointed bathroom. ‘This was the old wash-house,’ she explained, ‘but being as I don’t intend to spend what’s left of my life slaving over a hot tub, I now send all my washing to the laundry. This place seemed a waste of good space, so I got the workmen to fit it out as a bathroom. The only drawback is you might need to wrap up warm as you come in and out, especially in the winter months.’ She shivered. ‘Coming out of a hot tub and being thrust straight out in all weathers could cause a body to catch his death of cold.’

In her abrupt fashion, she led him out. ‘Well, what d’you think?’

John was impressed and told her so. ‘At home I’ve always been used to washing at the kitchen sink, or having a dip in the brook. A bathroom will be a luxury.’

‘The other lodgers don’t use it much,’ she revealed with a disapproving shake of her head. ‘Like as not, most times you’ll have it all to yourself.’

So, it was settled.

John paid his rent a week in advance, and was soon seated in Harriet’s kitchen enjoying a large cup of tea, and an even larger teacake. ‘Bought from the baker’s first thing,’ she told him proudly. ‘I never bake if I can help it. God only knows, I’ve more than enough to do without all that.’

John was astonished. ‘You don’t bake? You send your washing to the laundry? By! You’re well organised, I’ll say that for you.’

‘Oh, I am that,’ she declared proudly. ‘What’s more, I have a little man round once a month to wash my windows, and a little woman once a week to polish the furniture, change the beds and beat all the rugs in the house.’

She was very content with her leisurely life. ‘I saw my mother work her fingers to the bone to fetch up my six brothers and sisters. When they were old enough they left home one by one, and never contacted her again. Two weeks after the last one left, my father decided he was off as well.’ As she spoke, her fists clenched and unclenched. ‘Soon after he’d gone, my mother keeled over in the street and that was the end of her.’

Tears of anger filled her eyes. ‘I long ago disowned my immediate family. After what happened to that good woman, I swore I would never be tied by man nor child, and from that day to this I’ve never regretted it.’

John was sorry for the upset she had suffered and, to her surprise and gratitude, he told her so.

‘As far as I’m concerned, I’m best on my own,’ she went on, calmer now. ‘I’ve no responsibilities. I’ve got my own business, which pays for all the help I get, and nobody to answer to …’

While she chatted on, seemingly oblivious to his presence, John supped his tea and let his thoughts drift back to Emily. It was barely forty-eight hours since he had left her behind, and since arriving here he had walked the streets, not knowing or caring where he was. Some blind instinct had brought him back to Liverpool, although he had now decided against going back to sea.
Oh, Emily
… he yearned for her.

It was hard to understand that she could just stop loving him, especially when they had spoken at great length of their feelings for each other and their plans for a future life together. He truly believed she had been as sincere as himself. And now, seeing her like that, so idyllically happy with her new man, and the two of them blessed with a beautiful daughter, was soul-destroying.

It all seemed so final. And however much he might want to change what had happened, he realised there was nothing he could do but accept the situation.

Emily had stopped loving him. That was painfully clear.

In the early hours, after arriving back in Liverpool, wandering the streets and trying to fathom out where it had all gone wrong, he had slowly begun to think more clearly, and what he thought was this.

As far as he could see, he had two choices. He could either throw himself into the murky waters of the River Mersey and end it all, or he could be grateful that Emily had found happiness, and forge ahead to do the best with what Fate handed him.

In the end there was no choice at all.

Whether he liked it or not, however much it weighed on his heart, he had to make a new life without her.

He had money in his pocket, and plans to make.
Tomorrow he would look for his old friend, Archie.

So, with that in mind he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, though he knew he would not sleep.

How could he, with Emily so strong in his mind?

Woken by the delicious aroma of bacon, John climbed sleepily out of bed. He had slept like a log, oblivious to any of the noises outside. His first thought was Emily; his second was the hard-earned money that would forge his future without her. Although he had left a substantial sum with Lizzie, he had taken enough to see him through, for a while at least.

Always aware of thieves and opportunists, John had wisely taken precautions against someone stealing his money while he slept. He was sure that his landlady was vigilant in her choice of lodgers, but you never could tell. He’d locked his door too, mind …

Going straight to the window, he took hold of the curtain and, drawing it aside, checked that his wad of money was still securely rolled into the hem. Archie himself had relayed the trick of hiding valuables in the curtain. ‘A thief will turn furniture upside down and tear your mattress from end to end, but he’ll hardly ever examine the curtains.’ That was his advice and John had never forgotten it.

Having checked that it was secure, John decided to leave it there while he had his wash at the basin. The smell of that warm, crisping bacon was playing tunes on his stomach.

Stripping to the waist, John filled the bowl with cold water from the jug and began to wash and shave. The generous layer of carbolic felt good and invigorating on his skin, and the swill of water afterwards made his skin tingle and shiver. It was a good feeling.

At the dresser, where he had unpacked his kitbag, he shook out a clean singlet and soft collarless shirt, which he quickly buttoned on. That done, he was soon ready for a hearty breakfast.

As always, when he went out of the door, locking it behind him, it was Emily who kept him company. She filled his heart and mind as he went down the stairs, and she was beside him as he entered the breakfast-room.

‘Good morning, young man!’ Harriet waved a knife towards the one empty table. ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll have your breakfast in front of you before you know it.’ With that she ambled away.

