Our Lizzie

by Anna Jacobs

  “I’m sorry, lass,” Sam offered.

  Lizzie just glared at him.

  “I am sorry.” In truth, he was horrified at the sight of her. He couldn’t even remember doing so much damage. He took a step forward and moved hastily backwards again as she opened her mouth to cry out. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “The same thing as came over you all the other times you hit me. Only this time you’ve killed our baby as well as hurting me badly.”

  “Shh!” He looked round, embarrassed by her loud words.

  “I won’t shut up. I don’t want to see you and I’m not coming back to you.”

  With a great effort, he controlled his anger. “Look, lass—”

  “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  He reached out towards her and she screamed, thinking he was going to hit her again. “Nurse! Nurse! Help!”

  There was a clatter of footsteps along the ward and Miss Terrent erupted into the makeshift cubicle, followed by the sister. “Keep your voice down, please, Mrs. Thoxby.”

  “Get him away from me! He was going to hit me again.” Lizzie cowered away from Sam, who stood frozen in astonishment.

  The sister noted that he was not even close enough to touch his wife and exchanged a glance of sympathy with him. Clearly the woman was a hysteric. “Best to leave now, Mr. Thoxby.”

  * * *

  Three days later, Lizzie bundled her clothes together and crept along the ward during the nurses’ dinner break. As a nurse appeared in the corridor, she ducked behind the curtains round the end cubicle and put one finger to her lips, looking pleadingly at the occupant.

  The patient lying there nodded and said nothing.

  When the footsteps had moved past the ward and the nurse had disappeared into the distance, the woman in the bed asked, “Running away from him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good luck to you, lass! Don’t you ever go back neither. They never change, that sort don’t.” She gestured to her nose. “Mine broke this, an’ a few other bones as well. I were glad when he died. So if you can get away from yours, I say good luck to you.”

  Lizzie nodded, checked that the coast was clear and tiptoed into the public toilet on that floor. She was horrified by the sight of her face in the mirror, but turned resolutely away and shut herself into a cubicle where she removed her nightwear, dressed herself with painful slowness and put on a headscarf Polly had brought her, pulling its folded edge forward to hide her face. Then, keeping her head down, and holding the bundle of night things under her arm, she left quietly, expecting at every step to be stopped.

  * * *

  By the time she got down the hospital stairs, Lizzie was feeling faint and dizzy. She sighed with relief when she found her sister waiting for her in the public area, sitting on a bench in a corner, clutching a full shopping bag and looking anxious.

  Polly hurried towards her. “Thank goodness! Come on, love! There’s a train leaves at half-past one.”

  Lizzie nodded, but a spasm of dizziness had her clutching her sister’s arm.

  Polly was worried by how pale she looked. “Let’s link arms. And keep your head down. That way you’ll be all right.” She led the way out of the hospital, trying to keep between her sister and anyone they passed. “We’ve plenty of time to catch the train. Don’t worry.”

  At the gates to the hospital grounds, Lizzie stopped, swaying. “I can’t. Polly, I can’t go any further.”

  Polly looked at her in concern. Beneath the puffiness and bruises, Lizzie’s face was bone white. Worried, she looked round, sighing in relief as she saw a cab waiting near the gates, its horse munching from a nose bag. She coaxed Lizzie across to it. “Can you take us into town, please, to the station? My sister’s been ill and she’s not fit to walk.”

  The driver sprang forward to open the door. “You make yourselves comfortable. Eeh, love, whatever happened to your face?”

  “A bad fall,” Polly said hastily.

  As the horse clopped along the road towards the station, Lizzie leaned her head against her sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Polly, but I don’t think I can manage.”

  Polly didn’t think so either. “You don’t have to manage. I’m coming with you to Eva’s.”

  “You can’t. You’ll lose your job.” Lizzie began to sob. “I can’t ask you to do that! Take me back to the hospital. They may not have noticed I’ve gone.”

  “Shh, love. I’ll send a message to the housekeeper. I won’t lose my job. Mrs. Frost is very understanding.”

