Our Lizzie

by Anna Jacobs

  “Sam?”

  “Sam Thoxby. He sold some other stuff for us—mostly bits and pieces of furniture, but a few small pieces of jewellery as well. He’s been very helpful since our—problems. He was the one who found us our present lodgings. And we’ve been very happy there, on the whole.”

  James sat frowning. He knew who Thoxby was and found he didn’t like the idea of letting him handle a valuable sale for two naïve spinsters. James heard things on the building sites and there had been one or two caustic remarks about Sam’s sharpness and the fact that he always had stuff to sell. “I can probably get you more than Thoxby can.” He gave a scornful laugh. “It comes in useful sometimes, having connections, and my wife’s got a cousin who’s a goldsmith in Manchester.”

  “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to—to trouble you. And, of course, we have to see how much we get for it, to make sure we can afford a house.”

  “If you don’t have enough, you can pay the rest off at so much per week. It’ll be no different from paying rent.” He found he liked the idea of Emma having one of his houses. He was proud of the places he’d built and she was a plucky lass and a bloody good employee, too. Clients liked dealing with her.

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Aye, well, that’s me, heart of gold. Which house were you thinking of buying?”

  She stared down at her hands. “Any of them. They’re lovely houses. Let’s just see if we can afford it first.”

  He hated to see her like this, so worried. He wished—oh, hell, he didn’t know what he wished, and even if he did, there was nothing he could do about it—except help her get a house. He pushed himself to his feet. “You bring that jewellery in to show me tomorrow—me, not that Thoxby chap, mind—if you give it to him to sell, I won’t let you have a house.”

  She looked at him in surprise, unsure whether he was joking or not. But his face said he was perfectly serious. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you.”

  “You’ve done that already. You’re a damn’ good worker.”

  Emma smiled then, one of those glorious smiles that lit up her face and made her look years younger. “I really like working here, Mr. Cardwell.”

  “I do wish you’d call me James. I keep telling you that.”

  She shook her head. “And I keep telling you that it wouldn’t be right.”

  “Not even when we’re alone?”

  “No. Not even then.” Especially not then. But it was what she called him inside her head. James. A nice, honest name. She’d always liked it.

  * * *

  The next Sunday was Polly’s day off. Lizzie was dying to tell her all the news and decided to go and meet her from work.

  “See you tomorrow, love?” Sam asked after the cinema on the Saturday night.

  “Not tomorrow, Sam. It’s Polly’s day off.”

  “Well, you can see her in the morning, can’t you?”

  Lizzie tried to wriggle from his grasp, but could not move an inch. “Sam, you’re hurting me.”

  He breathed deeply and let her go. “See Polly in the morning. I want to take you out and show you something in the afternoon. It’s important.” He hadn’t meant to show her the houses Cardwell was building yet, but he was determined to break the close link she shared with her sister.

  “Another time, eh, Sam?” She watched him warily.

  “No. Not another time. I want to see you tomorrow. You’re my girl and I like to spend the weekends with you.”

  She stopped walking to stare at him. “Polly only has one Sunday off a month.”

  “Well, that’s one Sunday too many for me. But if you’re so stuck on seeing her, bring her along.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No. I’ve got a few things to tell her. I need to see her on my own.”

  He felt anger surge through him and for a moment wanted to thump her. When they were wed, he’d not have her paying attention to anyone except him. When they were wed … He forced himself to smile. “Aw, Lizzie, you know how much I look forward to seeing you.”

  “Sam, I don’t—”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her abruptly, right in the middle of the street, not caring who saw them. “I’m getting impatient,” he growled in her ear. “I want you, Lizzie.”

  She felt something—not fear, but something curiously like it—shiver in her belly. This was what she was afraid of: Sam’s appetites. She didn’t really know what to call them, but she’d heard tales of men and what they wanted of women. And the tales frightened her. It wasn’t just kisses. And it hurt sometimes. Especially at first. And he was so big. “Sam,” she quavered. “Oh, Sam, you frighten me sometimes. I don’t think we should—”

  He realised he was pushing her too hard and folded her in his arms. “Shh, now,” he whispered into her hair. “Shh, now. Just let me hold you, lass.”

