Our Lizzie (21 page)

“Here we are, then!” he said loudly as the cab horse came to a halt and began to drop some dung on to the stone setts of the street. He reached out to help Lizzie from the cab, but Sam was before him, tenderly handing her down and telling her to stand still for a minute while he paid the driver.

“I can walk!” she protested.

“You'll wait for me.”

Within seconds Mrs. Preston had nipped out of her house with a shovel and bucket, wanting to pick up the horse dung and put it on the rhubarb which she grew in her little backyard to “keep me regular.”

Lizzie giggled and whispered, “She's always the first to rush out when a horse passes by.” She raised her voice, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Preston.”

Fanny nodded a greeting. “Eeh, lass, you look all wambly. But at least they've let you out of that place. I never could abide hospitals.” But her thoughts were clearly on the pile of steaming manure and as the cab began to move off, she darted forward to claim her prize.

Sam offered Lizzie his arm. “Come on inside, then, lass. That doctor said you were to rest, remember.”

Percy led the way. “Polly's got the front room ready for you, Lizzie. You can sleep in there on the sofa, then you won't have to go up and down the stairs till you're properly recovered.” For she still looked poorly, her eyes dull and sad, not full of life as usual, and from the way she moved she was clearly dizzy.

Sam escorted her into the front room as if she were Queen Mary come among them on a royal visit, then took his leave without even trying to see Mrs. Kershaw, who bitterly resented this omission which she ascribed to Lizzie's influence.

The invalid was glad to lie back on the sofa and let Percy tuck a blanket round her legs, then bring her a cup of tea. She tried not to mind that her mother hadn't bothered to come in and see her.

“Polly will be in to look after you as soon as school finishes,” he said, hovering over her. “She's got a bit of good news for you. I have to get back to work now.”

Lizzie nodded and let herself slide down into a lying position. She felt all swimmy-headed and was annoyed at herself for being so weak.

As soon as Percy had left, Meg came to stand in the doorway and stare at her, a cold, hostile look on her face that hurt Lizzie. “You're back, then.”

“You know I am. Percy came and told you when he got me a cup of tea.”

“Yes.” Meg gave a bitter laugh. “Funny, isn't it? To think I'll soon be left with only
you!
Three daughters I bore and you're the one I'm going to be saddled with. Rich, that is.”

“What do you mean, left with only me?”

“Haven't they told you yet? Our Polly's got herself a job. She's as sneaky as you are when she wants something and—”

“What's she going to do?”

Meg snorted. “Go to Mrs. Pilby's as a maid. She'll be starting after Easter. Couldn't try for a place at the works, could she, and live at home? No, she has to get herself a fancy job, so that
we
have to spend good money buying her an outfit. And even then she's not going to give us any of her wages after she's paid us back for that. He spoils you lot rotten, Percy does.”

“But aren't you pleased for Polly? Pleased she's going to be a maid, like you were?”

“You're none of you girls like me—a bunch of cuckoos, you are. I don't know where you get your fancy ideas from. ‘Honour thy father and mother' it says in the Bible, but I don't get a scrap of respect from any of you!”

Lizzie closed her eyes. “I'm feeling tired, Mam. I think I'll have a bit of a rest, if you don't mind.”

“Well, don't expect me to run round after you. I had the influenza too, you know. Only they didn't fuss over me like they did over you.” As she went out, Meg deliberately left the door open, smiling as she banged the kitchen door shut.

Lizzie sighed and got up to close the door, shivering in the cold draught from the hall. How would she ever cope with it, being at home all day with a woman who hated her? Even one day was too long. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she scrubbed them away angrily. She'd never felt so weak in her life before. What if she never got better? What if she remained an invalid? The doctor had said it'd be weeks before she recovered fully. She'd go mad lying here like this.

*   *   *

The sound of the front door opening woke Lizzie and she blinked in bewilderment for a moment, then realised that she was at home and sighed in mingled relief and worry. The door opened and Polly came in, rushing over to the sofa to give her a hug and a kiss, and weep a few happy tears over her.

