Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 47

‘IT’S A POUND a week if you’re wanting bed, breakfast and a meal after work. An’ it won’t be the kind of meal you choose neither,’ she warned. ‘It’ll be what I’ve been able to get cheap over the butcher’s counter.’

The round-faced woman with the pot belly and wild iron-grey hair had been opening her house near the Liverpool docks to strangers these past twenty years. In all that time, not once had she encountered such a good-looking and civilised fella as the one who stood on her doorstep now. ‘If you’re only wanting bed and breakfast,’ she went on, ‘that’ll cost you just eight shilling.’

Smiling broadly, she showed the most frightening set of naturally large white teeth. ‘I reckon I could put your washing in for that price an’ all,’ she observed. ‘And that’s only because you look more particular than the usual ragamuffin types who come looking to set foot over this doorstep. What! I would no more put their shirts in with my laundry than I would eat tripe and jam on the same plate.’

John liked her straight off. She was down-to-earth, with no fancies nor frills, and she spoke her mind – which left a man in no doubt as to where he stood. ‘It would be bed, breakfast and a meal after work,’ he informed her.

‘That’ll cost yer a pound a week then – how’s that?’ And when he nodded, she said briskly, ‘Right then, young fella-me-lad! We seem to know where we stand with each other.’ Just now when she wagged a finger with that certain no-nonsense twinkle in her eye, she put him in mind of his Aunt Lizzie. But that was where the likeness ended. Where Lizzie was small and neat, albeit plump, this kindly soul was large and spreading. Where Lizzie’s feet were dainty and narrow, this one’s feet were the size of canal barges.

Also, he had never seen traces of Lizzie snuff-taking, while there was a distinct brown ’tash drawn between the landlady’s nostrils. Moreover, the thick powdery smell of snuff permeated the air.

As if to confirm his observations, she now took a small shiny tin from her pocket. ‘So, will you be wanting to see the rooms? I’ve got two available; one at the front, one at the back.’ Taking the lid from the tin, she dipped finger and thumb into the brown granules and lifting out a generous helping, proceeded to ram it up each nostril in turn, sniffing and coughing as it went.

‘I’d be thankful for either,’ John answered gratefully. ‘I’ve spent hours wandering the streets, looking for good lodgings and a clean bed.’

‘Hmh!’ Observing him again, she wondered why a presentable young man like himself might have been wandering the streets. But she didn’t ask. In her experience it was always wisest to keep to your own business. ‘You’ll find a clean bed and good lodgings here,’ she answered, ‘so, if you want to follow me, I’ll show you the two rooms.’

Flicking the brown dust from her blouse, she replaced the lid on the tin, and the tin into her pocket.

‘I’ve got rules and regulations,’ she warned. ‘I don’t mind you entertaining a ladyfriend, but there’ll be no goings-on after nine p.m. All strangers and visitors must be out o’ the door by then. What’s more, there’ll be no card-playing, or loud talking, and I don’t take kindly to things being pinned to the doors … if you know what I mean?’

John recalled the many postcards he had seen pinned up inside the ship; saucy pictures of women winking, or smiling suggestively, and there had been some baring more than their smile. ‘I understand,’ he said with the merest of smiles, and his answer seemed to satisfy her well enough.

Puffing and panting as she led him up the narrow stairway, she declared sternly, ‘I run a decent house and am proud of it!’

‘I’m sure you do, Mrs … Miss … ?’ Not having been enlightened as to her name, he lamely finished the sentence.

Pausing to glance back at him, she imparted the information. ‘The name’s Harriet Witherington.’ Her expression hardened. ‘And it’s Miss Harriet Witherington, if you don’t mind.’

That said, she reached the top of the stairs, where she paused again to catch her breath. ‘These blessed stairs will be the finish of me!’ she groaned, quickly setting off again.

