Authors: Irene Carr
*
* *
The Koenigs and their staff left Paris that same day, bound for Hamburg and Albert
’s relatives. Liza was looking forward to Christmas, then a bright New Year and, hopefully, a visit soon to her mother and Susan. It was as well she could not foresee the disasters that lay ahead.
JANUARY 1907, NEWCASTLE
‘Aye, Liza’s getting on very canny now.’ Kitty Thornton had paused outside the baker’s to talk to an old friend. Jinnie was over eighty now and frail. She had been thin when she assisted at Liza’s birth, but now she was skeletal and hobbled along with the aid of a stick. Her skin was like paper stretched over the veins that writhed on her hands like snakes, but she still had a smile for Kitty, who said now, ‘She sends a bit home every month.’
Jinnie cocked her head to one side and put a hand to her ear.
‘What? You’ll have to speak up.’
Kitty did so, smiling:
‘I said she was getting on very canny. She sends a few pounds home every month. 0’ course, I save a lot of it for her, put it away in a tin. She’s in Germany now, spent Christmas and New Year there and had a lovely time. She told us all about it in her last letter.’
‘
Oh, aye. I’m glad. She was always a bonny lass, always had time for people. And this is her bairn?’ She nodded at two-year-old Susan, standing at Kitty’s side.
‘
Aye. Takes after Liza, doesn’t she?’
‘
The spit of her,’ agreed Jinnie. ‘Well, give her my love when you see her.’
‘
I’ll tell her you were asking after her.’ Kitty stooped over Susan: ‘Say ta-ta now.’ Susan obediently waved a fat fist and Jinnie laughed as she limped away. Kitty went on with her shopping and did not notice the girl who had listened to her conversation and who now followed her.
It was Una Gubbins. She had blossomed into a coarsely attractive woman, full-bosomed and sulkily sensual. Now she trailed Kitty back to the house in the terrace where she still rented two rooms. Una made a mental note of its number and that Kitty had the downstairs rooms — she had seen Susan come to the front window and push aside the lace curtains to look out. There was a public house across the road.
Una hurried away to the rooms she shared with her husband Luke. She was now Mrs Cooper, and found him sitting before the fire drinking beer from a bottle and reading the racing form in a newspaper. He was bearded now and harshly handsome, but he carried a long-bladed knife on a belt inside his jacket. The plump youth had become a burly thug in a suit. Neither he nor Una had work but lived on the results of small crime and took a job only when they had to. Una perched on the arm of his chair and took a swig from his bottle. He reached out a hand for her leg but she slapped it away. ‘I think I’ve found our ticket to London.’
‘
Aye?’ Piggy reclaimed the bottle and squinted to see how much beer was left. ‘The sooner the better. That bloody bobby is keeping an eye on me. I seem to see him every time I gan oot.’
The following day they avoided the policeman when Una led the way to the public house and they sat in there, ostensibly reading the racing form but in fact watching for Kitty to go out. Eventually Piggy muttered out of the side of his mouth,
‘There she goes wi’ the bairn.’ He folded his newspaper, stood up and together they left the pub. They walked up the street, Una on Piggy’s arm, like any couple out for a stroll. Then they crossed the road and walked back. There were other strollers and a few children, but no one stood gossiping at the front doors because of the January cold; nor did anyone pay attention to them. When they came to Kitty’s front door they only had to open it and walk in; front doors were not locked or bolted during the day. They hurried along the passage with its worn matting and came to the door to Kitty’s rooms. This was locked but Piggy set his shoulder to it and the lock gave way with a splintering of timber. They waited for a few seconds but no one called out from the upstairs rooms and there was no sound of movement inside. They walked in.
There were only the two rooms, and little furniture in them. The search did not take long. Una found the tin at the back of a drawer in the bedroom, hidden under clothing. It had a picture of the king, Edward VII, on the lid and had once held tea.
‘Here!’ she hissed. Piggy came through from the kitchen, and Una pulled off the lid. He snatched it from her and emptied it on to the kitchen table. There was an insurance policy — to pay for Kitty’s funeral — and a double handful of silver coins with a few golden sovereigns. Liza had sent money in postal orders and Kitty had cashed them.
Piggy whistled softly.
‘You did bloody well, our lass.’ He grinned. ‘We’re off !’ He poured the coins into the pockets of his shabby overcoat, then cautiously opened the door. The passage was empty so they stepped out — and the front door began to open, slowly because little Susan was insisting on pushing it. Una gasped but Piggy seized her arm, dragged her along the passage and out of the back door. He closed it softly behind him. The backyard was empty, with no one in the wash-house or the coal-shed, so he and Una ran across to the gate and out into the cobbled lane.
They hurried back to their rooms and counted up the money they had stolen. Piggy grinned at Una.
‘Pack your clothes. It’s us for London.’
Una laughed.
‘I’ve put it over that Liza Thornton an’ all! I’d like to see her face!’
*
* *
Edward Spencer left his office at eleven in the morning.
‘Send the boy out to get me a cab,’ he told Featherstone, his chief clerk. ‘I feel a bit under the weather so I’m going home. I expect I’ll be in tomorrow but, if not, please bring anything needing my attention up to the house.’
‘
Yes, Mr Spencer.’
Edward shrugged into his overcoat and picked up his top hat. He thought a breath of fresh air might do him good. As he got to the street
door his office-boy panted up. ‘Here’s your cab, Mr Spencer, sir.’
‘
Thank you, Tommy.’
It was a hansom. Edward climbed in with an effort and closed the doors across his knees. The driver, seated behind and above him, opened the flap in the roof and called down to him,
‘Right y’are, sir.’ The horse set off at a walk and Edward sank back against the worn leather cushions. He panted from the climb into the cab and thought, Fresh air, that’s the ticket. Better in a minute.