Lizzie blinked away tears of her own as she hugged her younger sister back.

“You did give us all a fright!” Polly scolded. “And I've missed you. They wouldn't let me and Johnny come and see you in the hospital—said children under fourteen weren't allowed.” She looked down at herself and smiled. “I don't really feel like a child any more, though, an' I bet I could have got in, but you know what our Percy's like for following rules.” She had grown her figure over the last few months and was now plumpish, like Eva, but without her sister's prettiness. Mrs. Preston had once said that Polly would be pretty once she'd grown into her face, for she had the sort of features which would look much better on a woman than a girl, but no one, least of all Polly, believed that.

“You don't look at all like a child,” Lizzie said enviously. “You and our Eva are lucky. I wish I had proper bosoms like yours. Mine are more like pimples.” She held out one hand, staring at it scornfully. “And look how thin I've got. I'm like a set of twigs strung together with wire.” She'd been shocked when she saw herself in a mirror at the hospital. She knew she'd never be pretty, but now she looked ugly, really ugly.

“The doctor says we have to feed you up. Would you like a cup of tea an' a piece of cake?”

“I'd love one.”

Polly hesitated. “Has she come near you?”

No need to ask who “she” was. “Only to tell me she wasn't going to wait on me—and to say you'd got yourself a job.”

Polly's face fell. “She knew I wanted to tell you that myself!”

“The tea can wait. Tell me now. How on earth did you get taken on at Redley House?”

“Well, I went to see the housekeeper a while back to say I'd be interested if a job came up.”

Lizzie sat upright. “You never said!”

“Miss Harper suggested doing it. She said I had nothing to lose.”

“Ooh, I wouldn't have dared.”

“Well, my knees were knocking together when I called and I didn't think there was much chance. Mrs. Frost—that's the housekeeper's name—looked down her nose at me. I nearly ran away then, I can tell you. But I said what we'd decided and gave her a piece of paper with my name on it and Miss Harper's—because she said she'd give me a character reference.

“Then, while you were ill, I got a message to go and see Mrs. Frost. So I went after school one day and she took me in to see Mrs. Pilby herself—ooh, Lizzie, it was such a lovely room!—and they asked me lots of questions about housework and that. And in the end Mrs. Pilby said I could have a month's trial because Miss Harper had spoken very highly of me—wasn't that kind of her? And I'm to start after Easter, just leave school and start. Miss Harper arranged it all for me because Mam said she was too sick to go traipsing across town to see the headmaster. Isn't it exciting?”

Lizzie nodded and tried to smile. “I'm really glad for you, love. I know it's what you wanted. But will you have to live in?”

Polly lost her excited expression. “Yes. They insist on all the maids living in. Oh, Lizzie, I'll miss you so much. But I can't turn down this chance, can I? If I get taken on, they'll give me a proper training, then I can get a job anywhere. In London even.” She hesitated then said, “Mam went mad at me for not trying to get a job at the works and said she wouldn't buy me an outfit, but Percy said I was to follow my heart and if that meant going into service, he'd get me one. And he even backed me up when I said I wasn't sending any money home from my wages. I would do if Mam were short, but she isn't, Lizzie. She has Percy's wages and yours and the money from the lodgers. She's even got some money saved, because her bank book fell out of her bag one day and I saw what was in it.” She noticed Lizzie's astonished expression and looked guilty. “It'd fallen open and I couldn't resist a peep.”

“How much has she got?”

“Over twenty pounds.”

“Never!”

“She has.”

They were both silent for a minute at the thought of this huge sum, then Lizzie said, “You're so lucky. It'll be ages before I can start earning again. But I think I'll ask our Percy if I can have more than a shilling a week out of my money once I get back. I've got a bit saved up now, but not much.”

“You never used to save anything.”

“Well, I am doing now.” Lizzie started fiddling with the blanket as she confessed, “I sometimes worry that she'll chuck me out and I'll have nowhere to go.” That was her worst nightmare. “I keep the bankbook at work in Mrs. D's office. But I haven't got much in it.”

