The Liverpool Rose (41 page)

‘It’s awful cold and there’s no use going back to the canal yet, queen,’ he said. ‘It’ll take Clem a fair while to explain to every one of them boat people what happened last night and the information he wants. By my reckonin’, they’ll have to consult each other and search their memories to find out who were moored up alongside the towpath last night. We’ll have a cup
of tea and a warm-up first and then go down to the canal when Clem’s had a chance to get some facts together. Once we know what they heard on the canal last night, we’ll be able to make up our minds what to do next.’

The tea-room was not crowded and Geoff ordered two cups of tea and a pile of hot buttered toast. Moments later, the two of them were attacking the food and drink with gusto. ‘What do you think the scuffers thought?’ Geoff said, when the worst of his hunger had been appeased. ‘That chap on the desk were a bit cautious, weren’t he?’

Sally, wiping melted butter from her chin, grinned. ‘It’s a lot to swallow, I suppose,’ she said, ‘and I’m not referring to the buttered toast! I don’t suppose anyone’s reported Lizzie missing – why should they? Mr Grey will just say she’s at work – may even say she weren’t in at all last night ’cos she were stayin’ with friends. Come to that, Geoff, I don’t see any reason for him to mention her at all. So far as anyone knows, Lizzie weren’t involved in any way in Mrs Grey’s death.’

‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘Surely Mr Grey would have said something about a niece what lived in the same house? Won’t he have said he ran in to get help? If only the scuffer on the desk had
known
something about the case, but he didn’t seem to know a thing, did he? I mean, he knew an old woman had slipped on the ice and broke her neck, but it seems as if there were no suspicion of foul play and hearing that the accident could have been engineered were real bad news and something he didn’t want to have to take on board, especially just before Christmas.’

‘Well, I don’t suppose you can blame him,’ Sally said fair-mindedly, crunching her toast. ‘That was
prime, Geoff. I were in such a state this morning I didn’t even grab a bit of bread and jam before hurrying out of the house. Do you suppose we could order some more?’

He obligingly ordered more toast and a refill of tea and the two of them discussed the possibility of seeing some more senior member of the force than the constable on desk duty, who had seemed to regard their story as either unimportant or untrue. ‘The trouble is,’ Geoff said gloomily, ‘it’s all guesswork from you and second hand from me, if you see what I mean. What we want is Lizzie to stand up and tell the scuffers what she knows.’

‘Well, when we catch up wi’ her, I’m sure she’ll do just that,’ Sally said comfortably. By now they had finished the toast, so Geoff drained his cup and the two of them got to their feet and began to put on their outer clothing once more.

‘Missing girls,’ Geoff said thoughtfully as they left Thorn’s tea-rooms. ‘Just lately, me life’s been full of missing girls. Did I ever tell you about young Evie Evans . . .’

‘Yes, Lizzie told me all about her,’ Sally said, and looked at Geoff with considerable respect. ‘And you’ve been searchin’ for her all this while when you only met her the once? She must have made a real impression on you, Geoff. And I always thought you were sweet on our Lizzie!’

‘I’ve been sweet on Lizzie since she were about ten,’ he admitted briefly. ‘But in a way, I believe I always thought of her like a sister. Evie Evans . . . I don’t know, she seemed so – so vulnerable, and that Sid Ryder’s a nasty piece of work. I wouldn’t want any girl I was fond of involved with him. So, right from the start, I felt Evie needed help. Now Lizzie’s a
different kettle of fish. She’s strong, is Lizzie, and independent, too. She fights her own battles and she’ll take on anyone. For all she seemed so smart and knowing, I didn’t think Evie was like that. I’ve wondered since meeting her whether she was a kid from an orphan asylum, like what I am. Of course, she’s a working woman now, but I reckon being brought up in an asylum makes you a bit different. They do so much for you that when you have to go it alone, it’s awful hard.’

‘I expect you’re right,’ Sally acknowledged. ‘But it sounds to me as though she’s left Liverpool altogether. She’s obviously so striking and beautiful that if she’d been around, surely either you or Lizzie would have come across her by now? I suppose she couldn’t have gone with Sid, when he left?’

‘No, I’m sure not,’ Geoff said positively. ‘I met him with all his luggage on Lime Street Station, remember. He was heading for pastures new and there was no sign of Evie anywhere.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, well, it’s one of life’s mysteries that I’ll probably never solve, so I might as well stop trying.’

As he spoke, they reached the entrance to Cranberry Court and both glanced sideways into its dinginess, but nothing stirred. They continued on their way and presently descended the side of the Houghton Bridge and back on to the towpath.

