Our Lizzie (8 page)

“I'm that sorry, Mrs. Dearden.” Lizzie limped after the broad figure of her employer up the stairs into the family's living quarters, a place she'd never been before. “I won't let it stop me working. I'll make up for—”

“Here. Sit down on that chair and let me put some sticking plasters on your foot. What's the other foot like?”

“Oh, not as bad.”

“Show me.” She inspected it. “It's just as bad.” But the lass hadn't complained. Not so much as a whimper. If Peter wasn't so sharp-eyed, no one would even have known.

“I'm sorry to be such a trouble,” Lizzie said miserably, sure she was going to lose her lovely new job.

Sally guessed instantly what had brought tears to those big green eyes. “I'm not going to sack you, you silly child. But from now on, you're to come and tell me if anything's troubling you.
Anything
. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dearden.”

“And wipe those tears away!”

Lizzie fumbled through her pockets. “I—I've lost my handkerchief.”

“Tch!” Sally went into her bedroom and came out with a perfectly folded and ironed handkerchief. “Here, use this!”

Lizzie mopped her face and blew her nose, then looked down in dismay at the soggy square of material. “I'll w-wash this before I bring it back.” Her voice wobbled, because the kindness was shaking her self-control.

“Right, then, go down and eat your bun, then get back to work.”

“I can go straight back to make up for the time I've lost,” Lizzie offered, but her stomach growled and betrayed her.

Sally could not help smiling. “I think we can afford the time for you to eat a bun, child.”

“Yes, Mrs. Dearden. And—and thank you for helping me. I'll ask Mam again about the shoes tonight.”

When Lizzie had gone, Sally sat on for a moment, lost in thought. Meg Kershaw couldn't be that short of money. She'd heard that the owners of the brewery had given her something, and the men had taken up a collection, too. It must be just a reluctance to spend and the child would have difficulty changing that. Lips pressed into a thin, tight line, she took out a piece of notepaper and penned a short letter. When she went downstairs, she gave it to young Fred and ordered him to call in at Lizzie's house when he took the next lot of local deliveries out on his bicycle.

*   *   *

Meg heard the knock at the door and grunted in exasperation. Just when she was in the middle of making Percy's favourite cake, too! She wiped her hands and went to open the front door. “Yes?”

The lad held out an envelope. “Mrs. Dearden sent this. I'm to wait for an answer.”

Meg took the missive with a sinking heart. Lizzie must be in trouble. Already! Could that child do nothing right?

The note was quite brief:

Dear Mrs. Kershaw

Lizzie's shoes are too tight and have given her blisters. I would like to supply her with a new pair immediately, ones which fit so that she can do her work properly. She's given satisfaction so far and will be continuing here after her month's trial. I can take the cost out of her wages at a shilling a week, if you like.

However, I do not approve of the shoes obtainable from the Clothing Club. My assistants are on their feet all day and good shoes wear better in these circumstances and are gentler on the feet. I have an arrangement with Fowler's Shoe Store for a discount on my staff's footwear purchases, so I shall take Lizzie across in a quiet moment and get her a new pair, if you do not object? You may tell the errand boy your answer.

Sally Dearden

Meg stared at the piece of paper angrily. Lizzie must have been complaining. There was plenty of wear left in those shoes. Plenty. However, you couldn't offend an employer. Grudgingly, she told the lad to thank Mrs. Dearden and say it was all right to get the shoes.

But it wasn't all right. She felt angry and shamed. And it was all Lizzie's fault. Stanley had spoiled that child, but Meg had no intention of doing so. Her eldest daughter had to learn to buckle down and work hard now, and above all to make things last. They all had. Tears came into her eyes again and she brushed them away wearily. What use was it crying? It didn't change anything. Stanley was gone and she'd be alone now for the rest of her life. And if she didn't keep Percy happy, she'd have no one to look after her in her old age. Even to pass the poor house terrified her, always had. They weren't going to put her in there. She'd hang herself first.

*   *   *

When Lizzie came home, still limping, carrying her old shoes wrapped in brown paper, she went straight to show the new ones to her mother.

