by June Francis
Emma had not gone far after leaving the station when she was hailed by Lila’s mother. She wished she could pretend not to have seen her because she was in no mood for an interrogation, but already Mrs Ashcroft was crossing the road towards her.
‘You’re limping, Emma. What’s happened to you? Lila dropped by at your cottage last night and found it all in darkness,’ said the older woman. ‘She let herself in and stayed for a while, hoping to see you. When you didn’t arrive home she fed the cat and hens.’
‘That was kind of her,’ said Emma, grateful to her friend. ‘I had a fall and had to stay in Liverpool, so if you don’t mind, Mrs Ashcroft, I don’t want to stand about.’
‘Perhaps I should come with you,’ said Lila’s mother, gazing down at Emma’s foot. ‘Twisted your ankle, did you? It looks a bit swollen. Maybe I should take a look. I don’t suppose you had it X-rayed?’
‘No. A kind policeman saw to it for me,’ she replied casually.
‘A policeman!’ exclaimed Mrs Ashcroft sharply. ‘I knew you’d get into trouble.’
Emma had an overwhelming urge to shock Lila’s mother. ‘Aye. He took me to the police station and put me in a cell.’
Mrs Ashcroft gasped. ‘You never were!’
‘I were,’ said Emma, forgetting her grammar. ‘Now if you don’t mind letting me get on? I need to rest my ankle.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Mrs Ashcroft, taking hold of Emma’s arm. ‘You lean on me.’
Emma was driven to say, ‘What about Mr Ashcroft? Won’t he be waiting for you at home? And what about your job at the hospital?’
‘I don’t have to be in work until later. Your grandparents would have wanted me to look after you, now you’re all alone. A young woman of your age is vulnerable to all sorts of temptations and dangers.’
‘I don’t think anyone is going to attack me here,’ said Emma firmly.
‘Were you attacked in Liverpool?’ asked Mrs Ashcroft, sounding as if she would almost enjoy hearing that Emma had suffered an assault.
Emma gave her a look and changed the subject. ‘You haven’t asked me if I found my stepmother and half-sister.’
‘If they’d welcomed you with open arms, then I doubt you’d have come limping home. You would have stayed there for a few days to recuperate,’ said Mrs Ashcroft.
Emma hoped that was what would have happened if her stepmother and half-sister had been there. ‘The house was derelict,’ she said. ‘Constable Marshall said it was bombed during the Blitz.’
‘They’re dead, then,’ said Mrs Ashcroft with a jerk of the head. ‘It’s probably just as well, Emma. You’ll be able to settle down here again now.’
Emma frowned, not liking her family written off so easily. ‘The house was still standing and Constable Marshall believes they’re alive. He’s going to try and trace them for me.’
Mrs Ashcroft looked put out. ‘Was this policeman a young man? You sound like you’re going to be relying on him rather a lot.’
‘He’s in his twenties and it’s part of his job to help the public find missing persons,’ said Emma coolly.
‘There’s no need to take that tone,’ said Mrs Ashcroft, sounding affronted. ‘I’m only thinking of what’s best for you, Emma. Can you really afford to be going back and forth between here and Liverpool if this Constable Marshall finds your stepmother and half-sister?’
‘Surely that’s my business,’ said Emma.
Two spots of colour appeared in the older woman’s cheeks. ‘You sound just like your mother and look what happened to her.’
Emma was really annoyed by that remark. ‘She met my father, that’s what she did. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t gone to Liverpool and married him, so I’m grateful that she did.’
‘But she brought you back here,’ said Mrs Ashcroft promptly. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind she believed this village to be a healthier place to live and she hoped to make a recovery. Your father might have followed her here but he didn’t stick around, as you know.’
‘Perhaps that was because Gran didn’t make him welcome. If his great-grandparents once lived here, maybe the two families quarrelled and Gran couldn’t bring herself to accept my father. She could be stubborn and found it difficult to forgive a slight or a wrong done.’
