The Tide of Life

by Catherine Cookson

  When the woman went to follow her into her bedroom she stopped her by placing her arm against the stanchion of the door as she said, ‘This is my room. What’s in it belongs to me, that is except the furniture.’

  ‘Well, if everything belongs to you then you won’t mind me seeing what you put into your box. Go on!’ The woman’s voice now changed into a raucous growl and she pushed Emily from the door and almost onto the bed.

  Bracing herself against the foot of the bed, Emily now turned on her and said, ‘You touch me again, just once, and you’ll see what you’ll get. Now I’m warning you. An’ what’s more I’ll go to the dock office and I’ll tell them there that Sep…Mr McGillby hated your guts and wouldn’t let you into the house, not even to his wife’s funeral, and that I was going to marry him and that I have a case. Aye’—she nodded her head briskly now—‘I’ve got a case and you look out that I don’t put it forward and fight you. And I can! I can!’

  Her head was bobbing on her neck like a golliwog’s, the tears were swelling her throat, aching to give vent.

  She bent down swiftly and pulled from under the bed a wickerwork hamper held together by two leather straps. She threw it on the bed and took off the lid; then going to the chest of drawers, she pulled open the top drawer, gathered up her few belongings of underclothes and threw them into the case. From the next drawer she took two print dresses and four aprons; from the bottom drawer she lifted out her two best dresses, one of which was a light summer cotton that Sep had given her the money to buy shortly after she had become his housekeeper. The case now full, she crammed on the lid, fastened the straps, then almost threw it onto the floor. She next took down the two coats that were hanging on the back of the door. Putting her best one on, she flung the other one down on top of the case. Lastly, she put on her one and only hat, rammed the hatpins through it, then turned and, facing Jessie Blackmore, cried at her, ‘There! I’m ready. I’m going, but you’ll see, I’ll be back; I’ll be back in this house if it takes me all me life. I’ll show you; I’ll be back in this house, you’ll see.’

  ‘Huh! Listen to who’s talkin’. Go on, get yourself away before I spit in yer eye, you trollop.’

  Emily was now in the act of lifting up the hamper from the floor, but now on the woman’s words she flung it aside and it bounced heavily from the wall almost to Jessie Blackmore’s feet, making her jump and not a little startled now, not only by the near impact of the hamper but also by the look on the young girl’s face and the sound of her voice which laid no claim to that of a sixteen year old, for she was yelling at her now deep from within her throat. ‘You dare call me a trollop? You take that back; don’t you tack your name onto me. Sep said you were a dock whore, and you are, you’re stinkin’, he said you were. Now get down those stairs an’ out of me way else you’ll get this hamper round your lugs next, I’m tellin’ you.’

  It wasn’t only something in her voice but something in the girl’s face that made Jessie Blackmore, head tossing, go quickly down the stairs, but when Emily reached the kitchen there she was with the back door held wide waiting for her departure.

  Emily didn’t stop to look round for she was experiencing a strange feeling of rage intermingled with injustice and bewilderment. Yet somewhere inside her a voice was whimpering; things shouldn’t happen like this, she had done nothing to deserve it, she had worked hard for years in that house. She had been going to marry Sep and she would have made him a good wife. She hadn’t loved him, at least she didn’t think she had loved him; but then she didn’t know very much about love, proper love and how it made you feel.

  Out in the back lane she stopped and, putting the hamper and her coat down on the ground, she stood with her back against the warehouse wall as she had done last night when she and Lucy had stopped running …

  Was it only last night that she had brought Lucy home?

  Home. She had forgotten about Lucy. What would she do with her? She couldn’t get into a place with Lucy; people wanted servants without attachments, and Lucy wasn’t only a schoolgirl still, but she was weak. For a long time now she had realised that Lucy had a weakness on her. And she’d be coming back any time now, her face bright, as it had been at dinner time.

