Our Lizzie (3 page)

For once, she was glad to go to bed. She hesitated in the hall, then whispered, “Good night, Dad!” not liking to leave him on his own.

Years afterwards, Lizzie realised she'd suddenly and very painfully left her carefree childhood behind her that night. Afterwards, things were never the same. And she was never the same, either.

*   *   *

Gertrude Reed turned up for Bonamy Harper's funeral in a brand-new motor car. As an affluent widow, she could afford to indulge herself in such luxuries—and the gardener was only too happy to drive her around.

Afterwards she came back to the house and took a quick cup of tea with her nieces, questioning them about why her brother's funeral had been such a shabby affair, with no one invited back for refreshments afterwards.

Emma explained about the debts and the sale.

There was a long silence, followed by, “You'll have to come and live with me, then, I suppose. I can let the parlourmaid go and you two can take over her duties. She's always been a flighty piece. Mind, I'll expect the cleaning to be done thoroughly.”

Emma tried not to let her indignation show. “We're grateful for your offer, Aunt Gertrude, but we'd rather find somewhere of our own to live, thank you.”

“You can't afford it on Blanche's fifty pounds a year, and I'm not giving you any money. You're used to living in some style and comfort, not dwelling in the slums.”

“We're not used to that much comfort, actually.” Emma held her aunt's gaze. “Father was very stingy with us towards the end.”

“Nonetheless, you'll come to me.” Gertrude heaved herself to her feet and glared at them. “It wouldn't be fitting for a Harper to live somewhere like Southlea.” She added sharply, “And I'd have expected a bit of gratitude from you, I would indeed. Beggars can't afford to be choosers.”

It was Blanche who stepped forward then, surprising herself as much as the others, for she was usually the quiet one. “As Emma has told you, Aunt, we
both
prefer to live on our own. And—and we don't appreciate being bullied.”

“Bullied!
Bullied!
How dare you speak to me like that? Apologise at once.”

Blanche shook her head.

“Then you can get yourselves out of this mess.” Gertrude stormed from the room, pausing in the hallway, expecting one of them to run after her, but neither moved. So she muttered something and left. They'd soon realise which side their bread was buttered on.

*   *   *

Both the Harper sisters were delighted with the results of the sales. And Sam was equally delighted with his share, but that didn't stop him accepting the gift of Bonamy Harper's second pocket watch, a battered silver piece, in return for his help.

“Silly buggers!” he said as he walked home. Then, as his fingers stroked the watch case, he grew thoughtful. “I wonder if they have owt else tucked away? Old Mrs. Harper used to have quite a few pieces of jewellery. I reckon I'd better keep an eye on them two. They may need my help again.” He threw back his head and laughed, chuckling all the way home at his own cleverness.

Chapter Two

After Stanley Kershaw's funeral was over, the invited guests walked back from the cemetery behind the widow and her family, their faces solemn and their conversation subdued.

When they reached Bobbin Lane, they relaxed a little, however, and everyone came into number thirty to offer their advice to the bereaved family and enjoy the feast to which all the neighbours had contributed a plate of something. The family had provided great platters of sandwiches containing wafer thin slices of ham, because it was unthinkable to Meg that her Stanley should not have the dignity of being “buried with ham,” as folk called it. When Percy had remonstrated about this extravagance, given their reduced income, she had burst into tears and insisted on it, getting so hysterical he had given in.

Lizzie had survived the funeral by feeling angry. She stayed angry, hating the crowd of people sitting or standing in the front room, clustering in the kitchen and spilling out on to the doorstep.

Percy hovered near their mother, who was looking white and ill in her black skirt and blouse, bought second-hand from Pettit's pawnbroker's, for Meg had also been adamant about being properly attired in her grief. She kept an eye on what was happening around her while she tried to listen politely to Mrs. Preston from across the street, who didn't seem to have stopped talking since they got back from the cemetery.

When Eva came over to join them, Meg slipped her arm round her daughter's shoulders. She felt Eva tense up, because she wasn't one for cuddling, but then her arm went round her mother's waist and Meg sighed in gratitude for this unspoken support. Folk said you shouldn't have favourites, but how could you help it? This child had been easy to bear and easy to rear, unlike Lizzie. She and Stanley had had such hopes for their clever second daughter.

