‘Look at me, Mother. Do I look half-starved?’ teased Bert. ‘She feeds me fine but her cooking’s not a patch on yours… and Mrs O’Shaughnessy does have her good points. She changes the sheets regular and makes sure my room is kept spick and span.’
‘So you’ve told me before.’ Bert’s mother sounded peeved.
‘That’s because I know those sort of things are important to you.’ There was a silence and Chris imagined them eating the lovely sandwiches. He was hungry after leaving the house early. A few minutes passed and he heard the muted sound of footsteps. They stopped near by and he sensed someone had sat down the other end of his bench. He was tempted to open his eyes but then Mrs Kirk spoke and he pricked up his ears, not wanting to miss a word.
‘I’ve got a new lodger,’ she said.
‘Oh ay! Woman or man?’ asked Bert.
‘A Mr Williams. He’s been working for the government in India and is on leave. He’s writing a book, so Hannah said.’
‘A book? A pen pusher, is he?’ His tone was disparaging. ‘Young or middle-aged?’
‘About your age or maybe a couple of years older. Sun ages the skin, so it’s difficult to pinpoint his age exactly.’ She sighed. ‘He’s nice looking, though.’
‘I hope Dah’s making sure he keeps his distance from our Joy,’ growled Bert.
‘I must admit that worries me. I can sense there’s already something between the pair of them but they scarcely exchange two words. I’ve warned her, anyway. She knows where her duty lies. If anything were to happen to Jock, I couldn’t live on my own and our Freddie’s not going to hang around once he leaves school. He’s only ten and is talking about going to sea as soon as he’s old enough.’
‘You need to keep a tight rein on our Joy. This women’s suffrage thing is filling girls’ heads with all kinds of nonsense, making them think they can be men’s equals,’ he sneered.
‘I know! It’s all wrong. God only knows where it’ll lead if they were to get their way. Here, son, have a drink of this ginger beer. I made it specially for you.’
He thanked her and there was a break in the conversation while he drank. Then abruptly he said, ‘You mentioned our Hannah telling you this lodger bloke is writing a book. How does she know that?’
Chris opened his eyes, blinked against the sun’s brightness and closed them again.
‘She brought him round. Apparently Kenny met him in the library. He said he was looking for digs and she remembered I had a vacancy. I wish she’d brought Tilly with her, I hardly see her now. I blame Alice. She was a good girl when her mother was alive but since that husband of hers came into money, she thinks she’s somebody. She’s got a baby now. A son, who should have been yours. He could have been my grandchild if she’d married you.’
‘Are they still living in the same house?’
‘As far as I know. Now remind me where is it in Australia you’re supposed to be living? Jock said Perth. I had to agree because I couldn’t remember what you’d written that first time.’
‘It was Perth. I read about it in a book. They have black swans on the river. Remember that, Mother, if the subject should come up. Now how about a walk to the Pierhead? You can take the ferry to Birkenhead and catch the train home from there. It’s such a lovely spring day and the sea breezes will be good for you. You can look in the shop windows on the way and see how they’re getting on with the Royal Liver Building. They reckon it’s not far off finished now.’
Damn, damn, damn, thought Chris, not moving and keeping his head down in case they happened to walk round his side of the flowerbed. A few minutes passed and he heard the person sitting on his bench get up and opened his eyes. He caught a swift glimpse of a neat pair of ankles in short buttoned boots and the swirl of a blue skirt and then they vanished from his sight. He stayed where he was but no one else passed him and, after several moments, he got up and strolled towards the open gates.
Once outside the gates he stood on the pavement, thinking. He had decided not to follow them to the Pierhead – Bert was his prey, not Mrs Kirk – so what was the point of such a long walk. On such a fine Sunday there would be quite a crowd on the landing stage and he could easily lose Bert in the crush. Then there would be the walk back up, following in his tracks. There must be an easier way to discover where he lived than doing that. Why meet here in the grounds of St Peter’s church? Mrs Kirk could have got off the train in James Street to go to the Pierhead if Bert lived down that way. Could be that Bert’s lodgings were within walking distance of Central Station, as well as Lime Street, which was only a few minutes away.
