Flowers on the Mersey (15 page)

‘I don’t want a man,’ said Rebekah, outwardly calm as she polished the walnut sideboard.

Hannah’s look was disbelieving and she sniffed in a way that expressed exactly what she was thinking.

Rebekah was determined not to let the maid drive her out of the house but even so she began to scan the columns of the local paper in search of a job.

‘Housekeeper wanted.’ Pity she couldn’t send Hannah after that. ‘Situations required by
ex-officers
and other ranks.’ Poor soldiers! At least she was not desperate for work because she had a family dependent on her. She read on. Charlie Chaplin was getting divorced from Miss Mildred Harris, who was not to use his name in her profession. What
happened to a marriage to make the scandal of divorce more preferable?

A couple more weeks passed and Rebekah continued to look in the
Echo
. Joiners throughout the country went on strike. The papers said that it was a bad look out for Christmas. She was terribly lonely and despaired of ever feeling normal or even mildly cheerful again. The days stretched ahead of her like a dark tunnel with only night at the end.

December came in and she read that there was talk of an Irish truce … that there could be peace. She considered how she and Daniel had spoken of such an event and could have wept. In the same paper there was an article about the funeral of a Sinn Fein victim. A young man had been shot dead in Liverpool when the Sinn Feiners had set fire to buildings. Hundreds had attended the requiem mass despite the gales that had swept Merseyside. Rebekah remembered the day in Dublin when Shaun had shot the Black and Tans and she experienced a heaviness that seemed to weigh her down. Even in Liverpool people were not completely safe. She was filled with a sense of restlessness and a need to talk about Daniel. Her aunt was no use. She would surely disapprove. Brigid! She had to talk to her. Before the doubts started crowding in again, she wrote to her.

Brigid replied by return of post. ‘Of course I want to see you, you dafty! I thought you’d found some posh friends and didn’t want me.’ She gave arrangements
for a meeting, and for the first time in a long time Rebekah looked forward to the days ahead.

At breakfast three days later, and two months to the day since the
Samson
had set off to America, Esther voiced her plans for the day. ‘We’ll go shopping, just for a few essentials. Then after a quiet time and dinner, we’ll walk in the park. Exercise is essential for a healthy body.’

Rebekah had heard similar sentiments every day for the last few weeks. ‘No thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’

‘A friend?’ Esther stared at her.

Hannah paused in doling out the porridge. ‘It’s a fella.’

‘It’s half a dozen,’ said Rebekah mildly. ‘We’re going to dance ragtime in Woolworth’s threepence and sixpence store.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said her aunt, obviously startled.

‘I do,’ said the maid in a satisfied voice, slamming a dollop of sticky porridge on to Rebekah’s plate.

Rebekah’s smile was genuine for the first time in weeks.

‘Where next?’ Rebekah put her arm through Brigid’s and smiled at her. They had done some of Brigid’s Christmas shopping and then had coffee and cakes in Cooper’s café before strolling round the Bon Marché where Rebekah had paid twenty-one shillings for a jade crêpe-de-Chine blouse – all due to Brigid’s persuasive tongue, and the fact that she had spent little of the money Joshua Green had given to her. ‘Yer looking real drab,’ her friend had said, and Rebekah, who had stopped feeling drab from the moment her letter had arrived, agreed and bought the blouse. Now she was wondering why they had stopped in front of the flower girls outside Central Station.

‘D’yer realise it’s two months to the day since we sailed for America?’ said Brigid.

‘Yes.’ The smile faded from Rebekah’s face.

‘I want to buy some flowers. I’m going to throw them on the Mersey.’

Rebekah stared at her. ‘It’s a lovely thought, but won’t the tide wash them back?’

Brigid shrugged. ‘I know it’s daft but I want to do something.’

A sharp laugh escaped Rebekah. ‘But I thought you’d lit candles in church and had masses said?’

‘I have.’ Brigid’s voice was fierce. ‘But it’s not enough! I feel so frustrated, Becky. So angry with God.’ She fumbled inside her handbag. ‘He could have allowed me at least a grave to tend! But then, I suppose I’m no worse off than the thousands of women who lost their men in the Great War. Although they do have the new cenotaph.’

