Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Read on for an extract from Mersey Girl
Copyright
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781473501331
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1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
First published as Kitty and Her Boys in 1996 by Judy Piatkus (Publishers) Ltd
This edition published in 2015 by Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing A Random House Group Company
Copyright © 1996 June Francis
Extract from Mersey Girl © 2017 June Francis
June Francis has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner
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ISBN 9780091956370
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Also by June Francis
Available now from Ebury Press
Elizabeth Knight’s feet made hardly any sound as she crossed the polished wooden parquet floor, past the statue of the Madonna of the Sea, to Mother Clare’s room. Mother Ursula, the head, must be busy elsewhere. Her heart was beating fast. It was very seldom she was summoned into Mother Clare’s presence and she wished Mother Bernard who had come to fetch her, had given her some idea as to why. She hoped her father was not going to stop her riding lessons. Last time she had been summoned had been almost three years ago, early in spring 1944, when her mother had been killed somewhere between their London home and Radio House where she had worked. It had seemed ironic that Elizabeth’s father had been stationed on the Kentish coast at the time, trying to prevent the doodlebugs from getting through. He had been devastated by his wife’s loss, much more so than Elizabeth who had spent most of her childhood and the war years as a boarder here in Essex.
She knocked and was told to enter. Mother Clare was seated behind a desk, in front of which stood a woman who was a stranger to Elizabeth. She wore a belted russet coat and a headscarf which had slipped back to reveal shoulder-length wavy copper hair. Without any preamble the elderly nun who had come from London’s Forest Gate at the turn of the century to start the school, said, ‘Elizabeth, this woman tells me she is your stepmother.’
‘Stepmother?’ Shock waves rippled through her. ‘I don’t understand.’
The woman’s smile faded. ‘Jimmy did say he would write and tell you.’ The accent was not southern and she sounded both embarrassed and annoyed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve come as a shock, but if it’s any comfort he rather sprang you on me as well.’
‘When?’ demanded Elizabeth.
‘When what? When were we married or when did he tell me about you?’
‘Both, I suppose.’ She could hear the anger in her own voice.
‘We were married two weeks ago – and if I’d known about you then you’d have been at the wedding.’
Visions of a bride in white, of her father in a lounge suit, of bridesmaids, of smiling guests throwing confetti, filled Elizabeth’s mind. ‘I can’t believe Daddy would do this to me,’ she whispered. ‘How could he leave me out?’
‘I wish I knew, love.’ There was sympathy in the woman’s tawny eyes. ‘But it was only a small affair. Nothing to get yourself worked up about. As it is when he told me about you, and that you’d a half term holiday due, I thought it only right you should come home despite the awful weather.’
Elizabeth stared at her, clenching her jaw and trying to assimilate the words. ‘Why isn’t he here? Why has he sent you?’
The woman didn’t hesitate. ‘He hasn’t been too well the last few days.’
‘Not well!’ A sharp laugh escaped her. ‘He was well enough to marry you. He probably couldn’t face me with the news. He was just the same with Mummy if he was in the wrong.’
‘Control yourself, Elizabeth,’ said the elderly nun in a quiet voice. ‘I see Mrs Knight’s point in wanting to take you home and get to know you. I think it would be sensible if you packed your suitcase and went with her.’
‘But, Mother Clare …’ she turned a pleading face to the nun … ‘I don’t know her. How do we know she’s telling the truth? Daddy worshipped Mummy. He wouldn’t have married this – this woman!’ She grasped at the idea and felt better. ‘Yes, she’s lying. It’s a trick. She’s out to kidnap me!’
The visitor looked amused as she took a packet of Woodbines from her pocket. ‘Do me a favour, kid. Tell me what I’d get out of kidnapping you? Your dad’s got no money. It’s crippling him to pay the fees and all the extras at this place. It’s very nice but …’ She shrugged.
Mother Clare tapped a fountain pen on her desk. ‘I think we will terminate this conversation.’ Her tone was cool. ‘Elizabeth, you really must control your imagination. What you said to your stepmother was impolite.’
‘Don’t mind me, Sister,’ said the woman laconically. ‘I’ve got five younger brothers and sisters. I know what kids are like.’ She tapped the cigarette packet on the back of her hand.
‘Please don’t interrupt,’ said the nun. ‘And do not smoke in here.’
The woman raised her eyebrows but remained silent. Nor did she light a cigarette.
The nun gazed levelly at Elizabeth, whose heart sank. ‘I will make a telephone call to your father. In the meantime both of you may go for a walk in the cloisters. I will send for you when I’m ready.’
Elizabeth noted again that raising of the eyebrows from the woman who called herself her stepmother but she murmured acquiescence and they left the room together.
‘I won’t go with you,’ said Elizabeth as soon as the door was closed behind them.
‘I think you will,’ said the woman, placing a cigarette between her lips. ‘That old nun’ll make you as soon as she verifies the facts.’ She took a book of matches from her pocket and lit up.
‘You’re not supposed to smoke out here either!’ Elizabeth gazed at her with horrified fascination.
