A Liverpool Legacy

by Anne Baker

  ‘I’m horrified at your behaviour,’ she told Alice and both were in tears. ‘Think of the shame you bring to our family.’ But she thought I had done the right thing and was supportive towards me. We knew we could trust her to keep the secret. She said even Papa must not be told.

  It didn’t end there. First our sister Mary came and then our sister Grace and her eldest daughter. They, too, were shocked and surprised but understood the need to keep it secret.

  Alice went into labour in the afternoon of 29 March 1883 and I took her to the Tavistock Nursing Home in Aigberth. You were born that evening weighing six pounds twelve ounces, and given the name William Peter Maynard.

  Millie put the diary down feeling exhausted and really quite shocked. In reality, the Maynard family had died out. Freddie had been the last of the line. It seemed Pete had been more Willis than Maynard.

  Millie wondered if he’d known. She’d never heard him extol the superiority of the Maynard bloodline, and he’d always been careful to treat everybody according to their abilities. After much thought she decided that he probably had known. It seemed likely, as he had been brought up in this house and used the desk. Perhaps it was Pete who had hidden this last notebook in the secret drawer.

  Millie turned over a few blank pages and found Eleanor had written a postscript almost two decades later.

  June 1906

  Dearest Peter, I can’t tell you how much joy bringing you up gave me and Freddie. You were the most lovable of sons, kind to your younger brother and responsive to all your relatives, especially to me and Freddie. Everybody loves you and has tried to spoil you.

  You were a great comfort to your grandfather, William Charles Maynard, in his old age. To the end of his days he rejoiced that you were a Maynard and hoped you’d marry and have a large family to carry it on. You became the centre of his life and he spent many happy hours in your nursery.

  I’m sure you’ll remember your Aunt Alice. She loved you dearly and came to see you often. She married Edgar Rowlands, a solicitor, when she was twenty-two and they now have three daughters and a son. Her plan was not to tell him the truth about your birth but I know that later she did.

  She still came over to see us regularly, bringing her husband and their children – your half-siblings. I expect you remember them, Daisy, Rosa, Daphne and Charles. Daisy, the eldest, was born seven years after you and therefore you didn’t play much together. I’ve always rejoiced that Alice was happy in her marriage.

  Millie was bemused by what she’d learned from the diary and could think of nothing else for days. She wanted to tell Andrew and perhaps get him to read some of the diaries. She wanted to discuss all the ins and outs of it, but it still affected the living. She wanted Valerie and Helen to think of their family as they always had, and what about James and his sons? Millie felt she couldn’t break a silence and tell family secrets that had been kept hidden for so many years.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Andrew was away on his two weeks’ annual holiday. ‘I’m going to take my mother to Bournemouth,’ he’d told Millie. ‘She hasn’t been too well recently. I’m hoping the change and the sea air will buck her up.’

  Already Millie was missing him. At work these days she was doing more of the general administrative work and sometimes Andrew helped her with it. She sighed and looked again at the document Marcus had put on her desk. He was referring everything back to her as though she was his boss. Nigel, too, was inclined to do that. When they’d first started work here, she’d done it willingly to ease them in, but Marcus was making no progress.

  Their annual bill for the company’s insurances had come in and she’d asked him to check it and assess the cover held by the firm to decide whether it was adequate, before passing it on for payment.

  Marcus had sent the file back to her asking if she thought the cover against accident and workmen’s compensation was still adequate now they’d taken on another twenty-five workmen in the factory.

  No, she scribbled on his letter, increase pro-rata. Also they’d increased their delivery vans from four to six and they were being billed only for four. It almost made her smile, Marcus had recently been involved in buying and insuring the vans, how could he forget their existence so quickly?

  She got to her feet and was about to take the papers to Nigel’s office to ask him to see to it as Marcus couldn’t be trusted to do anything, but no, she decided this time she’d have a quiet word with him. Let him sort it out, he had little enough to do anyway.

