The House by Princes Park (7 page)

It was going to be another scorching day, already hot as Ruby ran along the edge of the fields planted with an assortment of crops. Mr Humble’s farm wasn’t big, more a smallholding. He had a few cows, a few sheep, a few pigs, quite a lot of hens, a plough horse called Waterloo, a downtrodden wife, five grown-up children who had left home – ‘And who could blame them?’ said Emily – and a farmhand called Jacob whom Ruby found quite interesting, mainly because he was the only other young person she knew.

Jacob Veering was eighteen, not enormously tall, but broad and solid, with hair a lovely buttery shade and eyes the colour of bluebells. He was very dirty, very handsome, and also, said Emily, a bastard. ‘Just like you, I expect,’ she added.

Ruby had looked up ‘bastard’ in the dictionary. It meant
‘illegitimate’, so she looked
that
up, and it meant ‘out of wedlock’. Wedlock meant, ‘in a wedded state’. By this time, Ruby had rather lost track and given up.

Jacob’s mother lived in a little cottage opposite Kirkby church. Her name was Ruth, and she was a ‘fey creature’, according to Emily, supporting herself by making coloured candles that were sold in big shops like George Henry Lee’s and Henderson’s. She wasn’t interested in Jacob, and he’d lived on Humble’s Farm over Waterloo’s stable since he was twelve.

‘Is Jacob a Catholic?’ Ruby enquired. ‘So I can talk to him?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Ruby, dear. You can talk to Jacob if he’s a heathen, which I suspect he is.’

Mrs Humble was collecting eggs when Ruby arrived, out of breath having run all the way. Everywhere in the area of the farmyard was thick with dirt and smelled strongly of manure, particularly when it was hot. Ruby dreaded to think what it would be like in winter when it might smell less, but the caked dirt would turn to mud.

‘The usual?’ Mrs Humble asked in her sad, beaten voice. She was as bent as an old woman, yet only forty-nine. She wore a frayed shawl, holding the ends together with a gnarled, red hand.

‘Yes, please. Six eggs and a jug of milk.’

‘Jacob’s doing the milking right now.’

‘I’ll just say good morning.’

Ruby approached the cowshed on tiptoe, though wasn’t sure why. Unusually for her, she felt nervous around Jacob. He was polite, but a bit reserved, and she always got the feeling she was in the way. She reached the door and said shyly, ‘Hello.’

Jacob wore grubby corduroy trousers tied up with a rope and a frayed collarless shirt with half the sleeves cut off. His arms and face were very brown and his unlaced boots were planted in the straw, as if he’d grown there like
a tree. He didn’t look up from the task of pulling expertly at the teats of a black and white cow, each teat squirting a thin stream of creamy milk into a metal bucket.

‘Hello,’ he said, in a voice that wasn’t exactly friendly, but wasn’t unfriendly, either.

‘It’s a nice morning.’

‘Known few better,’ he grunted.

Ruby searched her mind for something to say. Jacob never started a conversation, only speaking when he was spoken to. ‘Do you ever listen to the wireless?’ she enquired.

‘Haven’t got one,’ Jacob replied.

‘We’ve got one in the house. And a gramophone, too.’

‘Have you, now.’

‘They play music. Do you like music?’

‘Music’s all right,’ Jacob conceded.

‘You can come and listen, if you like. Come on Saturday, after six o’clock. Emily’s going to the theatre – that’s a place that puts on plays,’ she added, in case Jacob didn’t know.

Jacob showed no sign of having known or not. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.

Mrs Humble came in with a ladle, scooped milk from the bucket and poured it into Ruby’s jug. ‘The eggs are ready,’ she said dully.

‘Ta.’ Ruby looked anxiously at Jacob. ‘See you Saturday?’

‘You might.’ He still didn’t look up.

Ruby sighed and made her way slowly back to Brambles, where Mrs Arkwright, the cook, was just hoisting her stout, perspiring body off her bike.

‘Got the eggs and milk,’ Ruby announced.

‘Have you, now,’ Mrs Arkwright replied, tight-lipped, before wheeling the bike round to the back. Ruby followed. The two didn’t get on. Months ago, on Ruby’s first visit to the kitchen, she had helpfully pointed out the
ham currently boiling on the stove would taste better with the addition of a bay leaf – something she had learnt in the convent – and Mrs Arkwright immediately saw her as a threat, intent on taking over her job if she wasn’t careful. From thereon, Ruby was discouraged from entering the kitchen.