  “But—”

  Polly looked at her sternly. “I’m not leaving you on your own, even if I do lose my job.”

  Lizzie sniffed and gave her sister a watery smile. “I love you, Polly Kershaw.”

  Polly felt tears come into her own eyes. “Shut up, you daft ha’porth and save your strength to stagger on to that train.”

  * * *

  At lunch time that day, Sam asked the foreman if he could take an hour off to visit his wife in hospital.

  Ben stared at him thoughtfully, then nodded. “But only an hour, mind, and I’ll have to dock your wages.”

  “Thanks.”

  He strode out of the works, ignoring scornful glances from the men he passed and the growling of hunger in his stomach as well. He had to see her. He didn’t know what had got into him to hit her like that. He’d never do it again, never. But maybe he’d not have to. Surely, surely, she’d do as he told her from now on and stop all that foolish daydreaming? Other women were satisfied to stay and quietly mind their homes, why not Lizzie?

  Then he remembered the child she had lost and he stopped for a moment as pain shot through him. His child, too. He’d killed his own child. Oh, hell, what had got into him? He had to see her and tell her he’d never hit her like that again. He had to. He began to walk more quickly.

  * * *

  All too soon the cab arrived at the station. As Polly paid the driver, she saw him looking at Lizzie with sympathy and understanding, and asked if he could possibly take a message for her.

  “Aye.”

  “Just let me find somewhere for my sister to sit.” When she had found a bench for Lizzie inside the station, out of sight of the street, Polly ran back to the cab. “I need to write a note. Can you wait while I go and buy a postcard?”

  He nodded. Business was very slack, and he didn’t mind helping these two. Whoever had hurt that lass should be hung, drawn and quartered, in his opinion. If she’d been his daughter, he’d have done something about it, he would that. Given the sod a dose of his own medicine.

  “You won’t take another fare?”

  “I’ve said I’ll wait, haven’t I?” He got down and went to slap one hand against his horse’s neck. “An’ Betsy here doesn’t mind the odd rest.”

  Polly ran across the road to a stationer’s, bought a postcard and borrowed a pencil to scribble a note to Mrs. Frost. She gave it to the driver and tried to offer him another sixpence for his trouble, but he brushed that aside with a gruff, “You go an’ look after your poor sister.”

  Polly sighed in relief as she watched him drive off. One thing accomplished.

  She was so eager to get back to Lizzie that she didn’t see Sam stop at the corner and frown in puzzlement at the sight of her. What was Polly Kershaw doing here in town in the middle of the day? And looking so anxious, too. He watched her go into the station, then decided on impulse to follow her and find out what was going on. It never hurt to be in the know. When she stopped at the ticket office, he sidled up to the nearby corner and got close enough to hear her book two tickets to Rochdale.

  Two? “The bitch must be running away!” he said aloud, as the solution suddenly dawned on him. He turned round to look for Lizzie, but couldn’t see her.

  When Polly turned away from the ticket office window, she saw Sam and froze in horror.

  Then he knew that he was right. He went across and took her arm, giving her a shake. “Where is she?”

  She tried to pus
h him away. “Get off me!”

  A gentleman stopped to frown and call out, “Hey, you! Stop that!”

  “Mind your own sodding business!” Sam snarled, without even turning his head.

  The man hesitated then walked on, shaking his head and muttering.

  Sam dragged Polly into the main station and no one came forward to help her. He caught sight of his wife, sitting hunched up on a bench, looking half dead, and threw Polly aside. “Ah!”

  When she looked up and saw him, Lizzie screamed once then fainted.

  He bent to pick her up and Polly darted forward to stop him.

  “Gerroff!” He aimed his boot at her.

  “You leave her alone, Sam Thoxby! She doesn’t want you any more.”

  “She’s my wife!”

  A couple of bystanders stopped to watch.

  “Don’t let him take her!” Polly screamed at them, but no one came forward to help.