‘No?’ She exhaled and smiled. ‘I bet there’s lots of things you’re not supposed to do. Are you a good girl, Lizzie? Jimmy said you were but then dads don’t know everything about their daughters, do they? I know my dad thinks the sun shines out of me but I’ve done things he’d have pink fits over. As it is, he and the whole family were disappointed that I didn’t go up home to marry but Jimmy wanted it quick and quiet. We were married in a register office and there were no guests.’
‘You were married in a register office!’ exclaimed Elizabeth. ‘Then you’re not really married.’ And she smiled complacently.
‘Oh yes, we are,’ murmured the woman. ‘Neither your dad nor me is Catholic so you can forget that.’ She glanced about her as they left one corridor and walked up another. ‘God, it’s like a maze in here. How do you ever find your way about?’
‘Easy.’ Elizabeth’s tone was scornful, although she remembered feeling the same about the school on her arrival a year into the war. Her mother had been an old girl and the Mother Superior had accepted Elizabeth as a boarder when others were being sent home because her mother was doing important war work and her father was in the army. Despite Elizabeth’s tender years she remembered how exciting yet frightening it had been, hurrying through corridors to a basement cloakroom when a raid was on. The town was on a flight path for London and so had not completely escaped the blitz. The townsfolk had also taken shelter in the cellars beneath the convent hall, as had exhausted fire crews who were fighting the fires in East London and needed a rest.
They came to a long sunlit corridor where canaries trilled in hanging cages and plants in pots bravely put forth a few flowers. Elizabeth stopped. ‘This is the cloisters,’ she muttered.
‘Not like I imagined,’ said the woman, looking with interest at the birds. ‘There are nice cloisters in Chester. All old stone and grass.’
‘Chester?’
‘Up north. I come from Liverpool.’
‘Liverpool?’
The woman’s tawny eyes scrutinised Elizabeth’s smooth rosy-skinned face. ‘You must have heard of it? It was the door to the country’s larder during the war, and in the old days Liverpool merchants grew rich on the slave trade.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in the soil of a potted hyacinth. ‘Funny ol’ mixture some of them were. One made money out of the suffering then used some of it to build the Bluecoat School for poor children.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’ said Elizabeth impatiently. ‘I want to know how, if you lived all the way up there, you met Daddy?’
The woman did not speak for a moment then she said quietly, ‘Even up north people leave home. As it is I met Jimmy for the first time during the war. At a training camp in Pembrokeshire when I was in the ATS.’
‘But Mummy was alive then!’
‘Yep.’ The woman dug her hands in her pockets and smiled wryly. ‘He was forever talking about her. I’ve never known a man so struck with his wife after so many years of marriage.’
There was a silence and Elizabeth considered that ‘forever talking’. Her father could not have been in love with this woman then. She thought of her mother, who had been Daddy’s senior by eight years, and looking back remembered how he always deferred to her and how she had always seemed the strong one in the marriage. This woman looked strong too. Was that why …? She took a deep breath, needing an answer to another question. ‘But how did you meet again? It’s years since Daddy was in Pembrokeshire.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘I came to London. Your dad was different to the other men who were generally only after one – but never mind that – and I never forgot him. He had a bit of culture about him and was interested in the theatre like me. He said that if ever I got to London I was to look him and his wife up.’
‘So you did?’
‘I was desperate, kid. I was trying to make it on the stage but not having much luck. I had a job of sorts, trying to make ends meet, but life was tough. I was lonely and in need of a friendly face.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you?’
‘Daddy’s very good-looking and nice.’ ‘Too nice’ she’d heard her mother say once, but how could anyone be too nice?
‘Yes. He was nice to me and I fell for him heavily this time. No wife on the scene and he seemed really glad to see me.’ There was a silence which stretched.
Elizabeth felt like saying: ‘But I was on the scene,’ though that hadn’t strictly been true. After her mother’s death, Daddy had wrapped himself up in his grief, excluding his daughter.
‘I hope that old nun’s not going to be long,’ murmured the woman.
Elizabeth glanced at her and the woman smiled but Elizabeth did not return the smile. How could Daddy marry this northerner without telling her! The woman’s smile faded and she turned away to gaze into a bird cage and whistle at its yellow inmate.
‘Did you make Daddy marry you?’ challenged Elizabeth, putting her arms behind her back.
The woman gave her a long cool glance. ‘How would I do that, love?’
She reddened. ‘Mummy could make Daddy do things.’
The woman raised her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth lifted but she made no comment.
Elizabeth was irritated and a teeny bit scared. So might the wolf have smiled when he wanted to gobble up Red Riding Hood. ‘I won’t go with you,’ she repeated.
The woman sighed. ‘I’m getting fed up of this. I want to get back before dark so don’t give me any arguments. Think of your dad. He hasn’t been well and needs company right now. I was hoping you’d cheer him up but if you’re going to have a face like a wet Whit weekend, I could be wrong.’
Her words startled Elizabeth. ‘Is Daddy really ill?’
The woman hesitated. ‘There’s no need for you to start worrying.’
