It was undoubtedly because there was a child in the house that Mr Edward brought home a Christmas tree, for they’d never had one before. Sam fixed it securely in a large tub and placed it by the drawing-room window, and Beth helped Mrs Langworthy trim it with candles and glass baubles.
As always in the past, various relatives came for Christmas dinner and Sam was on hand to carry old Mr Langworthy down to the dining room. But although the festivities upstairs were much the same as in previous years, downstairs it was a far jollier affair.
Once the dinner was over upstairs, old Mr Langworthy had been taken back to his room and the master and mistress were entertaining their guests in the drawing room, the staff dinner took place in the kitchen.
Mrs Bruce asked Sam, as the only male, to sit at the head of the table and carve the goose. Mrs Bruce sat at the foot, with Cook on one side of her and Molly perched up on a box on a chair on the other. Kathleen and Beth, both wearing paper hats, sat either side of Sam. Whether it was the wine they drank, or just that there were three more people than usual around the table, the laughter started when Sam fooled around pretending to be a surgeon as he attacked the goose with the carving knife, and it didn’t stop.
Cook didn’t live in but had lodgings nearby. She’d been in service since she was a young girl, always in households with a big staff. She related hilarious stories about some of the blunders they made, and how the rest of the staff covered them up.
Sam told them tales too about people who came into the bar at the Adelphi Hotel. He could mimic their voices and mannerisms so well, it was almost as if these people were in the room.
Mrs Bruce studied Sam as he was talking and noted how much he’d come out of himself since he became a barman. He was more confident now, looking directly at whoever he was talking to, not dropping his eyes the way he used to. He was a handsome lad, with his blond hair, peachy skin and brilliant blue eyes, and his easy manner with women was very attractive. Mrs Bruce thought he’d be irresistible once he’d put a little muscle on to that lean frame.
But she also noticed how little attention he paid Molly. After the dinner, as she staggered around the room going from one person to another, Sam didn’t watch her as everyone else did. He picked her up when she fell over by him and he offered her small pieces of an orange he was eating, but he didn’t take her on his knee or make a fuss of her. Mrs Bruce decided that while he certainly wasn’t unkind to her, he was actively avoiding any involvement.
She wondered why this was, and the only logical reason she could find for it was that he intended to walk out on Beth and Molly. He probably felt he could do that more easily if he didn’t allow his heart to become engaged with his baby sister.
Mrs Bruce found herself fretting about this a great deal as the New Year came in. She told herself that Beth could be fine, for with or without her brother, the Langworthys would continue to employ her. Yet whenever Beth played her fiddle over in her rooms, and she heard the joy and hope in her music, she couldn’t help but feel dismayed that her life was never going to take her beyond Falkner Square. Mrs Bruce could already see the shackles binding her here. Right now it was just because of her duty to provide for Molly, but the longer she stayed, the bigger she’d feel her debt to the Langworthys was. By the time Molly was old enough to work, Mrs Bruce would be old, and Beth would slip into her shoes. She’d never get the chance to play in public, to see more of the world. Most likely she’d never marry either.
Chapter Nine
‘Mam, mam,’ Kathleen screeched out at six in the morning. It was early February, bitterly cold and still dark, the master and mistress asleep. Mrs Bruce had just gone down to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove for tea.
She rushed back upstairs to find Kathleen in the doorway of old Mr Langworthy’s room. Kathleen’s first job each morning as maid was to stir up the fire in his room, and on seeing the girl’s horrified expression Mrs Bruce guessed that the old man was dead.
‘He had his mouth and eyes open,’ Kathleen sobbed. ‘I asked him if he wanted a cup of tea. But I think he’s dead.’
‘Control yourself,’ Mrs Bruce said sharply. She was just going to add that Kathleen should have come down and told her quietly without waking the master and mistress, but it was too late — both their bedroom doors opened simultaneously. Mr Edward was in his long nightshirt and the mistress was clutching a shawl around her shoulders.