  What was she going to do? One thing was certain, she wasn’t going to let her go back to Alice Broughton’s, oh no. Well then, what was she going to do? Where could they go? She had her money on her. It was in her purse in the pocket of her best dress. Jessie Blackmore hadn’t seen that. And then there were the oddments in her work apron that she had rolled up. In all she had over thirty shillings, enough to get them into lodgings for a night or two and give her time to think. But in the meantime she must watch for Lucy coming. She’d better go into the front street.

  Picking up the hamper again, she went out of the back lane and into the street. But there she was overcome by a feeling of humiliation. There were people going in and out of the warehouse at the far end and also customers going into the shop; if she stood here she’d be noticed, especially with the hamper.

  Across the road where the wall bordered the river bank, and away to the left, there was a cut that led down to a little shipbuilding yard. She would stand there; she wouldn’t be noticed, yet at the same time she’d be able to see Lucy coming.

  Having entered the cut and put the hamper down just inside, her legs began to tremble. She felt for a moment they were going to give beneath her and just in case they did she sat down on the hamper.

  There was little traffic on the road now, but at five o’clock it would be black with men from the docks and the yards. It was the time she had always looked forward to because it was a signal that Sep would soon be home.

  She mustn’t cry, she must try not to think about Sep. Anyway, she didn’t think he was dead; he couldn’t be dead, not really, not as quick as that.

  She was sitting with her head leaning against the end post of the wooden railings when her attention was drawn to two men. One of them she thought she recognised as the man in the blue serge suit who had come to give her the news earlier on. When he and his companion stopped outside the green-painted door she knew it was him and she pulled herself slowly to her feet and stood pressed against the railings in case they should turn round and look in her direction.

  She saw the door open, she saw the man in the serge suit pointing to the other man; then they went inside the house.

  What had they come back for? The time seemed endless before the door opened again, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes, and then to her amazement she saw emerge into the street not only the two men but Jessie Blackmore. Then she saw something that lifted her heart, she saw Jessie Blackmore lock the door, then, with definite reluctance, hand the key, not to the man in the blue serge suit, but to the other one. And now she heard her talking. She couldn’t make out what she was saying but she was talking loud and fast, and the man who had taken the key made a very expressive gesture that was understandable to Emily: he flapped his hand almost in Jessie Blackmore’s face; it was as if he had said, ‘Oh, shut up, woman!’ Then the two men walked away, coming in her direction, while Jessie Blackmore, after staring after them for a moment, went in the opposite direction.

  Had the two men looked across the road they would surely have seen her, but they were talking earnestly to each other and they passed on.

  She now stood with her fingers across her mouth. What did it mean? Well, for a start it meant one thing, they weren’t letting that individual have the run of the place straight away; that other man had looked an important type, like the men who went into the offices in King Street. Anyway, they were holding a key…The key!

  ‘Always keep one key behind the mangle, lass, just in case.’ It was as if she heard Sep’s voice speaking to her.

  The key behind the mangle, that was the solution for the night. When it was dark they could get inside and they’d have shelter, and she’d have time to think.

  She now saw Lucy running along the road towards her. She look
ed happy, thinking she was coming home to a good tea.

  Emily stepped from the alleyway and waved her hand, then called, ‘Lucy! Our Lucy!’

  The girl stopped at the corner near the chapel and looked across to the cut in amazement; then she obeyed Emily’s beckoning hand.

  Lucy didn’t ask what was up, she just looked in amazement at Emily dressed and with a hamper and a coat at her feet, and Emily, taking her hand, said, ‘Listen. Listen, our Lucy. You’ll get a shock, but Sep’s been killed.’ Her voice broke. ‘He was killed in the docks.’ She didn’t at this moment say, ‘And Tim Pearsley had something to do with it,’ because that would put a load on Lucy’s shoulders as young as she was; instead, she added, ‘And that woman, his sister from Dock Street, she came and took over and turned me out. But now the men from the offices have been, an’ it seems they’ve shown her what’s what, for they’ve taken the key from her and until things are sorted out she won’t be able to take over. Listen—’ She now bent down to the startled white face and said, ‘We’ll go down into the town and have a cup of tea and wait till it’s dark, and then we’ll come back and get in the back way, there’s another key, so…don’t worry, we’re all right for the night.’