There were several streets in the area that boasted temperance hotels, guest houses and the like. Recalling Bert’s mention of his land lady, the widow O’Shaughnessy, he decided that he could look her up in the Kelly’s directory, a copy of which he would probably find in the free library in William Brown Street. There was bound to be a number of people of that name with so many Irish living in the port, but he knew to look for a widow running a boarding house. He would have to come back tomorrow, but as Mrs Black was paying him generous expenses, that was no hardship. Right now he was hungry and thirsty, so decided to head for the nearest pub. With a bit of luck the pub might serve scouse pie or spare ribs and cabbage. He’d order one or the other and, afterwards, take the train back to Chester.
The train drew in to James Street station and Chris opened one eye and looked out of the window at the few passengers on the platform. Then he opened the other eye and sat up straight. It couldn’t be. What the hell was she doing here? He watched Joy climb into the neighbouring compartment and was about to turn away when he saw a man, wearing a straw boater and striped blazer, come running along the platform and dive into the compartment after her, just in time because the train began to move.
Chris blinked. He had only seen the back of Bert but he was convinced it was him. Reaching into his inside pocket, he took out a folded sheet of paper and gazed down at the drawing. Despite the nose being crooked on the man he had just seen, he was convinced it was him. Cramming the sheet of paper back in his pocket, Chris got up. Joy could be alone with the swine and God only knew what he might do to her. He slid open the door and hurried along the swaying corridor until he came to the next compartment. Keeping his face hidden as much as he could, he glanced through the window and ran a quick eye over the four occupants.
Whatever terrible fate he had imagined happening to Joy proved false. It was true she looked tense. The muscles of her face were set rigid and her lips compressed. Her arms were folded defensively across her bosom and her gaze was focused on her tapping foot. A smiling Bert sat across from her. There was something about that smile that reminded Chris of a Commanding Sergeant Major who had tried to scare the living daylights out of him during his army training. He wanted to rush into the compartment and wipe the smile off his face. He imagined that smile being the last thing Aggie had seen before she had plunged into the canal. Anger and grief tightened his chest but he knew the wisest course at the moment was not to draw attention to himself. With two witnesses present, it was hardly the right time to confront Bert.
Chris returned to his seat, determined to keep a watch for anyone leaving Joy’s compartment at the next station. As it happened it was Bert who left the train at Birkenhead’s Hamilton Square. For a moment Chris thought of following him but even as he watched, Bert was swallowed up by the passengers on the busy platform. Instead, he decided to join Joy in the next compartment.
He made his way along the corridor and slid open the door. Joy glanced up but except for a sudden widening of her brown eyes and two bright spots of colour on her cheeks, she showed little surprise at seeing him. He sat beside her and his shoulder brushed her arm.
She sniffed. ‘You’ve been drinking,’ she murmured.
‘I was thirsty.’
‘You’ve just missed Bert.’
‘I saw him.’
‘Then why didn’t you go after him?’ she whi
spered.
Chris said in a barely audible voice, ‘When I take on your brother, I want to be perfectly sober when I wipe that smile off his face.’
‘But he knows now that I know he’s not in Australia. He could vanish again.’
‘Why should he? You don’t know where he lives, and I’d hazard a guess that your mother has never been to his lodgings. Perhaps he’ll think of moving but I doubt he’ll do it straight away.’
Joy leaned towards him. ‘That doesn’t help us to find him. You could have followed him, drunk or not.’
‘I’m not drunk,’ he said indignantly. ‘I’m just drowsy after being up since the crack of dawn so as to get to the station before your mam.’
‘And what good did that do you if we still don’t know where he lives? Fine detective you are! You didn’t even follow them when you had the chance.’ She sounded cross.