‘Is it my father?’ Mr Edward asked.
Mrs Bruce nodded and went into the old man’s room. Kathleen had put the oil lamp on the mantelpiece, so there was enough light to see exactly what she had seen. He was lying awkwardly, his head right at the edge of the mattress, as if he’d been struggling to get out of bed.
Mrs Bruce went over to him and found he was indeed dead. She lifted him back on to the pillow and closed his eyes and mouth. ‘He has passed on then?’ Mr Edward asked from the doorway, his wife standing beside him as if they were both afraid to come in.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Mrs Bruce said, straightening up the bedclothes. ‘I am so sorry. But you two must go back to bed or you’ll catch your death of cold. I’ll get Kathleen to take a note round for the doctor.’
When Beth came over to the house with Molly at nine that morning, she found Mrs Bruce, Cook and Kathleen sitting at the kitchen table looking very woebegone.
Mrs Bruce explained what had happened, and said that the doctor was up with the Langworthys now signing the old man’s death certificate. ‘It is for the best really,’ she sighed. ‘He had no real life any more, and the mistress will be spared all that hard work. But just the same, it’s hard to see him go.’
‘His eyes made me think of a fish, so they did,’ Kathleen blurted out. ‘And I touched his hand and it was cold as ice.’
‘That’s enough now, Kathleen,’ Mrs Bruce said sternly. ‘I know it was a shock to find him but we must all show respect for him and support the master and mistress.’
Beth’s eyes filled with tears. She had been scared of the old man when she was first asked to sit with him. His face was distorted because he was paralysed all down one side and he was so thin that he looked almost skeletal. When he tried to speak his mouth was all over the place and the sounds that came out were unintelligible and frightening. But she had grown used to it and after she’d read to him a few times she began to understand what he was trying to say. He could convey pleasure with his eyes, irritation with a wave of his good hand, and sometimes she could make out real words in his grunts, and if she repeated them to him he would nod.
She sensed his delight when she came to see him, knew when he was enjoying a story, and the more time she spent with him, the more she felt for him. She thought it must be the worst thing in the world to have a keen mind trapped in a body you couldn’t control, to suffer the humiliation of being fed and changed like a baby, and to have no real way of showing that you knew what was going on all around you.
‘Don’t cry, Beth,’ Mrs Bruce said, picking up Molly who was looking anxiously up at her big sister. ‘He’s gone to a better place, his suffering is over and he can join his wife again.’
A pall of gloom descended on the house, which seemed to grow heavier daily as the master and mistress made the arrangements for the funeral.
For Beth the atmosphere was all too familiar, and on top of disturbing reminders of her parents’ deaths and funerals, there was the niggling worry of what might become of her now. Without all the old man’s laundry there wasn’t going to be a lot for her to do. Mrs Bruce, Cook and Kathleen ran the house like clockwork between them. Would Mr Edward want to pay wages for someone he no longer needed?
Beth’s seventeenth and Sam’s eighteenth birthdays came and went that week without celebration. Beth was kept busy helping Cook prepare cakes and pastries for the funeral wake, and making minor alterations to the mourning clothes their mistress had worn when her mother-in-law died.
On the morning of the funeral, Beth woke when it was still dark, but there was enou
gh light outside from the lamp at the end of the mews to show it had snowed during the night. She sat up in bed for a minute or two looking out of the window. Everything looked beautiful, grime, rubbish and ugliness hidden under a thick blanket of pristine, sparkling white. It brought to mind the snow just over a year ago when Molly had been born. Beth remembered standing at the kitchen window with the baby in her arms, marvelling that the back alley and the rooftops beyond had been miraculously transformed into something magical.
Just a few days later her mother was dead, and rain washed the snow away. She had looked out of that same window and seen that everything had become grey, bleak and ugly again. It had seemed significant at the time, a warning perhaps that happiness and beauty could only ever be fleeting.
