The House by Princes Park (12 page)

It was two o’clock by the time she came to Park Road, the route the tramcar took when it carried her to the Dingle. Briskly busy, lined with shops, there were even more people around on a Saturday afternoon. Ruby remembered it was where she’d decided, months ago, that this was the place she wanted to be, though she hadn’t thought it would be under such horrible circumstances.

The first dress shop she came to, she plucked up courage and went in. A smart lady in black approached and wished
her, ‘Good afternoon, luv. What can I do for you? You look like a drowned rat, if you don’t mind my saying.’

‘Good afternoon,’ Ruby gushed. ‘I’m looking for a job – and I feel like a drowned rat at the moment.’

‘Sorry, luv,’ the woman said smilingly, ‘but I only employ mature staff. I hope you have better luck somewhere else.’

Encouraged by the polite reception, Ruby made the same request several more times including a chemist and a haberdasher’s when she ran out of dress shops. The chemist offered her a form to fill in and said she could bring it back any time, so obviously weren’t anxious for another member of staff. ‘We’ll be taking an extra person on for Christmas,’ the woman in the haberdasher’s said helpfully. ‘Try again in November.’

It was quarter past four, she was passing a cafe, and longed for a cup of tea – she’d had nothing to eat or drink since last night, though the thought of food made her nauseous. She went in, ordered a pot of tea for one, bringing the contents of her purse down to fourpence which was worrying. Tomorrow was Sunday and it would be a waste of time searching for work. If they had to stay in Foster Court a second night, it would cost another threepence and she’d be left with a penny. She’d intended buying Jacob something to eat and they’d need food tomorrow. She wished she hadn’t bought the tea, though it was nice, sitting in the warmth, making the tea last out, giving her time to think, not that thinking had helped much so far.

Being short of money was a new experience. She recalled the abundant amount of coppers and silver that Emily left in her various bags that she’d helped herself to whenever she needed, for the pictures and her journeys around Liverpool.

It crossed her mind that the pennies she had left might be best spent calling Emily from a telephone box and
asking for money – they could meet somewhere in town, because Ruby couldn’t afford to go to Brambles. She gave the matter serious thought before deciding, reluctantly, that she couldn’t rely on Emily not to tell the police. She might be followed when she returned to Foster Court and Jacob, who was wanted for murder.

A girl came to remove the tea things. ‘Have you finished, luv? You look like a drowned rat.’

‘Someone’s already told me that. I’ll be finished in a minute.’ Ruby poured the last of the hot water into the pot and managed to squeeze out half a cup. ‘By the way, I don’t suppose you need any more staff ?’ It was worth a try.

‘No. We’re not much busy during the week. I only work Sat’ days meself.’

‘Thanks, anyway.’

Nothing had happened in Ruby’s short life to make her feel as disheartened as she did now. She’d faced few problems – she couldn’t remember what they were, but was sure she’d always come out on top. But now she felt beaten, not knowing which way to turn. If she kept on trying, she would get a job one day, next week perhaps, but she needed one
now
.

She looked at her watch. Five o’clock. Only a few people were left in the cafe and the sign on the door had been turned to Closed. She looked at her watch again. What was it Dolly Howlett had said? Something about pawning her lovely watch. Ruby had no idea what that meant.

The girl returned to clear the table. ‘Excuse me,’ Ruby said, ‘but what does “pawn” mean?’

‘Y’what?’ The girl looked at her vacantly.

‘Someone said today I could pawn my watch. I’ve never heard of it before.’

‘Oh,
pawn
. It means taking it to a pawnshop and they’ll lend money on it. You get a ticket in case you want to redeem your pledge, buy it back, as it were. Of course,’
the girl smiled grimly. ‘You have to pay more than they gave you. They’re nothing but a racket, pawnshops. I’d steer clear of them if I were you.’

Ruby didn’t have much choice. A ray of sunshine had appeared, making the immediate future look considerably brighter. ‘Is there one near here, a pawnshop?’

‘There’s Overton’s. Turn right outside the door and it’s a few blocks away, on the corner. You’ll know it by the three brass balls outside. You’d better hurry. They close at half five.’

‘Thank you.

