Our Lizzie (39 page)

*   *   *

Sam took off his working clothes, hurling them into a corner, still angry at the way Lizzie had flinched away from him. He hadn't hit her since she came out of hospital, had he? No, not even when she deserved it. But Josh had noticed how she cowered away from him the other day and had laughed, saying that was the way to keep a woman—afraid and obedient. Well, he wouldn't comment on Sam's wife again, by hell he wouldn't.

Still feeling angry, Sam went to sluice down his face and hands in the bathroom. Married life was a bugger, it was that. Not at all what he'd expected. Decent women were no good in bed, no good at all. He looked round. Lizzie did keep things nice, though. He'd give her that. And anyway she was his, allus had been.

*   *   *

Downstairs, Lizzie set a kettle on the stove and stirred the stew. Not until Sam came down to sit by the fire did she run upstairs to pick up his things. She gave them a vigorous shake outside the back door, as usual, then hung them out to air for an hour in the last of the sunshine before the shadows of the next row of houses stretched out to engulf the back yard and darken the scullery.

When he had finished his tea, Sam muttered something, put on his old cap and jacket, and left the house. She breathed a sigh of thankfulness and began to clear up.

“I'm not going on like this for the rest of my life,” she told the fire, poking it into a cheerful blaze. She was saving for her escape, penny by penny, because he still gave her adequate housekeeping money at least. The little hoard was hidden in the pantry, in a jar that said PICKLES on it. He didn't share her taste for vinegary things, so he'd never open it. Well, he never went in the pantry anyway, just ordered her to get him what he wanted.

She stared dreamily into the flames. One day, she'd go to some town far away, a place where he'd never think of looking for her—somewhere in the south, maybe. She'd book a ticket to Manchester and from there, she'd go to London. In a big city like that, they'd never manage to trace her, especially if—she suddenly remembered a story she'd once read—she changed her clothes in the Ladies' Waiting Room. She'd go wherever fate took her, find herself a job and another life, rent a little room and live there in peace. The thought of it made her sigh in anticipation.

As for him, he'd come home from work one day and she'd be gone—just like that, without a word of warning. And she wouldn't leave a note, either, though she'd write to let Polly and Eva know. She dreamed about that day often, how happy she'd feel, and it helped her keep going. But she hadn't yet got enough money to do it.

It'd be hard leaving her family, though, Polly especially, but it was the only way. Lizzie had come to see that now. No one must know where to find her. No one at all. That way there'd be absolutely no risk of Sam's finding out by chance where she was. Because if he did, he'd come after her and this time he'd kill her for sure.

*   *   *

“It's started,” James called from his office when he heard Emma open the front door. “They've declared war now.”

She came to the doorway and looked in at him. “I know. I heard.”

“I'm expecting a summons from the Army any day.”

“So quickly?”

“Yes. They'll have had contingency plans prepared.”

“You don't think the Germans could win?”

He looked at her soberly. “Not until all us Englishmen have been killed.”

She clutched her chest. “Oh, James.”

He smiled, but he didn't get up, because if he did, he'd be unable to resist kissing her. “It's only the good who die young, Emma love. I'm too ugly and far too wicked as well.” Especially when he thought about her. “Now, about Cardwell's…” Best concentrate on business matters. But she looked lovely this morning in that thin, summery dress, which clung to her figure more than she realised and showed off a very neat pair of ankles, too.

She blinked. It obviously hadn't occurred to her before that her job might be at risk. “Oh.”

He tapped the papers on his desk. “I want to get these signed today. All right if I put you in charge of running the business?”

“You and your jokes!”

“No joke, love.”

“Put me in charge?” Emma clutched at the doorframe, gaping. “
Me?
But surely your wife—?”

“Can't run a house without the help of servants, and even then mucks things up every time she pokes her nose into what they're doing.” And anyway, if he put Edith in charge here, she'd find an excuse to sack Emma. He knew how his dear wife's jealous little mind worked. She didn't want him herself any more, but she didn't want anyone else to have him, either. “I'll send young Nat round to my lawyer's with these notes on what I want, and you and I will take a little stroll into town later to sign the papers Mr. Finch draws up.”

He grinned at her shocked expression. “So don't go away, Emma. If we run out of stamps, or anything else, never mind. Today I want you handy.” He bent to his work again, then realised she was still there and looked up. “Something wrong?”

“James, I don't know enough to run a business like this.”

“You know more than you think. Any road, you won't be on your own. You'll have Walter to help you. At fifty-eight, he's a bit too old to go to war.” He smiled at the apprehension on her face. “But unless I mistake things, business will slow right down. Nat's too young to enlist, but Tim will probably join the Army. They'll be needing more men—a lot more. The British standing army isn't all that big, you know. Not nearly big enough to fight the nasty old Kaiser.”

“I suppose quite a few of the younger men in the town will volunteer?” She was thinking of Percy Kershaw as she spoke.

“They will. And a lot of them will get killed, too. Modern weapons can do a lot of damage to soft human bodies.” He saw the horror on her face and cursed himself for being so blunt. “Folk won't be wanting to build houses now, but barracks and munitions factories. You'll mostly have to deal with alterations and repairs, I reckon. You and Walter can handle those. And if anyone does want a whole house built, you can always say no, can't you?”

Emma's face brightened. “But couldn't you get an exemption? To build these barracks and things, I mean. You'd be more use to them doing that, surely?”

James shook his head, impatient to get on with things. “No. They'll not want barracks in a place like Overdale, nor munitions factories, either. We're too small, too far off the beaten track.”

“How do you know so much?”

He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Because I have nowt better to do of an evening than read the newspapers from cover to cover and think about what's going on across that Channel.”

“Oh.”