  She ran upstairs to the turret and stood at the door to his office. He was not there but she didn’t think he’d gone far, there were papers all over his desk and one of his drawers was open. It was a circular room with small windows all the way round and had views in every direction. Magnificent views up and down the Mersey on a clear day. She crossed the room to the opposite side and looked down at the car park. Yes, Marcus was here, his car was down there looking large and elegant from above.

  She went back to his desk, picked up his expensive gold-plated fountain pen and wrote across the insurance schedule, Don’t forget the two new delivery vans, Marcus. For some reason they’ve been left out.

  She was screwing the top back on his pen when she noticed the small notebook on his desk that he’d left open, and the words he’d written there under today’s date: Dale Barracks, military surplus auction. Twelve midday. She stood staring down at it for a long moment. Was that the sort of place he went when he wasn’t here? But it was half eleven now, he’d never get to Chester by twelve. She went back to the window. She’d not made a mistake, his car was still there.

  She spun herself back to his desk and snatched up his little notebook to riffle through the pages. Manchester, Warrington, Barrow and even Harwich, Marcus had been to all these towns, some of them several times. There were telephone numbers and names of people and of garages; directions on how to get to these places and reasons for making the trips.

  Millie felt the sweat break out on her forehead, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She had always wondered what Marcus got up to. Here it was, with dates and little ticks when he’d completed the jobs.

  It looked very much as though he was lining his own pockets at the taxpayers’ expense, but was she right? She didn’t want to accuse him of breaking the law if he wasn’t. She looked through his notebook again. Could there be an innocent explanation? She didn’t think so, it looked like criminal activity. But what should she to do about it?

  She slid the book into her pocket, closed his office door quietly, and ran back to the lab. She felt safer at her own desk with Denis clattering bottles at the back, but she still couldn’t think. She wanted to talk to Andrew about it but he wasn’t here. He was away in Bournemouth with his mother. She had to do something, but what? Take it straight to the police? But she didn’t want any adverse publicity for the firm.

  She could show it to Jeff Willis. He was a military policeman so this should be right up his street. Yes, he’d know exactly what should be done, though Marcus would see that as shopping him.

  She paused, remembering that Jeff had told her he was involved only in minor crime, pub fights and suchlike, but it was one thing to keep mum about the lifetime secrets of Marcus’s grandparents, and quite another to help hide what looked like criminal activity from the police.

  But how to contact Jeff? If only Andrew were here, there’d be no problem. She’d have to look in his office. She’d seen him consult a flip-up telephone directory on his desk that contained the numbers he used most. She took a scrap of paper along to his office and turned up the name Willis. He had two contact numbers, one marked home, the other office.

  Back in the lab she thought about it again. Was she doing the right thing? Yes, she had to do something. She lifted the phone and asked the operator to connect her to Jeff’s office.

  ‘I’m sorry, he’s not here at the mom
ent,’ a female voice answered. ‘Would you like to leave a message?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘My name is Millie Maynard. Please let Mr Willis know I’d like him to get in touch with me as soon as possible, urgently. Tell him I’m worried.’ She left her number.

  She slid Marcus’s little notebook into her desk drawer and hoped he wouldn’t miss it any time soon. Then, nervously, she went to the window to see if his car was still there. It hadn’t been moved.

  An hour later Jeff rang her back and she tried to tell him what she wanted. ‘I’ll come over straight away,’ he told her.

  In less than fifteen minutes he was striding down the lab to her desk, and she handed over Marcus’s notebook. ‘I want your opinion,’ she said, ‘but please be discreet.’ She watched him as he studied it, his large frame overhanging her visitor’s chair. ‘I think what he’s written looks suspicious, but it’s possible I’ve got it all wrong. I don’t want this to go any further unless he’s breaking the law.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I understand,’ Jeff said. ‘Is he in the building?’

  ‘According to what he’s written there, he was planning to go to Chester today, but his car is still down in the car park. It hasn’t moved all morning.’

