Authors: Irene Carr
*
* *
In William
’s room, Elspeth Taggart rooted out his soiled laundry from his sea-bag. ‘Guid God! You’ve torn this shirt from top to tail! Another one! I’ve never known a lad to tear so many.’
‘
Sorry. It split as I pulled it off,’ William, wrapped in a bathrobe, said.
Elspeth tutted over it. Then she said absently,
‘Yon lassie is not as I expected her to be.’
William grinned.
‘How
did
you expect her?’
‘
Ye ken — the fine lady looking down her nose. And she still has a trace of a North Country accent. I’d ha’ thought she would ha’ lost it after all these years in the south.’
‘
True. But she was here until she was five and I suppose once you have the accent you never lose it entirely.’
‘
Aye ...’ But then she forgot about the girl’s speech. ‘And you’ve got a hole in this jersey!’
*
* *
Liza soaked and almost slept in the bath: her ordeal and adventure, the nights at sea with little sleep, were telling on
her now. She jerked awake when Martha called through the door, ‘Shall I put out the blue dress, Miss? I can iron it and have it ready in five minutes.’
Liza had never seen it but did not care.
‘Yes, please.’ She dragged herself out of the bath and found that her case had been unpacked and its contents put away, her clothes laid out for her and Martha waiting to help. She dressed, pulled on the old button boots — warm now and almost dry — then made her way downstairs. She paused nervously on the threshold of the drawing room. William stood by the fire, a glass in his hand. He had changed into a sober suit and was clean-shaven.
He came to meet her.
‘Dinner is ready, but would you care for a drink first?’
‘
No, thank you, except perhaps some water.’
That surprised him. He would have expected the Cecily Spencer he knew to call for something stronger.
‘I think we can manage that.’ He downed his whisky. ‘We’ll dine now, Elspeth,’ he called. ‘Water for Miss Spencer, please.’ Liza saw the housekeeper bustling about in the dining room next door. Then he turned back to her. ‘I was just looking at that photograph. It was taken when you were seventeen and first went to that finishing school, but you look taller in it than you do now.’
Alarm bells rang in Liza
’s head. He had taken the photograph from the mantelpiece and held it out to her, pointing. Oh, God! she thought. Cecily had casually dismissed the photograph. The sepia images swirled before her eyes then steadied. She saw it was of a group, a dozen or more girls, one or two taller than the rest. She picked out the young Cecily staring stiffly at the camera. But with so many on the photograph their faces were only a quarter-inch across, one very like another. It might have been herself peering out.
Could she pass it off ?
‘I was tall for my age but the other girls caught up.’
‘
Of course,’ William said. He replaced the photograph and Liza breathed again.
He led her in to dinner, pulled out her chair, then took his own at the end of the long polished table. Liza could manage this part easily, had often observed as a maid. She awarded marks to Mrs Taggart and the maid who served the dinner now, and to the cook. There was oxtail soup, followed by a sirloin steak, excellently cooked, but she was too tired to eat it. She gave up at the dessert when she caught herself nodding over it and William staring at her.
‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I must retire. I found the journey quite exhausting.’
‘
Can I help you?’ He came round the table in long strides to pull back her chair and help her to her feet.
‘
No, thank you. I will be all right.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I’m sure I will feel better tomorrow.’
Mrs Taggart hurried past her.
‘I’ll send up Martha.’ Did Liza detect a note of sympathy in place of the hitherto distant stare? She could not be sure and climbed the stairs, let Martha undress her and crept into the bed with its stone hot-water bottle.
‘
Goodnight, Miss,’ said Martha, and closed the door softly. Liza blinked at the shadows cast on the ceiling by the fire in the grate. She had never been cosseted like this and sighed luxuriously, sleepily.
She had been lucky so far but she would have to be careful. She was not among friends here and she recalled how coldly Gibson and Mrs Taggart had greeted her. William Morgan
’s gaze seemed to probe right through her and see something he did not like. She was afraid of being found out. This play, drama or farce, had been devised by Cecily. She had used Liza’s gratitude for saving her life to make her play the leading role. But Liza, not Cecily, would suffer the strain of the performance and the retribution if she was unmasked. William would not be forgiving.
She had to maintain the impersonation for four weeks. It seemed like an eternity but she had survived today and that was enough for now. If only she could hold her little daughter. She slept.
* * *
Meanwhile Cecily was curled up in a sleeping-carriage, on a train thundering south towards London and Mark Calvert.
MONDAY, 21 JANUARY 1907, SUNDERLAND
Liza woke to see the glow of sunshine behind the curtains and stretched lazily. It was good to come to life gradually in the big bed, to feel refreshed and at ease. She was ready for the day. A clock on the mantelpiece above the fire, ashes now, told her it was eight in the morning. Time she was up.
There was a knock at her door and Martha entered.
‘Good morning, Miss Spencer. I’ve brought your tea.’ Liza was reminded of who she was supposed to be and on her guard again. The girl set the tray on the bedside table and drew back the curtains. ‘A fine day, Miss. I hope you slept well?’
‘
Yes, thank you.’ Liza had been on the other side of this ritual of morning tea for years, but it was the first time she had been in receipt of it.
‘
Mrs Taggart said she would accompany you to the shops this morning if you were agreeable. Will I put out a dress? This green one?’
‘
Let me see.’ Liza got out of bed and went to join Martha at the wardrobe. The clothes Cecily had left her were expensive but not to her taste. No matter, she would have to make do. She settled for the green dress. Having made the choice she wondered if it would fit her. The red one she had worn the previous day and the blue for dinner had both been long. The green proved no better. She told herself that William would not notice and Mrs Taggart would just look down her nose.