The window of Overton’s was heavily barred and full of jewellery which an elderly man with rimless glasses and hardly any hair was in the process of removing. She opened the door and a bell jangled loudly. The man removed his head from the window.

‘Yes?’

‘I’d like to pawn—’ Ruby began.

‘Door’s round the side,’ the man snapped.

The side door was small and unobtrusive. Another bell rang when Ruby entered a small, dimly lit lobby, coming face to face with a metal grille over a wooden counter that was as curved in the middle as the stairs in Foster Court.

A man appeared, very like the one in the window, but younger and with slightly more hair that was combed over his bare scalp in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the fact he was bald. His eyes were the palest she had ever seen.

‘We’re closing in a minute,’ he said abruptly. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want to pawn my watch, please.’

‘Hand it over.’

There was a slit between the counter and the bottom of the grille. Ruby removed the watch which had an expanding strap and of which she was very fond and pushed it through. ‘It cost five guineas,’ she said. ‘It’s pure gold.’

‘I can see that for meself, thanks.’ He was examining the watch carefully, turning it over, running his fingers along the strap. He lifted his head and regarded her sharply with his pale eyes. ‘Where did you get it?’

‘It was a birthday present.’

‘It ses on the back “Ruby O’Hagan”.’

Emily had had the back engraved. ‘I know, that’s me.’

‘Can you prove it?’

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Ruby demanded sharply.

‘Show me something with your name on; an official document of some sort – your birth certificate, or the receipt for the watch, a letter addressed to yourself would do.’

‘I haven’t got anything like that with me.’ She didn’t know if she’d ever had a birth certificate, Emily had the receipt for the watch, and no one had ever sent her a letter.

‘Where do you live?’

Ruby paused, knowing instinctively not to say Foster Court where no one was likely to own a watch, let alone one worth five guineas. The man was watching her suspiciously and had noticed the pause. It dawned on her that she probably looked a sight, soaking wet, her hair plastered to her head, her cardigan all shrivelled. She should have tidied herself up before she came in. ‘I live in Kirkby,’ she replied.

‘And you’ve come all this way to pawn a watch?’ he said in mock disbelief.

‘I’m staying in the Dingle for a few days with a friend.’ Ruby was beginning to feel a touch desperate.

‘What’s the name of this friend?’

‘Dolly Howlett. She lives in Dombey Street.’ She rarely told lies because she was quite happy for people to know the truth, but today she seemed to be tying herself up in knots.

‘I tell you what, bring Dolly Howlett along on Monday to vouch for you, and I’ll let you have a guinea for your watch.’

‘All right. Until then, I’d like it back if you don’t mind.’ She had no intention of entering a pawnshop again as long as she lived. The watch would have to be got rid of another way.

The man smiled, though it was more like a sneer. ‘I don’t think so. I’d like to check it against our list of stolen property. The police might be interested in this watch.’

Ruby lost her temper. ‘Are you suggesting it’s stolen?’

‘Are you suggesting it’s not?’

‘Of course it’s not. It’s mine, I got it for my birthday.’

‘Who off, the King?’

‘No, off Emily. You can’t just keep it. I need it.’

‘If you need it, why are you trying to pawn it?’

‘Because I want the money, stupid.’

The man scribbed something on a piece of paper and shoved it beneath the grille. ‘Here’s a receipt. You can have the money on Monday under the conditions already described. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re closed.’ He pulled down a shutter behind the grille with a bang. An enraged Ruby hammered on the grille with her fist, to no avail. She marched round to the front, found the front door locked, and no sign of the other man inside. Despite more hammering, no one came.

It was the second time that day she’d been made to feel about two inches tall; first Mrs Howlett, now in a pawnshop. Angry tears stung Ruby’s eyes mingling with the rain, still falling steadily. She couldn’t go back for the watch even if she knew someone who could vouch for her. If the man contacted the police they might recognise the name on the back: Ruby O’Hagan, who’d left Brambles last night in the company of Jacob Veering. She’d lost her watch for ever.

What could she do now other than go back to Foster
Court? At least she could get dry, have a rest. She thought about lying on the grubby palliasse, resting her head on the discoloured bolster, and her stomach turned. For the briefest of moments, she considered returning to Brambles, even if it meant walking there, spending the night to come and all the nights to follow, in her yellow and white bedroom wearing one of her pretty nighties – she remembered she hadn’t brought a nightie with her. If asked, she would swear she had no idea where Jacob was. Emily would need her company after what had happened with Bill, with whom she’d seemed so much in love and he with her.

