by Maureen Lee
‘Where’s your luggage?’ she snapped.
‘We haven’t got—’ Ruby began.
‘And where’s your wedding ring?’
‘I haven’t—’
Mrs Howlett gestured angrily towards the stairs. ‘Get out me house immediately. I’m not having the likes of you under me roof.’
‘But—’
‘Out!’ the landlady said imperiously.
It was the first time Jacob had ever seen Ruby stuck for words. She drew herself to her full height, tossed her head, and stalked downstairs. By the time she reached the bottom she must have recovered her composure, because she said in her loudest, most penetrating voice, ‘Come on, Jacob. This place is a pigsty. I wouldn’t live here if they paid me.’
They were outside, on the pavement, it was raining properly now, and Ruby was shaking, her face the colour of a ripe plum. Jacob longed to comfort her, as she had comforted him during the night, but nothing in his body seemed to be working, only his legs, which stumbled after Ruby wherever she chose to take him.
She took his hand. ‘What shall we do now?’ she whispered. It didn’t feel like an adventure any more.
Jacob’s head drooped. He didn’t know.
The door of the house from which they’d just been evicted opened and Dolly crept stealthily out. ‘Me mam’s gone to the lavvy.’ She touched Ruby’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, luv. I would have liked you to have the room, but mam’s a stickler for convention.’
‘She’s got awful manners,’ Ruby said spiritedly.
‘I know.’ Dolly sniffed. ‘And I’ve got to live with ’em, an’ all. Would you like a piece of advice, luv?’ She ignored Jacob. Perhaps she thought him deaf and dumb as well as useless.
‘What sort of advice?’ Ruby enquired.
‘If I were you, I’d buy meself a wedding ring from Woollies. They only cost a tanner.’
‘I will, thanks. We only got married yesterday,’ she lied shamelessly. ‘It was very sudden and we couldn’t afford to buy a proper ring. I didn’t realise you could get them for sixpence.’
‘Good luck – what’s your name, luv?’
‘Ruby.’
‘Good luck, Ruby.’
Dolly smiled and was about to leave when Ruby said, ‘Do you know if there’s a room going anywhere else?’
‘No, luv. There’s bed and breakfast places around, though they might get a bit sniffy if you haven’t got luggage and a ring. Anyroad, have you got the money?’
Ruby made a face. ‘Only tenpence.’
‘That’s not nearly enough. Mind you, if you’re stuck for cash, you could always pawn that lovely watch. In the meantime, you could try Charlie Murphy in Foster Court, number 2. He charges by the night, only thruppence, and he won’t care if you’re wearing a ring or not. But I warn you, it’s a terrible fleapit. Scarcely fit for human beings to live in.’
‘Your mam’s just made me feel less than human, so that won’t matter all that much.’
In all the times she had happily roamed the streets of the Dingle, Ruby had never come across anywhere like Foster Court. It was hidden, out of sight, between a billiard hall and a butcher’s, a narrow alley, barely six feet wide, with a handful of four-storey dwellings on either side, the filthy bricks bitten and crumbling, as if they’d caught a repellent disease. Despite the rain, barefoot children were playing in the water that ran along the cracked flags separating the houses, paddling, splashing their hands. One little boy, wearing only ragged short trousers, was trying to sail a paper boat. There was a sickening lavatory smell and the place was very dark, buried within its own shadows, as if the sun, when it was out, had been forbidden to shine in the hideous man-made chasm that was Foster Court.
She was tempted to go no further, turn back, but it wouldn’t hurt to know they had a place to sleep that night, even if it was horrible. It was only early. They could spend the rest of the day looking for work. If things went well, they might not have to come back. Mr Murphy could keep his threepence.
Ruby knocked on the unpainted door with the number 2 scratched on crudely with a knife. There was no letter box, as if letters were unknown in a place like this.
‘Mr Murphy?’ she said faintly when a ghostly figure appeared, an old man with a grey face and skin the texture of wet putty. His white hair was long and dirty, the ends the colour of tobacco, as if he was turning rusty with age.
‘That’s me, queen,’ he said chirpily.
