Authors: Irene Carr
‘
I bet you did.’ He sniggered. ‘I had a rough time out there, and all the way back, but you can see that. And there’s no need for you to look down your nose at me.’ He looked her up and down insolently. ‘Fine feathers for fine birds.’
Liza felt the blood rise to her cheeks.
‘You can stop that! What do you want?’ she snapped. But she guessed already.
‘
I’m not after your body, if that’s what you think,’ he jeered. ‘Not that I’d turn my nose up, mind. But no. I’d just got off the ship in the river here, after working my passage for twelve thousand bloody miles, and I was going to buy a ticket to London to see my sister. Then I saw this big toff in his motor-car wi’ this girl dressed up to the nines. There was a young chap passing and I asked him, “Who’s that gent?” “Captain William Morgan,” he says. “And who’s that fancy bit o’ stuff with him?” I asked. “Is that his missus?” “No, that’s a relative of his, Miss Cecily Spencer. Her uncle owns ships.” And I thought, our Liza has come on in the world.’ His tone hardened. ‘So what are you up to? What’s your game? I suppose that big feller’s bedding you every night.’
Liza slapped his face. The blow rocked his head on his shoulders. She looked at him with contempt: this man had courted her, lied to her and violated her. She remembered Betty Dixon saying,
‘Somebody is sure to catch you out,’ and it had proved to be Vince, come from the other side of the world. She knew he was ready to wreck her life again and that she would have to buy him off — or he would betray her.
‘
You bloody bitch!’ he swore. He held a hand to his cheek. ‘You’ll pay for that, through the nose.’
‘
You’ll have what I give you,’ Liza said, with cold disdain. ‘Open your mouth and you’ll walk away with nothing. What I’m doing is my business, but it’s not against the law. The police won’t put me behind bars for it. But what if I tell them what I know about you? Or pass the word to the people who are looking for you?’ She let him think about it, then took out her purse. ‘I haven’t a lot of money with me but this will buy you a bed for the night. You be here first thing in the morning and I’ll give you what I can. But you keep your mouth shut and go away now.’
He took the few shillings she gave him.
‘No police when I come tomorrow,’ he growled.
‘
On my word, and you know it’s good. I wouldn’t take yours.’ But Liza was determined he would not have another penny.
He scowled at that, then pushed past her and shambled off towards the town. Liza went on to the house, her heart still thumping from the shock. What else can go wrong now? she wondered.
In the house, when she was calmer, she recalled another obligation. She sought out Doreen in the scullery where she was half-heartedly peeling potatoes — the only job the cook would entrust to her — and asked, ‘Can I have a word with you in private?’
‘
Yes, Miss,’ Doreen answered sulkily. She put down the knife and followed Liza into the garden where they could not be seen.
Liza opened her purse.
‘You’re leaving us tomorrow, Doreen, so I want you to have this as a parting gift, to help you along the way.’ She pressed ten shillings into the girl’s hand.
The money was accepted readily, though not gracefully. Doreen counted the coins, five florins, and put them into the pocket of her apron.
‘Was there anything else, Miss?’
‘
No, that will be all. Except I wish you well in the future.’ Doreen said no word of thanks but slouched back to her peeling. Liza sighed. She had little hope for the girl.
*
* *
Jasper Barbour was in a mood of snarling bad temper all day. He had been forced back to his original plan and that had angered him. He had bought a spade, and when Flora asked him what it was for he struck her a backhanded blow that laid her on the floor. From then on she spoke only when spoken to and stepped carefully around him.
He walked abroad in the late afternoon and resorted to the pub by the coal staiths. They were empty now, although a ship was tied up alongside. There were a few men in the pub, but none from the staiths, if appearances counted for anything: not one was covered in coal dust.
Jasper called for beer and drank half of the pint straight down. He replaced his glass on the bar and listened absently to the conversation around him. Suddenly he realised that one of the voices was not speaking Geordie but Cockney. That was not unusual in a port where the accents might be those of seamen from anywhere in the world, but Jasper eased round until he could see the owner of the voice. He was in his twenties, short and stocky, in dark blue trousers and sweater. The sleeves were rolled up to show muscular, tattooed forearms. But what had caught Jasper
’s attention was the man saying, ‘That’s right. She’s the
Wear
Trader
, one o’ the Spencer ships. We brought her up and laid her alongside this afternoon. She’s all ready, hatches off. First thing tomorrow we’re loading coal and sailing for Buenos Aires, so I’m making a night of it tonight.’
‘
Don’t come back singing and wake the watchman,’ another voice joked. ‘He’ll be asleep in his cabin.’ There was a roar of laughter.
Jasper grinned. He stood there, listening, while he finished that pint and then another, but the conversation turned to football and he learned no more. That did not matter.
He left the pub and walked back past the staiths. He saw the nightwatchman’s cabin, and found two holes in the wire fencing, which he could enlarge with wire cutters in five minutes. He returned to the rented house but on the way called in at the stables and told the boy, ‘I’ll be coming for the pony early tomorrow.’ He paid for Bobby to be ready. So the
Wear
Trader
was a Spencer ship! There was evil humour in that.
*
* *
Doreen, William, Liza, Vince, Jasper. Now they all waited for the night.
SATURDAY AND SUNDAY,
16 AND 17 FEBRUARY 1907, SUNDERLAND
Liza was waiting in the hall when William descended the stairs. He was ruggedly handsome, tall and broad in his dinner jacket and white shirtfront. She was covered almost from head to foot in a cloak of navy blue that ended just above her ankles, showing a froth of white lace under a skirt of scarlet silk. A jewelled comb was set in her upswept hair and there were scarlet satin shoes on her feet.
William glanced at his watch.
‘You’re early.’