Elizabeth thought, He can’t be that ill then. ‘Why didn’t he want me at the wedding?’ she said aloud. ‘Does he really want me now? I won’t come if he doesn’t really want me.’
A puzzled frown drew the woman’s pencilled eyebrows together. ‘Don’t you want to see him?’
‘Of course I do. But it won’t be the same, will it, if you’re going to be there!’ In her imagination she conjured up a picture of her father’s eager-to-please features as they had looked before her mother had died. Elizabeth always remembered him like that. She felt a pain round her heart, considering how her mother’s death had changed him. It was as if when she had died part of him had died too and Elizabeth had felt almost doubly bereaved. But before she could say any more to this woman her father had turned to instead of her, Mother Bernard appeared.
They went with her to be told by Mother Clare that she had been unable to get through to Mr Knight. ‘Perhaps last night’s snow brought the lines down?’
‘So what decision have you come to, Sister?’ asked the woman, looking her fully in the face. ‘I do hope it’s still the same as mine. Elizabeth really should see Jimmy.’ There was a touch of steel in her voice.
The nun continued to gaze at her for several seconds, then she repeated her order to Elizabeth to pack her things. So there was nothing for her but to do as she was told.
Whilst she was emptying out the wardrobe in her cubicle, several girls entered the dormitory, crowding round her and asking questions which she did not want to answer. She was mortified every time she thought about the wedding she had not known anything about, and her pride was such that instead of telling them the truth she said the marriage was about to take place and she was going home to be bridesmaid. It was an anxious and rebellious Elizabeth who met the woman claiming to be her stepmother in the entrance hall.
‘Ready?’ she said, opening the outside door.
Anger welled up inside Elizabeth as she thought how this woman had caused her to lie to her friends. She brushed past, only to halt on the step. ‘Where’s the taxi?’
The woman’s eyebrows rose in that disconcerting fashion. ‘I’ve no money for taxis. Get walking, kid.’
Fury overwhelmed her and she said through her teeth, ‘But I’ve got my suitcase! It’s a long walk and the pavements are icy.’
‘You’ll survive,’ said the woman with a cheerfulness Elizabeth thought veered on the masochistic. ‘Console yourself with the thought that it’ll be easier going down than up, and that if you slip I’ll give you a hand up. Now move or you’ll have it dark.’
I don’t care, said Elizabeth inwardly. Nevertheless she moved. Strangely there was something in the woman’s voice which reminded her of the mother she had scarcely known, although this woman was much younger. Twenty years younger probably. The thought shocked her and she tried not to question her father’s motive for marrying a woman young enough to be his daughter.
Her temper was not improved as she slipped and slithered down Queen’s Road, between large houses with gardens which in summer were a treat to the eyes. Even before they reached the railway station, her suitcase felt as if it was dragging her arm out of its socket and by the time she seated herself on the train to Liverpool Street station she was definitely in no mood to respond to any kind of overture from the woman she still considered an interloper.
It was dusk when they reached Camden Town after travelling across London by tube. Lights were flickering on in windows and curtains were being drawn. Elizabeth was cold as well as weary, apprehensive and irritated. What would Daddy expect from her? That he had not told her about his marriage signalled that he did not expect her to welcome it. And she didn’t! As they splashed through dirty slush she could taste London’s gritty air in her throat and against her teeth, and imagined the sweep of untrodden snow on lawns and fields as viewed that morning from her dormitory window. She could almost smell the clean sweet country air. Why had Daddy had to marry this woman? He could have moved out of London when he’d been demobbed and found a little cottage and then there would have been no need for her to board. Duty was the school motto, and she could have looked after him like a daughter should in such circumstances.
‘You’ll be glad to get home,’ said the woman, pausing to take a turn with the suitcase.
Elizabeth made no reply. The house in London had never felt like home, perhaps because she had left it when she was six years old and never lived there for any long period of time since. With its high ceilings and the gas lamps that had existed then, she had often been frightened of shadows, imagining ghostly presences because the house was so old.
As they turned into the street where her father lived it suddenly felt darker despite the street lamps. It was as if candles had been snuffed out behind all the front windows. ‘Damn!’ muttered the woman, quickening her pace. ‘Power cut. I hope Jimmy has some candles handy.’
They came to the house and the woman dropped the suitcase and fumbled in her handbag. Elizabeth waited as she put the key in the latch and pushed open the door. The woman’s hand went to the light switch then she withdrew it. ‘Almost forgot,’ she murmured, and walked into the lobby in the darkness. Then she stopped abruptly causing Elizabeth to collide with her. ‘Can you smell it?’
The girl sniffed, forgetting her antipathy for the moment. ‘Gas.’ She sensed the woman frowning and suddenly a prickle of apprehension scraped down her spine. What if something had happened to her father? Instinctively she drew closer to the woman as hesitantly they sniffed their way towards the kitchen.
The woman opened the door and the smell of gas overwhelmed them. They drew back hastily as it caught them by the throat. ‘God!’ gasped the woman. ‘You get up by the front door and open it wide.’