The cleaner, Mrs Roberts, was just as discouraging. She was old and weary and made it obvious that Ruby’s constant chatter got on her nerves.

At least Ernest, the gardener, was friendly, even if he couldn’t hear a word she said, being totally deaf. He’d thrown a rope over one of the apple trees to make a swing.

Ruby was badly in need of a friend. She found the countryside very dull. There was plenty to do, but she would have liked someone to do it with – she got no satisfaction from playing in the orchard by herself. Tennis was frustrating when there was no one to hit the ball back. She wondered if it was too late to agree to school, though she’d like to bet it was full of posh girls whom she wouldn’t like and she’d regret it straight away. If only Emily would
make
her go. There was a world of difference between being made to do something you didn’t want, and taking the decision yourself. If it turned out horrid you had someone else to blame.

She went through the kitchen, deposited the eggs and milk on the table and made a face at Mrs Arkwright’s disapproving back.

For the next half hour, she studied the dictionary in Emily’s late husband’s study. Edwin Dangerfield had been a solicitor specialising in conveyancing which meant transferring things, usually property – Ruby had looked it up. The dictionary was her favourite book and every day she learnt six useful words. Last week, she’d reached ‘B’. She was wondering if there was any point in remembering ‘bacterium’, when she heard Mrs Arkwright make her heavy way upstairs with her employer’s morning coffee.
She put the book away and, as soon as the cook came down, she flew up the stairs to see Emily.

‘Oh, Gawd!’ Emily groaned when Ruby put her smiling face around the door. ‘You look inordinately cheerful and so bloody
young!
You make me feel at least a hundred. What’s it like outside? I told Arky not to open the curtains. My head’s splitting from last night.’ Last night, the Rowland-Graves had held a dinner party.

‘It’s nice outside, sunny and warm.’

Emily winced. ‘I’d prefer it dull and cold.’

‘I thought we could go shopping,’ Ruby said hopefully as she sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Sorry, dear. I’m going to a garden party this afternoon. I’m urgently in need of a rejuvenating bath and you know how long it takes me to get ready.’

It took hours of massaging the sagging skin, painting the ageing face, teasing the dyed hair into a satisfactory style, trying on at least a dozen outfits, deciding which shoes went best with the frock or costume that had been chosen, searching for appropriate jewellery, the most flattering hat.

‘I need new shoes,’ Ruby growled. ‘All the ones I’ve got now are too small.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Emily bit her lip, feeling guilty that she was neglecting the girl. If Mim and Ronnie Rowland-Graves hadn’t appeared on the scene, Emily would have leapt at the idea of shopping for shoes. But to her everlasting relief, Mim and Ronnie had. They’d led a fast, slightly
risqué
life in India and were set on doing the same in England. In their early fifties, their main aim in life was to have a good time. They paid no regard to the married status of their guests, nor their ages, as long as they shared their quest for excitement, which involved drinking too much, engaging in spicy conversation, and even spicier party games, all of which would have shocked Edwin to the bones were he still alive.

She stared at Ruby’s thin face, no longer cheerful, still
looking as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in ages, and wondered if she was lonely by herself for so much of the time. Emily couldn’t possibly have taken her to the Rowland-Graves’s, which was no place for a young girl. She had an idea. ‘If you like, later, I’ll drop you off at Kirkby station and you can go to Liverpool and buy shoes yourself.’

Ruby couldn’t have been more delighted had she been offered the Crown Jewels. She leapt off the bed and danced around the room. ‘
Can
I? Oh,
can
I? Oh, Emily, I’d
love
to. I’ve never been on a train. What time are you leaving? Shall I get changed?’

‘But how will you get home from the station?’ Emily was already wishing she hadn’t been quite so hasty. Was she being irresponsible? No, she decided after a few seconds’ thought. Had Ruby gone into service, she would have been given all sorts of onerous tasks to do, shopping among them. It would do the girl good to go out by herself.

‘I’ll walk home from the station. It’s not far, only a few miles,’ Ruby said fervently, her big, dark eyes suddenly anxious that the wonderful treat might be denied.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely certain.’