  Sam thrust his face close to hers. “You think yourself lucky I don’t give you a taste of my fist, too, you interfering bitch. You’ll not set foot over my doorstep again.”

  Polly began to weep. “You’ve nearly killed her once, you rotten bully! Are you taking her back home to finish the job?”

  “What I do with her is none of your bloody business. She’s my wife. She belongs to me.” When Polly didn’t move, he pushed her away so hard she fell over, then he picked up Lizzie and walked away without even a backward glance.

  For a moment, Polly could only lie there on the ground with tears trickling down her cheeks watching him. As she moved to stand up, she became aware of a hand stretched out to her and a young man hauled her to her feet.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and tried to wipe away the tears, but they would keep flowing.

  “How about a cup of tea?”

  She gulped and stared at him. Thin, not much taller than her, but with kind eyes. She found herself nodding agreement.

  “Is she his wife?”

  “Yes. She’s my sister.”

  “How did she hurt her face?”

  “He bashed her.”

  He sucked in his breath in shock. “That’s a bit much.” Then he flushed and said, “I expect you think me cowardly for not interfering, only I’ve never been good with my fists and he’s a big chap.”

  Polly picked up the shopping bag full of things she had meant for Lizzie, then turned to accompany him to the station café. As they walked along, she saw he had a limp. “Have you hurt your foot?”

  He shook his head. “No. Broke my leg when I was a little ’un. It healed wrong. Doesn’t bother me much.”

  He opened the café door for her and followed her inside. “Not much cop, this place, but I have to keep an eye out for my train. Now, what can I get you, miss?”

  She watched him walk across to the counter, feeling better to have someone to talk to. He had such a kind face. And she couldn’t go back to work and face Mrs. Frost, who would have to be told the truth about today if Polly were to keep her job. Not yet.

  * * *

  Lizzie woke up to find herself at home, in bed, with Sam sitting beside her looking grim. She couldn’t help a squeak of fear.

  “You’re not leaving me,” he said immediately. “You’re mine. My wife. You’re not leaving me, not now or ever.”

  She could hardly speak for sobbing. “If I—s-stay, you’ll only—k-kill me. Let me go, Sam! Please. Now, while you can.”

  He took several deep breaths, then went to stand looking out of the window. “I’m sorry, lass, really sorry I hurt you, hurt our baby—”

  “Killed our baby. You killed it!”

  There was silence. Then he said, “I won’t do it again. I promise I won’t. But you’re not leaving me.”

  Too weak to argue, Lizzie closed her eyes and began to weep silently. When he came and put his arms round her, holding her close and making shushing noises, she shuddered, but didn’t dare try to pull away.

  “I won’t hurt you again, lass,” he promised. “I won’t.”

  She didn’t bother to refute that. They both knew he would. It was just a question of time before he hit her again. And a question of how hard, too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  August 1914

  For a long time, Lizzie couldn’t seem to pull herself together. Engrossed in her own fears, she spent the days listlessly doing housework, all the time dreading Sam’s return from work, then the evenings trying not to upset him. Without money, she couldn’t run away. Without money, she was at his mercy. And sometimes she felt herself without hope, too. But then the flame of rebellion would flicker into life again. She was not, definitely not, going to stay with him for ever. She would find a way to leave.

  In the four weeks she had been home from hospital, he hadn’t hit her, not once. But that didn’t stop her expecting a blow, and a few times, on the days something had obviously gone wrong at work, she had seen the veins in his temples bulge with suppressed anger and his hands clench into fists.

  One day she’d plucked up her courage, defied Sam and gone round to the back door of Redley House, asking to speak to her sister. Polly, who had outlasted most other maids, was now on excellent terms with the housekeeper.

  “You come in for a cup of tea, lass,” Mrs. Frost said, staring with undisguised interest at the yellowed remains of the bruising on the visitor’s face.

  “Thank you.”

  “Take the weight off your feet and I’ll fetch your sister.”

  Polly came rushing into the servants’ tiny sitting room, beaming.

  “Is it all right me coming here?” Lizzie whispered as they hugged one another.