‘Go on in, young man.’ Having covered the short distance along the landing, she threw open a bedroom door. ‘This one is at the front of the house. You’ll get a clear sight of the docks from here, but you’ll get the noise too.’ She tutted loudly. ‘Drunken sailors and streetwomen … touting and fighting at all hours of the night. I warn you now – you’ll get little sleep in this room.’

Thinking her too honest for her own good, John followed her inside. The room was spacious enough, with a bed, wardrobe and manly chest-of-drawers. In keeping with its owner, there was a strong, sensible air about the place. Curtains were serviceable rather than pretty; the bedcover was plain and well worn, but spotlessly clean, and the bowl with its matching jug on the washstand was almost large enough to bathe in.

‘Look out of the window,’ she instructed, ‘and you’ll see what I mean.’

Intrigued, John looked out.

Just as she had promised, there was a clear view of the docks. In fact, some of the ships seemed so close you might think they would sail right into the room. At this time of the morning, there was much coming and going, with every sound melting one into the other. Curious, he opened the window and at once, the volume of life going on rose like a crescendo to fill his ears. Surprised, he quickly closed the window.

‘Well, what d’you think?’ Her voice rose above the medley of distant noise.

‘I’d like to see the other before I make up my mind,’ John decided.

‘Right then, young man! Follow me.’

Gathering her skirts, she lumbered along the landing until coming to the second room. Here she stopped and flinging open the door invited him inside. ‘See what you make o’ that.’

As in the first room, the dry smell of snuff tickled his nostrils, though he did wonder whether that was because Harriet was near him wherever he went. Either way he wasn’t too bothered by it. On board ship you had to endure many different smells; in their spare time, some sailors took comfort from chewing or smoking a wad of pungent baccy, or from drinking a drop of rum, and there were others who, like Harriet here, preferred a pinch of snuff.

‘I’ve a feeling this room will suit you better.’ Harriet’s voice boomed in his ear.

‘Maybe.’ As yet, John had not taken stock of it. When he did, he found it to be much smaller, and somehow not quite so homely as the other. Furnished much as the first room, it was definitely a far quieter place.

On going to the window, he saw how it overlooked the back of a huge warehouse. ‘I’m sure this is much more suitable,’ Harriet told him. ‘The doors to the warehouse are at the other side, and all you’ll ever hear are a few bangs and noises, and the clip-clop of horses as they trot over the cobbles. All in all though, I would say there’s nothing to break your sleep, or disturb you in any way.’

John thought about that, and felt unsettled all the same. ‘I prefer the other room,’ he told her. ‘I’m used to noise and besides, I reckon I’ll get a deal of comfort from all the comings and goings.’ He moved away from the window. ‘I wouldn’t be content in all this quiet. No, not content at all.’

‘Right! So now you’ll want to see the bathroom.’ With John in tow the big woman sailed out of the room, down the stairs and across the yard. In the outhouse she proudly gestured to her newly appointed bathroom. ‘This was the old wash-house,’ she explained, ‘but being as I don’t intend to spend what’s left of my life slaving over a hot tub, I now send all my washing to the laundry. This place seemed a waste of good space, so I got the workmen to fit it out as a bathroom. The only drawback is you might need to wrap up warm as you come in and out, especially in the winter months.’ She shivered. ‘Coming out of a hot tub and being thrust straight out in all weathers could cause a body to catch his death of cold.’

In her abrupt fashion, she led him out. ‘Well, what d’you think?’

John was impressed and told her so. ‘At home I’ve always been used to washing at the kitchen sink, or having a dip in the brook. A bathroom will be a luxury.’

‘The other lodgers don’t use it much,’ she revealed with a disapproving shake of her head. ‘Like as not, most times you’ll have it all to yourself.’

So, it was settled.

John paid his rent a week in advance, and was soon seated in Harriet’s kitchen enjoying a large cup of tea, and an even larger teacake. ‘Bought from the baker’s first thing,’ she told him proudly. ‘I never bake if I can help it. God only knows, I’ve more than enough to do without all that.’