‘What an imagination you have,’ said Mrs Ashcroft with a sniff. ‘But don’t go expecting too much of strangers, Emma. They can let you down.’
‘If you mean Constable Marshall,’ said Emma, ‘he was kind to me, so naturally I think the best of him.’
‘As long as that’s all you do, Emma. You’re far too young to know your own mind yet when it comes to choosing a husband.’
‘A husband!’ Emma gasped. ‘That’s a bit of a leap! I hardly know the man. You’re being ridiculous to suggest that I’d be thinking about marriage so soon, even though I’m not as young as you like to make out!’
‘Don’t be insolent!’ Mrs Ashcroft’s eyes flashed. ‘When a girl is on her own, with very little money, it can be very tempting to accept the first man who asks her to marry him.’
Emma tilted her chin. ‘I intend to support myself and not trust to a man to do it for me, even if it means pawning the coat on my back and every stick of furniture I have.’
Before Mrs Ashcroft could respond to that comment, Emma limped away. She was still angry when she reached the house. It was a relief to get inside out of the cold and go into the kitchen. Instantly, she heard Tibby mewing outside the back door. She let her in, but when the cat stropped Emma’s legs she picked her up. ‘Now you must be careful, Tibby. I don’t want to be falling over you and I need to get the fire lit,’ she said, placing the cat in the front room and closing the door on her.
Emma took a pair of walking socks out of her boots by the back door. She removed her shoes and put on the socks and an apron over her new frock before setting about lighting the fire. Within the hour the kitchen was feeling much warmer; even so, Emma had draped about her shoulders the shawl that she had made for her grandmother’s birthday before she died. The old woman had called it her ‘Joseph’ shawl because Emma had used up oddments of leftover wool to crochet the garment. She had kept it for sentimental reasons and because it really was warm.
She made a pot of tea and let the cat back into the kitchen. There was no fresh milk but fortunately she found a tin of condensed milk in the larder. Her granddad had been partial to it spread on bread, and Emma remembered her grandmother making coconut ice for the church fete. She was hungry and fancied some coconut ice but had to make do with a slice of stale bread toasted and spread with homemade blackberry jam.
She poured herself a cup of tea and stretched out on the sofa. Instantly Tibby jumped on her lap. Emma was glad of her company. She had calmed down now but she could not forget what Mrs Ashcroft had said about her parents’ marriage or of her seizing hold of the first presentable man. She thought of Constable Marshall and felt a warm glow.
Then she frowned. For all she knew he could already have a serious girlfriend. He could even be married, although she doubted that young married men went round giving girls rides on the crossbar of their bikes. What would it feel like to be kissed by him? She imagined the feel of his mouth on hers and recalled the strength in his arms. Then she thought of all the jobs that needed doing in her cottage and how handy it would be to have a man about the place. How practical was her Liverpool policeman?
She pulled herself together. What was she thinking? She must stop such thoughts right away. It was Mrs Ashcroft’s fault for putting romantic ideas into her head. She found herself wondering if Mr Ashcroft had been the first man to propose marriage to Lila’s mother when she was no longer a spring chicken, and she had accepted him because she was on the shelf. Or perhaps they had been in love and blissfully happy once upon a time, but the war had destroyed that happiness? She thought about what Mrs Ashcroft had said about her parents and her mother coming back home with her. What could have gone wrong with their marriage? How long had th
ey been married before Emma was born? Where exactly had they tied the knot? Emma would like to visit the church or the registry office where they were married. No doubt, somewhere in Liverpool, there would be a record of the marriage and her birth.
Emma knew she had to visit the city again but right now she must find more work and so needed to place an advertisement in the Clitheroe Advertiser and Times. Reluctant as she was to go out in the cold again, she must write a piece out today and post it, as well as do some shopping.
* * *
Emma was frying potato scallops that evening when she heard a rat-a-tat on the back door. ‘It’s not locked,’ she called.