  He looked up and smiled. ‘It seems from this that he drives other vehicles, moves them on. This is very interesting.’

  ‘Is he involved in war surplus fraud? I’ve heard there’s a lot of that going on.’

  ‘It looks pretty much like it.’ Jeff was continuing to study the pages.

  ‘But hunting down people doing this isn’t the sort of work you do, is it?’

  ‘It isn’t, but I can pass it on to those who are engaged in it. They’ll be more than interested. Can I see his office?’

  Millie took him up to the turret and watched while he searched Marcus’s desk drawers. He unearthed quite a collection of maps and street plans. ‘These will be additional evidence.’ He took a few away with him. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘you can leave this to me. It is very useful information for us.’

  Millie sank back at her desk, relieved that she’d dealt with the matter and it was now out of her hands. But Marcus wasn’t going to be pleased.

  Marcus got off the train in Chester and was heading towards the taxi rank when he met two men he recognised, Clive Armstrong and Paul Johns, fellow members of the ring. They shared a taxi to Dale Barracks where a crowd was collecting and Greg had arranged to meet them. Elvira was with him and she came forward to greet Marcus while Greg led away the other two.

  Elvira’s appearance shocked him. He’d not seen her for some time and she’d slimmed down and smartened up, she looked ten years younger. Wasn’t that what women did when they had a new man in their life?

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ he told her. ‘We need to get back together and buy our own house. You agreed we would sort this out if I came here today.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, taking his arm, ‘but the auction has started. You can buy me lunch at the Grosvenor Hotel afterwards and we’ll talk about it then.’

  She pushed him into position near the auctioneer, rammed a catalogue into his hand and told him to bid for the vehicles that they’d marked. The members of the ring spread through the crowd and gave no sign that they knew each other. An hour and a half later, between them they’d bought half a dozen heavy lorries at knock-down prices. Elvira came back to his side and steered him towards a field that was doing duty as a temporary car park. Marcus found himself sitting in the passenger seat of his old car while Elvira drove them into Chester.

  ‘About the house,’ he said. ‘I have enough money to buy a good one now but I want you to choose it. I want you to be happy with it.’

  ‘Good, I think the time has come to make a change. We need to get well away before this racket goes belly up.’

  Marcus was delighted, there was nothing he wanted more. ‘You’re ready to give it up and have a quieter life?’

  ‘Yes, these days there aren’t many sales as big as today’s. Greg thinks the services have more or less got rid of their surplus equipment.’

  ‘The other jobs are worse,’ Marcus said. Recently he’d been ferrying expensive, almost new cars from a nearby garage into one of the Liverpool docks. Sometimes he’d take three or four in a day. He’d seen the ship’s derrick swinging a Jaguar like his up on the deck in a net. He knew the cars had been given new number plates and false documents and had probably been stolen to order. ‘Jobs like that are more dangerous. They’re making me nervous.’

  ‘You always were nervous,’ she retorted, ‘nothing new in that, but I agree, I think soon we’ll have to get out.’ Elvira lifted her eyes from the road to give him a quick smile. She might look more like the woman he’d married but her attitude had toughened up.

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. So we’ll go ahead and buy a house now. Whereabouts do you want to live?’

  ‘A long way away from your father,’ she said. ‘It might be better to get out of Liverpool altogether.’

  Marcus agreed with that. ‘I’ve had enough of Pa too, as well as his family business.’ He thought of Millie and Billy Sankey and shuddered. ‘It’s not that easy getting on with the people running it. I’d be more than happy to leave all that to Nigel.’

  Elvira parked the car and they went up the steps into the Grosvenor Hotel. ‘A clean break then?’ she said, as they were shown to a table in the dining room.

  ‘Yes. Somewhere we have no connections. Bath perhaps or Cheltenham.’ Marcus dropped his voice. ‘Just in case the law decides to start looking for us some time in the future.’

  ‘That has occurred to me. It’s important then that you don’t say anything about where we’re going to your family. I certainly won’t to mine.’