He looked at her, so fresh and lovely. “Besides, I
want
to play my part, serve my country, as any decent Englishman would.” They'd be fighting for lasses like her. And kids like his two young devils. That was what it was all about.

Then he bent his head to his writing, slashing the black ink across the paper in his impatience to get this done. He had to make sure Emma and her job were safe while he was away before he could concentrate on other things. It was all he could do for her.

*   *   *

That same day, the House of Commons voted to increase the Regular Army by half a million men. Emma thought of James's words as she read about it in the newspaper the following day. It was soon followed by appeals to young men to volunteer.

Two days after that, James Cardwell left Overdale for a destination unspecified and Emma moved into his office. It all happened as quickly as that.

As she walked to work the following week, she stopped in astonishment at the sight of a long queue of young men outside the Town Hall, all looking excited. “What's happening?” she asked Dan Temple, the butcher, who was standing in his doorway, watching.

“Them silly sods are going to volunteer for the Army,” he said, then realised he was talking to a lady. “Sorry for the language, love, but my daft son's over there with them and how I'm to manage without him in the shop, I don't know.”

When she arrived at work, she went into James's office. It still smelled of him, she thought, as she hung her hat and coat up.

Within a minute, Walter poked his head through the door. “I've just made a pot of tea.”

“I'd love a cup. Why don't you bring yours in here and we'll discuss today's work?”

When they were sitting sipping tea, he sighed and said in his hoarse, scratchy voice, “It makes me feel old, you know, all this fuss. Too old to be of use.”

“Would you volunteer if you were younger?”

He nodded. “Aye. I reckon I would.”

“Well, they'll need people to hold the fort here, so you'll still be playing your part. I certainly couldn't manage without you.”

“Mmm.”

“I wonder where he is now—James, I mean.”

Walter shook his head, his brief spate of words at an end. But he sat with her until they'd both finished their tea, and his presence was a comfort.

When he stood up, he said, “I'd welcome your help later, Miss Harper, on some estimates for a couple of jobs. I'm not the best at figures. James always used to go over them with me.”

“My pleasure. And Walter, call me Emma, please!” He'd always refused to do that before.

He nodded slowly. “I reckon I can now. Seeing it's just us two to hold Cardwell's together. All right, Emma love.”

*   *   *

Led by Ben Symes, marching with the precision of an ex-soldier, a group of mainly unmarried young men from Pilby's walked, shambled or tried to march down the main street together to enlist. Among them was Percy Kershaw. He smiled all the way, for this was his chance to escape. Volunteering was his duty, even. They said he could arrange to have his pay sent home to his mother, so she wouldn't suffer, but for probably the only time in his life he would have a valid excuse for getting away, one he needn't feel guilty about.

Excitement filled him and he clapped one of the other men from the office on the shoulder as they walked down to the Town Hall together. “Be a bit of a change, eh, Rob lad?”

“It will that.” Rob looked round, scanning the group of men. “It's true, then?”

“What's true?”

“Sam Thoxby refused to come with us.”

“He never!” Percy also had a quick squint round.

“Mmm. The rotten sod said he had better things to do with his life than play at soldiers.”

“He
is
a married man.”

“Hasn't got any children, though. Not even expecting one, now.”

Percy sighed. Useless to hope that piece of information wouldn't leak out. A few of the fellows had made their scorn for Sam very plain since he'd put his young wife into hospital.

Rob was not one to let a juicy subject drop. “He'd be better off bashing a few Germans, that one would, than hitting women.”

“Well, you can't force him to volunteer, can you?”

Rob spat into the gutter. “No, but he's going to find himself even less popular at work from now on. Big strong fellow like that. It's his bloody duty to enlist, if you ask me.”

At the Town Hall, they filled in their papers, had their hands shaken by the mayor and a cup of tea poured for them by the mayor's wife. After which, they took their written acknowledgements away and waited for a summons.

*   *   *

When she heard what Percy had done, Meg hit the roof, weeping and wailing all evening till he slammed out of the house and went down to the pub. Johnny followed him along the road, saluting and looking proud.

Percy was dying to leave, but it took over a week for the Army to arrange something. Then word went out that Dr. Balloch was to check out the men before they went away, to weed out the ones who weren't fit enough to fight.

Once again, Pilby's was left only half manned. Once again, men streamed into town from all sorts of places, waiting patiently outside the Town Hall in another long line, joking with one another. And back at the works, Ben Symes, who was angry that he was nearly sixty and couldn't fight, glared at Sam Thoxby, who could fight but wouldn't.

When it was Percy's turn, Dr. Balloch listened to his chest, frowned and listened again. Then he gestured to a door at one side. “Could you wait in there, please, Mr. Kershaw? I need to check you over again.”

Percy stared. “What's the matter? There's nothing wrong with me, you know. I'm never ill.”

Dr. Balloch's expression gave nothing away. “Just go through there, please. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but there's only me to do this.” For it was unthinkable that a woman doctor should examine all these strapping young males.

Inside the next room, Percy found three glum men, two rather old to be enlisting and a weedy fellow his own age, who looked unfit.

“What's wrong with thee, lad?” one of the older men asked. “Thou doesn't look badly.”

“Buggered if I know.” Percy sat down in a chair.

It was over an hour before Dr. Balloch came in, looking tired. “Right, I'd like to listen to your chests again.”

The two older men were sent away, with one word scrawled across their papers: “
Unfit
.”

The younger fellow, who had an irritating cough, was given a letter for his own doctor and his papers were also labelled “
Unfit
.”

Dr. Balloch listened carefully to Percy's chest, then put away his stethoscope and gestured to a chair. “Sit down a minute, will you?”

Puzzled, Percy obeyed.

“I'm afraid you have a murmur in your heart, so I can't recommend you for active service.”

Stunned, Percy could only gape at him. “What does that mean exactly? Am I ill?”