The big train came charging into Kirkby station like a monster, snorting clouds of dirty smoke. Ruby, in her best dress – white, patterned with rosebuds – climbed into a carriage, hugging herself with glee. She had two ten-shilling notes folded in her purse, as well as a further five shillings in coins for her fare and any other expenses that might occur.

All the way to Liverpool, much to the irritation of the only other passenger, a woman, she flew from one side of the carriage to the other to look at the view, at the way it changed from soft green fields to rows of cramped brick
houses then to a forest of factories before drawing into Exchange station where she got off, marvelling at the vastness of the building and the steaming, panting trains.

Happiness bounced like a ball in Ruby’s chest as she made her way through the crowded, vibrant city to Lewis’s department store where, feeling terribly important, she bought a pair of Clarks’ sandals for four and eleven, and black patent leather shoes with a strap and button for seven and six. It had been
almost
true to claim she’d grown out of the shoes she already had. She’d said it in an attempt to persuade Emily to take her shopping. And it had worked better than she’d hoped. It was nice being on her own, able to go where she pleased, not having to keep retreating to the Adelphi Hotel for coffee and a cigarette, as Emily felt the need to do.

Emerging from Lewis’s, she stood on the busy pavement, buffeted by the crowds, breathing in the choking fumes and the various smells that she liked better than those of the country, wondering where to go next. Not back to Kirkby, it was too early.

She wandered along, starry-eyed, looking in shop windows – window-shopping Emily called it. Blacklers had a display of frocks and one in particular caught Ruby’s eye: navy blue with bold red spots, it had a frilly neck with a red bow and flared sleeves like little skirts, and was only one and elevenpence, about a quarter of what Emily usually paid. It was a lady’s frock, not a child’s, but Ruby was tall enough to wear it. She went inside and tried it on, twirling around in front of the cubicle mirror.

‘It looks the gear on you, luv,’ the assistant said.

‘I’ll take it.’ The frock was calf-length, whereas all her others came to just below the knees. She thought it made her look very adult. She handed the assistant half a crown which was sent whizzing high across the shop in a little tube attached to a wire towards a woman in a glass case who removed the tube and, a minute later, Ruby’s change
whizzed back with the bill. She never ceased to be facinated by this process.

Outside again, she decided to wear the frock on Saturday in case Jacob came. She crossed the road, dodging through the traffic, and just missed being mown down by a tramcar with Number 1 and its destination, Dingle, on the front.

‘Dingle’. She said the word aloud. It sounded pretty, like something out of a fairy-tale. She noticed that the tram had stopped and people were getting on. It took barely a second for Ruby to decide to get on with them. She’d always wanted to ride on a tram. She climbed to the top and sat on the hard front seat, which gave a perfect view.

The tram set off, clicking noisily along the lines, swerving round bends, breaking suddenly, when a queue appeared, waiting to board. Ruby clutched her parcels with one hand, and held on to the edge of her seat with the other, worried she might be thrown through the window as the tram rocked dangerously from side to side. They passed the soaring tower of the Protestant cathedral which had been started in the last century but still wasn’t finished.

The conductor came. Ruby bought a penny ticket which would take her all the way to the Dingle. ‘Will you tell me when we get there?’ She’d heard him shouting the names of the stops.

‘You’ll know, luv. We don’t go no further than the Dingle.’

The tram was rolling along a long, colourful and very busy road, full of traffic and lined with every conceivable sort of shop, interrupted frequently by little streets of terraced houses. Groups of men lounged outside the pubs that seemed to be on every corner, hands in pockets, idle. Women chatted eagerly over their bags of shopping,
children hanging on to their skirts or chasing each other up and down the pavements, in and out of the shops.

Ruby’s eyes were everywhere, taking it all in, the way the women were dressed, some almost as smart as Emily, some with shawls over their heads like poor Mrs Humble. There were men in suits and bowler hats, and jackletless men with braces showing, no collars to their shirts, tieless. She saw scrubbed, neatly dressed children, glowing with health, and felt a surge of pity when she saw the scabby-faced mites with bare, dirty feet who were much too thin.

It was like being at the very hub of the universe and Ruby, clutching the seat, knew with utter certainty that this was where she belonged: amid people, noise, and city smells. She felt at home in the clutter of the busy streets in a way she never would in Kirkby where there wasn’t another house in sight.