But she couldn’t desert Jacob. She would never sleep easily that night, or any night, if she did. The memory of her treachery would haunt her the rest of her days. Jacob needed her far more than Emily ever would. What’s more, he loved her and she loved him. She felt guilty for being so impatient when she’d left Foster Court and began to hurry. He was probably wondering why she’d been gone such a long time.

The shops were all closed now, hardly anyone was about. Trams rolled by, crowded, taking lucky people back to their homes or out for the night. Still smarting from the way she’d been treated in Overton’s, Ruby eyed them enviously as she splashed through puddles, uncaring, her feet couldn’t get more wet than they already were. She walked past the pub with the notice ‘Cleaner Required’ in the window, then stopped and retraced her steps. She’d been good at cleaning in the convent. She’d been good at everything. It was her attitude that was at fault according to the nuns. She made no secret of the fact she didn’t like carrying out a single one of the tasks she was given to do and would like them even less if she was put into service and had to do them for a living.

‘I wouldn’t mind doing them for myself,’ she would say with a superior expression on her face that drove the nuns
wild, ‘but not for anyone else.’ She resented the notion she’d been put on earth solely to make other people’s lives more comfortable.

But now Ruby was willing to throw her principles to the wind and apply for the job as cleaner in the Malt House as the pub was called according to the sign outside. The landlord’s name was painted over the door: Frederick Ernest Quinlan.

She threw back her shoulders, confident again, and went through the swing doors into a large, brightly-lit room, with a polished floor and round, polished tables. The bar occupied most of one wall and was backed by a decorative mirror with a gold-painted border, reflecting the whole room. The mirror also reflected the back of the middle-aged barmaid, a tiny whisper of a woman, a whole head shorter than Ruby, wearing a mauve crocheted jumper and diamanté earrings, her hair as gold as the border on the mirror, except for the roots which were black. Expertly made-up, she looked worn out, despite the night having scarcely begun – there were only four customers present at such an early hour, all men.

‘I’d like to see Mr Quinlan about the cleaning job,’ Ruby said, coming straight to the point.

‘Then you’re out of luck,’ the woman said tiredly. ‘But I’m Mrs Quinlan and you can see me if you like. I need someone straight away.’

‘I can start straight away, now if you want.’

A man entered and came over to the bar. ‘A pint of best bitter, Martha, luv. Where’s your Fred?’

Showing slightly more animation than before, the woman replied acidly, ‘Where d’you think? In bed, bloody asleep.’

‘So, Fred’s in bed with a sore head,’ the man chortled as he took the drink.

‘Only a man would find it funny, the landlord drinking
the profits and leaving his wife to tend the bar,’ Mrs Quinlan remarked when the man went to take a seat.

‘Is that what he does? That’s disgraceful,’ Ruby said sympathetically.

‘Isn’t it?’ The sympathy was clearly appreciated. ‘He manages to stagger down at midday, but by three o’clock, closing time, he’s as drunk as a fiddle and ready for his bed. He might condescend to join us about nine in the evening to get tanked up again, which means he can’t be raised next morning, leaving yours bloody truly to clear this place up. I’m working fourteen hours a bloody day, flat out, and I can’t stand it any more. That’s why I need a cleaner, mornings, eight till ten, half a crown a week. Fred thinks it an extravagence which is a bloody cheek when you consider the amount of ale he consumes a day.’

‘It certainly is,’ Ruby agreed. ‘About the job...’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mrs Quinlan looked properly at Ruby for the first time, clearly liking what she saw, and no doubt influenced by the fact she was on her side against Fred. ‘How old are you?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Under eighteen, you’re not allowed on licensed premises. You shouldn’t be here, in fact.’

‘In that case, I’m eighteen. My name’s Ruby O’Hagan, by the way.’

‘In that case, Ruby, you’ve got the job,’ Mrs Quinlan said promptly, looking slightly happier than when Ruby had come in. ‘I wouldn’t expect you Sundays. I’ll just have to clean the bloody place meself, but you can start Monday.’