  ‘Oh, Emily.’ The name was a tremor coming through the pale lips, but Emily admonished her harshly, saying, ‘Now look, our Lucy, don’t you start to bubble, I’ve got enough on me plate. Now be a good lass and keep a straight face and…and things will pan out. They’ve got to somehow.’

  ‘But…but where’ll we go the morrow?’

  Emily bent and picked up the coat, saying, ‘You carry that,’ then added, ‘The morrow’ll take care of itself. One thing you needn’t worry about, we’re not going back to Creador Street. I’d rather suffer the workhouse than let you or me go back there, so I’m tellin’ you don’t worry. Anyway, if I’ve thought of nothing by the morrow we can always go to me Aunt Mary Southern in Gateshead; she’d put us up for a night or so.’

  ‘Me Aunt Mary Southern!’

  ‘Yes, you know, in Gateshead. It’s a long time since I’ve seen her but she wouldn’t turn us away.’

  ‘But she’s got a squad, hasn’t she? The last time we were there the house was full.’

  ‘Well, you’ll find, our Lucy, that it’s always those with squads that can make room for another one or two. It’ll be all right, I’m tellin’ you, it’ll be all right.’

  But Lucy didn’t seem to think so for now she persisted, ‘What about Mrs Gantry next door?’ She pointed across the road.

  At this Emily tossed her head in impatience. How could she explain that Mrs Gantry hadn’t spoken to her since she had taken over the post of housekeeper to Sep. Mrs Gantry, although deaf as a stone, must have heard enough to cause her to condemn the situation next door. And so she said, ‘We’re not going to Mrs Gantry’s. She’s deaf, stone deaf, and…and not well, she can’t be bothered with people. So come on, and, I’ve told you, everything will work out all right.’

  She hadn’t the courage at this moment to add, ‘Never say die…’

  They waited until it was quite dark, they were both stiff with cold and very hungry. Emily had afforded them a cup of tea in a café, but that was all, going on the assumption that Lucy had had a good dinner and could last out until they got into the house. As she remembered, Jessie Blackmore had carried no bags as she came out of the house, so the food would still be there.

  They had sat in the park until the park-keeper had turned them out and locked the gates; then they had walked the streets, their steps dragging as the weight of the hamper became heavier; and now they were in the back lane and outside the back door. The backyard door was on the latch; Sep locked it only at nights.

  Within a matter of minutes she was in the wash-house and had taken the key from behind the mangle and had the back door open and they were inside the house. It was black dark and there was no thought of lighting the gas, but she knew every inch of the place and where every article was, especially in the pantry; that is if that woman hadn’t moved things around.

  Her gropings proved that things in the pantry had been moved around quite a bit, but eventually she found the bread and the butter and some cheese. But there was no pot pie in the bottom of the oven and her thought was, She scoffed that straight away, I suppose.

  As she sat in the dark cold kitchen, Lucy pressed close to her side, munching on the bread and cheese, she again had the urge to cry, to cry for Sep. Poor Sep. He had been so kind, she’d never meet anyone like him again. It seemed impossible to believe that he was here last night in this very room.

  When Lucy whispered, ‘Do you think I could have a drink, Emily?’ she was silent for a moment. The fire was quite dead but she could light the gas ring in the scullery.

  She could pull the blind down; no-one would see a small glow like that.

  After groping for the matches she lit the gas ring, boiled the water and made them some cocoa; then she said to Lucy, ‘You go to bed. Come on, I’ll take you up. But sleep in your things. Just take your boots off because we’ll have to be ready and out afore daylight.’ Then she added, ‘I’m going downstairs again but I won’t be a minute or so. I…I want to pack up a bit of bread and stuff for the morrow.’