So much had happened since then. Such despair, hurt and worry, then finally the loss of their home in the fire. Yet the fire had been fortuitous in as much as they came here to live and found a measure of security and happiness again.
Both she and Sam had been forced to grow up fast, but perhaps the most important thing Beth had learned was that she couldn’t count on anything. Not on the Langworthys’ kindness continuing, nor that this job and home would last for as long as she needed it. She couldn’t even rely on Sam staying with her for ever.
The only thing she could be absolutely certain about was her own self. But that was a lonely, chilling thought.
Sam wasn’t expected to attend the funeral because the only time he’d met the old man was at Christmas when he’d carried him down to the dining room. But he had to go to work, so Beth put a shawl around her shoulders and crept into the living room to light the oil lamp, stir up the fire in the stove and put the kettle on.
Sam looked so peaceful and untroubled, curled up in the narrow truckle bed. It hadn’t occurred to him yet that old Mr Langworthy’s death might bring them more trouble, and she was reluctant to air her fears because he’d seemed so happy since he began working at the Adelphi.
‘Time to get up, Sam,’ she said softly, and shook his arm.
He opened his eyes and yawned. ‘Already! It feels as if I’ve only been in here an hour or two.’
‘It’s six o’clock and it’s been snowing,’ Beth said, struck by how handsome he was becoming. His face had filled out, he’d grown a little moustache, and his long eyelashes drew attention to his lovely blue eyes. She felt a little pang in her heart that before long he would find a sweetheart and she’d have to take second place.
He smiled and leapt out of bed, rushing over to the window like a child. Wearing just his woolly combinations he looked slightly ridiculous. ‘I love snow,’ he said, turning to grin at her. ‘In parts of America it comes in November and lasts right through till spring.’
‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ Beth said archly, kneeling down to pull out the ash box under the stove. That wasn’t true — she loved snow as much as he did and some of her best childhood memories were of going tobogganing with him — but she was tired of his constant references to America. ‘The water in the kettle should be warm enough for you to wash and shave. Your clean shirt is hanging on the bedroom door.’
‘You’re becoming like an old maid,’ he retorted.
Beth, Kathleen and Cook could only find room to stand at the back of St Bride’s, for they had been last in the procession of mourners following the six carriages taking family members to the church, and now all the pews were full. With the thick snow as a backdrop for the black plumed horses and the coffin banked high with flowers, it had been an impressive sight. Beth had expected that the snow would deter a great many people, but it looked as if half of Liverpool’s population was there.
Once the first hymn, ‘Abide with Me’, had been sung and the prayers had begun, Beth’s thoughts wandered to Sam’s remark earlier that morning. She supposed she had become like an old maid. Everything she did, or even thought about, these days was centred round Molly or the Langworthys. She didn’t care anything for how she looked, her clothes were hand-me-downs, she didn’t even go and look in shop windows any more, not just because she couldn’t afford to buy anything, but because she had nowhere to go to wear such things.
Before her father died she spent a great deal of time indulging in romantic daydreams, but she never did now. There was no point: she was never going to go to balls and parties or drive around in a carriage and pair wearing a fur coat and diamonds. Even the more humble dreams that Miss Clarkson had prompted, training to be a teacher, a nurse or working in a shop, were ruled out now because she had to take care of Molly.
In truth the only time she ever escaped into fantasy was when she played the fiddle. Alone in the coach house she could imagine she was wearing a beautiful, brightly coloured silk dress, with glittery pins in her hair and pretty shoes on her feet. For an hour or so she could float with the music, all responsibilities falling away.
As Reverend Bloom began to speak about Mr Langworthy, Beth came out of her reverie.
‘Theodore Arthur Langworthy wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth,’ he said. ‘His father was a poor Yorkshire farmer, and he expected his eldest son would follow in his footsteps. But young Theodore had other plans.’
Beth had known nothing about Mr Langworthy’s background, not even that his name was Theodore, and it was difficult to imagine the bedridden old man as anything but sick and frail.