‘We’ll have a whole armful!’ Rebekah found her own purse. ‘I think lovely big yellow chrysanths are best.’ She pointed out the flowers to the woman wrapped in a thick black knitted shawl. ‘Yellow’s for remembrance, you know, Brigid.’ Her tongue was almost tripping her because she felt like crying. ‘Not that I’ve forgotten Daniel or Mama or Papa – or your Keith.’ She handed a pound note to the woman.

Brigid took some of the flowers and dropped a halfcrown in Rebekah’s pocket. ‘Yer don’t have to pay my share.’

She shook her head but it was no use saying anything to Brigid. She was proud, and as she had
a job as an all-purpose maid for a doctor with an invalid daughter, Rebekah presumed she must have some money.

They dodged a horse drawn wagon and a delivery bicycle as they crossed the road, laden down with parcels and flowers.

They walked in silence, deep in memories. ‘I see in the paper the troubles in Ireland might be over,’ said Brigid at last.

Rebekah nodded. ‘I wonder if Shaun’s back in Ireland or whether he stayed in America?’

‘I haven’t heard anything. D’you want me to find out?’

‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘I never did care for him and I don’t know why I’m bothering my head thinking about him now. Let’s get a tram to the Pierhead. I don’t know about you but my feet are killing me.’

As the Birkenhead ferry discharged people at the landing stage, throwing flowers into the Mersey did not seem such a good idea.

‘People’ll think we’re mad, won’t they?’ said Brigid.

Rebekah looked at her, pinched with the cold, miserable of face, and was angry. ‘Who cares?’ She began to run and Brigid followed her.

Rebekah stopped on the spot where she had stood with Daniel a little longer than two months ago. Was it crazy to feel so lonely for someone she had known so briefly? She looked up at the sky, searching for she did not know what. God could
not be pleased with her. She had broken his rules. He was supposed to be a forgiving God, but was she sorry for what she had done with Daniel? Did she have any regrets about defying her parents? She bit her trembling lips. She and Daniel had become part of each other and she could not be sorry about that, though she did regret hurting her parents. For a moment longer she searched the clouds, needing reassurance, but there was no sign from the heavens. Stupid of her. God’s spirit was within you. It was an inner voice that she needed to listen to, but how did one know what were just one’s own thoughts and which God’s? She sighed, then put down her parcels and cast the chrysanthemums one by one on to the water.

It was the first of many outings with Brigid and when Rebekah mentioned that it was her birthday the week before Christmas, her friend said, as she paid twopence for
The Penny Magazine
in the newsagent’s: ‘You can’t just let your birthday go by.’

‘What’s there to celebrate?’

‘Yer aunt not doing anything special?’

‘She hasn’t mentioned it, but that could be because she’s cross with me. She thinks I’ve got a fella.’

Brigid’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Why does she think that?’

‘Because I pretend I have – just to get Hannah going.
She was actually croaking around the house yesterday. You couldn’t call it singing. Besides, Quakers don’t sing. Nothing would please her more than to see me married off – preferably to someone not of the Quaker persuasion. You’re tall, dark and handsome, and after my fortune.’

Brigid grinned. ‘Yer joking!’

‘She believes it because she wants to, of course. Aunt Esther doesn’t know what to believe. I’ve denied that you’re a man but she’s not sure because Hannah’s gone on at her about my flirting with boys in Dublin. I’d ask you to visit, only she’d bombard you with questions. Wanting to know about your family and all that. Religion, you know.’ She smiled. ‘I think on my birthday I’ll tell them that we’re going to the theatre.’

‘Are we dollying ourselves up?’

‘Of course! We’ve got to put a good face on things.’ Rebekah held her head on one side. ‘Where shall we go?’

Brigid hesitated. ‘If yer like – instead of doing that – yer could have a birthday tea in our house. Mam would like to meet yer and she’d be pleased to do it.’

Rebekah stared at her. ‘What does she feel about my not being a Catholic?’

‘As long as yer not Orange, that’s all she cares. If yer were a fella, of course, it’d be different.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ murmured Rebekah.