When she was ready she descended the stairs. Breakfast was
served in the dining room; one place was set at the head of the long table. No one was in the room and tall french windows looked on to the garden at the rear. She opened them and stepped out into the sparkling morning. She was about to go back for a coat but saw the greenhouse, a blaze of colours within, and crossed to it. She peered in, shivering, and a tall, heavy man rose up from among the blooms. He opened the door to admit her and put a finger to his cap: ‘Miss Spencer? I’m Cully, the gardener.’
Liza stepped into the warmth and remembered Martha mentioning Cully, who also saw to the heating of the hot water.
‘Good morning. What lovely flowers. May I see?’
‘
Oh, aye.’ He beamed at her.
Cully showed her round proudly, and Liza loved it and said so. When she remembered breakfast he picked a bunch of blooms for her with his big, gentle hands. She thanked him and took them back to the house, smiling. She was met by Mrs Taggart in the dining room, who said drily,
‘I see you’ve met Cully. He has an eye for a pretty face.’ And she thought the girl was startlingly pretty. Last night she had been washed out and drawn but now — what a transformation! She realised she was staring and Liza shifting uncomfortably, so went on, ‘Let me have those and I’ll put them in a vase.’
She departed with the blooms and Liza breakfasted in solitary state from the chafing dishes ranged on the sideboard. When Mrs Taggart returned to place the vase with the flowers on the table, she said,
‘Captain Morgan has gone to his office. He hopes you will join him for lunch here, then accompany him this afternoon when he pays his respects in the cemetery and visits the solicitor.’
Liza had feared that the earlier stare had betokened suspicion but was able now to heave an inward sigh of relief.
‘Yes, of course.’
The housekeeper seemed surprised by her ready agreement, but went on,
‘Martha told me how you lost your shoes but a servant girl lent you a pair.’
‘
Yes. Fortunately we were the same size,’ Liza said quickly.
‘
They may well have fitted but are hardly suitable for you now, Miss Spencer,’ Mrs Taggart said drily. ‘As it happens, the captain also suggested you might like to go shopping to repair your wardrobe or add to it. I’m to accompany you and to charge all items to his account. He left this for you in case you needed cash.’ She handed Liza a plump envelope which lay lightly on her hand, but she found it held a wad of bank notes.
*
* *
William had hesitated over the money, not out of meanness but because he was wary of the girl. Would she turn up her nose and refuse it? Then he had asked himself: What would Edward have wished?
* * *
‘
Thank you,’ Liza said. ‘He is very kind and I’d like to go shopping with you.’
‘
Shall I tell Gibson to bring the carriage round at nine?’
That being agreed, Elspeth inclined her head and departed. As she went to give Gibson his orders she reflected on the girl
’s smiling co-operation. It was not what she had expected of Cecily Spencer.
*
* *
Liza rode into Sunderland in the carriage with Mrs Taggart sitting opposite her. She had intended to buy only one spare item, but as they rolled along she reasoned that she was here at Cecily
’s request and new clothes were necessary for the part she was playing. Buying clothes on behalf of Cecily, for the present Miss Spencer, was in order.
In the first shop she chose a dress in pale pink chiffon
with a full skirt and low neckline. She put it on and twirled before the mirror. She glanced at the housekeeper, sitting straight-backed in a chair, hands folded in her lap. ‘Do you like it, Mrs Taggart?’
‘
It’s not my place to say.’ She stiffened further.
‘B
ut I’d like your opinion,’ Liza urged. ‘Please?’
She sniffed, then gave the answer Liza expected:
‘I think it’s a little too flighty at this time.’
Liza nodded.
‘Ye-es. I think you’re right.’ She discarded it. After that, each dress became a matter for discussion. Liza bought four, two to which Mrs Taggart agreed, two to which she did not. But she wasn’t sitting quite so straight or so silent. Finally there was a black day dress. ‘I think this is appropriate,’ Liza said.
‘
Aye, ye’ll need that today.’
‘
Do you think Captain Morgan will like what I’ve bought?’ Liza asked.
‘
He doesn’t like mourning,’ Mrs Taggart said decisively. ‘He would not force it on a lassie like yoursel’, and that would be Mr Edward’s view, but that looks nice on you.’
There were also two coats, one black, and two costumes, three pairs of shoes, and nightdresses, silk stockings and underwear, which raised Mrs Taggart
’s eyebrows but she said nothing. Liza also bought a new handbag: she did not like Cecily’s. The bill for the morning came to just under ten pounds. Liza had been earning two pounds per month, so that was five months’ work. But it was how Cecily would act, she was sure.
*
* *
A porter carried the boxes and bags out to Gibson and the waiting carriage, and they were home just in time to join William for lunch. He saw the parcels as Gibson carried them in and smiled. This was more like the Cecily he knew.
Over lunch he said, ‘I left word that I proposed we should visit Mr Spencer’s grave then go on to see Arkenstall — he is the solicitor. I sent word to him that you are here. Can I take it this is agreeable to you?’
Liza smiled at him from the other end of the table.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘
I have a wreath to lay and I took the liberty of ordering one on your behalf.’
‘
Thank you. I’d like to do that.’
‘
I thought you might,’ William said. He had also thought she might not.
*
* *
Liza wore her new black dress and coat. The cemetery was cold, with a brisk wind off the sea that blew away any warmth from the pale winter sunshine. They laid the flowers on the grave, then stood side by side in silence as the gulls, driven by the wind, screamed above them. Liza said a prayer for Edward, who she thought must have been a good man.