How did she know that? Unless… had she been the girl who’d sat on the same bench and got up after Bert and his mother left? He opened his eyes and her face was only inches away. The urge to kiss her was irresistible. His lips barely touched hers but it was long enough for him to know he was going to have to do it again and at greater length.
She drew back as if bitten and hissed, ‘How dare you kiss me with people watching.’
Chris glanced at the young couple sitting circumspectly across from each other, gazing out of the window obviously listening to every word they were saying but pretending otherwise. ‘The gentleman would probably like to do the same but is more respectable than me,’ he murmured.
‘You’re not respectable at all,’ retorted Joy. ‘Besides, how was it that I sat a few feet away from you and you didn’t even know I was there?’
He said lazily, ‘I noticed you had pretty ankles when you left to follow Bert and your mam. Pity you trailed them because it must have been then that he spotted you.’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘I know. Could you have done any better?’
‘He wasn’t going home, so I didn’t see the point. You’d have been much better off saying hello to me. I’d have taken you for a drink and a bowl of scouse. We could have discussed the best way to find out where Bert is living from their conversation and the meeting place.’
‘So you’ve worked it out, have you?’
He smiled and closed his eyes. ‘You heard what I heard. You believe you’re my equal, so work it out for yourself. When you do, I’ll believe your brain is as good as mine.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
April, 1910
‘I’ll show him,’ muttered Joy, scrapping at egg yolk that had hardened on a breakfast plate. ‘He thinks he’s so clever. Well, I’ll prove I’m just as smart as he is.’
‘Did you say something?’
Joy almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of her mother’s voice. ‘Just talking to myself,’ she said hastily.
Susannah pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘Keep your eye on the whites while I nip to the shops. I’m out of washing soda. After that you can brush the lobby and wash the step. I don’t want you wasting time talking to Mr Williams when he leaves his room.’
Joy did not answer but her chest swelled with indignation, recalling the conversation between her brother and mother yesterday. She had always known her mother cared for Bert more than the rest of her children. But how could she have kept his whereabouts a secret from them, turning a blind eye to his wickedness? It was wrong. So why was she working her fingers to the bone for her mother and remaining at her beck and call? She was nineteen, and, if she did what her mother wanted, she’d be too old to get a man by the time she was free. The women’s rights movement might go on about men lording it over women but there must be thousands like herself, dictated to by their mothers with little chance of ever making a life for themselves, whilst encouraging their sons to believe that women were only fit to lick their boots. Well, this worm was about to turn. The lobby and step could wait… they only got dirty again, anyway. She would raid the tin of coppers in the cupboard and go and prove to Chris Griffiths, at least, that she was his equal.
During the night hours, when she had tried to forget how his kiss had made her feel and instead think of a way of finding Bert’s where abouts, it had suddenly struck her that she could look up the name of his landlady in a street directory. She was not sure where to find one but bet a pound to a penny Hanny would know. She finished the dishes and changed into her Sunday best clothes.
‘You want to know what?’ asked Hannah.
‘Where to find a street directory for Liverpool,’ replied Joy.
‘It’s called a Kelly’s Directory and I doubt you’ll find one in Chester library. You’ll have to go to the free library in William Brown Street in Liverpool.’
‘Thanks!’ Joy hugged her before heading for the front door.
‘Hang on. What d’you want it for?’
‘Tell you next time I see you.’ She waved a hand and hurried out, hoping she would not bump into her mother on the way to the station. Joy was in luck and was soon sitting next to the window in a third class carriage. When she reached Liverpool, she asked a railway porter for directions to the free library. In no time at all, she was walking through St John‘s Gardens to the rear of St George’s Hall and soon arrived at her destination. She voiced her request to the librarian at the counter, who told her exactly where to find the latest copy of Kelly’s Directory.
