Our Lizzie (9 page)

The elder of the two, a rather plain woman with the yellowish complexion of someone who wasn't well, said in a posh voice, “I believe you're offering lodgings?”

Meg relaxed a little, but she was still wary. What did ladies like this want with lodgings in Bobbin Lane? “Yes. Won't you come in?”

“Thank you. I'm Miss Harper and this is my sister, Miss Emma Harper. You are, I believe, Mrs. Kershaw?”

“That's right.” Meg led them into the front room and lifted the blind a little; not enough to let sunlight fall on her precious square of carpet and fade it, but enough to enable her to study the visitors. Come down in the world, was her first thought, for on second inspection she saw how shabby their clothes were. But still ladies from the way they talked and moved. She rather liked the idea of having real ladies for lodgers—so long as they could pay.

Emma Harper took charge of the interview. “What sort of accommodation are you offering, Mrs. Kershaw?”

“The big front bedroom and use of this room as a sitting-room. But we haven't got anything sorted out yet, furniture and such. My husband only d-died last week.”

Both of them looked embarrassed and Emma said gruffly, “We didn't realise—Sam didn't tell us your loss was so recent. Please accept our condolences. Would you rather we came back another day?”

“No. No, of course not.” Meg didn't want them finding somewhere else to live.

“We wouldn't need the room until next week. May we just take a glimpse at it now, though?”

Meg hadn't missed the way the other lady had been studying her surroundings. Well, stare your eyes out, she thought. You won't find any dust in my house. “Could you give me a minute to check that everything's tidy?”

They both nodded.

Meg went slowly upstairs. It wouldn't be so much of a come-down to take
them
in.
My lady lodgers
, she'd call them.

She paused to rest at the top, because going upstairs always made her breathless, then she went into her bedroom, looking round it regretfully, feeling as if she were saying goodbye to it. She'd known it was tidy, of course she had, but she'd wanted a minute to herself here, where she and Stanley had loved one another. “Eeh, my lad!” she whispered, looking at the photo of him as a young man which stood beside the bed. Then, taking a deep breath, she pushed the thought of her husband resolutely away. She had to be businesslike today, if she wanted to keep this house. And she did want to. Desperately.

“Would you like to come upstairs now?” she called down.

“The houses on this side of Bobbin Lane are larger than most of the others round here, aren't they?” Miss Emma commented brightly.

“Yes. These were old weavers' cottages. We have three bedrooms
and
a big second-floor attic, where the looms used to stand a hundred years ago before all the weaving got done in mills.” Well, that's what the vicar had told her once, anyway. But Meg thought the big attic windows very wasteful. They made it so hard to keep the room warm. She opened the door of her bedroom and drew back to let them pass. “My sons will be moving up to the attic and I'll be taking their bedroom to give you this one.”

Miss Harper moved in and studied the room. “It's larger than our present place. And your house is much cleaner, too, Mrs. Kershaw, if you don't mind my saying so?”

“I used to be in service. I think I know how to look after things—though it isn't always easy with children. You'd be having this bed, so why don't you try it?”

The ladies sat down on the edge of the bed, looking very stiff and self-conscious.

“It's much comfier than our present one.” Miss Emma bounced a little, sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she patted her hair into place and looked sympathetically across at her hostess. “But I feel bad about taking your bed. And your room.”

Meg shrugged. “I don't need a double one now.”

“Is the other furniture staying?”

Meg looked around. “Not the ornaments, of course, but yes, if you want.”

“We have quite a few bits and pieces of our own,” Miss Emma said hesitantly. “We wondered if you'd mind us bringing them?” Then she went very still and looked at her sister. “I just had a thought. Mrs. Kershaw, the attic—is it larger than this room?”

“Well, yes. Twice as large, actually. It runs the length of the front.”

“Is it furnished?”

“Not yet. We haven't needed to use it before.”

“Could we see it, then, please?”

Meg looked at her in puzzlement.

“It might suit our purposes better to rent that and bring our own furniture. If you didn't mind?”

