Our Lizzie (14 page)

Sam nudged him. “Get on with it!”

But he couldn't. He just couldn't. He thought he heard someone coming along the street and his blood ran cold. “It's stolen, isn't it? This stuff?”

His companion's teeth shone briefly for a moment in the fitful moonlight as he smiled. “I wouldn't know. All I care about is it's going cheap an' I can make a profit.”

“I can't do it, Sam. I just can't.”

Sam grabbed his arm. “What do you mean, you can't do it? We'll be finished in half an hour. Money for old rope.”

But for once Percy wasn't to be persuaded. “No. I'm not doing owt dishonest.”

The stranger came over to them. “What's up with him?”

“He's got a belly-ache.” Sam's fist jabbed suddenly into Percy's belly and he folded up in pain. “Groan!” a voice hissed in his ear. “Or he'll bash your brains in.”

So Percy groaned.

Sam clapped the stranger on the back. “Ah, we'll manage fine without him. I shoulda knowed he'd get the gripes. He allus does when he's nervous. I shan't offer him work again.” He turned to Percy. “An' don't come to me for payment afterwards.”

Percy turned and left abruptly, rushing off down the alley as if a pack of wild dogs was after him. Behind him, he heard laughter. When he saw someone coming down the street towards him, he forced himself to slow down and even nod a hello. But the man was drunk and greeting all the world, no one he knew, thank goodness.

He shivered all the way home and at every step half-expected a policeman to jump out from a dark doorway and ask what he was doing out so late. As he lay in the bed, vainly trying to fall asleep, all he could think of was that he would never, ever do business with Sam again. Did his friend often deal in stolen goods? Surely not?

Sam offered him a chance to make money several times after that. “Guaranteed honest,” he said with a mocking grin each time.

But Percy just shook his head. “Buying and selling isn't my sort of thing.”

“I thought you needed extra money for your Eva?”

“We're managing, thank you.”

After that, Percy went less often to the Carter's Rest. They were a rough crowd down there. And anyway, he was thinking of doing some studying at night classes. Emma (she said it was silly to keep calling her “Miss Emma” when they were both folk who worked for their living) had told him there were some good classes being put on in the coming year. Elementary Bookkeeping, perhaps. He liked figures. Or Principles of Commerce. Not that a chap like him would ever get much chance to use such knowledge, but as Emma said, you could enjoy learning things for their own sake. And it'd cost no more than going to the pub.

She was learning shorthand now, because she didn't like the office where she worked, even though she'd learned a lot there. They were real slave drivers, apparently, the Sevleys, and the conditions in the yard outside were appalling, with rats running freely in the back privvy they all had to use. She was looking for another job.

He both liked and admired their younger lodger. She was lively and pretty, kind to the children, especially Lizzie, who was often in the wars with their mother for something or other, poor lass.

*   *   *

Emma Harper dressed very carefully the next morning and for once could not face eating any of the breakfast which she had brought up to the attic on a tray because Blanche was at that delicate time of the month and wasn't feeling too well. Emma had asked Lizzie to call in at Sevley's on her way to Dearden's and tell them she was sick. She certainly felt sick at the moment, she was so nervous about the coming interview.

Millie Aspinall had told her about this job a few days ago. The man was a builder and needed more than just clerical help. He wanted someone who could speak nicely to clients when they came to his office. He'd apparently tried having a lad on the front desk and it hadn't worked. And his last typist had left in tears when he swore at her.

Well, he'd better not swear at me, Emma decided. I won't take that sort of language from anyone.

The builder's yard was about a mile away. She arrived there early, but decided to go inside anyway. They surely wouldn't count punctuality a fault!

When she opened the front door, she found herself in a large, untidy room with no one to be seen. She waited a few moments, then cleared her throat loudly. Still no one appeared. “Is anyone there?” she called as the silence dragged on, her voice a bit wobbly with nervousness.