  Lucy made no answer, she just coughed a hard dry cough.

  Emily had decided to pack the remnants of the food to take with them tomorrow but her main reason in returning downstairs now was something different.

  Groping her way into the front room and to the desk, she lifted up the lid, pulled out the bottom right-hand drawer and pressed the knob. The slight click as the weights were released told her that the enclosed apartment was rising. When there was another click and the little structure had settled into place she pulled open the right-hand drawer, then gave an audible gasp as her groping fingers touched nothing but the bare wood, and her mind yelled at her, ‘She’s been here! She’s found it!’ Then reason said quietly, ‘She couldn’t. She couldn’t.’ Swiftly now she pulled open the left-hand drawer and when her fingers touched the coins she let out a long-drawn breath. Jessie Blackmore wouldn’t leave sovereigns lying about, but there didn’t seem as many as when Sep had shown them to her. There had been a couple of layers of sovereigns covering the bottom, but now they seemed sparse.

  She pulled open the middle cupboard and when her fingers touched something strange she lifted it out and felt it, and from the shape of it she made out what appeared to be a watch with a strap attached to one end of it, and that was all, the watches and the other pieces were gone.

  She now raked the coins together, and when she had cleared the drawer she pressed her hand on the top of the risen structure and pushed it downwards and so into place; then groping her way back to the scullery she lit the gas ring again and in the meagre light it afforded she looked at the solitary trinket in her hand. It was a watch. A gold watch on a gold strap, an intricate gold strap. It was like one of those watches that ladies had pinned to their bosoms. But it wasn’t plain gold like you’d expect a watch to be, there were stones round the edge of the watch, white stones that glinted in the light from the gas jet; and the strap, too, had stones, a row of blue ones right up the middle, and white ones around the edge. There was a round ring at the top of the strap and this had a big stone set on the top of it. This one had a red glint. Across the back of the ring was a kind of safety pin, for pinning it to the frock, she surmised.

  He had said he was getting her something bonny, worth all the stuff in the drawer, and not only that, it had seemingly cost half the money in the drawer too.

  She now counted the sovereigns. There were fifteen of them. There must have been three times as many as that, and he had given all that stuff and all that money in exchange for this little watch! It didn’t look worth it, well not in this light. But it just went to show what he had thought about her. And he had been so excited about getting it for her. What use would it be to her now though? She couldn’t sell it. If she went to somebody and said, ‘Would you buy this w
atch?’ they would likely have her run in for stealing it. Even the man in the pawnshop would want to know where the likes of her had come by a fancy bit of jewellery like this.

  Aw well, she’d keep it, ’cos by rights it was hers. She wasn’t stealing it. But where would she put it? She’d pin it to her shift until she had time to make a bag for it.

  She peered down at the pin in the back of the ring. It wasn’t quite an ordinary safety pin, it had a movable part on the top. When she pushed the little knob towards the end and found she couldn’t open the pin she nodded to herself. It was a kind of safety catch, so she could pin it anywhere underneath her skirt and there’d be no fear of it dropping off.

  What was more important at the moment was the money. If she didn’t get set on anywhere within the next week or so they wouldn’t starve; and they’d also have a roof over their heads at nights. And now she must get some sleep because she must be up before the lark in the morning …

  They didn’t wake until the dock buzzer hooted over them at six o’clock. It brought her out of the bed and alert and bustling and whispering to Lucy to get up out of that.

  Unlike herself, Lucy took some time to come round in the mornings and she was still blinking the sleep from her eyes as she groped her way downstairs behind Emily.

  Five minutes later they were going out through the kitchen door, out into the biting air of the dark morning. Emily turned the key in the lock, then went towards the wash-house. But at the door she stopped; no, she wouldn’t put the key back, she’d keep it as a keepsake, and as she dropped it gently into her coat pocket she thought of it with much deeper sentiment at that moment than she did the fancy trinket pinned to the inside of her skirt.

  Seven