John was astonished. ‘You don’t bake? You send your washing to the laundry? By! You’re well organised, I’ll say that for you.’

‘Oh, I am that,’ she declared proudly. ‘What’s more, I have a little man round once a month to wash my windows, and a little woman once a week to polish the furniture, change the beds and beat all the rugs in the house.’

She was very content with her leisurely life. ‘I saw my mother work her fingers to the bone to fetch up my six brothers and sisters. When they were old enough they left home one by one, and never contacted her again. Two weeks after the last one left, my father decided he was off as well.’ As she spoke, her fists clenched and unclenched. ‘Soon after he’d gone, my mother keeled over in the street and that was the end of her.’

Tears of anger filled her eyes. ‘I long ago disowned my immediate family. After what happened to that good woman, I swore I would never be tied by man nor child, and from that day to this I’ve never regretted it.’

John was sorry for the upset she had suffered and, to her surprise and gratitude, he told her so.

‘As far as I’m concerned, I’m best on my own,’ she went on, calmer now. ‘I’ve no responsibilities. I’ve got my own business, which pays for all the help I get, and nobody to answer to …’

While she chatted on, seemingly oblivious to his presence, John supped his tea and let his thoughts drift back to Emily. It was barely forty-eight hours since he had left her behind, and since arriving here he had walked the streets, not knowing or caring where he was. Some blind instinct had brought him back to Liverpool, although he had now decided against going back to sea. Oh, Emily … he yearned for her.

It was hard to understand that she could just stop loving him, especially when they had spoken at great length of their feelings for each other and their plans for a future life together. He truly believed she had been as sincere as himself. And now, seeing her like that, so idyllically happy with her new man, and the two of them blessed with a beautiful daughter, was soul-destroying.

It all seemed so final. And however much he might want to change what had happened, he realised there was nothing he could do but accept the situation.

Emily had stopped loving him. That was painfully clear.

In the early hours, after arriving back in Liverpool, wandering the streets and trying to fathom out where it had all gone wrong, he had slowly begun to think more clearly, and what he thought was this.

As far as he could see, he had two choices. He could either throw himself into the murky waters of the River Mersey and end it all, or he could be grateful that Emily had found happiness, and forge ahead to do the best with what Fate handed him.

In the end there was no choice at all.

Whether he liked it or not, however much it weighed on his heart, he had to make a new life without her.

He had money in his pocket, and plans to make. Tomorrow he would look for his old friend, Archie.

So, with that in mind he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, though he knew he would not sleep.

How could he, with Emily so strong in his mind?

Woken by the delicious aroma of bacon, John climbed sleepily out of bed. He had slept like a log, oblivious to any of the noises outside. His first thought was Emily; his second was the hard-earned money that would forge his future without her. Although he had left a substantial sum with Lizzie, he had taken enough to see him through, for a while at least.

Always aware of thieves and opportunists, John had wisely taken precautions against someone stealing his money while he slept. He was sure that his landlady was vigilant in her choice of lodgers, but you never could tell. He’d locked his door too, mind …

Going straight to the window, he took hold of the curtain and, drawing it aside, checked that his wad of money was still securely rolled into the hem. Archie himself had relayed the trick of hiding valuables in the curtain. ‘A thief will turn furniture upside down and tear your mattress from end to end, but he’ll hardly ever examine the curtains.’ That was his advice and John had never forgotten it.

Having checked that it was secure, John decided to leave it there while he had his wash at the basin. The smell of that warm, crisping bacon was playing tunes on his stomach.

Stripping to the waist, John filled the bowl with cold water from the jug and began to wash and shave. The generous layer of carbolic felt good and invigorating on his skin, and the swill of water afterwards made his skin tingle and shiver. It was a good feeling.

At the dresser, where he had unpacked his kitbag, he shook out a clean singlet and soft collarless shirt, which he quickly buttoned on. That done, he was soon ready for a hearty breakfast.