Lila opened the door and stepped inside. Her expression was a mixture of concern and excitement. ‘Are you all right? Mam said you’d hurt your ankle and spent the night in a police cell. What on earth happened?’
Emma chuckled. ‘I tripped over in the fog, but fortunately this gorgeous policeman came to my rescue.’
Lila’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh. What was he like? Tall, dark, handsome …?’
An imp of devilry seized Emma. ‘Very tall. He made me feel like a shrimp. Especially when he swept me off my feet and carried me to the nearest shop,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. No doubt this information would find its way back to Mrs Ashcroft.
‘You’re pulling my leg,’ said Lila.
‘It’s the gospel truth!’ Emma was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘He even gave me a ride on his bike. I sat on the crossbar and I had to hang on to him very tightly in case I fell off. He was really strong. I’d never experienced anything like it. We could only see a few feet in front of us. It was thrilling, frightening and exciting all at the same time.’
‘How old is he?’
‘I’d say only a few years older than us.’
Lila sighed. ‘Gosh, I wish we had a bobby like him around here.’
‘It would probably be too quiet for him with it being just a matter of making sure none of the men are drinking after hours or day trippers driving too fast through the village.’
‘You’re forgetting about sheep and hen rustlers,’ said Lila with a giggle.
Emma smiled. ‘You’re right. I should tell him that it’s a bit like the Wild West out here but he knows Pendle Hill, so will be familiar with the area and would guess I was telling a fib.’
Lila pulled a face. ‘Shame. Anyway, I expect he’ll be looking for something more exciting in terms of crimes to solve and criminals to catch. Maybe he’ll want to be a police inspector.’
‘No chance of doing that here.’
‘Will you be seeing him again?’
‘He said he’d be in touch. Did your mother tell you that I didn’t find my stepmother and half-sister?’
‘Aye.’
‘The house was derelict, but Constable Marshall is going to try and trace them for me.’ Emma began to flip the scallops onto a plate. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘I’ve eaten. Is that all you’re having?’
‘I had a big breakfast at the police station,’ said Emma.
‘That must have been hours ago.’
‘So, I need to lose some weight.’
Lila stared at her. ‘You’re short of money after buying a new frock and going to Liverpool, aren’t you?’
‘I’m fine. Nothing for you to worry about,’ said Emma lightly. ‘It’s just that I have to make my money last until I get some more work.’
Lila sat down and rested her arms on the table. ‘If Mam didn’t make me hand over me wages, I’d give you a loan. So what else happened? Did you get to look in any of the shops?’
Emma shook her head. ‘I told you it was foggy, and I’d lost my bag, so I had no money. You know, I never gave any thought to Liverpool having been bombed before I went there. Stupid of me. I didn’t get to see the River Mersey either. I’m going to have to go there again but it might not be till summer.’
She was thoughtful as she ate her supper.
‘And if your policeman gets in touch?’
‘Whether he gets in touch or not,’ murmured Emma. ‘There are things I need to find out about my parents.’
Lila frowned and stood up. ‘Why can’t you leave the past alone?’
‘Because I’m curious!’
‘It was curiosity that killed the cat,’ said Lila, shaking her head. ‘I’ll have to go. Is there anything I can get you? You’ll be wanting to rest your ankle.’
‘It’s good of you to offer but I’ll manage,’ said Emma. ‘By the way, thanks for coming in and feeding the hens and the cat.’
‘It was the least I could do. See you soon.’
Emma saw her friend out and then, after she had gone, switched on the wireless so she wouldn’t feel so lonely. She listened to The Goon Show, remembering how her granddad had enjoyed the adventures of Neddie Seagoon. He was always falling prey to the schemes of Hercules Grytpype-Thynne and Count Moriarty. She could almost hear the old man’s throaty chuckle as he laughed at the antics of Spike Milligan as Eccles and Peter Sellers as Bluebottle in their attempts to rescue Neddie. She must visit the family grave again soon.