‘Our Pat’ll be home.’

‘It’ll be nice to see him again,’ said Rebekah politely. She had little recollection of what Brigid’s brother looked like, despite having met him aboard ship.

Brigid put her hand through her arm. ‘He’ll cheer us up. Even if he has yer crying at the same time. He left the money for our Kath’s kids to go the grotto last time he was home so I’m taking them next week. Would yer like to come? I’ve got a half day off.’

‘If I haven’t found a job by then,’ said Rebekah, not having much hope of doing so.

‘Right! It’ll soon be Christmas.’ Brigid sounded cheerful but Rebekah knew exactly how she was feeling. She watched her open her magazine and start reading as she walked. ‘What’s so fascinating?’

‘It’s the new Ethel M. Dell romance.’

‘Will there be any kissing?’

Brigid gave her a mock disapproving look. ‘If you want lots of kissing you should read
The Sheik.
Although they do more than kissing in that! Mam sez it’s immoral. She’s read it because she sez it’s her duty to know what kind of rubbish us girls read.’

Rebekah smiled. ‘Ethel M. Dell’s not immoral?’

Brigid returned her smile. ‘They pray and struggle with their consciences. Yer should read Elin Glyn’s
Three Weeks
if yer want immoral. Not that there’s anything real descriptive. She’s a princess and older. He’s young and handsome. They’re not married and they make
love on a couch of roses. Have yer ever heard the like?’

Rebekah thought of a sandy beach and the hard wood of the lifeboat. ‘It’s not realistic’

Brigid’s glance met Rebekah’s and her voice quivered when she said, ‘Who wants realism?’

Rebekah squeezed her arm and wondered if the pain would ever go.

The days passed less slowly. Rebekah went with Brigid and her niece and nephew to the grotto to see Father Christmas. Afterwards she took them to the cocoa house on the corner of the Haymarket and Manchester Street. They had hot drinks and Wet Nellies, a sort of stale bunloaf, which dripped treacle. In their company she momentarily forgot her grief. On the way home, Brigid told Rebekah that she had met Daniel’s cousin and mentioned Shaun to them. ‘They hadn’t heard nothing from him! The news about Daniel came as a terrible shock!’

That night, Rebekah could not get to sleep at all and in frustration picked up Florence Barclay’s
The Rosary
which Brigid had lent her. It was said to have been read and wept over by every housemaid in the British Isles. Even Hannah had read it and told Rebekah that it would do her soul good – which had not particularly recommended it to her. Rebekah wondered if there was something wrong with her because she was already bored with the lovers and their blindness to each other. When it came to the end, with the hero on his knees in front of the heroine, Becky wanted
her to pull him up and have him demanding her all!

She put the book down, remembering the passion there had been between Daniel and herself. It seemed evil that it should have been suppressed so soon. Evil because that passion still existed. The yearning to give herself – to be taken. She turned off the gaslight and remembered that first meeting with Daniel. Had she fallen in love with him then? She recalled all their meetings. Her eyelids dropped and she dreamt that he was alive again, that they were making love on a bed of roses. Stupid! Roses had thorns. Even in dreams she could not escape reality. She woke up and wondered if the day would ever come when being alive did not hurt.

It was one of those glorious winter days, crisp but sunny, that catches at the throat, and is all the more welcome because one knows that the bad weather will soon be back. In a few days it would be Rebekah’s birthday and she felt older than her twenty years. She almost wished herself as young as the girls, who could not be more than ten years old, importantly wheeling baby sisters or brothers in high prams. Several boys, on the way to the park not a couple of hundred yards away, kicked a ball up the middle of the road. A horse waited patiently between the shafts of a coal wagon as the coalman heaved a hundredweight sack of coal on his back and carried it up the long path to a house. Steps were being sandstoned and brass knockers polished as Rebekah walked past gardens where a few chrysanthemums still bloomed. A middle-aged man tying up flowers
called, ‘Good morning.’ He had given her a friendly wave in the past but her aunt had always hurried her past.

Rebekah stopped. ‘It’s a nice day.’