‘What about Daddy?’ croaked Elizabeth. ‘Do you think he’s in there?’ By now her eyes were accustomed to the darkness and she could faintly make out the woman’s face. She watched her drag a scarf from her head and, bundling it up, cover her nose and mouth before plunging into the room.
Elizabeth hesitated then rushed up the lobby and flung open the front door. She took a deep breath of the London air she had scorned earlier before heading back up the lobby with a handkerchief pressed over her own mouth and nose.
The woman was bending over a huddled shape on the floor in front of the cooker. Without turning her head she said huskily, ‘There’s no gas coming from here now, mightn’t have been for a while, but open that window.’
Elizabeth did as she was told, conscious of the blood pulsing sluggishly through her veins. The lock on the sash window refused to budge and she broke a fingernail. Losing patience and almost breath she took off a shoe and smashed one of the panes. She inhaled gratefully before making her way across the floor.
The woman was slumped across her father’s body. She lifted her head. ‘Sorry, kid.’ Her voice was slurred. ‘But I think he’s been dead for some time.’
Elizabeth thought: But he can’t be dead. I’ve come to see him. I want to know why he needed this woman more than me! She’s mistaken! Fresh air’s what he needs.
Frantically she shoved the interloper away from her father’s body and noticed that the oven door was open. She slipped her hands beneath his armpits and heaved him away from the cooker, dragging him across the cold tiled floor and out to the front door. Then she looked into his face and was filled with a worse dread as her fingers sought for a pulse but could find none. Her mind struggled with the truth as tears welled up inside her. Then she became aware of the cold air chilling the back of her neck and remembered the woman who had tried to save him. Slowly she stood and went back up the lobby, aware that the smell of gas had dispersed a little.
The woman was still huddled on the floor and the fear which churned Elizabeth’s stomach intensified. Please, please, don’t you be dead, she thought, and shook her roughly. ‘Wake up!’ she yelled. ‘Wake up!’
The woman’s head lolled like a rag doll’s on her shoulders but her eyelids lifted a little. ‘Wh-what are … you … doing?’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘Holy Mary, thank God you’re not dead,’ gasped Elizabeth, relief mixing with her fear so potently that she felt dizzy.
The woman forced back her eyelids and pushed herself up from the floor into a sitting position. She looked about her slowly before her eyes returned to Elizabeth’s face. ‘Where’s Jimmy?’
Elizabeth eased her throat but even so her voice came out like a frog’s mating croak. ‘I dragged him to the front door. I think he’s dead, like you said. What are we going to do?’
There was a short silence and she wondered if the woman had taken in what she had said. Then the woman held out both hands and muttered, ‘Help me up, love. Me legs don’t feel like they quite belong to me.’
Elizabeth gripped her fingers and hoisted her to her feet. For a moment she thought the woman was going to collapse but she steadied herself and, leaning on Elizabeth’s shoulder, walked slowly into the lobby. They went over to where her father lay, and as she looked down at him the tears came into Elizabeth’s eyes and she wanted to howl.
‘Stop that now,’ said the woman, her own voice sounding raw. ‘Save your crying ’til later. We’ve got to get him inside and decide what we’re going to do.’
Elizabeth’s sobs shuddered to a halt and she wiped her eyes with the back of a hand and stared at her. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Deal with Jimmy as I said – hope the fire’s still in, make a cup of tea. And wait until the lights come on before we call the police.’
‘The police! Why should we call them?’ Her voice was stark. ‘We need a priest.’ It was what the nuns would have advocated. ‘Although it’s too late for Daddy.’ She felt the tears start again.
‘Don’t start crying.’ The woman sounded weary as she put an arm round her. ‘The police always have to be called when something like this happens. It was an accident. Get that firmly into your head.’
‘Of course it was an accident,’ said Elizabeth, wiping her eyes and leaning against the woman’s shoulder. ‘What else could it be?’
‘Exactly. The gas ran out. He put a couple of coppers in the meter and forgot to switch the oven off. Now let’s get you inside then I’ll see to him. You’ve had a terrible shock.’
Elizabeth did not argue but leaned against her as they carefully felt their way into the living room.
The oven, thought Elizabeth. ‘Why should Daddy have the oven on?’ she said aloud, shivering as she lowered herself on to the sofa in front of a fire that was only a heap of cinders.
The woman did not answer but sat with her head in her hands for a moment before rising and going into the lobby. Elizabeth hesitated, then decided it was not fair to leave it to her and followed her out. Without a word she helped her drag her father further up the lobby so they could close the door and shut out the cold. ‘What now?’ she asked, her teeth chattering.
‘We’ll put him in the parlour, have a drink – I think I’m in need of something stronger than tea. There’s some sherry we bought when we got married. I know you’re too young but it’ll put a bit of heart into us. Oh, and we’ll get a sheet and couple of blankets off the beds and wrap them round us. By the time we’ve done that I hope to God the gas’ll have all gone, the lights’ll have come on and we can have a fire and a cuppa.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘Now, lift.’
Elizabeth lifted, trying to block out all thoughts that would distract her from doing what she had to.
