It was the day after he returned to school that Lucy received another letter from Liverpool. To her amazement it was from the maid, Agnes, and was written in cramped letters in pencil. She had obviously laboured over it.
Dear Miss Lucy,
I hopes you don’t mind my writing but I thinks you should come home. The master’s been behaving real queer ever since we had a couple of people here asking after you. He said I was to keep quiet about it but I asks meself why. One was an old lady who came a few weeks ago. The other was a man with an Irish accent who pushed his way into the house. He only was here the other day. I thought the master was going to have an apoplexy but he finally left after seeing for himself you wasn’t here. So if you can see your way to coming home soon I think you’d be able to sort things out. He’s been stumping around a lot and I suspect he’s been drinking.
Your obedient servant,
Agnes Walsh
P.S. I remember him being like this a few months ago after there was a letter addressed to you and your brother from Ireland. I don’t know what was in it but I found the envelope and it was postmarked Dublin.
Lucy could feel herself going hot and cold. Had Shaun O’Neill written to her and Timmy, threatening them? That was the only kind of letter she thought he would write to them. Maybe it had contained the truth about her mother and Barney wanted to keep it from them? Was it O’Neill who had called? He had a nerve, forcing himself into Barney’s house when he was wanted by the police. Poor Barney! It must have been a terrible shock to him. Why couldn’t he have written to her and told her, though? Lucy couldn’t understand it. Unless again it was because he didn’t want to upset her? And yet hadn’t he upset her enough by not writing? Suddenly the need to know what this was all about overwhelmed her. Yet how could she go to Liverpool when Stan and Myrtle depended on her? She needed time to think.
She finished what she was doing in the house and put on her outdoor clothes before going down to the seafront. There was a north-easter blowing and the beach was a desolate place. She had often heard it said that Liverpool was protected from the worst of the weather by the mountains of Wales and the hills of the Pennines. Now she believed it and found herself longing for her native city with a fierceness which amazed her. She wanted to wander its bustling streets, to press her nose against the shop windows. She pined for the nasal accents of her fellow Liverpudlians, to hear a shawlie asking, ‘How are yer, girl?’
But what about Myrtle and Stan? With the change in the weather his chest was bad. So Lucy returned to the house, still undecided what to do. A week passed and she was still dithering. Then one evening she was sitting with Wesley and Timmy, playing a game, when a foot wrapped itself round hers beneath the table and a hand fell heavily on to her lap. She looked at Wesley. ‘Stop that!’ she ordered, removing his hand and wanting to wipe off his inane grin with her finger nails.
‘Not doing anything,’ he said, trying to look innocent.
‘Liar!’ Anger made her eyes sparkle. ‘You’re always trying to do something and I’m sick of it!’
Timmy looked at her in surprise. ‘Ease up, Luce. What’s he done? You know he can’t help himself.’
‘Shut up!’ she glared at her brother. ‘Even kids remember what’s right and wrong when they’re told often enough.’
The room was suddenly silent and she was aware of Myrtle’s and Stan’s eyes on her.
‘What is it, lass?’ gasped Stan. ‘It’s not like you to get so worked up.’
Lucy wished she hadn’t spoken. She hated to hear him gasping for breath, didn’t want to worry about how ill he was right now. She wanted to say she didn’t trust his son, was scared to death that one day he’d defy her and have his wicked way with her. ‘I keep thinking of me mam,’ she said.
The relief on their faces was worth the untruth. ‘That’s natural,’ said Myrtle, getting up from her seat near the fire and coming over to her. She rested one hand on Lucy’s shoulder. ‘What would you like to do? I know we’ve never talked about Maureen going missing and your fears about her. Perhaps now is the time.’
‘No!’ said Timmy.
Lucy looked across at his tense face and then up at her grandmother. ‘I want to go back to Liverpool. I felt sure at the beginning that if there had been any developments someone would have written to me – there’s been nothing, as you know. But I had another letter recently and I need to go and speak to someone about it. The police maybe.’ She dropped her cards and gripped her hands together tightly. ‘I can’t bear not knowing any longer. I have to try and find out for myself what’s happened to Mam.’