He grinned. ‘It is that. I’m Mr McIntyre. You’re Irish? Never knew there were Quakers in Ireland until I heard about you.’

Rebekah returned his smile. ‘There’s a few but I’m not really one of them, although Mama used to be. It’s nice to meet you, Mr McIntyre.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Rebekah Rhoades.’

He hesitated and wiped his own hand on
well-worn
grey flannel trousers before taking hers. ‘It’s terrible the things that have been going on over there, and it doesn’t look like the peace talks are getting anywhere. They say that peace would be more likely if Lloyd George’s didn’t expect them to lay down their arms before handing only part of Ireland over to them!’

‘Unconditional surrender,’ said Rebekah. ‘I can’t see it coming off.’

He nodded and leant on the gate. ‘I see they’ve got two sisters on conspiracy charges to do with that Catholic lad’s murder in town. Apparently there was a framed Irish Republican Declaration in their house in Seaforth, as well as lists of arms and explosives. I ask you, women! I thought our Edwina was mad enough when she got herself involved with that suffragette movement before the war. You’ve never
been involved in anything like that, Miss Rhoades?’

‘No, but I admire her courage. I read some of my mother’s leaflets about what was done to Emily Davison.’

He nodded, his expression grim. ‘They force-fed my daughter once. That was enough for her. It was peaceful means after that.’ He nodded vehemently. ‘But I shouldn’t be keeping you if you’ve the messages to get. You aunt’ll be after me.’

He moved away and she carried on up the road, stricken with pain at the sudden memory of that afternoon with Daniel in Seaforth.

The smell of freshly baked bread did not rouse Rebekah from her thoughts, but as she entered the bakery she collided with a young woman in a brown tweed costume. Around her neck she wore a complete fox stole with glassy eyes that seemed to fix on Rebekah’s face at the same time as the woman’s. She looked to be in her late twenties. ‘You’re the Irish Quaker,’ she said.

Rebekah grimaced. ‘No, I’m not. My mother was, and so is my aunt. I’m not sure what I am.’

The woman raised thick eyebrows. ‘My mistake. I’m Edwina McIntyre.’ She possessed her father’s strong bone structure and squarish face. ‘Has your aunt been saying anything about me?’

‘Nothing,’ said Rebekah, taken aback. ‘But your father’s been telling me about your being a suffragette.’

Edwina’s smile became fixed. ‘Oh, that! Being
in prison isn’t seen as so bad by your aunt because some of the Quaker men were jailed for being conscientious objectors during the war. It’s my having had a baby and not being married that makes her look on me as a scarlet woman.’ She paused. ‘Am I shocking you?’

‘Are you trying to because you don’t like my aunt?’

Edwina laughed. ‘How clever of you. She makes me squirm, the way she stares. You’d think I was the serpent in Eden.’ She pressed Rebekah’s arm. ‘You must come and have a cup of tea with us one day. You can tell me all about yourself.’ She waved a hand and strode off.

Rebekah stared after her. She could not see herself and Edwina having much in common, and the other woman had shocked her a little by her openness. Although who was she to judge? How would it have been if she had had Daniel’s baby? How would her aunt have reacted? Perhaps she would have taken her in still, but a baby? And Joshua Green, what would he have said and done? She fancied a scandal would be the last thing he would wish for. Probably he would have sent her away to a quiet discreet Home and had the baby put up for adoption. Hers and Daniel’s baby – how would she have felt about that?

It was strange, never having met Edwina before, that Rebekah should bump into her that evening when buying the
Liverpool Echo
from the newsvendor
Edwina was reading the front page. She looked up. ‘Oh, it’s you again. I’m just reading about that poor woman they pulled out of the Mersey. I bet some man’s behind it. They’ve named her as Emma Richards. Her brother’s a shipowner and lives not far away. He goes to our church.’

‘What!’ Rebekah handed over the money for a newspaper and found the article. She began to read: ‘According to her brother, Joshua Green, his sister had been staying with friends in Formby-by-
the-Sea
. She had been unwell for a while. They had not become worried immediately as she often wandered off on her own.’

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ said Edwina, staring at her.