“They'll be a comfort to you.” Mrs. Preston stuffed another sandwich into her mouth, wishing the ham were cut a bit thicker. Meg watched her wagging her head up and down as she chewed it, like a fat old hen pecking at scattered grain, and nodded weary agreement. “Yes.”

“And your Percy's old enough to bring in a man's wage, at least. He's a good son, that one is. He'll look after you.”

Meg nodded again. People had been saying that to her ever since Stanley was killed. As if it helped. As if anything could help now. She had lain sleepless in her bed last night, absolutely terrified of the responsibilities she'd now have to shoulder.

“Good thing you was in the Funeral Club, eh? They put on a nice penny funeral, don't they?”

Meg breathed deeply. Of course everyone knew how much their neighbours spent on this and that, but only Fanny Preston would have said it aloud.

At last the neighbours began to leave, one after the other murmuring ritual phrases of encouragement to the widow and taking with them their plates, cups and chairs, lent for the occasion.

When the last person—Fanny Preston, of course!—had closed the front door behind her, Meg sighed and said in a tight, hard voice, “Let's go and sit in the kitchen, shall we, Eva?”

There they found the door to the back scullery open, and Polly and Lizzie washing up, with little Johnny putting the cups and plates away.

Meg straightened her shoulders and tried to look calm. “We have to t-talk about how we're going to manage. When you've finished the washing up, c-come and sit down at the table with me, all of you.”

*   *   *

Lizzie, who was still standing near the sink, looked up quickly. Mam only stuttered when she was nervous. She watched her mother hesitate, then move to take Dad's place at the head of the table. She saw how Mam's hand lingered for a moment on the chair back before she pulled it out, and how her face twisted as she sat down and dragged the chair back up to the table.

When they'd all sat down, that left one empty chair and somehow they couldn't help staring at it. Percy muttered something and got up to shove it into the corner. When he sat down again, Lizzie saw that his eyes were bright with unshed tears and felt her own fill up yet again.

It was Percy who broke the silence. “I've got some savings, Mam. We'll be all right for a bit.”

“That money's for your schooling, Percy.”

He looked at his mother, his expression bleak. “We both know there'll be no more schooling for me, not now.”

It was then that Lizzie suddenly realised why everyone kept calling her “poor child.” It hadn't occurred to her before that they'd have to manage without her dad's weekly wage packet. Some of the children at school came from really poor families. They didn't have any sandwiches to eat at lunchtime and weren't allowed to go home, either, so they just hung around the playground, grateful for any scraps they could scrounge and willing to do the silliest tricks if rewarded by a mouthful of food. Horror flooded through her. Would the Kershaws go short of food now?

“I've been thinking hard, trying to work it out,” Meg said at last, and if her voice wobbled a bit, no one let on they'd noticed. “We're going to miss your dad's money coming in, so I think the best thing will be to take in lodgers. If you boys go up into the attic, I can have your room and we can fit a couple in.”

Lizzie frowned. With three bedrooms on the first floor they'd never needed the old weavers' attic, so had used the big space upstairs only to dry clothes on wet days and the smaller attic next to it to store a few bits and pieces. It'd be cold up there.

“We could move to a smaller house, then we could manage on my money,” Percy offered.

Meg sucked in her breath sharply. “
No
. I'd do anything rather than move from here.
Anything
. It'd be like l-losing the last memories of my Stanley. And anyhow, there'll be no need to m-move if we can get some lodgers.”

Percy patted her hand. “All right, Mam. All right. An' I've got a steady job, so we don't need to panic.”

Lizzie suddenly realised how she could help. “I could get a job, too. I turn thirteen this year, so they'd let me go half-time at school.”

“No!” This time two voices spoke as one, her mother's and Percy's.

“Why not?” She hated school, always had, hated being trapped behind a desk, having to waste time chanting silly rhymes and tables.