  He felt her relax against him, saw a couple of old biddies staring at them disapprovingly and hid a smile of triumph in her hair. Not long now, he told himself. He was nearly bursting for relief. He should have gone and bought some quick satisfaction, but he couldn’t somehow. It was only Lizzie he wanted, though he hated this need she had put upon him. Surely, surely it would get better once they were wed? Once he had her in his power, he could take her whenever he wished. A wife had to obey her husband and he’d make bloody sure Lizzie did that. Though he’d look after her too. She’d never want. Not his wife.

  “Say you’ll see me Sunday evening, then?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Oh, Sam, all right.”

  He let her go. And when he’d taken her home, he got out the bottle of rum and took a few good pulls. Bloody courting! It was designed to drive a man crazy.

  * * *

  Polly came out of the side gate of Redley House and beamed at the sight of Lizzie waiting for her. “Hello, love.”

  The two sisters embraced, then, arm in arm, began to stroll down the hill towards Bobbin Lane.

  “How are things going?”

  “All right.”

  “And Sam?”

  Lizzie shrugged.

  Polly stopped walking. “Look, if you’re not sure of your feelings, you shouldn’t let everyone push you into going out with him.”

  Lizzie sighed and frowned. “No one’s pushing me. Well, not exactly. It’s Sam—he’s just—he’s so impatient to wed, Polly.”

  “No one can force you to marry him.”

  “No. But circumstances can give you a push, can’t they?”

  “Is she still treating you badly?” No need to say who “she” was.

  Lizzie tried and failed to look unconcerned. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

  “No one should have to get used to that. Oh, Lizzie, I wish—”

  “What do you wish?”

  “Wish you liked housework! There’s a place going at Mrs. Pilby’s. We could share a bedroom, be together, then no one could force you into marriage.”

  There was silence as they started walking again, then Lizzie said abruptly, “I’d rather marry Sam than do that, Polly.”

  A sigh was her only answer.

  “He’s—he can be lovely. He holds me sometimes, just holds me, and I feel all safe. And we have fun together. We go to the pictures and we walk in the park and he buys me ice creams.”

  But Polly could not help noticing that her sister had never said she liked Sam for himself. Not once. “Well, I suppose we’d better get off home or she’ll be complaining again. What shall we do this afternoon?”

  “Not go to church.”

  Polly laughed. “Definitely not.” Though their mother would make a fuss about that. She always did. One day, Polly was determined to get a job away from Overdale, far away. She’d miss Lizzie dreadfully, but if she never saw her mother again, it’d not worry her in the slightest. And she didn’t even feel guilty about that. Their mother was a spiteful woman who had made Lizzie’s childhood a misery, and had bashed Polly and young Johnny, too.

 
* * *

  When they got home, they found that Eva had turned up for a visit. “What are you doing here?” Polly asked in delight.

  “Miss Blake wanted to visit her cousin, Miss Pilby, the one who runs the school, so I thought it’d be a good chance to see you lot.”

  From behind her, Meg said sourly, “We only get a visit when her ladyship can spare your sister.”

  Eva rolled her eyes at Polly. “How about a walk in the park later? Three sisters together.”

  “How about spending some time with your mother?” Meg said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “I’m spending some time with you first, aren’t I? And you’ll be at church this afternoon, anyway.”

  “So should you be, all three of you. Do you ever go, Eva?”

  She breathed in deeply. “Yes, of course I do. Miss Blake and I go most Sundays.”

  “You’d cut off your own fingers if that woman told you to.”

  “Mam, please, let’s enjoy this visit,” Percy said quietly.

  “How can I enjoy it when my daughters are all godless, when they won’t spend any time with me?”