As John made himself comfortable at the tiny table, the other two lodgers gave him the once-over. ‘Morning!’ The man who spoke was middle-aged, bald, and bore the hangdog look of someone weighed down with worries.

Judging by the smart clothes and the newspaper laid out before him, John thought he might be a salesman or a clerk. ‘Morning,’ he replied with a nod of his head and a smile. ‘The landlady seems a good sort, don’t you think?’ The smile soon faded when the man looked away without another word.

‘You’re right. She
is
a good sort.’ That was the frail, elderly woman by the window. ‘I’ve lodged in this house for almost two years off and on, and never a cross word.’ She was buttering a slice of toast while peering at it through her lorgnettes; her hands, he noticed, were clad in old-fashioned lace mittens.

John gave her a friendly nod. ‘Really?’ He wondered what she meant by the remark that she had lodged in the house ‘for almost two years off and on’, and thought maybe she was a relative of Harriet’s, who liked to pay a visit from time to time. Her scent of lavender and camphor made him think of his Aunt Lizzie.

There was no chance to carry on any conversation, because the woman then took her leave, shortly followed by the man. A moment later, Harriet returned with his breakfast. ‘I wasn’t sure of what you liked best,’ she told him, ‘so I gave you a measure of everything. What you don’t want, you can leave. I won’t mind a bit.’

Setting the plate on the table she watched his mouth open in astonishment. ‘My God!’ The plate was piled high with fried tomatoes, four rashers of bacon, three sausages, two eggs, a generous helping of fried potatoes, and two plump rings of black-pudding. ‘You must think I need fattening up!’

‘That’s because you do!’ she retorted. ‘You sailors are all alike. Surviving on meagre rations at sea, and afraid to spend your money on good food when you come ashore.’

John took up his knife and fork. ‘How did you know I was a sailor?’

‘Hmh!’ Placing her two hands on her chubby hips, she gave him a knowing smile. ‘It didn’t take much. I knew it the minute I clapped eyes on you. Your kitbag, for one. You were browned from the sea-air for another. And you looked like you needed a good meal inside you. What! I’ve seen more fat on a dried-up chicken-bone.’ She gave him a curious look. ‘I suppose you’ll be going back to sea soonever you’ve spent your hard-earned money?’

Digging the prongs of his fork into a juicy sausage, John took a bite; the sausage melted in his mouth, leaving behind all manner of sensational tastes. ‘That’s the best sausage I’ve ever tasted,’ he told her, his mouth full.

‘Ah well, that’s because I make them myself,’ she revealed. ‘Best cut of young pork, minced with a mangling of apple and a mix of my own spices, churned to perfection, then cooked on a wire tray over the pan.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I cooked some for the butcher once and he’s been after me for the recipe ever since. He won’t get it though. It was my mother’s.’

John thought there was a deeper side to this woman than she ever let on. ‘I thought you said you didn’t bake if you could help it?’

‘And I don’t. Baking and cooking are not the same thing, young man.’

John was curious. ‘Oh, and how’s that then?’

Harriet explained the best she could. ‘Baking is kneading over a bowl for hours on end. It’s making bread and pies and such, and rolling out pastry until your back aches. Or it’s beating cake mixtures until your hand is ready to drop off. Y’see, cooking is quicker, not so laborious. In fact, it’s a pleasure.’

John laughed. ‘Well, I never. I always thought they were one and the same.’

She too gave a hearty laugh. ‘And now you know different, don’t you? Oh, and you still haven’t answered my question.’

John took another bite of the sausage, allowing the meat to ooze its juices onto his taste-buds. He gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘What question was that?’

‘I asked if you would be going back to sea?’

‘No, I won’t be going back … ever.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ve got the time if you have.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Shaking his head, John cut a slice of the egg. ‘Do I get a drink with this breakfast?’ He wasn’t in the mood for talking about Emily, not even to this likeable soul.

Harriet was mortified. ‘A mug o’ tea for you and a drop of the old stuff for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll sit alongside you while you eat your breakfast, and you can tell me all about your troubles.’ No sooner said than done, she was off and, in a minute, had the kettle whistling on the stove.

John didn’t know whether to wolf down his breakfast and leave, or enjoy it at leisure while confiding his ‘troubles’ in Harriet.

He didn’t have much time to ponder, because now she was back and seated opposite, a large mug of tea steaming in front of his plate, and a glass of what looked like wine in her hand. ‘What do I call you?’ she asked. ‘You must have a name.’

‘The name’s John,’ he answered. ‘John Hanley.’

‘Go on then, John Hanley,’ she urged. ‘Talk away. There’s only the two of us here now, and don’t you worry, because whatever you have to say won’t go beyond these four walls. It’s a rule of mine, never to pass on what’s told me in confidence.’

For some reason John trusted her. This was surprising to him, as he had only just met her. As a rule, he was wary of strangers but somehow she had a way about her that made him think of Lizzie.

So he opened his heart to her. He told her about Emily, and the plans they had made. He gave a short account of Clem Jackson, and how that monster of a man had the Ramsden family by the throat. He outlined how he and Emily had spoken at length, about their love and their future, and how he had decided that the only solution for them all was for him to go where he could make money. Afterwards they would be rid of Clem Jackson, and he and Emily would wed and raise a family. ‘But she didn’t wait,’ he said sadly. ‘She married some other man. They have a child – a lovely daughter.’