After the woman had covered her father with the sheet, the pair of them sat in the living room on the sofa with a blanket apiece, sipping sherry in the dark. There was a sense of unreality about the situation. Perhaps it was unreal? thought Elizabeth. A dream? But the woman was here and she couldn’t have imagined her. Besides, surely one couldn’t taste and feel in a dream? Dear sweet Jesus! she was getting all muddled. She cleared her throat. ‘The oven? Daddy couldn’t cook.’
‘He might have put it on to warm the kitchen.’
Elizabeth had not thought of that and was relieved.
The woman continued, ‘We didn’t have much coal, what with the rationing and him not having found a job since leaving the army. That was another thing I didn’t know about until we were married. I was a bit of a dafty. I believed everything he told me.’ Her voice was filled with self-mockery. ‘He’s been living on your mam’s money but it’s all gone now. He didn’t have any himself. He told me she married him for his charm and good looks when he came to work on the family farm, but he loved her all right. He could have married better if it had just been for money. He didn’t pay last week’s rent by the way. I did with me last wages. That’s why I thought you should come home. You’re his daughter and he should have told you the way things were instead of pretending.’ She paused. ‘How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?’
‘Fourteen a month ago.’ Elizabeth’s voice was low and uneven. She was conscious of a hollowness inside her, a mixture of hunger and loss. Her head felt light and the woman’s words seemed to echo inside her brain. Was it true what this woman was saying? She had never known how her parents had met. As for what she had said about money, it sounded as if things couldn’t be worse.
‘And a young fourteen, I bet,’ murmured the woman. ‘He talked of your staying on at school, thought it was important that you got a good education so you could support yourself. I wonder – is that where I came in? He must have been mad …’ Her tone was thoughtful.
‘What do you mean?’ Elizabeth stirred herself to respond.
The woman did not answer but uncurled herself and got to her feet. ‘I’m going to put a penny in the meter and chance making a cuppa.’
Elizabeth rose hurriedly and followed her from the room, still clutching the blanket around her shoulders. She did not want to be alone. ‘There might be some gas still around.’
‘We’ll open the back door wide. I suppose we could try getting a fire going but it would mean traipsing down the cellar in the dark.’
Elizabeth considered. ‘What about Mrs Slater next-door? She’d give us a cup of tea.’
‘I’d rather not bother the neighbours about this, kid. She might come poking her nose in and we don’t want that.’
‘We could stay in her house.’
‘And what about your dad? She’ll ask questions. I want to deal with this in my way. God willing, it’ll work out best in the long run.’
Elizabeth said no more but was relieved when the woman changed her mind about lighting the gas ring on the cooker because the smell of gas still hung in the air. She went down into the cellar and Elizabeth felt a faint stirring of admiration. It was eerie enough where she was, without plunging into a place she remembered as cobwebby and spooky.
It took some time to get a fire going and a kettle to boil but there was a hypnotic quality about waiting for both and her thoughts were partially distracted from the body in the parlour. Once the woman went and clicked on the light switch but there was still no power. It was not until they were warming their hands round cups of tea that the bulb overhead flooded light into the room.
Immediately the woman went over to the mantelshelf but Elizabeth could not see what she was doing because she had her back towards her and her body blocked Elizabeth’s view. After a few seconds she left the room. When she returned she dropped a crumpled ball of paper on to the fire and stood watching it burn. Then she went into the lobby, lifted the telephone receiver and dialled.
‘Your name is Mrs Phyllis Mary Knight?’ The policeman checked his notes.
The woman gazed gravely at him. ‘We were married only two weeks ago.’ Her voice was unsteady and she dabbed at her eyes with a dainty embroidered handkerchief.
Elizabeth sat quietly in a corner watching them, hoping to be ignored.
‘You knew your husband was ill?’
‘Not until an hour ago when his doctor told me. He seemed very well.’
Her answer took Elizabeth by surprise and she thought, You’re a liar, Phyllis Mary Knight.
‘You found no note?’
‘Note?’ Somehow the woman managed to infuse overwhelming astonishment into the single word as her eyes slowly filled with tears. ‘You can’t be suggesting –’
‘Please don’t cry, Mrs Knight,’ said the policeman hastily. ‘In cases like these we always have to ask. Perhaps we could just run over your statement again? And then, if we could talk to your stepdaughter …’
‘D’you have to?’ There was a tremor in her voice. ‘This has all been a terrible shock to her. She hadn’t seen her daddy since Christmas.’
‘We’ll be gentle with her.’
Phyllis sighed. ‘Can’t I stay with her? I mean, she’s so young.’
I’m not that young, thought Elizabeth indignantly. And you’re not so old yourself!
‘Of course, madam.’ The policeman began to read through his notes.
Elizabeth listened keenly and realised there were a couple of things the woman had wrong. Elizabeth had not been by her side when she had found Jimmy’s body near the cooker, and neither had they carried him outside together. But why should Phyllis lie?