  “Oh, yes. Mrs. Frost understands.”

  “I owe you some money for the train tickets, but I can’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I promise I’ll pay you back one day.”

  Polly patted her hand. “I just wish we’d got you away from him. And if you need help again, you’ve only to ask. I’ve plenty of money still.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No, I’ll do it on my own next time.” She exchanged a long, serious glance with her sister. “And there will be a next time, I promise you.” Only not until she had pulled herself together, stopped feeling so tired. Even if she got away at the moment, she would be hard put to fend for herself.

  “I’m so glad! I was worried that he’d—well, beaten you into submission.”

  Suddenly the old Lizzie was there, eyes flashing, “No. He’ll never do that. Never! I didn’t realise what he was like when I married him—my own stupid fault. I was such a child then, but I’ve grown up fast since.” She stared blindly into space for a moment. “I have to do it right next time, though. I think he’ll kill me if I don’t.”

  Then she sighed and the fire vanished from her face, leaving only exhaustion. “I’d better go. If he finds out I’ve been to see you, he’ll go mad. I just wanted to thank you, to let you know how I was.”

  * * *

  Polly watched her sister leave, then came back in to find Mrs. Frost holding out an envelope.

  “The post just came. Who do you know in Outshaw? You’ve never had a letter from there before. Your sister Eva hasn’t moved, has she?”

  And Polly couldn’t help turning bright, rosy red. For that was where the young fellow she’d met at the station lived. Eddie, he was called. And though he’d promised to write, she hadn’t expected him to, hadn’t even dared hope. She took the envelope and examined it carefully. Large, round handwriting. “Miss P. Kershaw,” she whispered to herself. Then she saw the housekeeper looking thoughtful and slipped it into her pocket. “Just a friend. She lives in Outshaw now. I knew her when we were kids. I met her again in town the other day.”

  “You must invite her round to tea the next time she’s in Overdale. You’re always welcome to bring your women friends into the servants’ sitting room.”

  “Thank you. I’ll go and do the bedrooms now, shall I?”

  Once
upstairs, Polly pulled the sheets off the mistress’s bed and plumped up the feather overlay, then, unable to wait a minute longer, drew the envelope out of her apron pocket and opened it carefully.

  Dear Miss Kershaw

  I really enjoyed our little chat at the station, so am taking the liberty of writing to you. I hope you’ve got over your upset now and that your sister’s all right.

  I came back to find myself an uncle again and my sister recovering nicely from giving me a niece—I’ve already got two nephews and fine lads they are, but we all wanted a little girl this time. They live just across the street from us, so we’re always popping in and out to see one another. My brother’s ten years older than me and my sister five, so I’m the “baby” of the family. Though there are only two of us now that my sister’s gone to live in Australia.

  I wondered if you’d be able to get some time off one Sunday? We could meet in the park if it’s fine, or sit in a café and chat if it isn’t. (Even if the tea is awful!) Hope you don’t think I’m being cheeky asking you to meet me!

  Perhaps you could let me know? I shall wait impatiently for a letter.

  Eddie Scordale

  Polly stood for a moment with her mouth open in shock. No lad had ever asked her to walk out with him before. Well, she was plump and if not ugly, definitely not pretty. She re-read the letter, then stuffed it into her apron pocket and got on with her work. But there was a warmth inside her that hadn’t been there before. Eddie Scordale wanted to see her again. He really did. He seemed such a nice lad and he’d been ever so kind to her. And she didn’t care about the limp. It was his kindness and his gentle smile that Polly liked.

  “I’ll go and meet him,” she whispered, clutching a pillow to her bosom. “Why not?”

  * * *

  Once her body had healed, Lizzie kept trying to make escape plans, for she had no faith in Sam’s keeping his fists to himself for much longer. Fortunately he seemed very busy with his other interests, going out often in the evenings and coming back late, using the back door.

  She didn’t care what he was doing so long as he wasn’t with her. She didn’t seem to care about anything lately and she still had headaches, still wept at every reminder of the baby she had lost.