‘I... we, we’re looking for a room.’
‘Are you now! Well, I’ve got a room. Second floor back, thruppence a night, payment up front.’ He grinned, showing the occcasional yellow tooth. ‘No parties, no drinking, no dancing.’
‘We’d like to take it, please. Just for tonight.’
‘Give us the ackers, queen, and it’s yours. You can find your own way up. The lavvy’s in the yard, the scullery’s below stairs. I’ll fetch you the keys.’ He threw open the door, and Ruby winced when she saw the damp-stained walls, the uncarpeted stairs worn to a curve in the middle from the tread of a thousand feet. She wondered if the owners of the feet had felt as miserable as she did as she went up one flight of stairs, then another, Jacob behind, as he had been all day, not speaking, his face a mask of despair. The sound of a woman screaming came from one of the rooms, using language Ruby had never heard before. A baby wailed plaintively in another.
The first thing she noticed when she went in the room was the threadbare curtain on the window. One of the panes was missing and there was a piece of cardboard in its place.
‘There’s no bedding.’ There was no sink either, no carpet or linoleum on the floor, no ornaments, hardly any furniture, no light, only a stub of metal tubing where a gas mantel should have been. The bed didn’t have a head-board, the palliasse looked disgusting, and the bolster had turned an unhealthy shade of yellow. A small fireplace was heaped with ash. Ruby crept over to the window and saw a communal yard with just two lavatories for the use of the residents of all the properties on that side. Her heart sank and she turned away. Jacob was sitting on one of the wooden chairs beside a little square table with oilcloth nailed on top.
He spoke at last. ‘Go home, Ruby,’ he said in a voice as wretched as his face. ‘Go back to Emily. I’ll manage on me own.’
‘Don’t be daft!’ Ruby said spiritedly. ‘We’re in this together.’
‘I was thinking of turning meself in.’
‘And letting them hang you!’ she gasped.
‘I didn’t mean to kill him,’ Jacob groaned.
‘I know you didn’t.’ Ruby considered this fact. ‘I suppose,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘you mightn’t be tried for murder, but manslaughter instead. You’d be sent to prison for years.’
Jacob would rather hang than be shut for years in a cell with bars on the window, possibly never feel the sun again, smell the flowers, see the trees blossom in the spring and watch the leaves fall in autumn.
‘Let’s go and buy a cup of tea,’ Ruby said encouragingly. ‘Then look for a job.’
He shook his head and tucked his arms protectively across his chest. ‘I’d sooner stay.’ He needed to rest, come to terms with what he’d done, get used to the fact he was a murderer. The day had already been confused enough without having to look for work that he didn’t want. He would never be happy working anywhere other than on the land. As far as today was concerned, he’d had enough. He’d look for a job tomorrow.
Ruby must have lost patience with him at last. She stamped her foot. ‘If that’s how you feel, Jacob Veering, I’ll find a job on my own.’
Finding a job was just as difficult as finding a room when you didn’t know where to look. Did you just walk into a shop and ask if there was a vacancy? Although not one to refrain from pushing herself forward, Ruby couldn’t quite raise the nerve. And the shops she peered in appeared to be fully staffed. No one looked overworked. She passed a pub with a notice in the window, ‘Cleaner Required’, and sniffed in derision. She hated cleaning. She wanted to work
in a shop. But how?
Some jobs were advertised in newspapers, but it meant writing a letter, waiting for a reply, going for interview with half a dozen other people, then waiting again for the interviewer to make up their mind – it had happened to Priscilla Lane in a picture she’d seen.
If only she’d brought a coat. Better still, her new mackintosh with check lining and a hood. Or an umbrella. It might be August, but it wasn’t exactly warm, particularly if you were soaked to the skin. Her shoes had begun to squelch and the rain showed no sign of stopping. She thought balefully that it was the rain’s fault she and Jacob were in such a mess. If it hadn’t rained yesterday, Emily and Bill Pickering would be in the Lake District. For the first time, she wondered what had caused last night’s fight? Alerted by the shouting, she’d arrived just in time to see Bill, whom she’d thought so nice, giving poor Emily a whack about the face. And now Bill was dead! Ruby tried not to think about it.