It was not until the policeman started to question Elizabeth that his earlier mention of a note flashed into her mind. She remembered the paper that Phyllis had thrown on to the fire, the open oven door, and how the woman had tried to save Daddy’s life. Putting these facts together, she reckoned she knew why Phyllis was lying to the police, so she followed suit.
The policeman seemed satisfied with her answers and put his notebook away. ‘There’ll have to be an inquest, Mrs Knight,’ he said. ‘You just speak up like you have to me and I can’t see you having any problems.’
‘Thank you, officer.’ Phyllis smiled her gratitude. ‘Let me see you out.’
Elizabeth watched them leave the room. Picking up a blanket from a chair, she wrapped it tightly about her and curled up on the sofa. Her father’s body had been taken away and she was still trying to come to terms with that.
Phyllis reappeared and went to stand by the fireplace. She gazed down at Elizabeth with a faint smile on her heart-shaped face. ‘Jimmy said you weren’t soft.’
‘What did the note say?’ Elizabeth’s voice was stiff with the effort of controlling her emotions.
There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘It said he had cancer. There was going to be a lot of pain and he didn’t want you to see him suffering.’
‘Me? But I hardly ever saw him, and I wanted to! I feel like I hardly knew him. It wasn’t me he killed himself for.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, I don’t want to believe he killed himself! He’ll never be allowed into Heaven.’
‘Don’t believe it then. Carry on pretending it was an accident,’ the woman said lightly. ‘As for me, I’ve got to accept, from what he said about going to your mother in the note, that he certainly didn’t marry me for love but because he knew you were going to need someone. God only knows why he picked me.’ Her hands were unsteady as she lit a cigarette.
‘I have an aunt.’ Elizabeth’s voice was tight and she plucked the edge of the blanket. ‘Not that I’ve ever seen her. She was Mummy’s sister. They fell out when Mummy got married.’
‘Have you any idea where she lives?’
Elizabeth shook her head, realising afresh how little she knew about her parents’ lives before she was born. The full significance of her father’s death suddenly hit her. ‘You said he had no money? No money at all.’
‘That’s right. Hopefully there’ll be some insurance but I can’t see there being enough over after the funeral to keep you in knickers, never mind that convent school in the country.’
Elizabeth stared wide-eyed and her spirits plummeted even further. ‘Then what’s going to happen to me?’ she stammered. ‘Will I live here w-with you?’
‘No.’ Her stepmother inhaled and then blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I wouldn’t stay in this house now for a gold clock. I came to London hoping to see my name up in lights.’ For an instant her expression showed deep disappointment, then she shrugged. ‘Another dream down the swanny. I’m skint and I’d like to see my family.’
‘You mean …?’
‘I’m going home to Liverpool.’
‘But what about me?’ repeated Elizabeth, feeling utterly lost. ‘You’re my – you’re my – stepmother!’ She managed to make the word sound like an accusation.
Phyllis stared at her and slowly smiled. ‘So I am. In that case, I suppose you’d best come with me. But I warn you now, I don’t like moaners. So if you have any complaints, keep your mouth shut. Now let’s get to bed. I’ve a feeling the next few days are going to be rough.’
Elizabeth did not argue. She had a strong conviction this was an understatement but saw no other option open to her at that moment but to stay close to this woman who was her stepmother and now her father’s widow.
Kitty Ryan glanced around the room and was satisfied with its appearance. She had polished the tallboy and oval-mirrored dressing table with a power of elbow grease of which her mother would have been proud, and her cousin Annie had done the same to the linoleum. Kitty straightened a towel on the washstand before moving over to the window and gazing out on Mount Pleasant. It had once been called Martindale Hill and surrounded by countryside but now it was at the heart of Liverpool, only five minutes from Lime Street railway station and half an hour from the docks.
On the opposite side of the road a yellowish sun was reflected in the windows of the YMCA and below in the street a nun was panting up the Mount in the direction of the Convent of Notre Dame. The faint sound of her voice and that of Mr Fyans, theatrical wigmaker, exchanging greetings, came to Kitty but she did not heed them because out of the corner of her eye she had caught sight of her eldest son Mick racing up the cobbled road. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat because she had been expecting something else to go wrong and this looked like being it. Her mother had always said bad things came in threes. First there had been her death six weeks ago, then early this morning Kitty’s brother-in-law Jimmy had told her he was leaving. Now here was Mick in the devil of a hurry and that usually meant trouble.
Kitty fled downstairs and was in the lobby when the vestibule door was flung open, crashing against the wall.
Mick stood in the hotel doorway, red-faced and panting, his dark hair damp with sweat. ‘Ma, you’d best come quick! Our Teddy’s at it again.’
‘What’s he done this time?’ She did not pause to untie her apron strings but hurried outside, trying to make sense of Mick’s babbled explanation as they ran past the numerous temperance hotels, dental establishments and shops strung out down the Mount.
‘I told him not to do it,’ gasped Mick. ‘I said we’re both too old for that sort of game! But he called me a coward and told me to shut me mouth! I should have hit him but he’s smaller than me, Ma, and I don’t—’
‘It’s all right, son. You don’t have to explain.’ She marvelled at how this eldest boy of hers was ever ready to take on responsibility for his younger brothers, who seemed unable to recognise fear even when it stared them in the face. Mick was a gentler soul, more like his father who had died three years ago.