As always, when he went out of the door, locking it behind him, it was Emily who kept him company. She filled his heart and mind as he went down the stairs, and she was beside him as he entered the breakfast-room.

‘Good morning, young man!’ Harriet waved a knife towards the one empty table. ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll have your breakfast in front of you before you know it.’ With that she ambled away.

As John made himself comfortable at the tiny table, the other two lodgers gave him the once-over. ‘Morning!’ The man who spoke was middle-aged, bald, and bore the hangdog look of someone weighed down with worries.

Judging by the smart clothes and the newspaper laid out before him, John thought he might be a salesman or a clerk. ‘Morning,’ he replied with a nod of his head and a smile. ‘The landlady seems a good sort, don’t you think?’ The smile soon faded when the man looked away without another word.

‘You’re right. She is a good sort.’ That was the frail, elderly woman by the window. ‘I’ve lodged in this house for almost two years off and on, and never a cross word.’ She was buttering a slice of toast while peering at it through her lorgnettes; her hands, he noticed, were clad in old-fashioned lace mittens.

John gave her a friendly nod. ‘Really?’ He wondered what she meant by the remark that she had lodged in the house ‘for almost two years off and on’, and thought maybe she was a relative of Harriet’s, who liked to pay a visit from time to time. Her scent of lavender and camphor made him think of his Aunt Lizzie.

There was no chance to carry on any conversation, because the woman then took her leave, shortly followed by the man. A moment later, Harriet returned with his breakfast. ‘I wasn’t sure of what you liked best,’ she told him, ‘so I gave you a measure of everything. What you don’t want, you can leave. I won’t mind a bit.’

Setting the plate on the table she watched his mouth open in astonishment. ‘My God!’ The plate was piled high with fried tomatoes, four rashers of bacon, three sausages, two eggs, a generous helping of fried potatoes, and two plump rings of black-pudding. ‘You must think I need fattening up!’

‘That’s because you do!’ she retorted. ‘You sailors are all alike. Surviving on meagre rations at sea, and afraid to spend your money on good food when you come ashore.’

John took up his knife and fork. ‘How did you know I was a sailor?’

‘Hmh!’ Placing her two hands on her chubby hips, she gave him a knowing smile. ‘It didn’t take much. I knew it the minute I clapped eyes on you. Your kitbag, for one. You were browned from the sea-air for another. And you looked like you needed a good meal inside you. What! I’ve seen more fat on a dried-up chicken-bone.’ She gave him a curious look. ‘I suppose you’ll be going back to sea soonever you’ve spent your hard-earned money?’

Digging the prongs of his fork into a juicy sausage, John took a bite; the sausage melted in his mouth, leaving behind all manner of sensational tastes. ‘That’s the best sausage I’ve ever tasted,’ he told her, his mouth full.

‘Ah well, that’s because I make them myself,’ she revealed. ‘Best cut of young pork, minced with a mangling of apple and a mix of my own spices, churned to perfection, then cooked on a wire tray over the pan.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I cooked some for the butcher once and he’s been after me for the recipe ever since. He won’t get it though. It was my mother’s.’

John thought there was a deeper side to this woman than she ever let on. ‘I thought you said you didn’t bake if you could help it?’

‘And I don’t. Baking and cooking are not the same thing, young man.’

John was curious. ‘Oh, and how’s that then?’

Harriet explained the best she could. ‘Baking is kneading over a bowl for hours on end. It’s making bread and pies and such, and rolling out pastry until your back aches. Or it’s beating cake mixtures until your hand is ready to drop off. Y’see, cooking is quicker, not so laborious. In fact, it’s a pleasure.’

John laughed. ‘Well, I never. I always thought they were one and the same.’

She too gave a hearty laugh. ‘And now you know different, don’t you? Oh, and you still haven’t answered my question.’

John took another bite of the sausage, allowing the meat to ooze its juices onto his taste-buds. He gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘What question was that?’