‘I’ve met her,’ murmured Rebekah, folding the paper. ‘Her brother’s my guardian.’

‘Her brother is – not your aunt?’

‘My father and aunt never got on.’

Edwina nodded, but asked no questions as they began to walk. ‘I see there’s to be an inquest. Do you think it was suicide?’

‘You mean, did she kill herself?’ Rebekah’s back stiffened.

‘That’s what suicide is,’ said Edwina drily. ‘And you can’t exactly fall into the sea at Formby. Of course, she could have been trapped by the tide on a sandbank if she’d gone paddling – but the time of year’s all wrong.’

Rebekah said woodenly. ‘It’s been a lovely day today.’

‘Cold, though. It’s been quite a year for the poor man.’

‘You mean with one of his ships sinking, and now this?’

Edwina wrinkled her nose. ‘I meant his being jilted at the altar last April. They make jokes about that sort of thing happening, but he was actually left waiting in the church. I mean, men can be swines – but to humiliate someone like that is all wrong.’

Rebekah nodded. ‘I’ll have to go and see him.’

‘I don’t envy you.’ Edwina smiled. ‘By the way, that invitation still stands. Just drop in when you feel like it.’

‘Thanks.’

They parted at her aunt’s front gate.

Rebekah told her about Emma. ‘I’ll have to go and see Mr Green.’

Esther looked up from her sewing. ‘Not a nice thing to happen. Couldn’t thou just send a letter and flowers.’

‘There’s to be an inquest, which means funeral arrangements won’t have been made yet.’

Her aunt sighed. ‘Well, if thou must, thou must. But don’t linger.’

Rebekah said that she had no intention of doing so and went out of the room before her aunt could say more.

Rebekah stared at the ship’s bell on the side of the red-brick porch, and then at the cat miaowing on the doorstep. She remembered how her father had tugged on the rope and set the bell clanging. She thought of Emma and her cat, and a heavy sigh escaped her. ‘Bloody moggy’, that’s what Emma called it. So wrapped up in herself had she been during the last weeks, she had almost forgotten that Emma existed. She pulled on the rope and knocked on the door. Twice. Then she picked up the cat which was winding about her legs, and stroked it. Bloody Moggy began to purr.

Joshua opened the door. He looked angry and seemed about to say something but checked himself when he obviously recognised Rebekah’s slight figure in the shadows. He said lamely, ‘It’s you, Rebekah. What are you doing with that cat?’

‘I’ve just come to say how sorry I am. About your sister, I mean.’

‘That’s kind of you. I intended coming to see you this week. It’s your birthday on Friday, isn’t it? You’d best come in.’

‘I expect you’re busy,’ she said, suddenly nervous.

‘Don’t be foolish.’ He smiled and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I should have come to see you sooner but I’ve been busy organising new schedules and trying to buy another ship. I have the chance of purchasing an elderly lady with a good record and having her overhauled. Now the joiners have gone
on strike and messed matters up. Put the cat down and let me take your coat.’

‘I think he’s missing Emma.’ She released the cat which ran inside the house.

‘I’m trying to keep him out!’ Joshua made an exasperated sound which he turned into a laugh as he hung her coat on a stand. ‘Sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s just that it miaows all round the house and drives me mad.’ He led her into the front room where a fire burnt in the grate. He remained standing, resting an elbow on the mantelshelf.

‘Poor cat!’ Rebekah looked up at him from beneath her lashes and said impulsively, ‘Can I have him if he’s a nuisance?’

‘He has a pedigree, you know.’ He hesitated. ‘But I’ll be glad to get rid of the creature, if I’m honest.’ He pressed an electric bell on the mantelshelf. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea and I’ll take you home in the car afterwards.’

‘Thanks.’

There was a discreet knock on the door and the maid entered. She glanced at Rebekah as Joshua asked her to bring tea. Rebekah remembered her from last time. Janet, that was her name.

After she left there was a short silence before Joshua said, ‘I was going to suggest a visit to Crane Hall to see
The Gondoliers
on your birthday, but under the circumstances I suppose that’s out of the question.’