Roscoe Gardens came into view, named after one of Liverpool’s most famous sons who had instituted the Liverpool Botanical Gardens and found fame in America. Several grinning children, one with an elbow out of his frayed jacket sleeve and a couple with boots on but no socks, gathered where Teddy clung with both hands to a railing. He was trapped by a spike which had torn right through the fabric of his trousers and was sticking out near his groin.
‘Do you always have to be putting me to shame?’ said Kitty in a seething voice whilst her heart hammered in her breast. She could not see if the spike had caused any damage but she feared the worst and her fear made her speak more scathingly than she would have normally. ‘You think you’d have more sense at your age! You’re a blinking nuisance! How am I going to get you down from up there?’
Beads of sweat had formed on Teddy’s forehead despite the cold. ‘I’m sorry, Ma. You’ll have to cut me trousers and lift me off. I’m scared to move. The spike’s scraped the skin off right along the inside of me thigh an – and further in.’ He looked anguished.
‘I knew it,’ she cried and for a moment everything swam around her. Then she took a deep steadying breath and weighed up the situation, wishing not for the first time she was six inches taller.
A man in a pinstriped suit and a bowler hat paused in front of Teddy and wagged a finger. ‘Children have no respect for public property.’ His bulbous nose twitched and he sniffed. ‘Get your husband to give him a whipping, madam.’
‘My man’s dead,’ said Kitty in clipped tones. ‘And if you’ve got nothing better to say get out from under me feet and let me be thinking how to get him down.’
The man spluttered indignantly and said something about finding a constable.
Kitty turned her back on him and climbed onto the sandstone kerb into which the railings were cemented. Mick jumped up beside her and they both put a hand beneath Teddy’s bottom and attempted to push him up off the spike but they could not quite do it, despite his being small and wiry for his thirteen years. Then seemingly out of thin air came a long arm which barely brushed the flaxen hair Kitty had inherited from her Norwegian father and heaved Teddy from his perch, tearing his trouser leg apart in the process.
Kitty glanced up at least a foot into an austere, weather-beaten face and eyes which were more green than brown, before switching her glance to her middle son. There was blood on his underpants, which were also torn, and her stomach turned over.
The man planted Teddy on the pavement and there were tears of mortification in the boy’s eyes as his rescuer knelt and inspected his injuries. ‘Let me go,’ said Teddy through gritted teeth.
The man released him. ‘Next time, laddie, don’t be worrying your mother. You nearly lost your manhood there. Think first and don’t be such a daftie.’ He nodded in Kitty’s direction. ‘He should see a doctor and have that wound cleansed and stitched.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Thank you. He will.’
A faint smile lightened the man’s eyes and he doffed his tartan bonnet before picking up a violin case from the ground and walking away with his kilt swinging, past the Shaftsbury Hotel and out of sight round the corner.
Kitty and Mick stared after him. ‘Wow!’ exclaimed Mick. ‘Fe-fi-fo-fum! Was he a giant or wasn’t he?’
‘I hate him!’ said Teddy, pulling the flapping trouser leg so that it covered his bloodied underpants and slashed inner thigh. ‘He shouldn’t have looked at me like that and, besides, men shouldn’t wear skirts. They’re for cissies!’
For a moment Kitty forgot Teddy had been hurt and clipped him across the ear. ‘You ungrateful little monkey!’ she scolded. ‘Next time you mightn’t be so lucky. Now get off up home and wash that blood off and change those trousers. I’ll have to take you to see Doctor Galloway.’
Teddy’s mouth set stubbornly. ‘No doctor’s going to mess with me there. Gran wouldn’t have allowed it. I’ll see to it myself.’
‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ she said firmly.
He shook his head and, elbowing a couple of kids aside, he ran limping up the road. Mick followed him swiftly but a still-shaken Kitty trailed slowly after them, wishing her mother was still there to turn to at such times. Tears caught her unexpectedly by the throat. Her mother had been so strong and it still seemed incredible to Kitty that she could have died so suddenly. Her husband Michael’s death had been so much easier to accept. He had been weak and suffered long. She eased her throat. What was the point of dwelling on sad times? There was work to do and Teddy to deal with.
She quickened her pace and hurried inside the Arcadia Hotel, which her mother had taken over seven years ago, three years before the Wall Street Crash. Times had been hard since then but somehow Kitty had managed to keep her head above water, although she had had to postpone the improvements she would have liked to have made. Still, having the hotel to run was what kept her going. The hotel was her boys’ future. It would provide them with jobs and an inheritance.
She went in search of Teddy but the kitchen and basement were empty. She ran upstairs and found the boys’ bedroom door closed against her. ‘Are you in there, Teddy?’ she cried.
‘Go away, Ma. I’m dealing with this myself.’
‘Don’t be silly. You could end up with septicaemia.’
‘No, I won’t.’
Mick spoke up. ‘I got him some whiskey, Ma, from the shelf. You know how Gran only ever used it for medicinal purposes.’