“If you ever need any money desperately, you can always come to me,” Polly said softly. “I've been saving since I was little. I haven't told Mam how much I've got, though she's asked and asked. She's even looked through my things, but I keep my savings book up in Miss Harper's room. I'd never let you want, you know that.”

“Oh, Polly, you are a love!” And Lizzie had to wipe away another tear.

*   *   *

One morning that same week Emma Harper let herself into the front office, which was her own domain, humming to herself. She loved working here at Cardwell's. How different it was now from the shabby place she'd taken over! She'd helped James Cardwell (she could never think of him as “Mr. Cardwell” somehow) get some nice furniture and a couple of plants, and it had made all the difference. Now she looked up to find him leaning against the doorframe, smiling across at her.

“Someone sounds happy?” he commented.

“I am happy.”

“Then you're going to be even happier. I've decided to give you a rise.”

Emma gaped at him. She'd never heard of an employer giving someone extra money without being asked.

His smile broadened. “You're worth it. And anyway, I've had one or two other chaps asking me about you. I can see the signs. If I'm not mistaken, you'll be offered jobs elsewhere in the next week or two.”

Emma blushed. “Well, actually, I have been offered a job elsewhere, but I—I didn't think I'd like it, so I said no.”

“Old Washbourne?”

She nodded, trying not to shudder.

“Wise decision, lass. He'd have his hand up your skirts before you'd been there an hour. Doesn't think decent women go out to work, that one.”

She could feel herself blushing. “Well, actually, he has tried to—”

James Cardwell's smile vanished abruptly. “You let me know if he tries owt again. I'm not having him acting like that in
my
office! Who does he think he is?”

“I can manage him.”

“You shouldn't have to.”

She shrugged. “I found out at Sevley's that such—attentions—are common when one is out at work. And I'm grateful that you've never—you know?”

“Never tried it on.” His expression was suddenly wry. “Well, it's not because I don't fancy you, lass. Only you've never given me the glad eye and I'm not one to push myself where I'm not wanted.”

Emma was bright red now. “I think we'd better change the subject.”

“If you like. But if you ever do feel like giving me the glad eye, I won't say no.” And, whistling loudly, he went back into his office.

Emma plumped down at her desk and buried her face in her hands for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and tried to concentrate on the day's work. But it was a while before she could settle. The trouble was, if he were free, she'd not hesitate to give James Cardwell “the glad eye,” as he'd phrased it. He was an attractive man and fun to work with, too, once you grew used to his abrupt ways. He joked and laughed and made the yard a pleasant place to be for all of them. Not that he was there all that much. He was out and about most of the time, supervising jobs or working on them himself. And making big plans, like this row of houses he was building in Maidham Street, which he said would be model homes for the better-off working folk. He'd put a lot of effort into thinking out the design, even asking Emma what women wanted in their houses.

He'd put all his spare money into them. She who kept his accounts was only too aware of how great a risk he'd taken—and she was aware, too, of his wife's continual complaints about the project. If it were left to Mrs. Cardwell, he'd still be a jobbing builder, like her father had been, doing repairs and renovations and working for other builders on big projects, but creating nothing to be remembered by.

If only she could persuade Blanche to move into a house of their own, Emma thought sometimes, she'd be perfectly happy. But her sister was afraid of living on her own in one of the terraces of Southlea—for, of course, they couldn't have afforded to move anywhere smarter—and they weren't going to go to their aunt for help. She hadn't contacted them once since their father's death.

Blanche much preferred to live in the attic room in Bobbin Lane, knowing there was always someone nearby in case she needed help. For it had to be admitted that her health went up and down, and that she'd had one or two funny turns. And she also enjoyed Polly's company, the two of them seeming more like aunt and niece nowadays. Though that was obviously going to change when Polly started work.

Emma tried to settle down. She always felt full of energy and was relieved to have a job to expend it on. If she hadn't had to earn money, she'd have had to find a job for other reasons. Though if she'd been able to marry and have children, that would have kept her nice and busy. Oh, drat, why was she thinking like this today? “Work,” she said aloud. “Concentrate on your work, you fool.”