‘Already fascinated by machinery, he ran off to Liverpool where he got himself an apprenticeship as an engineer,’ Reverend Bloom went on. ‘He was just twenty-two when he designed and made a water pump in a shed at the back of his lodgings. Ten years on he had fifty men working for him and exported his pumps all over the world. Later he diversified into making steam engines for ships, and Langworthy Engineering became one of Liverpool’s biggest employers.’
Reverend Bloom’s eyes scanned the congregation. ‘Many of you here today owe your present prosperity to him for he took you on when you were young lads, showed a fatherly interest in you and trained you well. Others of you connected with charitable institutions will remember how he championed your causes and made generous donations to keep them going.’
Maybe it was because Mr Langworthy had followed his dream that Beth found herself drifting off again in thoughts of Sam. She had hoped that when he made new friends at the Adelphi he would lose interest in America. But he hadn’t. He pored over maps, read books and articles in magazines and saved every spare penny to go.
Until now Beth had been inclined to view Sam’s passion to emigrate as merely adventuring, but it suddenly occurred to her that it wasn’t so different to Mr Langworthy wanting to be an engineer. If he hadn’t been bold enough to defy his father and strike out for what he really wanted, many of the people here today wouldn’t have had work, charities would have been poorer, and who would have made those water pumps and steam engines he sent all over the world? Maybe Sam’s desire to go to America wasn’t going to benefit anyone else, but on the other hand if he didn’t go, he might become bitter and end up blaming her. Beth was afraid of being left here alone with Molly, especially now when the future was so uncertain, but she thought she was more fearful of losing her brother’s affection by holding him back.
At five that afternoon Beth was washing up in the kitchen while Cook put leftover food away in the pantry, when she heard Mrs Langworthy saying goodbye to the last of the guests at the front door. Even from some distance she could hear the weariness in her mistress’s voice and feel the strain she had been under all day as she tried to hold her emotions in check.
The front door closed. Beth heard Mrs Langworthy asking Mrs Bruce and Kathleen to clear away the last of the glasses and food in the dining room, then a few minutes later she came down the stairs to the basement.
She looked pale and wan in her black dress, but she smiled at Beth and Cook. ‘I just wanted to thank you for doing so much today,’ she said.
Cook looked up from putting away some leftover cakes. ‘We were glad to,’ she said. ‘But you look ve
ry tired, mam. Can I get you anything?’
The mistress sighed and put her hand to her forehead as if it hurt. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Cray, you’ve done quite enough for one day, you go on home. If we want some supper later, we can find something ourselves.’ She turned to look at Molly who was sitting on a blanket in the corner playing with a couple of wooden spoons.
‘You’ve been a very good girl today,’ she said, bending down to pick her up. ‘I haven’t heard a peep from you.’
‘She’s a little angel,’ Cook said fondly. ‘I think she knew we were all too busy to play with her.’
Holding Molly in her arms, Mrs Langworthy slumped down on a chair and cuddled her. She remained silent, bent forward with her face against the baby’s hair.
Beth suddenly realized her mistress was crying, and in alarm she moved forward. ‘What is it, mam?’ she asked.
‘Losing my father-in-law has made me realize how empty my life is,’ Mrs Langworthy said, lifting her head a little and trying to wipe her tears away.
‘You’re bound to feel a bit adrift for a while,’ Beth said soothingly. ‘But you’ll be able to do all the things you never had time for now. Shall I make you a nice cup of tea?’
‘This is what I want,’ Mrs Langworthy said, holding Molly against her chest. ‘A baby to love. Without a child a woman has nothing.’
Mrs Cray made a warning face at Beth and a little sipping movement with her hand as if to explain the mistress had had one sherry too many.
Beth put her hand comfortingly on the older woman’s shoulder. ‘We can all share her,’ she said.
‘I don’t want to share her, I want her all for myself,’ Mrs Langworthy replied and she looked up at Beth with a pleading expression.
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