Just as she was wondering whether she'd made a mistake about the time, she heard footsteps from the back. The man who appeared looked to be in his mid-thirties, with a ruddy, healthy face and a shock of dark hair in dire need of a trim. He had such a confident air about him that she decided he must be Mr. Cardwell, the owner.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, madam. The lad seems to have left his post. How can I help you?”

“I—er—I'm not a customer. My name's Emma Harper and I've come about the job. Miss Aspinall recommended me, I believe.”

“Oh, yes.”

He looked at her then, really looked, and his frown deepened. Her heart sank because he didn't seem pleased by what he saw.

“This isn't a job for a lady to play at.”

She gasped in shock. “
Play at!
I'm not playing at anything, I can assure you, Mr. Cardwell. You
are
Mr. James Cardwell?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I really need this job.”

His eyes lingered on her dress. “You don't exactly look poverty-stricken to me. That's a rather fine dress for a clerk.” As fine as those his wife wore, though more flattering. You could always tell a quality material. Mind you, anything would be more flattering than what Edith wore. She had a real talent for picking unflattering shades of pink and dresses which made her hips look even bigger than they were.

Emma had come prepared to be subservient, to do her very best to give satisfaction, but this remark made her angry, as did the way he was staring at her. She might as well stay at Sevley's as take on another unpleasant employer. “I wouldn't be in need of a job if my father hadn't wasted all our money and then died leaving us in debt. And I'm wearing this dress because I can't afford to buy any new ones. It's left over from
better days
, when I did have the right to call myself a lady. Which I don't now. However, if you have no job going, I'll take my leave. I certainly can't afford to waste my time.” She only hoped no one told Mr. Sevley they'd seen her in town today or she'd lose her present job as well.

As she turned away, Mr. Cardwell moved to bar the way. “I didn't say there wasn't a job going, only that you didn't look suitable.”

“And if I were wearing ragged clothes, I
would
be suitable?”

“Well, at least I'd know I'd get a good day's work out of you. Hunger makes for good workers.”

Emma drew herself up and could not stop her voice from sounding bitter. “You're not even going to give me a chance, are you?”

“I haven't decided.”

His eyes were on her again, but not in an offensive way, rather as if he were still assessing her. She held her breath. Please, she thought, please let him give me a chance! He may be blunt, but at least he doesn't look at me in that horrible, leering way Mr. Sevley does.

Suddenly he stuck out one hand. “Let's start again, shall we? How do you do? I'm James Cardwell.”

She stared at his hand for a moment, then shook it, surprised at how warm and strong it felt.

“Come in and tell me what you can do, Miss Emma Harper.” He grinned mockingly.

A spurt of anger made her speak as bluntly as he did. “For a start, I can keep this place clean and tidy for you. I'm amazed you have
any
customers if this is what greets them when they walk through that door.”

“You don't mind getting your hands dirty, then?”

“I don't mind any honest work, Mr. Cardwell, if it pays.” She fumbled in her bag to produce the reference from her friend. “If you'd like to see what—”

“I asked for someone who was good at her work. If Millie Aspinall's sent you, I've no need to read that piece of paper as well.”

A man clumped in from the back, his muddy boots dirtying the bare boards still further. “I need you outside, James lad. Young Nat's fell over an' broke his arm so Tim's took him to hospital. But we've still got that stuff to sort out.”

“Damnation! How did the young tyke manage that?”

“Climbing on the pile of green timber.”

“I'll tan his bloody hide for him when he gets back, broken arm or not.”

Emma breathed deeply and concentrated on the wallpaper. It was not for an employee to criticise her employer's mode of speech, not if she wanted the job.

Mr. Cardwell let out a long, aggrieved sigh. “Right, then, Walter. I'll be out in a minute.” He turned to Emma. “I'll give you a week's trial. A pound a week.
If
you're good enough.” He was already moving towards the back door. “I'll have to leave you to hold the fort.”

“But—what do you want me to do?”

“Do owt you can until I get back.” He turned to give her another of his cheeky grins. “Use your initiative, Miss Harper. Prove you've got some. You'll certainly need it if you're going to work for me.”

