The White Empress

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘Oh, cheer up, Cat, I won’t change that much! You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, as the saying goes! I’ll always be the same underneath, you’ll see! You’ve grown up. You’re quieter, more thoughtful, well . . . just older, if you know what I mean!’

  ‘Am I?’ She had never thought about it before, but she supposed that she, too, had changed. It must have been gradual, something that had crept up on her, without her noticing it.

  ‘We’ll always be friends, Cat! Even when we’re old ladies like Mrs Travis. I’ll write to you and send you some funny postcards; on second thoughts, I’d better send the ones with “Greetings from Bournemouth” and pretty scenes. Mrs Travis might take offence at the “naughty ones”.’

  ‘I’ll keep them with the ones Joe sent me.’ Then she remembered the one she had destroyed. Still, he would be home soon and that was better than any postcard.

  The first week in October saw the Marguerita back in the Mersey but to Joe’s disappointment, he was paid off. The trip hadn’t been so much of a success as her captain had thought. He’d only just broken even, so he would have to lay up; besides, the old girl needed a rest, repairs, a coat of paint, he explained as he counted the notes out into Joe’s hand. So he came back to work and both women were glad to see him.

  At first Cat felt strange with him. The way she had felt when she first knew him, not as close as they had been before he had left. Sometimes she hestitated before she spoke, something she had never done before.

  She had mentioned it casually to Mrs Travis with the words ‘It seems strange to have him home again.’

  Her employer laughed. ‘It’s all part of the charm, like getting to know him all over again.’ And Cat knew she was speaking about her husband and not Joe. She had noticed lately that the old lady was living more and more in the past. She kept referring to things that had happened years ago as though they had only happened yesterday.

  The days lengthened into weeks and November came with its thick, choking fogs when it was almost impossible to see your hand in front of you, when the clanging of the trams as they crawled through the eerie streets like giant beetles, was the only sound on those streets. When for days and nights the mournful sound of the foghorns of ships trying to negotiate the river, carried across the shrouded city.

  The fog frightened her. Whenever she ventured out to the shops, with a scarf tied around her face leaving only her eyes exposed, she felt as though she were walking in a nightmare world where there were no familiar landmarks. No familiar sounds, shapes, colours. Shapes would suddenly loom into view, taking on human form. There were no shadows to warn of their approach. No lights.

  Mrs Travis, peering through the lace curtains into the cavernous gloom, summed up her feelings in a little rhyme:

  No sun, no moon,

  No night, no noon – November.

  At the end of the week it finally lifted, blown away by a howling gale that swept in from the Irish Sea. On Sunday she went to see her mother. She looked a little better and for this she was thankful. Maisey had forbidden her to leave the house. ‘Them fogs is murder on the tubes!’ she had warned. Wasn’t half the street bad with their chests? She wasn’t going to Marie’s that day for Doreen Gorry had just become engaged and her prospective ‘outlaws’, as Marie called them, were coming to tea. She had been invited but she had declined, sensing that the occasion would be tense for Marie had made no secret of the fact that Mr and Mrs Gorry did not really like their eldest daughter’s choice of future husband. A situation that was viewed in the same light by Doreen’s fiancé’s parents!

  She turned her collar up against the wind as she alighted from the tram. The rain had stopped but it was a raw night. Her head had begun to ache. All day confined in the overcrowded kitchen in Eldon Street was enough to give anyone a headache, she thought, as she turned her key in the lock. The house was silent – obviously Joe was not back yet. Usually he was a bit later than her for he always bought the twopenny bundles of wood ‘chips’ used to kindle the fires, on his way in.

  She stirred up the fire and held out her hands to the warmth. She’d better get the kettle on. Joe would be cold and no doubt Mrs Travis would be waiting for her cup of tea and digestive biscuits. She hadn’t answered her call and Cat surmised that she was dozing before the parlour fire. She took a lot of little naps lately, she thought. She set the tray and as there was no sign of Joe, she carried it into the parlour.