Meg ignored them. “How could you shame me like that in front of Sally Dearden?” The anger that had been bubbling inside her all day overflowed and she slapped her daughter's face.

The other children, who'd gathered to inspect the shiny new shoes, stared at their mother in shock.

Lizzie stood frozen for a minute, then said in a wobbly voice, “W-what did you do that for, Mam?”

“To teach you not to complain to Mrs. Dearden in future.”

Lizzie burst into noisy, gulping tears.

The noise brought Percy in from the back yard. “What's the matter?”

“She's been complaining about her shoes, that's what. And got Sally Dearden to buy her some new ones—expensive ones, too. Shoes we can't afford!”

He turned to his sister. “Eeh, our Lizzie, have you no sense?”

“I
didn't
complain. Peter Dearden saw me limping and told his mother.”

Meg gave a scornful laugh. “Oh, yes. It's a good way to get attention, limping is.”

Eva came forward and put an arm round her sister. “She's got blisters from those shoes, Mam. Bad ones. I was going to ask you about new shoes myself tonight.”

“She'll complain about anything, that one will!” Meg turned round abruptly and went into the parlour, from whence issued the sound of muffled weeping.

Percy shook his head. “You'll have to stop causing trouble, Lizzie. Mam can't cope with it.”

She smeared away the tears. “An' I suppose I can? Does that mean running around all day with blisters on my feet?”

“A blister's nothing.” He cocked an ear. His mother's weeping had died down, but she was still sobbing and he needed to go and comfort her. “Go and get your tea.”

Lizzie walked over to the cooker to find her food cold and congealing on a plate beside it, not even kept warm as usual. She carried it over to the table and sat picking at it, tears still trickling down her face at the injustice of her mother's accusations. Eva went to sit beside her, not saying anything, just staying with her.

“Mam's still grieving,” she murmured as she watched Lizzie push the half-empty plate away. “She doesn't mean it.”

“She does, you know. She's never liked me. Never. Only it didn't matter so much when Dad was alive. Now, I can't do nothing right for
her
.”

Eva pulled the plate back towards her sister. “Eat it. You need to keep up your strength. You're not the only one to suffer, you know. I was going to go on to secondary school. Miss Blake was sure I'd get a scholarship.”

Lizzie looked at her and managed a half-smile. “Fancy wanting to stay on at school!”

“Well, I did. More than anything.”

“Sorry.” Lizzie reached out one hand and the two sisters held on to one another for a minute.

When she'd eaten what she could, Lizzie scraped the leftovers into the fire so there'd be no scolding about wasting good food, her movements slow and weary.

Percy came in, frowning. “Mam's gone to lie down. You two girls will have to clear up tonight and get the kitchen ready for morning. An' I don't want you upsetting her again, Lizzie. Do you hear me? You're the eldest daughter and should have a bit more sense.” He scowled at them and went to sit down in a chair, picking up the evening paper with a sigh. When his dad had been alive, the evenings had been pleasant times, but now each one seemed worse than the one before, so that he dreaded coming home after work.

Lizzie banged around, clearing his plate away with hers, glaring at his bent head. It wasn't fair! Men made more work than anyone, but they never helped clear the mess up, didn't even lift a finger to help. When she and Eva had finished the washing-up, she said, “I'm going up to bed now. I'm tired.” She was trying to hide how close she still was to tears, and was annoyed when her voice came out gruffly.

Eva waited a minute then followed her up. She found Lizzie easing off a pair of socks sticky with blood. “Those will have to be soaked. It's a good job they're black ones.”

“I'll do it in the morning.”

“I'll do it for you now. Give them to me.”

Percy looked up as Eva came back into the kitchen. Realising he'd been a bit harsh on the girls, he opened his mouth to tell her about the new player for the Overdale football team, by way of a peace offer, but the words remained unspoken as his eyes fell on the socks. “What are you doing?”

“Putting these to soak.”

He looked down at her feet. “They're not yours.”

“They're Lizzie's.”

His mother's complaints about Lizzie shirking her chores came back to him. “She can do her own.”