‘I asked if you would be going back to sea?’

‘No, I won’t be going back … ever.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ve got the time if you have.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Shaking his head, John cut a slice of the egg. ‘Do I get a drink with this breakfast?’ He wasn’t in the mood for talking about Emily, not even to this likeable soul.

Harriet was mortified. ‘A mug o’ tea for you and a drop of the old stuff for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll sit alongside you while you eat your breakfast, and you can tell me all about your troubles.’ No sooner said than done, she was off and, in a minute, had the kettle whistling on the stove.

John didn’t know whether to wolf down his breakfast and leave, or enjoy it at leisure while confiding his ‘troubles’ in Harriet.

He didn’t have much time to ponder, because now she was back and seated opposite, a large mug of tea steaming in front of his plate, and a glass of what looked like wine in her hand. ‘What do I call you?’ she asked. ‘You must have a name.’

‘The name’s John,’ he answered. ‘John Hanley.’

‘Go on then, John Hanley,’ she urged. ‘Talk away. There’s only the two of us here now, and don’t you worry, because whatever you have to say won’t go beyond these four walls. It’s a rule of mine, never to pass on what’s told me in confidence.’

For some reason John trusted her. This was surprising to him, as he had only just met her. As a rule, he was wary of strangers but somehow she had a way about her that made him think of Lizzie.

So he opened his heart to her. He told her about Emily, and the plans they had made. He gave a short account of Clem Jackson, and how that monster of a man had the Ramsden family by the throat. He outlined how he and Emily had spoken at length, about their love and their future, and how he had decided that the only solution for them all was for him to go where he could make money. Afterwards they would be rid of Clem Jackson, and he and Emily would wed and raise a family. ‘But she didn’t wait,’ he said sadly. ‘She married some other man. They have a child – a lovely daughter.’

Harriet had listened intently, and now she had a question. ‘When you saw her there, did you think she seemed happy?’

John thought of Emily, of how she was laughing. He saw the light in her eyes and recalled how she and the man seemed to share such joy in the child, and each other. ‘Yes,’ he answered quietly. ‘She seemed happy enough.’

Harriet could see his pain, and now as she spoke, it was with a tenderness that belied her clumsy frame and hitherto brusque manner. ‘For what it’s worth,’ she told him, ‘I think you must put her behind you and start again. It seems that someone else came along with the means of giving her the contentment she needed. Be glad for her. That’s all you can do.’

John knew she was right and thanked her. ‘I can try,’ he said. ‘But I’ll never forget her.’

She gave a knowing smile. ‘Of course you won’t,’ she said. ‘That first love is the one you remember for the rest of your life.’

John was surprised at the softness in her voice, and when he looked at her as he did now, he was taken aback to see a lone tear run down her homely face. Realising he had seen it, she quickly brushed it away and was her usual brisk self again. ‘Right! Must get on.’ In a minute she was out of her chair and heading for the kitchen.

A moment later John followed her. She was standing at the pot-sink with her back to him. ‘I wanted to ask you something …’ he began.

When in that moment she turned round, he saw her puffy eyes and the hurried way in which she thrust the handkerchief into her pinny pocket, and he was sorry to have intruded. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he apologised. ‘It can wait.’

As he turned to leave, she called him back. ‘If it could wait, you wouldn’t have come to the kitchen after me,’ she chided. ‘What is it you want to ask?’

John told her about Archie. ‘He’s been a good friend,’ he explained. ‘His seafaring life is over, and now he has nothing to fall back on. The last time we parted, he told me he was looking for digs. He didn’t have much money, and he wouldn’t let me help. I’ve a feeling he has need of me, and the trouble is, I don’t know where to look for him.’