‘
Am I?’ Liza did not need to check, but she made a show of it. ‘So I am.’
‘
That cloak,’ he said, ‘isn’t it—’
‘
Uncle Edward’s? Yes — I found it in the wardrobe when I was clearing it out.’
He felt the material.
‘Good stuff. It’s an old naval boat cloak.’
‘
Elspeth told me it had belonged to some ancestor. I found this as well.’ She pointed with a slim finger to the comb in her hair. It sparkled as the light caught it. ‘Do you mind if I wear them?’
William shook his head.
‘No. And I’m sure Edward wouldn’t, either.’
Elspeth had been a spectator until now, having fussed over Liza for some time, but she endorsed his remark:
‘I know he wouldn’t mind. And it’s time you two were away. Miss Cecily was early but you weren’t.’ She looked reproachfully at William. ‘Gibson has been outside with the carriage for the past five minutes.’
‘
You need not wait up,’ William replied, and offered his arm to Liza.
As they walked down the steps Elspeth called after them,
‘It will be gone midnight when you come home. I’ll be seeking my bed long before that.’ And as they climbed into the carriage: ‘Mind you have a grand time.’
*
* *
She watched, smiling, until the carriage had disappeared down the drive. The lassie seemed cool and collected, she thought, but there was a shine in her eyes. I hope she stays on.
*
* *
Elspeth had been deceived. Liza was far from calm: this was her last performance and she was reckless. After tonight it didn
’t matter what the town worthies thought of her. She sat close to William in the darkness of the carriage and smiled to herself.
At the Palace Hotel she let him take the cloak from her. For a moment he was dumb. Then he said softly,
‘You are — lovely. That dress — marvellous.’ It was scarlet silk, unfashionably short enough to show her ankles and without a train. It left her shoulders bare and slid smoothly on her body as she moved.
She stood with William as he greeted their guests and saw their eyes widen. In her wild mood she did not care how they viewed her: she had a single aim and it was not to win them over. But it must be said that she enjoyed the jealousy and pique on Daphne Outhwaite
’s narrow face. The girl had treated her so badly when she had first come to this place. Liza smiled at her. ‘Good evening. I’m so glad you could come.’ That was true enough.
The rest all caught their breath. They had read of her
exploits at sea, were taken aback by the dress, but she had not worn it for them.
Liza danced throughout the evening with a succession of young men and several not so young. Between dances she talked with elderly matrons and a girl of fourteen who had come with her father, doing duty for her mother who was ill. She gossiped with spinsters and young wives in between. William did not claim her until near the end of the evening. As she whirled around the floor in his arms he congratulated her:
‘You’re a success.’
Liza laughed.
‘Thank you.’ She was pleased, but it did not really matter.
*
* *
At the house Elspeth walked around the ground floor making sure all the windows were closed, the doors locked. She hung the front-door key on its hook by the front door. She left a gas-light burning in the hall and on the upstairs landing — for William and Liza. The kitchen was empty, the staff all gone to bed, the stove banked up to stay on overnight. She went to the garden door, turned the key in the lock and shot the bolt. That done, she climbed the back stairs to her room at the top of the house, undressed, put on her nightgown, put out the gas-light and climbed into bed. She was pleasantly tired after the day. Random thoughts flickered through her mind, how William had looked at the girl and she at him. Looking back, she should have noticed weeks ago
...
*
* *
Doreen tiptoed from her room and saw that the light was out in the housekeeper
’s. She descended the back stairs and felt her way along the passage to the garden door. The key was in the lock, as always, and she turned it, then drew back the bolt. To be sure she opened the door a crack, then closed it again. She hurried away, up the stairs and back into her bed. That Spencer lass would get a mauling and a shaming tonight, and nitpicking Mrs Taggart would take the blame. She had done down both of them and tomorrow she would savour her revenge.
*
* *
The party was over, except for an embarrassing minute or two when Mrs Summers, who had hosted the supper at the Palace two weeks ago, led the singing of
‘For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow’, and Liza stood with her face burning. But then it really was over and she and William had wished their guests goodnight. Liza thanked the band and the chef who had served the buffet, and they went out to where Gibson waited with the carriage. Inside it, she sat close to William and sighed happily. ‘That was the most wonderful party ever.’ She had seen many, mostly when she had waited on, but some in the servants’ hall, and she was sure that this one had been the best.
William put his arm round her.
‘I think you’re right.’
At the house he used his key to open the door.
‘Goodnight, Gibson. Thank you.’
‘
Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss.’ The carriage wheeled off down the side of the house on its way to the stables, and Gibson to his room over them.
In the hall, William locked the door and hung up his coat. Liza let the cloak slip into his hands and he put it with his coat. When he turned back to her she was mounting the stairs,
taking the jewelled comb from her hair. He extinguished the hall light and followed her, the red silk like a flame against the lamp on the landing. He caught up with her at the head of the stairs. ‘You promised to give me some answers.’ He wanted them now, and one to a question he had not yet asked.
She glanced sideways at him.
‘On Sunday.’
‘
Aye, and it’s here.’
They were at her door. Liza opened it and entered. The windows were curtained but there was light from the glow of the fire in the grate. She set the jewelled comb on the dressing-table and turned to face him where he filled the doorway. Her hair falling down her back, her hands hanging by her side, he saw his answer in her face. He closed the door and took her in his arms. She stood still, save for a shiver, as he clumsily stripped from her the scarlet silk and the thin white shift beneath. Then she reached out to him.
Now she knew the strength of him, the tenderness and force. There was no denying him, nor did she wish to. This was the only man she would ever want. She knew desire such as she had never known, her body cried out for him and she held him far into the night until he said, ‘Oh, Cecily!’ And they slept, Liza with tears on her cheeks.