*
* *
His staff stood at the windows and watched the cab move away. A junior clerk said,
‘The ould lad does look bad.’
The chief clerk chewed his lip and sighed, then remembered his responsibilities.
‘Well, we all have work to do.’ They turned back to their desks and he decided that if he had to attend his employer at his house next day, he would suggest sending a telegram to Captain William Morgan. He was at sea, commanding the
Wear
Lass
, bound for Bremen in Germany. The chief clerk would recommend William’s early return. He might be accused of making a fuss over nothing but it would put his mind at rest.
In the event he had to send a telegram anyway. When the cab reached Edward
’s house he was dead.
*
* *
The first telegram came with the doctor. Cecily had sent for him when Alexandra took to her bed with streaming eyes, nose, and a racking cough. The doctor came to their Berlin hotel and diagnosed influenza. Alexandra must keep to her bed for a week, must be nursed, and could not think of travelling for a month. He agreed to her request: a little medicinal Cognac would be in order.
Cecily read the telegram the maid had delivered. It came from Edward Spencer’s solicitors. ‘I must go home,’ she said. She turned to her aunt. ‘Mr Spencer died yesterday. The solicitors say I should go back to Sunderland as I am a beneficiary under his will and due to inherit under my father’s in February.’
Alexandra wept.
‘Poor Edward. So kind, so generous.’ Her grief was genuine, and so was Cecily’s lack of it.
Cecily, though, was excited by the change in her fortunes, this early release from what she regarded as bondage. She would be free, and Mark Calvert was waiting for her. But she felt a pang of regret that she had not been kinder to Edward.
She comforted her aunt as best she could and arranged for a nurse to stay; Alexandra still had plenty of the money Edward had given her in letters of credit. The telegram had also said her passage would be arranged and further details would follow by letter. Cecily would not wait. She had always sworn not to go to the North Country but this changed everything. She wheedled out of the fragile and mournful Alexandra a sum more than sufficient to cover her passage home and set out the following day. She took only one suitcase and left her other baggage to be packed and sent on.
One of the details in the letter that was still on its way was that William Morgan would take over as her guardian. Cecily did not see it.
* * *
When the
Wear
Lass
docked in the port of Bremen William found two telegrams awaiting him. The cable and telegraph were his only means of contacting the shore. His ship, like most others of the time, did not have wireless. Both telegrams were from Ezra Arkenstall, Edward Spencer’s solicitor. The first advised William of Edward’s death, that Arkenstall was arranging the funeral, and suggested his early return. The second informed him that he was now guardian of Miss Cecily Spencer, who had been advised to return to Sunderland in view of her impending inheritance.
William was stricken by the news. Edward had been his father from the age of five, had cared for him, loved him, and that affection had been returned.
He called for the first officer. ‘I have to sail for home without delay so I want a quick turn-round.’ He had a cargo to discharge and another to load. He did his sums and decided it would be as quick for him to cross the North Sea in the
Wear
Lass
as it would be to leave her and go by train and packet, if he had his way. And he did: his ship had the fastest turn-round seen in Bremen for a long time. William worked at the head of his crew from start to finish, clad in a stained seaman’s jersey and old navy blue trousers.
*
* *
For some days Liza had noticed Albert Koenig
’s eyes following her. It shocked her that a married man in his parents’ house could cast his eyes on another woman with carnal intent. But she was a long way from the innocent of five years before and knew what Albert intended. She suffered days of indecision. Should she tell her mistress? She would not be believed. Give notice for what reason? And what kind of reference would she get? She could walk out — but that would still leave her without a reference. Maybe Albert would come to his senses. Maybe she was mistaken. She hesitated.
Liza was shocked, but not surprised, when he seized her and threw her down on the couch. She fought him.
‘No! Please!’
‘
Don’t worry. They are all out. I’ll give you a present.’ He went on trying to undress and fondle her. Liza knew Beatrice Koenig had gone out with her parents-in-law. She had been working in the bedroom on Beatrice’s wardrobe when Albert had come seeking her. Now, in fear and despair, she punched and kicked him, her skirts flying above her thighs and her dress shredding. Eventually she escaped, leaving him gasping on the couch. He rose to pursue her and she turned to flee. The door opened.
‘
I came home because I didn’t feel well,’ Beatrice said. ‘One of the servants told me you might be up here.’ She spoke mechanically as she tried to take in the scene before her.
‘
Thank God you’re here,’ Albert said quickly. ‘This slut is deranged! I came up looking for a book and she started to tear off her clothes and mine, said she loved me. I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t escape because she had the strength of madness. I tried to reason with her but she just laughed at me.’
Liza pulled her dress together to cover her nakedness and attempted to put her case:
‘If you please, ma’am—’
Beatrice could not accept the truth, shied from the evidence of her own eyes. She could see her image in a mirror on the wall and compare it with the fresh beauty of this frightened girl, but she could not accept that her husband had preferred a servant girl to herself. Her mouth tightened and she glared at Liza.
‘Go and make yourself decent, then pack your bags and get out. I’ll not give you a reference nor pay a penny instead of notice. Think yourself lucky I don’t hand you over to the police.’
‘
It’s not true!’ Liza protested. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but he’s lying. I was working in here,’ she pointed at the dress she was altering, ‘and he came in and—’
‘
No!
No
!’ Beatrice clapped her hands over her ears. ‘I won’t listen to your lies! Stop it!
Stop
it
!’
Liza saw that the woman would not listen to her. She stumbled from the room and hid in her own. There she wept from the horror of her experience, for the ruin of her hopes, for fear of what lay ahead.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Who is it?’ she called tremulously. Had Beatrice sent for the police?