But here a surprise awaited them. There were a great many boats loading and unloading, and a great many people bustling to and fro, but of
The Liverpool Rose
there was no sign.

‘What the devil . . .?’ Geoff gasped. ‘They can’t have gone – Clem told us he’d find out what had happened and let us know. Perhaps they’ve just gone along to a wharf somewhere to get – to get – oh, I don’t know,
but there has to be a reason. Clem wouldn’t just make off without a word to us.’

And presently he was proved right. A round-faced, cheerful girl with a scarlet headscarf wrapped around her lank, brown locks, and a black frieze coat closely buttoned to the neck, approached them, holding out a piece of paper. ‘You Geoff and Sally?’ she asked.

‘That’s us,’ he said eagerly, taking the paper from her. ‘What happened? Clem said
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wouldn’t be leaving until we got back.’

‘I dunno really,’ the girl admitted. ‘He went all along the bank, askin’ everyone who was moored up here last night whether any of ’em had heard a commotion or knew of any boat which had moved on earlier. Most of us don’t take no notice of noise which don’t concern us, but last night there weren’t no noise. We were moored up and didn’t hear a dicky-bird – mind you, it were so bleedin’ cold only an idiot would have been out in it, if you ask me. So, anyway, Clem had done about half the boats and had barely got aboard the Johnsons’ craft – she’s the
Mary Ellen
from Burscough – when he came haring out o’ the cabin and made straight for
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. I heered him yell suffin’ at Jake – couldn’t hear wharrit was – and next thing I knew they was castin’ off and he were thrustin’ a bit of paper at me and telling me to give it to you jest as soon as you appeared.’ She stared curiously at the paper. ‘Why don’t you read it?’

Her curiosity was plain but since the paper was not even folded, Geoff assumed she already knew what was on it and said, rather impatiently: ‘Oh, come on, you must know already! It can’t be a secret from you since Clem didn’t even fold it in two!’

The girl gave him a glance which somehow managed to combine shyness and amusement. ‘I’m
Jenny Finnigan. I were born and bred on the canal an’ I can’t read nor write, like me mam and dad afore me. Go on, tell us what it says!’

Geoff spread out the note while both girls watched him eagerly. ‘“Geoff and Sally”,’ he read, ‘Can’t stay, but I got the information I wanted and we’re hot on the trail. As soon as we catch up with Lizzie, we’ll bring her back but keep her in the cabin while Jake or myself come ashore in search of one of you. Sorry we couldn’t wait, but it’s vital we find her soon. Clem”.’

‘Well, that seems straightforward enough,’ he said, folding the note and shoving it into his pocket. ‘Thanks, Jenny.’ He took Sally’s arm and the two of them headed for the Houghton Bridge. As soon as they were out of earshot, Geoff turned towards his companion, lowering his voice. ‘Doesn’t that seem odd to you, Sal? Why was it so urgent that
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set off at once? Clem must have learned something he couldn’t put down on paper – he never even said Lizzie was safe and well.’

‘I reckon the fact he didn’t say it means we can take it for granted,’ Sally said comfortably. ‘He said he were hot on the trail after all. I feel ever so much better about Lizzie now. I’m sure she must be all right and will soon be back with us and tellin’ her story to the scuffers. It’ll be a great weight off me mind when she does, ’cos I shouldn’t think her life would be worth tuppence if that there Uncle Perce of hers thinks she knows too much.’

‘Come to that, you’ll have to watch your step, young Sally,’ Geoff remarked as they made their way along Burlington Street. ‘I know you’re not alone in the world like Lizzie is now – you’ve gorra good mum and dad to look after you. But if Mr Grey knew that you knew things, you’d be in deep trouble, I’m tellin’
you straight. He’d look for some way to stop your mouth, and that could be as dangerous for you as it is for poor Lizzie. Because I’m sure as sure that’s why she ran and hasn’t come back. She’ll know she’s the only person who could send him to the gallows, right enough – she’s no fool, our Lizzie, and she’s no friend to Percy Grey either.’

Sally sighed. ‘I’m sure you’re right, chuck, but don’t it sound sort of – of – melodramatic? It’s more like a play than real life – ole Uncle Perce searching the streets so that he can bump off anyone who suspects what he’s been doin’.’

‘It may sound a bit like a play, but don’t forget, queen, he’s already bumped off Aunt Annie, though I don’t understand why he should have done such a thing. I mean, his bit o’ stuff – Flossie Sharpe – has been happy enough to go with him without expectin’ marriage. Indeed, I should think she’s had enough of marriage, what wi’ missin’ out on old Sharpe’s will an’ all, to say nothing of being made to look pretty small at the will-readin’, from what your pal told you.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ Sally acknowledged. ‘Where’s the advantage to him of poor Aunt Annie being dead? Oh, he’ll have the house, but it’s only rented, same as ours is, and he must know that Flossie wouldn’t be welcomed as a neighbour in the court, not after Aunt Annie. She were such a good woman, Geoff, did all sorts for others who lived in the court. She’d baby-sit, or cook, or give a hand when someone were ill . . . she’ll be sadly missed.’