She stood there in the bare room, feeling stunned and not at all sure now that she wanted this particular job. Mr. Cardwell was—well, unlike anyone she'd ever met before. But if he meant what he said, a pound a week was better than seventeen shillings, the princely amount her wages had risen to at Sevley's.

There was a noise from the back yard and she hurried out to see what was happening. She was just in time to see a motor lorry loaded with timber pulling out of some gates at the rear. When it had gone, its chugging fading gradually into the distance, there was no sound and no movement at all.

“Is anyone there?” she called across the yard.

There was no answer.

She shivered in the damp, chill wind and went back inside, turning in a full circle to study the front room. What a dreadful, untidy place! This was no way to greet customers! Feeling like an intruder, she went exploring the rest of the old house. The door she had already gone through led out to the back yard through a narrow passage and there was another room opening out of it, full of boxes and pieces of wooden moulding and who knew what else. The room Mr. Cardwell had appeared from was his office. It had drawings of houses pinned to the walls, a big sloping desk by the window and mounds of paper all over the other desk and the floor. She tutted under her breath at the mess.

On the other side, she found another room whose dusty floorboards barely showed beneath boxes of all shapes and sizes. Screws spilled out of one, pieces of sandpaper lay on top of another.

The final door opened on to a second narrow passageway. Stairs led up on one side and at the rear she found a small kitchen, in a disgusting state, with unwashed cups and saucers piled in the sink and on the table, and in one corner a dirty gas stove with a blackened kettle on it. Among the crockery on the table was a cracked jug containing sour milk. She poured that down the sink at once, hating its smell, filling the jug with water from the tap to soak off the yellowing crust.

On the other side of the kitchen another door led out into the big back yard and to the left, just outside, there was a small lavatory. Feeling guilty, like an intruder, she used it while the place was quiet, then went back inside.

When James Cardwell came stamping in two hours later, clearly not in the best of humours, he found the floor swept and Miss Harper sitting behind the table that was supposed to serve as a desk, her neat ankles showing beneath it, her head with its shining, honey-coloured hair bent over a pile of papers which she seemed to be sorting out. The draught of the door opening made some of the top papers shift and she squeaked in dismay as she tried to hold them down.

He nodded his approval. “Well, I see you're settling in. Any chance of a cup of tea? There's a kitchen at the back.” He jerked his head in the appropriate direction.

“I've already explored the ground floor, Mr. Cardwell, and washed up the dirty dishes in the kitchen.” She stood up and used the receipt book and a ruler to hold down the piles of paper. “I'll bring your tea through to you when it's ready.”

“Walter would probably fancy a cup, too.”

“I'll take one out to him as well, then.”

“We both like plenty of sugar. Three good spoonsful. Oh—and don't forget to make one for yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cardwell.”

“And after that,” he grinned at her, his eyes full of mockery, “you can finish clearing up this desk.”

Her eyes met his and she felt exhilaration course through her. “Thank you. I'll try to satisfy you, Mr. Cardwell. I—I really do need a job. But I'll have to give a week's notice at Sevley's, I'm afraid.”

His smile faded. “Do you really have to? I need you here.”

“Yes, I do have to. It's only fair.”

“I suppose so.”

“But I can stay and help you today.” A blush stained her cheeks. “I'm afraid I sent word to Mrs. Sevley that I was indisposed.”

He roared with laughter. “Indisposed! All right, I'll pay you for today's work, then you can let me know when you'll be able to start.” Edith wouldn't like him hiring a pretty young woman to do the office work, but then, his wife didn't like anything very much since she'd had their second child, him included. His lips tightened at the thought of her. She'd brought him money, and ownership of this yard, but she hadn't brought him much joy. And she wasn't even a good mother, either, preferring to go out and have endless cups of tea and eat cakes with her gossipy friends, leaving the children to the maids. Which was probably why they couldn't keep their maids for long.