“She's upstairs crying.” Eva went to wave the socks in his face. “And this stickiness is blood from where her blisters have burst. You only listened to Mam's side of the story, our Percy, and that's not fair. Go up and
look
at Lizzie's feet. She's not imagining those blisters.”

He tossed the paper aside. “I'll do just that. She's probably exaggerating to get your sympathy.”

“I'm not that stupid.” Eva led the way upstairs, determined to see justice done, peeped in to see if Lizzie was decent, then ushered their elder brother in. Lizzie took one look at him and turned her back.

“Show me your feet,” he ordered.

“It's got nowt to do with you.”

He put one hand on her shoulder, surprised at how bony it felt, and turned her round. When he knelt to examine her feet, he was shocked at what he saw. “Eeh, lass, why didn't you say something sooner?”

“I
did!
I told Mam.”

From downstairs, Meg listened in fury to the exchange. Trust Lizzie to put her in the wrong! From her fear of getting on the wrong side of her son, a new grievance against her eldest daughter was born. A grievance that festered within her.

Percy stood up. “I'll go and get some methylated spirit. You'll need to dab it on night and morning till your feet harden up.” He gave Lizzie a quick hug by way of an apology, then went off to get the bottle from his father's shelf of tools.

After he'd taken it upstairs, he got out one of his books but couldn't settle to it. What was the point? He'd never get that schooling now, never lift himself “out of the ranks,” as the foreman, an old soldier, called it.

He sat there for a long time, staring into the fire, wishing he had his father to talk to and ask advice of. His mother couldn't say a good word for Lizzie and yet his little sister had cheerfully gone out and got herself a job to help the family. Well, it was up to him to keep an eye on things from now on. Lizzie could be a bit silly at times and was definitely wilful, but she had a good heart. And she'd miss their father more than anyone. Except Mam, of course.

The book lay unheeded on his lap, but when Eva came to hang Lizzie's socks over the fireguard, he picked it up again and pretended to read. He didn't want to discuss his mother with her, didn't want to do anything but sit quietly by the fire tonight. When the two youngest children came in from playing out, Eva gave them a jam butty each and sent them off to bed, warning Polly not to wake Lizzie, then sat down opposite him.

“It's not going to be easy, is it?” she said, showing that she, too, did not have her mind on her book.

“No.”

“Mam isn't very good at coping, is she?”

“No. She relied on Dad a lot.”

Eva looked at him, her face set firm and looking older than her years. “I'd better tell you now that I'm determined to get a decent education, Percy.”

He looked across at her. “We'll have to see how we go with the lodgers. But maybe—”

“I'm still in for a scholarship. I know I have no hope of becoming a teacher now, but even an offer of a place at secondary school might help me to get something better later.”

“Maybe you could train for clerical work,” he offered.

“Maybe.” Anything would be better than working at Pilby's. She agreed with Lizzie about that.

She would talk it over with Miss Blake, Eva decided as she sat staring into the fire. Maybe her teacher would have some idea what else she could do. A smile curved her lips at the thought of going to work at Miss Blake's neat little cottage on Saturdays. It was a bit of a walk out of town and she didn't have a bicycle like her teacher did, but it'd be worth it. And in the meantime she'd better get on with her reading. Miss Blake said you couldn't know too much. She went to sit at the table, where the gas light shone brightest.

If Percy had looked at her, he'd have seen signs of the strong woman she would one day become. But he didn't. He was too engrossed in his own worries.

Upstairs, Lizzie turned her back on her younger sister and snarled at Polly to leave her alone, then sobbed herself to sleep. Mrs. D, as all the employees called her, had given her the slippers to keep and a packet of sticking plasters for under the new shoes. On Monday she'd start her first full week, doing afternoons again because it suited her employer. But Mrs. D's kindness only showed her how little her own mother cared. And that was what she was crying about.

Chapter Five

September–December 1908

The following Monday morning, after everyone had left, there was a knock on the front door of number thirty Bobbin Lane. “What next?” Meg sighed and went to answer it, to find two ladies standing on the doorstep. They were well-dressed by local standards. Meg stiffened. She didn't need charity from anyone.