“I suppose it'd be all right.” Meg led the way upstairs and opened the attic door. “It's warmer up here in summer, but colder in winter.”

“It's a nice large room,” said Miss Harper thoughtfully.

“And look at those windows!” Emma went straight across to stare out of them, while her sister studied the room. Then they exchanged glances and nods.

“Would you consider letting us rent this room instead?” Emma asked.

“There's no fire here, and the boards aren't even stained, let alone a carpet—” Meg wouldn't want to sleep up here herself. She always felt a creepy sensation in the back of her neck when she came up to check there were no leaks—as if someone were staring at her. “And I couldn't carry trays up and down all those stairs. It makes me wheeze, going upstairs does.” But her mind was racing. If they took this place, she needn't move out of her own bedroom. And if they had their own furniture, she needn't even lay out her money to buy more.

Emma smiled at her. “It would be nice to have the boards stained, but we have some rugs—they're rather worn, or they'd have been sold with the rest of my father's possessions—and we have some old curtains, too. I think they'll fit these windows if we sew them together.” She hesitated then said frankly, “Our father died in debt, you see, Mrs. Kershaw. We have enough money to live on, but not much to spare.”

Tears came into Blanche's eyes at her sister's words and the memory of all they'd had to do since their father died. One dreadful thing after another. Worst of all, to her, had been the condescension of the creditors at the meetings they'd held to discuss what to do with Bonamy Harper's possessions. They'd even asked his daughters to give up their jewellery—but Emma had been ready with a story about having to sell things over the past few years and had cried so prettily over her mother's brooch, “our last memento of her,” that one gentleman had told her gruffly to keep it and when another creditor objected had said the ladies weren't their debtors, dammit, and he wasn't so poor he had to steal from them.

Blanche knew she had been of little use at that meeting, sitting there stiff and angry, but Emma had been wonderful, playing on the gentlemen's sympathies! Most of the furniture had been sold, especially the fine mahogany pieces that had been her mother's pride and joy. But, again at Emma's pleading, they had been allowed to keep their own beds and a few battered pieces from the nursery which hadn't sold. As well as the smaller items Sam had taken away for them. She had felt as though she were stealing, doing that, for all her sister's reassurances. Well, it
was
stealing, no denying that. But their need was so great, surely the Lord would forgive them?

Meg looked at her visitors thoughtfully. She could see they were dying to talk to one another. “I'll go down and put the kettle on. You have a think, decide what you want to do, then come down and join me in the kitchen. You can definitely have this room, if you prefer it, and for the same price as the other, if you bring your own furniture. And we could maybe have a gas fire put in for the winter. One with a penny slot meter, so you could use it as much as you wanted.” And so she wouldn't have to pay. “We'll talk about it over a nice cup of tea.”

Miss Harper raised one hand to stop her. “How much are you asking? Sam Thoxby didn't say.” Her face grew pink. “And we can't afford too much.”

Meg frowned at them suddenly as understanding dawned. “Are you in Mrs. Blackburn's?”

Miss Harper's lips tightened. “Yes.”

Peggy Blackburn had taken in some lady lodgers and wasn't best pleased with their finicky ways, but then Meg knew how slapdash Peggy was.

“You didn't say how much, Mrs. Kershaw?”

“Oh. Well, I hadn't quite decided.” She had, but mentally added two shillings. “That's for this room, breakfast and evening meal, with use of the front room to sit in at night, though you'd have to pay extra for coal for that in the winter—and we'll need to join you there every now and then—like at Christmas and on Sundays, perhaps.” She wasn't giving it up completely, not for anyone. “But the rest of the time, it'd be yours. So long as you look after my things.” Meg named her price, adding, “And I can find you a shelf in the pantry to keep a few things for your dinners—I don't cook in the middle of the day—and for snacks, if you want them. You wouldn't want to keep food up here in the attic. It'd encourage mice.”

Miss Harper frowned, for this was more than they were paying now, then she looked at her sister and nodded. “Very well.”