Filled with a sense of triumph, she took it off the shelf and began to search its pages. To her dismay she discovered there was at least seventy people of the name O’Shaughnessy. Oh Lord! She should have remembered that Liverpool was snowing with Irish. Then her face brightened as she recalled that she was looking for a widow woman, so that would get rid of a fair number of them. She counted the women. Eight! She would need to write them down. She patted the pockets of her jacket, even as she realised that stupidly she hadn’t thought to bring pencil and paper.
‘Looking for these?’ said a voice behind her.
Joy spun round and saw Chris holding out a pencil and paper. ‘I’m impressed,’ he said, smiling.
‘So you should be,’ she retorted, taking the pencil and paper from him. Her fingers shook as she began to write down the first name and address, conscious of him standing over her.
‘There’s no need to write down the whole lot.’
She looked up at him. ‘Alright. I’m not proud. Go on, tell me why not?’
‘You might have noticed there’s a part of the directory that has addresses in alphabetical order. We’re looking for a lodging house. So along with Mrs O’Shaughnessy there’ll be other people living at the same address, say a 2a or 6b… something like that.’
‘You mean we could find Bert’s name in here?’
‘Depends on how long he’s lived there and whether he’s given a false name. Also, how well do you know Liverpool?’
She looked up at him. ‘You’re saying I need a street map.’
‘I’m saying that these two addresses…’ he put a finger on them, ‘are the most likely places for Bert to be lodging. They’re about a ten minute walk from Lime Street station and not much further from the grounds of St Peter’s where your mam met him. They’re in an area where there’s a great number of lodging houses, small hotels and guest houses.’ His eyes met hers. ‘What say we go and look them over?’
Joy could see no reason to refuse and wrote down the two addresses. Chris closed the directory and placed it back on the shelf. Then he offered her his arm. She thought of what her mother had said about not wasting time with Mr Williams and decided not only to ignore it, but to encourage him. She slipped her hand through his arm and hugged it against her for a moment. He gave her such a smile that she had to admit to being completely bowled over by him as they left the library.
The first house had three storeys, as well as a basement, and was situated on Mount Pleasant. Luck was partially with them because there they met Mrs Bridget O’Shaughnessy. She was a big woman wi
th shoulders like a wrestler and a bosom that you could rest a tray on. Her hair appeared unnaturally jet black and her lips and cheeks were rouged.
‘We’re looking for one of your lodgers,’ said Chris. ‘So the bleedin’ hell, am I,’ she retorted.
‘It’s my brother, Bert Kirk,’ said Joy. ‘Although, he might be going under the name of Arthur Temple. Fair haired, blue eyes, smooth talk ing… oh, and with a broken nose.’
Her face turned ugly. ‘Name doesn’t fit but the face does. He’s done a bleedin’ moonlight flit… and not only that he’s bleedin’ robbed me of me savings. After all I’ve bleedin’ done for him,’ raged Mrs O‘Shaughnessy. ‘I’ve been down to his works but he didn’t turn up this morning. No need to work, I thought, because he has all me bleedin’ money.’
Joy was dumbfounded and then wrathful. Turning on Chris, she cried, ‘You were wrong! He’s damn well got away again. You should have gone after him yesterday when you could.’
Stormy-faced, Chris grabbed her hand and almost dragged her out of the lodging house. ‘So I misjudged him. But I bet you anything that he’s headed for Chester.’
Joy paled. ‘You think so?’
‘Yes! At least they’re on their guard.’ As he was speaking, Chris was striding down Mount Pleasant so fast that Joy had to run to keep up with him.
‘He could be at our house,’ she cried.
‘Well, he’s not going to find you there, so that’s OK, and your sister’ll be safe because Kenny’s there. That leaves Emma and Seb’s wife as possible prey.’
‘You’re forgetting Tilly.’
‘Tilly?’
‘Kenny and Alice’s sister. Bert took her once before on Hanny’s and Kenny’s wedding day.’ Joy’s voice shook.
‘How old is she?’
‘She’ll be seven in July.’
‘So she’ll be in school.’
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