  ‘I couldn’t wait any longer for Joe, he’ll have to make his own.’ She set the tray down on the polished buffet. Mrs Travis sat in her usual chair, her eyes closed, her embroidery in her lap. Cat smiled. After the day she’d had, the sight of such tranquility was balm to her soul. This is how everyone should live, she thought. Surrounded by peace, security, warmth and luxury. She bent down and gently shook Mrs Travis’s arm. ‘I’ve brought your tea and biscuits.’

  There was no reply. No response. Usually she stirred at the sound of her voice. She shook her again and then snatched her hand away as though she had been burnt! She started to tremble all over. The old lady’s skin was cold! ‘Oh, God! Oh, Holy Mother! She’s . . . she’s dead!’ She stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming and her wild eyes darted around the room. She was dead! Dead!

  Somewhere a door slammed but she still stood frozen with shock. It wasn’t until she felt the hands on her shoulders that the paralysis left her.

  ‘Oh, Joe! Joe! She’s . . . she’s . . .’

  ‘I know, Cat.’ He gathered her into his arms as she gave way to hysterical sobs, clinging to him.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you into the kitchen! There’s nothing we can do now and she . . . she went peaceful enough.’

  ‘But . . . she went . . . alone!’

  Gently he drew her from the room and back into the kitchen where he eased her into a chair. ‘You need a drink. We both need a drink!’ He went to the sideboard and opened the door, taking out a small, squat bottle and two glasses which he filled. He held one to her lips. ‘Drink it!’

  The brandy burned her throat and made her cough but he forced her to finish it. Then he tossed off his own glass.

  She felt a little calmer, although she was still shaking.

  ‘How do you feel now?’

  ‘Better. It . . . it was . . . the shock.’

  He held her tightly in his arms and some warmth and strength flowed back into her.

  ‘Joe, what will we do?’

  ‘Call the police, I suppose.’

  Chapter Nine

  IT WASN’T UNTIL AFTER THE funeral that she opened the envelope that had been addressed to her. While looking for names and addresses of relatives Joe and the police sergeant had come across the envelopes. One addressed to Cat, the other to Joe.

  The Gorrys had been kindness itself in those bleak days that followed Mrs Travis’s death. She had refused to go back to Eldon Street. Joe had argued with her, pleaded with her, telling her that she couldn’t stay, for the nuns from the convent had taken the old lady to be laid out. It had been then that the realisation had come that not only had she lost a dear friend, the house she looked on as her home, but also her job. In the end, in response to her half-hysterical pleas, he had taken her to Marie’s.

  Word had been sent to Eldon Street. Mr Gorry had dealt with all enquiries and formalities and Mrs Gorry had had a black dress and coat speedily altered for her in time for the funeral. The interment had taken place in Anfield Cemetery and afterwards she had politely declined the invitation, extended by Sister Superior, to attend the quiet ‘tea’ they had laid on. She also declined Marie’s offer of a trip into town to ‘take her mind off things’ and explained as best she could, the desire to be alone.

  She crossed the road intent on walking for a while in Stanley Park and found Joe waiting for her.

  ‘I thought you’d gone.’

  He shook his head and tucked her arm through his. ‘I’ve hardly seen you since . . . well . . .’

  ‘I know. It’s
only been a couple of days but it seems like weeks. They’ve been very good to me.’

  They wandered for a while along the deserted pathway. Everything was still covered by heavy frost, although a watery sun had broken through the clouds and was slowly melting it. The bare, gaunt branches of the trees and shrubs, the empty flower beds, suited her mood. They skirted the frozen lake on which a few ducks huddled together.

  ‘You can’t stay with Marie forever, Cat.’

  She sighed deeply and pulling her coat closer to her, sat down on the wooden bench beside the lake, staring out over its glassy surface.

  ‘I know. I know I’ll have to go back sometime.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’

  ‘It will seem so now. I . . . I’d come to look on her house as . . . home.’

  ‘So, what will you do?’

  ‘Look for another job, I suppose.’