Meg realised with a lifting of the heart that she had found her two lodgers and that they were exactly the sort of people she would have chosen. “Then you can move your stuff in next week.” She cast a look around her, assessing what needed doing. “My son will stain the floorboards and distemper the walls. And we'll need to get your curtains altered and hung, as well. You can come round any time to fit them.” If she made these two women happy here, she'd have money coming in from them for a long time. Two ladies like these, short of money but with finicky ways, wouldn't be easily suited for lodgings in Overdale. But Meg knew exactly how ladies liked to live.

Miss Emma sighed in audible relief. “Oh, I'm so glad. Would it be too much trouble if we moved in here the minute you have it ready, Mrs. Kershaw? Things are very—difficult at Mrs. Blackburn's, and even though we've paid in advance for the coming week, I'd rather leave as soon as possible. Sam said he'd help us move. Well, he's got our bits of furniture stored at his house.”

Thank goodness for Blanche's annuity, though it was barely enough to manage on. She didn't know what they'd have done without it. And if anything happened to her sister, Emma would be in trouble, for the annuity would die with Blanche. It was at that moment that the vague idea she had formed of seeking employment of some sort became firmly fixed.

When Mrs. Kershaw left, the two sisters looked at one another and sighed in relief.

“We can afford it, just,” Emma said.

“I still think we were right to find lodgings. It'd cost much more to take a house of our own—even if we had enough furniture, which we don't.”

“Yes, I know, and you're not well enough to manage the housework.”

“No.” Blanche sighed and belched discreetly behind her hand. Mrs. Blackburn's greasy food wasn't helping her digestive troubles.

Emma was back looking out of the window. “And as soon as we're settled, I've decided to learn to type and find myself a clerical job.”

For the first time, Blanche Harper's severe expression softened. “You don't need to do that, dear. We can manage.”

“I've nearly gone mad with boredom since we left home. I'd much rather keep busy. And the annuity's yours, really. I'd rather earn some money of my own.”

“Yes.” Blanche stared blindly out of the window. She, too, had found the hours passing very slowly. She didn't miss her father ordering her about, but she did miss her beautiful home and garden quite dreadfully.

When they went downstairs, Meg called out to them from the kitchen, having decided in the interim that she didn't want to start by waiting on them hand and foot, and they could eat downstairs with the family. “I'm in here. The tea's just brewing.”

They went into the back room, Blanche noting with pleasure that it was as clean as the rest of the house. Unlike Mrs. Blackburn's establishment, where she had had her first experience with bed bugs and where the landlady had not thought that anything worth making a fuss about.

“Do sit down, Miss Harper. We all eat in here. You'll find my children know their table manners.”

“I shall enjoy their company,” Emma said at once.

Meg brought the teapot across to the table and poured some of the steaming liquid into her best cups. Like her, the lodgers would be using the good crockery.

“China cups!” Emma sighed happily. “Oh, I've missed that at Mrs. Blackburn's. I don't know why tea tastes so much better out of china, but it does.”

Meg smiled. “I always say that myself.”

“And such pretty cups, too,” Blanche added, quite sincerely.

Her new landlady's smile became a beam. “They were a wedding present from my last employer and I've not broken a single piece. I was with her for four years before I married my Stanley.”

When they had finished the tea, Miss Emma asked for a tape measure and went upstairs to measure the windows, and Miss Harper pulled out her purse. “I presume you'll want us to pay you weekly in advance?”

“Well—yes.” Meg accepted the money eagerly, though she couldn't help noticing how little it left in the purse. After showing them out, she smiled round the kitchen and poured the last of the tea into her cup. “Couldn't be better!” she said as she sat sipping it. She had been dreading having lodgers, but rather thought she'd enjoy looking after these two ladies. For the first time since her husband's death, she hummed as she washed up the cups and saucers in the scullery at the rear.

*   *   *

When Percy came home that evening, he found his mother sitting by the kitchen fire, looking happier than she had for a while. Eva had her head in a book at the table as usual, Polly was just sitting there, quiet as ever, staring into the fire, and there was no sign of little Johnny. Lizzie wouldn't be home from the shop for an hour or two yet.