  “Is that something burning?” he asked.

  Meg shrieked and rushed across to the cooker, sighing with relief to find everything all right. “No, of course it isn’t. I don’t know why you should think that, Percy Kershaw.”

  By that time, Lizzie had gone out to the lav and Polly had gone to hang up her coat in the hall.

  Eva followed her out. “She’s getting worse. If it goes on like this, I’m not coming here again.”

  Polly looked at her anxiously. “Please keep coming, Eva. She does like to see you, even if she doesn’t show it.”

  “I sometimes think she doesn’t like anyone or anything since our Dad died.”

  “Well, it’s hard for her. She’s the sort of woman who needs a man.”

  “It’s not that hard. Percy hands over most of his wages, so does Lizzie, and she has the money from the lodgers. It’s not hard at all, if you do the sums. She just pretends it is.”

  They stood for a moment in silence, then Polly shrugged and led the way back into the kitchen. Lizzie didn’t come in to join them for a while.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Sam turned up in Bobbin Lane, determined not to take no for an answer when he wanted Lizzie to walk out with him. But by that time she had gone out with her sisters, and since Eva had to get to the station by three o’clock to meet Miss Blake, they didn’t go to the park but went to walk by the canal instead, which was closer to the station.

  “Sorry, lad,” said Percy, not inviting his friend in because this was a rare moment when he had the house to himself and could just sit and read in peace. Such small mercies helped him cope with the rest.

  When he didn’t find Lizzie and her sisters in the park, Sam grew angry again. “I’m not going on like this,” he muttered as he sat on a bench, scowling at the people promenading in their Sunday best. “She’ll not go off with her sisters once we’re wed, that she won’t.”

  * * *

  That same Sunday, since the weather was fine, Emma persuaded Blanche to go out for a walk, and of course they went to look at the houses being built in Maidham Street.

  “I have a key,” Emma said as they stood looking at the end four houses, which were further advanced than the rest. “Mr. Cardwell says it’s safe to go into number seven.”

  Blanche nodded but didn’t move immediately. Even with all the mess of building, she could see what the street would look like. Neat little houses with bay windows and attics. A tiny garden in the front of each. You’d be able to grow flowers. She loved flowers. She looked sideways at Emma. “Are you sure we can afford it?”

  “Yes. Well, fairly sure.”

  Blanche took a deep quivering breath and allowed a dream to creep into her heart. Net curtains across the bay window, tied in swags. Flowers. A shiny brass door knocker.

  “Just wait until these people have passed,” Emma said suddenly. “We don’t want anyone telling Mrs. Kershaw we’ve been poking around here. She’ll get suspicious. We don’t want her to know anything until it’s all settled.”

  “No.” Blanche shuddered. “Oh, no. And even then—you’ll tell her for me, won’t you, Emma? I know I’m a coward, but she can be very—intimidating.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  Inside the house was a long, narrow hall, with just enough room for a hallstand. There was a front room to the right, not large but of harmonious proportions.

  “It could look very nice,” Blanche admitted.

  Emma, who had already seen the house in the company of her boss, nodded. “Come and look at the back—see, there’s a morning room and then a kitchen and scullery. You can have your piano in the front room and continue to give lessons.”

  Blanche nodded.

  Upstairs there were three bedrooms, the smallest very tiny.

  “I think we could use this one for a sewing room,” Emma suggested, worried that her sister wasn’t saying anything. “It’s too small, really, to use as a bedroom.”

  After another silence, Blanche said quietly, “It’s a baby’s room. Or a child’s.”

  They both took a moment to move on. They knew they’d never have children and that knowledge hurt each woman from time to time. It was one thing they never discussed. No use opening old wounds. Better to look to the future, concentrate on what they could have.