‘I wonder what’ll happen to Sausage and Mash?’ Geoff asked idly as the two of them reached the entrance to the court once more and paused on the pavement outside. ‘I remember Lizzie saying that her
uncle hated the hens at first, though latterly he put up wi’ them, partly for the eggs but mostly for a quiet life, ’cos Aunt Annie fair doted on the pair o’ them.’

‘If he’s in I’ll nip over and ask whether he’d like me to take care o’ them for him. I could ask him at the same time if he’s seen Lizzie since she wasn’t in work this morning,’ Sally said glibly, but Geoff shook his head at her.

‘No, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous right now. Wait until tomorrow morning, then if there’s still no sign of her, get your mam to go over with you. He won’t dare do nothin’ if there’s two of you. Well, I’m for the bank. Will you come round tomorrow after work and tell me what happened and whether Lizzie’s turned up?’

‘Yes, of course I will, although I doubt there’ll be any news. But why don’t you come round to our place on Christmas Day and have your dinner wi’ us? You’d be ever so welcome, and Mam was saying that Lizzie must come to us now her auntie’s gone . . . so there’ll be plenty of food. Go on, say you will!’

That’s kind of you, and I’ll be glad to come,’ Geoff said at once. He knew that the YMCA would do their best to make sure everyone had as good a time as possible, but he had had too many institutional Christmases to think that they might succeed. ‘A real Christmas would be a treat,’ he concluded. ‘Tell you what, Uncle Perce knows I’m a pal of Lizzie’s so the pair of us will beard the old devil in his den and ask for news of her. You can say you went into the factory this morning and she wasn’t there – which she wasn’t, of course – and you want to know what she’s planned to do tomorrow now that her aunt’s died. You thought she might be taking a day off to arrange the funeral.’

‘All right. Just let’s hope that ole Perce doesn’t say that he’s planning to have Sausage and Mash for his Christmas dinner, though,’ Sally said with a shiver. ‘If he thinks of it, he’s likely already stretched their necks for ’em.’

‘Like he’s probably scared stiff they’ll stretch his if Lizzie opens her mouth,’ Geoff muttered ghoulishly as they climbed the steps to the door of number nine. ‘You’d better let me do the talkin’, queen, because he’ll know – or think he knows – that I don’t know nothing.’

Sally gave a wild giggle, clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound as Geoff lifted the knocker and brought it down hard on the blistered paint of the front door. ‘You and your. . . if he knew what you knew and he thinks he knows,’ she spluttered, then stopped short as Geoff gave her a glare and a hard nudge. ‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll keep me gob shut, I promise.’

But the promise was not needed, for though they knocked several more times no one answered the door; within all was silent, not even the hens clucked or scratched, and when, highly daring, Geoff pressed his nose against the glass and stared into the kitchen, he was only able to report that the fire was out, the hens apparently gone and the place deserted.

‘There! If the hens have gone he’ll have wrung their poor necks for them, Sally said with a little catch in her voice. ‘Oh, Geoff, they weren’t really like hens at all, they were more like pets. Annie were ever so fond of them and they trusted people, thought all folk were their friends. They’d have gone to Mr Grey without a qualm. Well, I just hope he gets his comeuppance, that’s all.’

The two of them descended the steps and were
about to cross the court once more when Mrs Figgett, who lived at number ten, came out of her door and called them across. ‘If you’re wonderin’ about them hens then I’ve gorrem safe,’ she said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘I were up early on Tuesday morning, hearin’ all the fuss and fluster when the scuffers and the ambliance an’ that come callin’, an’ I see Mr Grey go off, leavin’ the front door a bit ajar. So, I nips in, don’t I, to see whether he fed them hens. Poor old Annie thought a deal of them hens – they was like children to her and she were a good pal to me, so I knew where she kept their corn and I give ’em some and some odds and ends of scraps. Then I began to worry what ’ud happen when Annie’s old feller came back ’cos he’s got a nasty temper on him and very little patience. So later in the day I went and fetched the hens and their corn an’ that over to my place, an’ they’ve bin there ever since, happy as pigs in muck.’ She looked anxiously at Sally. ‘Were that all right, d’you think, queen? I reckon Percy come back at dead o’ night on the Tuesday, but he went off again wi’out doin’ the hens no harm, thank Gawd.’