‘Don’t you dare be drinking any of that,’ commanded Kitty, rattling the doorknob.
‘We won’t,’ said Teddy. ‘Just go and get on with the dinner, Ma.’
Kitty gave in and went downstairs, considering how controlling her elder two sons had been much easier when they were younger. She went into the room she had been preparing for the Potters, whose liner from New York had been due to dock that morning, and checked once again that everything was spick and span. A rumbling of wheels on the cobbles and her brother-in-law Jimmy’s deep voice in the street below caused her to hasten out of the room.
Annie, with her rusty-coloured curls unruly beneath a mop cap, appeared in a bedroom doorway at the end of the landing. ‘He’s back, Kit. Is there anything else you want me to do up here or can I go down?’ she said eagerly.
‘You go.’ Kitty had guessed months ago that Annie was head over heels in love with Kitty’s good-looking Irish brother-in-law. If Jimmy did leave as he had strongly hinted then Annie was going to be upset.
In the lobby Jimmy was hauling a large trunk along the floor with Kitty’s seven-year-old son Ben doing his best to help. Since his father’s death he had followed Jimmy around everywhere. They had just been to the docks with the handcart for the Potters’ luggage.
‘Enough, Ben,’ panted Jimmy, coming to a halt near the foot of the stairs and collapsing on the trunk.
Immediately Ben scrambled up beside him. ‘Now give us a ride upstairs,’ he commanded.
Jimmy raised dark eyebrows, took a cigarette from behind his ear and lit up. He shoved the boy along with his backside until he fell off the other end of the trunk. Ben laughed before perching once more beside him.
‘Where are you putting them, Kit?’ asked Jimmy.
‘First floor. I take it you’re not going to manage that trunk on your own?’
‘Not on your Nelly! It weighs a ton.’
‘I’ll get Mick. Teddy’s hurt—’
‘Don’t bother.’ Jimmy got to his feet. ‘I’ve a job to do for Annie’s ma in Vine Street.’ He glanced at the girl who was looking at him with sheep’s eyes and away again to Kitty. ‘I’ll see to the trunk later.’
‘But it’s going to be in the way there,’ she protested. ‘Can’t you hang on for half an hour. Besides we’ve got to talk.’
‘Not now.’ His tone was short. ‘I’ll see you later.’
‘OK! I suppose now isn’t the right time – but what about the Potters? Where are they?’
‘They’re finding their own way – said they wanted to have a look at Liverpool and the Shakie. He says he’s a magician. And this—’ he tapped the trunk with his boot, ‘contains his props. I’ll see you later.’ With a wave of a hand he strolled down the lobby and outside.
Ben slid off the trunk and ran after him. Kitty called him back but he took no notice and by the time she reached the front door he was running up the Mount at a fair lick. She let him go, wondering if she was losing complete control of her boys and how she would cope if Jimmy did leave. She went back inside, to be confronted by a serious-faced Annie. ‘What’s up with Jimmy?’
‘He might be leaving.’ Kitty’s tone was as calm as she could make it as she headed for the kitchen.
‘Leaving! B-but he can’t be,’ cried Annie, dogging her footsteps.
Kitty did not reply but went over to the sink and washed her hands before taking the lid off the pan of steak and kidney she had cooked earlier. She began to spoon it into two shallow dishes. ‘Put the kettle on, love.’
‘But what’ll we do without him?’ said Annie.
‘We’ll manage somehow.’ Quite how, Kitty was unsure. Since Michael had returned from the war with gas-damaged lungs he had been unable to work. So it had been Jimmy who had done all the odd jobs and heavy lifting around the place, but he had been with them longer than that. He had been too young for the Great War so he had lived with Kitty and her mother in the lodging house in Crown Street which had been their home at that time, whilst his brother had gone off to Flanders.
Annie looked as if her whole world was disintegrating. ‘But where will he go?’
‘I don’t know. He hasn’t said.’ Kitty took lard from the gas refrigerator and flour from a cupboard shelf. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to him about – as well as to try and persuade him not to go.’ She measured out ingredients and her fingers began to work lard into flour.
Annie’s soft mouth set. ‘It’ll be difficult for him anywhere else. You must tell him that.’
‘He doesn’t need me to tell him.’ Kitty did not lift her head. ‘You know how touchy he is about not being able to read or write but never would he allow me or Ma to help him. His pride got in the way. You know the way it is with the whole male race. Have you made that tea yet?’
‘No, I don’t know,’ said Annie, her tone agitated. ‘You’re forgetting we’re all girls in our house. People could cheat him, Kit. We can’t let him go.’
Kitty was silent, considering how Michael could have taught his brother to read and write, but Jimmy’s vitality in the sick room had only served to make her husband more aware of his own physical weakness.
‘We have to do something,’ said Annie, placing a cup and a buttered scone on a plate near to Kitty’s hand.
‘I’ll speak to him,’ said Kitty.
‘You make him listen!’ Her cousin stared at her unhappily over the rim of her cup and was about to say something else when the bell rang in reception.