She smiled. ‘I would have had to refuse, anyway. I’ve been invited out.’

He lifted his head. ‘Oh? By whom?’

‘My friend Brigid. I’m having a birthday tea at her house.’

‘You’re still seeing her then?’ He frowned into the fire. ‘I would have thought—’

‘What?’ He did not answer and she added in a light voice, ‘I like Brigid. She’s gutsy and makes me laugh. I wondered if there was any news about the compensation?’ She had not intended asking.

‘These things take time.’ His fingers toyed with a porcelain shepherdess on the mantelshelf. ‘I will say, though, that it’s unlikely there will be any.’

She stared at him, unable to conceal her disappointment.

‘I’m sorry.’ His expression was bland. ‘I’m likely to receive the value of the
Samson
and its freight, but passengers will probably only receive the price of their fare.’

‘But that’s unfair!’

‘It’s a disgrace, but that’s the way things are. We do urge people to get themselves insured.’ He moved to stand in front of her and bent to peer into her downcast face. ‘It’s not my fault, Rebekah. If I could afford it, I’d pay the compensation myself. As it is, I need the money to buy a replacement for the
Samson
.’

‘I understand that, but what about Brigid’s
husband and the crew who were lost?’ She lifted her head and caught his change of expression.

His eyes glinted, ‘I presume we’re talking about O’Neill?’

‘Daniel,’ she said firmly. ‘He has a brother, Shaun.’

‘He’s the one you mentioned in New York?’ He moved back to the fireplace. ‘Haven’t been able to trace him, I’m afraid.’

‘He has relatives in Liverpool. They live in the same street as Brigid’s family.’

‘Do they now?’ His hand stilled as it reached for the silver cigarette box on a small table. Then he took out a cheroot and lit it from the fire with a spill from a jar in the hearth. ‘Have they heard from the brother?’

‘No.’ Rebekah sat on the sofa. ‘Would it be worth telling them if they do hear anything, to get in touch with you?’

‘Definitely,’ he said without hesitation. ‘Not that I can do much. Still—’ He shrugged and there was a pause before he murmured, ‘I suppose you learnt about Emma from the newspaper?’

‘Yes. I wondered when the funeral would be, and where?’

‘It depends on the findings of the inquest.’ He sat down on the other end of the sofa. ‘If you were thinking of attending, I don’t consider it a good idea. You’ve been through enough.’

She swung one leg, gazing down at her foot,
finding it difficult to say what she wanted. ‘I felt sorry for your sister. A woman I was talking to thought it unlikely that she could have drowned by accident.’

There was a pause as he inhaled deeply before letting the smoke drift slowly out through his nostrils. ‘And what do you think?’

Rebekah moistened her lips. ‘She was very confused.’

He gave a high laugh. ‘She was crazy! Living in a different world to the rest of us most of the time. I find it quite believable that she could go walking on the sands and forget how swiftly the tide comes in.’

‘But what about her friends?’

‘Friends?’ He looked startled.

‘Didn’t they warn her of the danger?’ Rebekah was puzzled by his reaction.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I should imagine so. But Emma could easily forget what she was told.’

‘When you say it like that, it sounds the most likely explanation.’

‘It’s what I’ll be saying at the inquest.’ The creases about his pale blue eyes deepened. ‘I want my sister buried in holy ground. No scandal.’

There was another discreet knock at the door and the next moment Janet entered with a tray. Rebekah did not press the subject further.

While they drank tea and nibbled chocolate biscuits, they discussed the weather and how she
was settling in Liverpool. ‘I’ve been looking for a job,’ she murmured.

‘What kind of job?’ He leant towards her. ‘Perhaps I can help you?’

‘I was thinking of office work. I can type and know a little shorthand.’

‘I’ll ask around.’

She was surprised. ‘You aren’t against women working?’

He laughed shortly. ‘What’s the point of swimming against the tide? If my sister had found herself a job, then maybe she wouldn’t have ended up the way she did. A child would have been best for her. Anyway, I’ll see what I can do for you.’ He put down his cup and stood up. ‘I’ll have to take you home now if you don’t mind? I’m expecting callers.’