  ‘Nor to Greg Livingstone,’ he cautioned.

  ‘No, we mustn’t leave any clues.’ He could see Elvira was pondering the options. ‘What about getting a house down on the south coast? Portsmouth or Dover, somewhere where we could nip across the Channel if the worst happened. We need to give it some thought before we decide, but it’s a good idea to have an escape route in case of emergency.’

  Marcus thought it an excellent idea; it gave him a feeling of security. He was turning a corner; things were coming right for him at last.

  ‘We can buy the house and get everything in place,’ she said, ‘then stay on with Greg for a bit while things are going well. We don’t want to be troubled by shortage of money again, do we? Then we can retire altogether and disappear to the house we’ve bought.’

  A waiter came to ask if they were ready to order. Marcus was running his finger down the wine menu, ‘Let’s have a bottle of wine,’ he said. He felt he had something to celebrate.

  ‘No, a glass each will be enough,’ Elvira said. ‘We’ve got to work this afternoon. Greg has a job for you.’

  When the waiter moved away, she said, ‘Greg is getting the paperwork for those heavy trucks in order. They’re going to be exported to the Eastern Bloc and will have to be driven to Felixstowe. That’s why he asked you to come here on public transport.’

  ‘Oh.’ Marcus hadn’t been to Felixstowe before and wasn’t keen on going now. ‘It’s straight to the docks then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Elvira took a sheet of paper from her handbag. ‘You have to go to the Trimley Dock in Felixstowe. I’ve got the directions here. Do you want to scribble the road numbers down?’

  Marcus slid his fingers into his breast pocket for his notebook and was shocked not to find it there. He groped for a second time, then searched round his other pockets and felt a rush of blood to his cheeks. He was always so careful with that book. What had happened to it?

  ‘They’re booked on a Russian ship with an unpronounceable name.’ She was looking at him. ‘Haven’t you got anything to write with?’ She handed him a pencil.

 
Marcus was suffused with panic. ‘Thanks, thanks. Have you got a bit of paper too?’

  She opened her handbag again and tore a sheet in half. ‘You do tear up directions like these as soon as you’ve used them, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he lied, ‘I make sure I do. I burn them.’

  ‘Well, this time you might not need directions as you’ll be going down in convoy.’

  ‘I’d better have them in case I get separated,’ he said. Marcus felt he was going to pieces but he knew he mustn’t show it. She mustn’t guess. Could his notebook have been stolen? Were the police on to him? He had to force himself to swallow the food while all the time Elvira was saying how delicious it was.

  Once he was in Elvira’s car, heading back to the army barracks, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He remembered using his notebook at his office desk this morning. Had he left it there? He’d have liked to go back and pick it up before driving down to Felixstowe, but with Greg making up a convoy of six trucks, that wouldn’t be possible.

  He was third in the convoy so he couldn’t get left behind, and counted himself lucky just to be able to follow the truck in front. His head seemed addled. When the other drivers stopped for a meal at a pull-in, he ate too, but the loss of his notebook made him a bag of nerves.

  Marcus went with the other five when they picked up a limousine in Felixstowe. They dropped one man in Manchester and the rest went back to Liverpool. Marcus was thankful he hadn’t been asked to drive. The others were in a jolly mood with another successful job in the bag, but Marcus could think of nothing but his lost notebook. If that got into the wrong hands, it could sink them all.

  They dropped him off at the office as dawn was breaking in the east. His car stood alone in the car park. His companions insisted on taking a closer look at it and they told him how lucky he was to have it. By then, Marcus felt emotionally drained and totally exhausted.

  As soon as they left him, he let himself into the building and went up to his office in the turret. His first impression was that nothing had been moved, there were files and papers all over his desk, but though he searched through them he couldn’t find his notebook. Had he left it here? Yes, he felt certain that he had. He could remember writing down the directions to Dale Barracks, but even worse were the countless directions, addresses, telephone numbers that he’d written previously.