  Finally, there were two attics, proper rooms, with a dormer window to the rear one and a sort of bay dormer to the front one in line with the bays to the other floors. “I’d like to take this room for mine,” Emma confessed, standing by the window. “It’s got the best view through that gap between the houses. Would you mind?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all. Can we really—?”

  “Yes, we can. If we sell Mother’s jewellery and use all our savings.”

  And suddenly Blanche was weeping in her sister’s arms. “It seems like a miracle, having our own place again. I can’t believe it’s going to happen, somehow.”

  “Well, it is. We’ll make it happen. That’s why we’ve been so careful these past few years. No one’s given us this. We’ve earned it ourselves.” And she felt rather proud of that.

  “What about Aunt Gertrude?” Blanche asked as they stood in the kitchen again, looking out at the small yard.

  “What about her?”

  “I think we should at least let her know when we move.”

  “She’s never made any attempt to contact us, though you’ve written to her every Christmas.”

  Blanche shrugged. “I know. But if we do what’s right, then I can sleep peacefully. And she is our only surviving relative.”

  “Write to her if you want. And tell her we’re doing all right, buying a house.” Emma spun round, arms spread wide. “Oh, I love it already!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  August–October 1913

  One week later, Sam called in at Cardwell’s on his way home, having seen through the window that Emma Harper was still at work.

  She looked up as he entered, her heart sinking when she saw who it was. “Hello, Sam.”

  Removing his cap, he nodded. “Good evening, Miss Emma. I saw you were still here, so thought I’d just pop in and find out if you’d given buying a house any more thought?”

  When he came right up to her desk, looming over her, she pushed back her chair, feeling suddenly uneasy and wishing someone else were around. “We’re still thinking about it.”

  “It’s just that if you have to sell your jewellery, well, I’ve met a fellow who can help.”

  “Thank you, but we’ve already sold it.” For a moment, she saw an ugly expression cross his face, too clear to be mistaken, then it was wiped off and replaced by a smile, but not a pleasant one.

  “Oh? I thought I was going to help you with that. As I’ve helped you with other things.”

  She shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I found someone who had better connections—who could ge
t us a higher price.” She felt annoyed with herself for feeling nervous and added sharply, “Actually, he got us a much better price than you did for the other stuff, too, Sam. Nearly double, at a rough estimate.”

  There was a moment’s silence during which the only sound was his breathing, always rather stertorous. He’s like a pig, she thought now, listening to it in the silence of the large waiting area where her desk was located. No, not a pig, that’s too tame. A boar.

  “I’m right glad for you, then,” he said.

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Looking at him, she believed what James Cardwell had told her, accepting fully now what she had denied before: that Sam had cheated them, on the furniture and on the jewellery. “So am I.”

  He didn’t leave and she swallowed, wishing he would go. He was still much too close.

  “You’ll be buying a house in Maidham Street, then?”

  “Yes. Yes, we are.”

  He nodded and his smile was a sneer by now. “We may be neighbours, then.”

  She hoped her dismay hadn’t shown in her face, but suspected it had. His eyes went glassy for a moment and the silence seemed to go on for a long time.

  Sam took a step backwards, staring round him. “That’s the other reason I came here. To see that boss of yours. Is he in?”

  “I’ll—um, go and see if he’s come back.”

  To Emma’s relief, James was out in the yard, talking to Walter, gesticulating wildly as he always did. He looked wholesome and healthy. The mere sight of him made her feel better, cleaner somehow.

  When she called him over and explained what Sam wanted, he frowned. “I don’t like selling to him. And where the hell did he get that much money on his wages?” He looked at her, lips pursed. “He must be on the fiddle somehow.”

  “There’s nothing proved.”

  “No. But I still think he diddled you and no doubt he’s diddled others, too. Has he been pestering you about something?”

  “No. Just asking if we still want him to sell things for us.”

  James laid one hand on her arm. “You’ll let me know if he annoys you? Promise.”

  She could only nod. But she guessed Sam would do nothing obvious. “I could do without him as a neighbour,” she admitted.