It was two o’clock by the time she came to Park Road, the route the tramcar took when it carried her to the Dingle. Briskly busy, lined with shops, there were even more people around on a Saturday afternoon. Ruby remembered it was where she’d decided, months ago, that this was the place she wanted to be, though she hadn’t thought it would be under such horrible circumstances.
The first dress shop she came to, she plucked up courage and went in. A smart lady in black approached and wished her, ‘Good afternoon, luv. What can I do for you? You look like a drowned rat, if you don’t mind my saying.’
‘Good afternoon,’ Ruby gushed. ‘I’m looking for a job – and I feel like a drowned rat at the moment.’
‘Sorry, luv,’ the woman said smilingly, ‘but I only employ mature staff. I hope you have better luck somewhere else.’
Encouraged by the polite reception, Ruby made the same request several more times including a chemist and a haberdasher’s when she ran out of dress shops. The chemist offered her a form to fill in and said she could bring it back any time, so obviously weren’t anxious for another member of staff. ‘We’ll be taking an extra person on for Christmas,’ the woman in the haberdasher’s said helpfully. ‘Try again in November.’
It was quarter past four, she was passing a cafe, and longed for a cup of tea – she’d had nothing to eat or drink since last night, though the thought of food made her nauseous. She went in, ordered a pot of tea for one, bringing the contents of her purse down to fourpence which was worrying. Tomorrow was Sunday and it would be a waste of time searching for work. If they had to stay in Foster Court a second night, it would cost another threepence and she’d be left with a penny. She’d intended buying Jacob something to eat and they’d need food tomorrow. She wished she hadn’t bought the tea, though it was nice, sitting in the warmth, making the tea last out, giving her time to think, not that thinking had helped much so far.
Being short of money was a new experience. She recalled the abundant amount of coppers and silver that Emily left in her various bags that she’d helped herself to whenever she needed, for the pictures and her journeys around Liverpool.
It crossed her mind that the pennies she had left might be best spent calling Emily from a telephone box and asking for money – they could meet somewhere in town, because Ruby couldn’t afford to go to Brambles. She gave the matter serious thought before deciding, reluctantly, that she couldn’t rely on Emily not to tell the police. She might be followed when she returned to Foster Court and Jacob, who was wanted for murder.
A girl came to remove the tea things. ‘Have you finished, luv? You look like a drowned rat.’
‘Someone’s already told me that. I’ll be finished in a minute.’ Ruby poured the last of the hot water into the pot and managed to squeeze out half a cup. ‘By the way, I don’t suppose you need any more staff ?’ It was worth a try.
‘No. We’re not much busy during the week. I only work Sat’ days meself.’
‘Thanks, anyway.’
Nothing had happened in Ruby’s short life to make her feel as disheartened as she did now. She’d faced few problems – she couldn’t remember what they were, but was sure she’d always come out on top. But now she felt beaten, not knowing which way to turn. If she kept on trying, she would get a job one day, next week perhaps, but she needed one now.
She looked at her watch. Five o’clock. Only a few people were left in the cafe and the sign on the door had been turned to Closed. She looked at her watch again. What was it Dolly Howlett had said? Something about pawning her lovely watch. Ruby had no idea what that meant.
The girl returned to clear the table. ‘Excuse me,’ Ruby said, ‘but what does “pawn” mean?’
‘Y’what?’ The girl looked at her vacantly.
‘Someone said today I could pawn my watch. I’ve never heard of it before.’
‘Oh, pawn. It means taking it to a pawnshop and they’ll lend money on it. You get a ticket in case you want to redeem your pledge, buy it back, as it were. Of course,’ the girl smiled grimly. ‘You have to pay more than they gave you. They’re nothing but a racket, pawnshops. I’d steer clear of them if I were you.’
Ruby didn’t have much choice. A ray of sunshine had appeared, making the immediate future look considerably brighter. ‘Is there one near here, a pawnshop?’