  ‘Not many people still have servants, Cat, and I don’t think there is anyone who . . . Well, Mam says “God broke the mould when he made her.” I reckon that sums her up very well.’

  He was forcing her to face reality and it depressed her further. ‘Then I’ll have to try for shop work, won’t I?’ she snapped.

  He put his arm around her. ‘We could get married.’

  She stared up at him, her eyes widening. ‘What?’

  ‘We could get married. I could look after you! You know how I feel about you!’

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. She knew he cared and she cared for him, too. But she had never thought about marriage. ‘What would we live on and where would we live? With your Mam or mine? You’ve got no job either, Joe.’ The practicalities sprang to her mind as a defence. She needed time to think. He had thrust it upon her so suddenly and at a time when she was already so confused.

  ‘We could have our own house.’

  She twisted her head to see if he was teasing. He wasn’t. ‘And where will we get the money for that? A decent house costs 12s 6d a week rent!’

  ‘Haven’t you looked in the envelope she left you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, look! Have you got it with you?’

  She opened her bag and took out the envelope. She had forgotten about it. She ripped it open. She drew out a single piece of paper and a bundle of crisp, white five pound notes. At first she looked at them as if she didn’t know what they were, then she slowly began to count them. Fifty pounds! There was fifty pounds right here in her hand! A lump rose in her throat. ‘Oh, Joe! Joe!’

  ‘She left me the same. A small fortune! With a note telling me to spend it wisely and hold fast to my principles. You see, Cat, we can get married, we can have a fine house, and . . .’

  She wasn’t listening, she was reading the lines of neat copperplate handwriting.

  My dear Catherine,

  I want you to have this small sum in return for the hours of companionship you willingly gave a lonely old woman. It may seem like a large amount of money but it won’t buy you all the things you desire. You will have to work for them and work hard, but it will help you. If it gives you a start in achieving your ambition, then it will have served its purpose and I will be content.

  You once said I would have cause to be proud of you and I know you won’t go back on that. Don’t lose faith and don’t let go of your dream, Catherine. Dreams can become reality – with a little help. God bless you.

  Yours,

  Evelyn Mary Travis.

  She could hear Joe’s voice, she could feel his arm around her shoulder, his body shielding her from the wind, but the words of the letter stirred up a memory that had lain dormant for a long time. Instead of the dreary, barren park with its grey, frozen lake, the flag-bedecked rigging, the three yellow funnels and the towering white hull rose before her eyes. Her heart began to beat more quickly and she clutched the note tightly in her hand. ‘Dreams can become reality!’ she heard the gentle voice whisper before it was drowned out by the familiar sound of a ship’s siren as a captain called the last of his crew aboard from The Stile House pub, far away in the distance. The vision danced before her and her lips formed the words, unknowingly spoken aloud. ‘The White Empress!’

  ‘Damn you, Cat Cleary, you’re not even listening to me!’

  She was back in the park and Joe was glaring at her. ‘What . . .?’

  ‘I said, when shall I go and see Father Maguire?’

  ‘You won’t!’

  The green eyes were clear and in them burned the light that had shocked him once before and he knew he had lost her.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Cat! I love you, you’ve always known that! We can get married, we’ve got one hundred pounds between us!’

  ‘No! No!’

  He drew her to him and crushed her lips beneath his and for a second she faltered. Then she drew away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Joe! Oh, I’m sorry!’

  His eyes darkened. ‘No you’re not! You’re still set on making a fool of yourself over that damned ship! We’re rich, Cat, don’t you understand?’

  ‘But it’s not everything, Joe, is it?’

  He sprang to his feet. ‘For God’s sake what do you want? You won’t ever get more money than that and you won’t have men running around offering to marry you! Oh, they’ll flock around you, but it won’t be marriage they’ll be offering, and if they do it will only be to get their hands on the money!’