Her mother's voice was quiet and tired. “Because—as you very well know, young lady—your dad wanted both you girls to get a good schooling, go on to do a secretarial course, perhaps, or,” she looked at Eva, “learn to be a teacher, even.”

Lizzie hung her head and confessed, “I can't do that, Mam. I'm not a good enough scholar. An' anyway, I don't like school. I'd
rather
start work.”

There was silence, then Percy said, “But perhaps if you tried harder—”

She scowled across at him. “I
can't
try harder! I'm no good at lessons, an' I'm not interested in them stuffy old books! It's our Eva what likes that sort of thing, not me. She's the teacher's pet, she is. Miss Blake hates me.”

Percy sighed. “Dad would be so disappointed, Lizzie. He had his heart set on his girls bettering themselves.”

Lizzie could feel tears spill from the corners of her eyes and blinked rapidly to prevent more forming, sagging in relief as someone knocked on the front door and attention shifted from her.

Meg sighed. “You'd think they'd leave us alone now the funeral's over.”

Percy stood up. “I'll go an' see who it is, Mam.”

There was the sound of voices, then he came back with Sam Thoxby, who had been in and out of the house ever since the accident, helping, though he hadn't come to the funeral itself, even though it was a Saturday, due to a “prior engagement” with a man who was buying some of the Harpers' remaining bits and pieces.

He bobbed his head at Meg. “Sorry to intrude at a time like this, Mrs. Kershaw, but I have a bit of good news for you. At least, I think it's good news.”

“Come in. Polly, get Sam that other chair.”

His eyes flickered briefly towards Lizzie and she glared at him. He needn't think she'd forgiven him for interfering between her and Mary, because she hadn't.

He smiled and turned back to her mother. “I know you'll be a bit short of money now, Mrs. Kershaw, and I was speaking to the foreman yesterday. They need help in the packing room. They'd be willing to take your Lizzie on half-time, till she can leave school. See how she goes, like.”

Lizzie stared at him in horror. If she went to work at Pilby's, she'd never be out of sight of Percy—or of Sam. And anyway, she hated Pilby's. The works were big and dark, even worse than school. She'd feel trapped if she had to spend her days shut up in there.

She bounced to her feet and set her hands on her hips. “Well, I don't
want
to work at Pilby's!” As she caught sight of Percy's shocked face, she tossed her head. “An' I'm not goin' to, so there!”

Her mother jerked upright. “
Lizzie Kershaw!
Apologise at once for talking to Sam like that.”

Lizzie pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Meg's expression promised later retribution as she turned towards her visitor. “She's not thinking straight at the moment, Sam. Can we let you know tomorrow?”

“Aye, of course.” He stood up, hesitating in the doorway, not wanting to leave. There was a sense of togetherness in the room that he envied, something he'd never had in his own home, though his gran did her best for him. His house had never been shiny with polish like this one, nor had Gran ever done much cooking. She preferred to get fish and chips from down the road—which people like Mrs. Kershaw considered “common”—or a hot pie from the baker's. He'd often made his tea on jam butties in his childhood, or just plain bread sometimes. But Gran had always found him something to eat, he'd give her that, and in return he would never let her want as long as she lived.

Hardly had Sam left than there was another knock on the front door, a loud one this time, repeated almost immediately. Lizzie went to open it. “It's Mr. Cuttler, Mam!” she called from the hall, to give them warning.

The rent man came in. “Sorry about your trouble, Mrs. Kershaw. I need to know if you'll be staying on here or wanting somewhere smaller? I have another place just come empty down in Mill Road. Cheaper than this.”

“We'll be staying here, if that's all right, Mr. Cuttler? I'm going to take in lodgers, so we'll need the extra space.”

He shrugged. “All right by me.” He jingled his leather satchel meaningfully. “Might as well collect the rent while I'm here, eh? It's due today.”

Meg went and put her hand up on the mantelpiece, feeling for the coins, frowning when she didn't find them. “I know I put them up here.” She fumbled further along for her purse and couldn't find that either. In sudden panic, she turned to Percy. “I
did
put the rent here! And my purse has gone, too.”