‘There’s Overton’s. Turn right outside the door and it’s a few blocks away, on the corner. You’ll know it by the three brass balls outside. You’d better hurry. They close at half five.’
‘Thank you.
The window of Overton’s was heavily barred and full of jewellery which an elderly man with rimless glasses and hardly any hair was in the process of removing. She opened the door and a bell jangled loudly. The man removed his head from the window.
‘Yes?’
‘I’d like to pawn—’ Ruby began.
‘Door’s round the side,’ the man snapped.
The side door was small and unobtrusive. Another bell rang when Ruby entered a small, dimly lit lobby, coming face to face with a metal grille over a wooden counter that was as curved in the middle as the stairs in Foster Court.
A man appeared, very like the one in the window, but younger and with slightly more hair that was combed over his bare scalp in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the fact he was bald. His eyes were the palest she had ever seen.
‘We’re closing in a minute,’ he said abruptly. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to pawn my watch, please.’
‘Hand it over.’
There was a slit between the counter and the bottom of the grille. Ruby removed the watch which had an expanding strap and of which she was very fond and pushed it through. ‘It cost five guineas,’ she said. ‘It’s pure gold.’
‘I can see that for meself, thanks.’ He was examining the watch carefully, turning it over, running his fingers along the strap. He lifted his head and regarded her sharply with his pale eyes. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘It was a birthday present.’
‘It ses on the back “Ruby O’Hagan”.’
Emily had had the back engraved. ‘I know, that’s me.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Ruby demanded sharply.
‘Show me something with your name on; an official document of some sort – your birth certificate, or the receipt for the watch, a letter addressed to yourself would do.’
‘I haven’t got anything like that with me.’ She didn’t know if she’d ever had a birth certificate, Emily had the receipt for the watch, and no one had ever sent her a letter.
‘Where do you live?’
Ruby paused, knowing instinctively not to say Foster Court where no one was likely to own a watch, let alone one worth five guineas. The man was watching her suspiciously and had noticed the pause. It dawned on her that she probably looked a sight, soaking wet, her hair plastered to her head, her cardigan all shrivelled. She should have tidied herself up before she came in. ‘I live in Kirkby,’ she replied.
�
�And you’ve come all this way to pawn a watch?’ he said in mock disbelief.
‘I’m staying in the Dingle for a few days with a friend.’ Ruby was beginning to feel a touch desperate.
‘What’s the name of this friend?’
‘Dolly Howlett. She lives in Dombey Street.’ She rarely told lies because she was quite happy for people to know the truth, but today she seemed to be tying herself up in knots.
‘I tell you what, bring Dolly Howlett along on Monday to vouch for you, and I’ll let you have a guinea for your watch.’
‘All right. Until then, I’d like it back if you don’t mind.’ She had no intention of entering a pawnshop again as long as she lived. The watch would have to be got rid of another way.
The man smiled, though it was more like a sneer. ‘I don’t think so. I’d like to check it against our list of stolen property. The police might be interested in this watch.’
Ruby lost her temper. ‘Are you suggesting it’s stolen?’
‘Are you suggesting it’s not?’
‘Of course it’s not. It’s mine, I got it for my birthday.’
‘Who off, the King?’
‘No, off Emily. You can’t just keep it. I need it.’
‘If you need it, why are you trying to pawn it?’
‘Because I want the money, stupid.’
The man scribbed something on a piece of paper and shoved it beneath the grille. ‘Here’s a receipt. You can have the money on Monday under the conditions already described. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re closed.’ He pulled down a shutter behind the grille with a bang. An enraged Ruby hammered on the grille with her fist, to no avail. She marched round to the front, found the front door locked, and no sign of the other man inside. Despite more hammering, no one came.
It was the second time that day she’d been made to feel about two inches tall; first Mrs Howlett, now in a pawnshop. Angry tears stung Ruby’s eyes mingling with the rain, still falling steadily. She couldn’t go back for the watch even if she knew someone who could vouch for her. If the man contacted the police they might recognise the name on the back: Ruby O’Hagan, who’d left Brambles last night in the company of Jacob Veering. She’d lost her watch for ever.