  She got to her feet. ‘I’m not interested in other men and I want to be more than just rich, as you put it. I want to be respected, admired! I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and know that what I’ve got I’ve earned. That I’ve achieved something, made something out of my life! She understood, why can’t you?’ The still painful memory of her rejection and her inadequacies, so patiently explained by the clerk in the Booth Line offices, now added strength to her desire to gain respect and with it a measure of revenge for all the slights suffered.

  He just stared at her, his eyes like pieces of hard, glittering coal. He had offered her himself, his love and protection for the rest of her life and she had flung it all in his face and for what? So she could chase a dream!

  ‘You’re a fool, Cat! And a greedy fool at that! You can’t see when you’re well off! You’ll go on wanting more and more, you’ll never be satisfied!’

  She grasped his arm. ‘Joe! I don’t want to hurt you, really I don’t! You should know how I feel, you have your own dream! Can’t you understand it’s not greed, it’s ambition!’

  He threw off her hand. ‘Then take your ambition, Cat, and I wish you well of it! But don’t come crawling to me when the money’s gone and you’re worn out working like a skivvy, because that’s all you’ll be! A skivvy at the beck and call of people who are no better than you and who have even less money than you have! It’s not all millionaires, those ships carry emigrants to Canada, too!’ He turned on his heel and walked away, his boots crunching on the gravel path and the sound cut through her.

  She didn’t go after him. She just sank back on the bench, the note and the money still tightly clasped in her hand. Was she a fool? For an instant she thought about running after him. Telling him she hadn’t meant it and that she would go with him to see Father Maguire and post the Banns. She fought down the impulse. She wanted to try! She hadn’t lied to him. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. She’d held on to her dream, although as she watched his disappearing figure, she wondered how much that dream would cost her.

  She discussed the whole matter with Marie. It was the first time she had really opened her heart to her friend and asked for advice. There was no one else she could ask.

  Marie looked serious. ‘Cat, it wouldn’t be right of me to tell you what to do. Only you know how you feel, about Joe and about . . . this ambition. But if it were me, well . . . marriage is something for life, isn’t it? And it would be a different life. Totally different to anything you’ve known. Only you can say you would be happy. Only you know how you feel. Only you really know Joe.’

  ‘I . . . I am
very fond of him and I know he would be good to me, but . . .’

  ‘But? It’s the but that worries me, Cat. It shouldn’t be there at all.’

  ‘But am I throwing everything away for a dream? What if I don’t make it, or hate it?’

  ‘Is it what you really want to do?’

  ‘I want to try, Marie! Ever since I saw the Empress of Japan at the landing stage, the day I arrived, I’ve dreamed of sailing on a White Empress!’

  ‘Then all I can say, Cat, is try it. You won’t know until you try it!’

  Some of the depression lifted. She had given the money to Mr Gorry for safekeeping for there was no place to hide it in Eldon Street. Reluctantly she had returned to the little house, to suffer all the overcrowding and the jibes of Shelagh. ‘I feel better now. I’ll give it a try – if they’ll have me.’

  Marie laughed. ‘I’ve always wanted to take a trip on a liner. Swim in those fantastic pools, have cocktails and dinner with the captain.’

  ‘It won’t be like that for me. It will be hard work. At least that’s what Joe said.’

  ‘What else did he say about it?’

  ‘That I’d need to speak properly, dress well, have qualifications and know the right people.’

  ‘You can learn to speak correctly and you can buy some really nice clothes, but I don’t know about the “right” people. Dad might though.’

  ‘What about the qualifications?’

  ‘You’re not stupid, Cat, you could easily learn. They have evening classes you know, where you can go and learn and take exams.’

  ‘Where?’

  Marie stood up. ‘There will be a list in the library. Come on, let’s find out and our Mam knows a lady who teaches elocution. She’s always threatening to send me!’

  The elocution lessons were duly arranged by Mrs Gorry who added that it wouldn’t do ‘Hazel’ any harm either to spend an hour or two with Mrs Grindley. Cat was enrolled for evening classes at Warbreck Moor School. To study English, arithmetic and – as the sea was her intended career – geography.