‘Then you’d best go,’ said Myrtle, pressing her granddaughter’s shoulder. ‘Isn’t that right, Stan?’ she called over to her husband.
Lucy looked at him and thought his face looked grey. He nodded. ‘Money,’ he gasped. ‘I’ll pay.’
She got up and went over to him, kneeling beside his chair and putting her hand on his bony knee. ‘I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll be back within a few days.’
He put a hand on her hair and gasped, ‘You see you are, lass. But Timmy?’
‘I’m staying,’ said the youth, getting up and putting an arm around his grandmother. ‘Someone’s got to look after you two.’
Chapter Eighteen
It was raining when Lucy arrived back in Liverpool. She had left Bridlington bathed in sunshine on a cold, crisp day but the sun had disappeared somewhere over the Pennines where there had been a storm. It was evening and Barney might be working but Agnes was bound to be at the house to let her in, she thought.
Lucy caught a tram and was soon climbing the steps to the front door. She put down her suitcase and lifted the knocker. The noise echoed up the lobby but there was no immediate response so she wielded the knocker again. This time a voice she did not recognise called, ‘Hold your horses, I’ll be with you in a sec.’
It was more like a minute before the door opened to reveal a complete stranger. ‘Yee-s! What can I do for you?’ said the woman.
Lucy checked the number on the door. She had come to the right house. Had Barney got rid of Agnes? ‘Is Mr Jones in?’ she demanded. ‘I’m his stepdaughter.’
The woman twitched a strap and smoothed her apron. ‘Doesn’t live here any more, dear. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you… but then the move was sudden.’
Lucy was stunned. ‘Could you tell me where he’s gone?’ ‘Now you’re asking me, dear, I can’t say for sure. He didn’t leave a forwarding address.’
For a moment Lucy could not think what to do. Had Barney moved because of the man who had called on him? Maybe he had been frightened. If that was so, why hadn’t he called the police? But maybe he had called them since she had received Agnes’s letter.
‘Is that it?’ said the woman, her head cocked to one side. ‘Mind if I close the door? Shocking evening!’
Lucy murmured something and, picking up her suitcase, descended the steps. Perhaps she should go to the police station? She set out to walk to the bridewell in Athol Street. Thinking of policemen, naturally she thought of Rob, wondering whether he had married Blodwen yet. She had to prepare herself for that eventuality. If only she could believe he would be happy with Blodwen, she might not mind his marrying her so much. No, that was a lie! She hated the thought of any other woman having him.
Lucy shifted her suitcase from her right hand to her left, rainwater dripped from the brim of her hat on to the tip of her nose. She was going to be soaked before she got to the bridewell the way the rain was coming down so relentlessly. It was a soft gentle rain but very wet nevertheless.
She stepped off the pavement and crossed a street, only to walk into a lamp post in the dark. She bumped her nose and it brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at the lamp but not a glimmer of light shone from it. The glass must have been smashed by a ball or stone and the mantle broken. Putting down her suitcase, she wiped her eyes and checked her nose gingerly before resuming her walk, only to trip over a brick and go stumbling across the str
eet.
She thrust her suitcase to the ground and the action stopped her from falling. She had stubbed her toe and it hurt. Suddenly coming home to Liverpool seemed a bad idea. She was starting to feel cold. She dragged her bedraggled fur hat right down over her ears and covered her mouth and nose with her scarf. She swapped her suitcase to the other hand because her arm was aching, turned right and headed in the direction of Scotland Road along the wet pavements of the deserted streets.
Suddenly out of the rain loomed a man. She almost jumped out of her skin but there was no need for her to be frightened. He was big and burly, uniformed, wearing a police helmet and was carrying a light. It was like seeing a boat coming towards you when you were about to go under for the third time. Lucy stumbled towards him and clutched his arm. ‘Could you help me, officer? I’m looking for someone.’
He stared down at her. ‘Don’t I know you, miss?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, surprised.