It was to be more than a week before Emma was able to visit the churchyard. She knelt on a sheet of newspaper by the family plot and removed dead greenery before emptying the dregs from the water container. Then she half-filled it with fresh water before placing the first of the daffodils from her garden in the container. She spent several minutes, thinking of her grandparents and her mother, before getting up from her knees and wrapping the dead plants in the newspaper. On her way to the church gate, she passed the verger who was pasting a sheet of paper on the church noticeboard.
‘How are you getting on, Emma?’ he called. ‘Still missing ol’ Harry?’
‘Aye, but he’d want me to get on with my life.’ She brushed back a strand of chestnut hair. ‘At the moment I’m waiting for a reply to an advert I put in the Clitheroe Times. I need more bookkeeping work.’
He nodded. ‘No doubt you’ll also be waiting for a letter from Liverpool.’
His knowing about her trip to Liverpool came as no surprise as there was a flourishing grapevine in the village. ‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I can’t help you there but I’ll have a word with the vicar, if you like, and see if he knows anyone who needs a bookkeeper when he’s visiting in the parish.’
Emma had not forgotten the vicar’s offer to provide her with a reference, but she had never thought of asking for his help in finding a job. She thanked the verger and then hesitated before asking, ‘Do you remember my mother?’
‘Of course I remember Mary. We were at school together. She was right pretty and had a way with her that had us lads vying for her attention. She had a lovely singing voice and was often chosen to perform solos.’
‘I never knew that,’ said Emma, astonished. ‘In fact I know very little about her. My grandparents hardly ever spoke about her after she died.’
‘Perhaps it was too painful. She had an ambition to sing professionally but they didn’t want her to leave the village.’
‘So she ran away,’ said Emma softly.
‘Aye, well, she had a determined nature; she wanted to be somebody.’
‘Things mustn’t have worked out for her on the stage if she married my father,’ said Emma.
‘You mean she must have given up her dream,’ said the verger, looking thoughtful. ‘That’s not necessarily true. She left when she was only eighteen and didn’t return until several years later. I remember seeing a poster up outside a theatre in Manchester, advertising a variety show and she was on the bill.’
Emma’s eyes widened. ‘Did my grandparents know?’
‘I didn’t keep it a secret, told my mam about it. You can bet the news went round, but your grandmother wouldn’t have gone to see her. According to my mam, she didn’t hold with the stage. Singing in church was one thing, but going around the country, performing in public and for money was quite another.’
‘That’s sad,’ murmured Emma. ‘
What a shame Gran couldn’t have been proud of her. I imagine, though, that Granddad would have gone to see her perform if he’d been able to.’
‘Aye, well, it would have been more than his life was worth to go against your gran.’
Emma knew what he meant. ‘At least Mother came back here with me when she was ill and was allowed to stay, so Gran must have forgiven her.’
‘Or ol’ Harry put his foot down. She brought them a granddaughter. I remember Mam saying that must have gone a long way to healing the breach.’
Emma could see why that could be true and smiled. ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work any longer but I’m glad we had this conversation.’
He grinned. ‘It brought memories back – but you don’t want to go delving into the past too much, lass,’ he warned. ‘You don’t know what you’ll find and you can’t change matters. You’re only young and you’ve your life ahead of you, concentrate on that.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ She waved and went on her way, knowing that, despite his advice, she still intended finding out more about her parents if she could.
She was halfway along the street when she noticed a tall, fair-haired man standing outside her front door. She felt a stir of excitement. Could it be Constable Marshall come to visit instead of writing her a letter? She quickened her pace.
He must have heard her footsteps because he turned his head and watched as she approached. ‘Constable Marshall, I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she called.
‘I fancied a trip into the country, Miss Booth. I see your ankle is much better now,’ he said, smiling.
‘Aye, it’s fine now.’ She smiled up at him in delight. ‘Call me Emma,’ she added. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’
‘No.’ He watched her as she pulled the key through the letter box. ‘That isn’t very sensible, you know.’