The policeman gave her a closer look. ‘Yes, I do. I never forget a face. You’re the girl whose mother went missing.’
Lucy sighed. ‘You’re right. There hasn’t been any news about her, has there?’
‘No, miss. I presume it’s not your mother you’re looking for right now?’
She shook her head, scattering raindrops from her hat.
He brushed his arm. ‘You’re really wet – and what’s that you’re carrying?’
‘I’ve been living in Yorkshire for the last six months or so,’ she explained with a smile. ‘I’ve come back to see my stepfather but he’s moved and I don’t know where to.’
The policeman stroked his chin, looking thoughtful.
‘That’ll be Barney Jones. He’s related to Rob Jones, isn’t he? Now Rob might know where he is. He’s moved, too, you know, but I can’t give you his address off the top of me head.’
Lucy’s heart sank. Rob had moved! Did that mean he had married Blodwen?
The policeman took her suitcase from her. ‘Come on, luv. You look like you could do with a cup of tea and a nice warm.’
He took her to Athol Street bridewell where there was warmth, voices and laughter. She was ushered in front of a fire and within minutes a steaming mug of tea was placed in her hands. ‘Here yer are, girl, get that down yer.’
Lucy thanked the man in a gruff voice because truth to tell she felt like bursting into tears. Her rescuer had disappeared but a younger bobby had taken over from him and stood watching her sip the strong, sweet tea. Suddenly he grinned. ‘You’re that girl who had a fancy for Rob Jones.’
Lucy reddened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Gerraway with yer! Barney Jones’s stepdaughter, mother went missing then you did. We would have had him for that if Rob hadn’t said he’d had a letter from you.’
So Rob had received her letter! Lucy’s hopes were dashed. She’d thought his aunt might have got to it first and on seeing a Yorkshire postmark, destroyed it. She cleared her throat. ‘I believe he’s moved. Is he married?’
The young bobby gave her a knowing look. ‘Naw! You want his address?’ He leaned back against a table and folded his arms. ‘He was involved in a fight with some real bad ‘uns, you know, and was knived.’
Lucy’s heart seemed to stop beating and she felt as if all the blood had drained from her head. ‘He’s not dead, though?’ she whispered.
The policeman smiled slyly. ‘Took it in the shoulder. He’s on sick leave. If you were wanting to see him I could take you to the bakery where he has rooms over the shop. It’s not far from here.’
‘I’d like that, please.’ She put down her mug.
‘I thought you might,’ he said, still smiling.
On the way Lucy wondered what Rob was doing in rooms over a bakery. Had his aunt gone to Wales, having sold the timber yard to Owen and Dilys? And why wasn’t he married to Blodwen?
Within a short space of time Lucy found herself in a back yard. ‘There’s an outside iron staircase,’ explained the policeman, leading the way and starting up the steps.
Suddenly a door opened above them and a voice shouted down, ‘Don’t come any further! I’ve a red hot poker here.’
‘It’s Peters! I’ve a young lady here wanting to see you.’
‘Is this one of your jokes, Peters?’ The staircase began to vibrate as Rob started down towards them.
She called up, ‘It isn’t a joke! It’s me, Lucy!’
There was silence. She realised she was holding her breath again and thought with a sinking heart that if he hadn’t seen fit to answer her letter then he probably didn’t want to see her now. Then Rob said, ‘All right, Peters. I’ll take it from here. I suppose it’s no good asking you to keep quiet about this?’
‘No, Jonesy. It’s like one of those serials at the picture, see? The men’ll be dying to know what’s happening next in your love life.’
‘But it’s not like that,’ said Lucy swiftly. ‘I just need some information from him.’
‘If you say so, miss,’ said Peters, grinning as he saluted her. ‘I’ll be off.’ He brushed past her and soon Lucy could neither see him nor hear the sound of his boots.
She would have turned tail and run if she hadn’t been so desperate to see Rob, and wet and cold into the bargain.
‘It’s no good standing there like a frightened mouse,’ he said, frowning down at her. ‘Come on up!’
Relieved he wasn’t going to chase her away, Lucy clattered up the stairs as fast as she could. Rob shot a glance at her as he took her suitcase but did not say anything. She followed him into a large room. There was a smell of cooking and a fire smouldered in the grate. Stretched out on a rug in front of it was a ginger cat.
‘Love your moggy,’ she said, as a way of breaking the silence.
He looked at her as if he knew she was speaking just for something to say and told her to take off her coat and hat and sit down. She sat on the plump, comfortable-looking sofa and watched as he brought the poker down on a large lump of coal. It cracked open and there was a hiss of escaping gas which spurted into flame.
Lucy slipped off her shoes and rested her head on the back of the sofa, noticing how his dark hair had been cut away at the back where there was an ugly wound. Why hadn’t Peters mentioned that? She felt a peculiar lurch in the region of her heart and wanted to get up and kiss the wound better. She had to force herself to look away and gaze about the room, noticing the gramophone first and then the pile of records on top of a crammed bookcase. There was a table and some upright chairs and a wooden dresser and a comfy armchair.
Rob straightened up, dusting his knees and brushing his hands. ‘What are you doing here?’ His voice sounded cold and she knew he was angry with her.
‘I shouldn’t have come,’ said Lucy, feeling wretched. ‘But I was found by a big, kind policeman who took me to the bridewell. He disappeared and that man Peters, offered to bring me here. I should have realised it wouldn’t be what you wanted but I needed some answers… and to see you after he said you’d been hurt in a fight.’ She stopped and waited for him to say something but the silence lengthened until she couldn’t bear it so in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere she blurted out, ‘You wouldn’t have a hot water bottle, would you? Only I’m cold and wet after walking for what seems like ages.’
He surprised her by kneeling in front of her and taking one of her hands in his. He peeled off her glove and chafed her hand between both of his until it hurt and the circulation got going again. Then he took her other hand and did the same thing. ‘Does your shoulder hurt?’ she asked.
Rob smiled slightly. ‘Of course it hurts but I’m on the mend now. I’m hoping to get back to work in a couple of weeks.’
‘You’re still a detective?’
He nodded and got to his feet. ‘I’ll get you that hot water bottle.’
‘Thanks.’ She watched him leave the room and immediately rose and went over to his record pile, curious to see what music he liked. She read the lab
els and noted they were HMV and Columbia, which were the two best-selling companies in the world. She smiled; that was where she had invested some of her money. Most of the records were of popular music – The Student Prince, for instance, had sold more than two hundred and seventy thousand copies – and surprisingly orchestrated versions of jazz numbers were also amongst his collection. He had a recording by Paul Whiteman and his band.
Rob reappeared with the hot water bottle. She took it and curled up again on the sofa. He left the room and reappeared, this time carrying a casserole dish. ‘Hungry?’ he said.
She put down the hot water bottle and stood up. ‘Yes! can I help? Your shoulder—’
‘Cutlery and plates from the dresser,’ he said, and left the room once more.
Why was he cooking for himself? Lucy wondered. Having set the table, she lifted the lid of the casserole. Where was Blodwen?
He reappeared with a plate of bread and Lucy took off her coat and hat and sat down. They ate in silence. It was only when Rob cleared the plates and asked if she’d make the tea that she asked him if if he’d found out anything about her mother.
‘I would have written.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured, ‘but you could at least have answered my letter and told me you had been to Ireland and what you found out there.’
He looked surprised but said nothing, going over to fetch a tin from the dresser. ‘Your letter read like you knew what you were doing. I decided it was best to let you be.’
‘Best for whom?’ She stared at him and then looked away.
He slid a slice of fruit cake on a plate across to her. ‘I need time, Lucy, and even then I don’t know if I’ll have anything to give you.’
She stared at him, only to be shocked by the misery she saw in his face. ‘What happened?’ she whispered.
‘I wouldn’t have thought I’d have had to tell you.’
‘I know Owen and Dilys bought the timber yard and Blodwen was annoyed. Dilys wrote to me.’
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