Harriet considered the matter for a moment before telling John, ‘If he did find a place to stay, you’ll have to try every lodging-house in Liverpool until you find him. On the other hand, if he didn’t find one to suit his purse or person, you might try the inns hereabouts; it’s likely you’ll find him drowning his sorrows. If that fails, you’ll need to look under the railway arches. That’s where some unfortunate folks lay their heads when they don’t find a home for whatever reason.’

John had an inkling of hope. ‘When I find him, and if he isn’t yet fixed up, is it possible you could arrange a bed for him here? I’ve got the money to pay, and it would only be for a few nights, until we get him a regular place. Is the back room still unoccupied?’

Reluctantly, Harriet had to refuse. ‘I only have the three bedrooms, and Miss Hamilton came yesterday and took the last, so no, I’m sorry, I can’t do it.’

As John thanked her and made to leave, she had an idea. ‘If it was only for two or three nights at the most, I dare say I could put a camp-bed in with you. It would be a squash and I couldn’t allow it for more than three nights.’ She paused. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m not happy about the idea. It’s not a big room at the best of times, and it would be a terrible nuisance cleaning around all that clutter …’

Sensing she was about to change her mind, John gave her a hug. ‘Archie may have already found himself a bed,’ he pointed out, ‘but if he needs to share my room, I promise it won’t be for longer than three nights, and with me alongside, we can double the efforts to find him a place of his own.’

Swayed and delighted by John’s impulsive hug, Harriet relented. But she had terms, and she stated them now. ‘I’ll want an extra shilling a day for use of the cot, and cleaning and such, and that will cover his breakfast as well. I’ll also need to give him the once-over before I agree altogether,’ she warned. ‘As you know, I’m particular as to who stays in my house.’

John thanked her again. ‘I hope I find him, and that if I do, he’s in good spirits,’ he told her. ‘He’s not a young man any more.’

For the next four hours, John tramped the streets and back alleys of Liverpool. He searched every inn along the dockside, his first call being at the Sailor’s Rest, where he had last seen Archie.

‘I’ve not seen him since the two of you sat at that there table.’ The same big, hairy landlord pointed to the table where John and Archie had sat talking. ‘Hey! If you’re in need of another bath, I’ll soon have one at the ready …’

Disappointed, John thanked him and left to continue his search.

The answer was the same at every inn, and now, two sore feet and a heavy heart later, this was the last. ‘Sorry, matey.’ The landlord shook his head. ‘Can’t recall nobody of that description.’

Before he left, John asked the same of this landlord that he’d asked of all the others. ‘If he does come in, tell him John Hanley’s looking for him, and say I’ll keep looking till I find him.’ He didn’t give his address; revealing too much about yourself was never a wise thing. He had learned that along the way.

Next stop was the railway arches.

Going from the docklands, he crossed a network of narrow streets and, following the run of the railway-track, headed off towards the arches. What he saw there was a sobering reminder to John of the desperation that dogged the lives of so many in this big city. There were vagabonds huddled under sacks, ragged boys raiding middens for food, scowling, devious characters lurking at every corner, and stray dogs roaming. The stench of urine and booze hung over every back alley.

Hoping against hope that his friend Archie would be found safe and well, John intensified his search.

When he had checked every nook and cranny, he sat dejected on the doorstep of a narrow house. He couldn’t think where he should look next, for he had already looked everywhere in the vicinity. Besides, he suspected Archie would never wander far away from the docks. Man and boy, he had always lived hereabouts.

Suddenly, from somewhere close by, he heard a woman screeching abuse: ‘And don’t come back, you filthy, lying old git! Not unless you want the dogs tearing at your arse. Go on! Bugger off with you!’

The tirade was followed by the slam of a door, then the sound of a man in desperate voice. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Sadie! I really have got property abroad. Anybody will tell you the same. When you and me get wed, I’ll take you there. SADIE! Let me in.’ There came the sound of a boot against wood. ‘Oh, sod you then! You’re not the only woman to be had, not by a long chalk. You’ll be the sorry one. You see if I’m not right, you miserable old cow!’

Now, as the little man turned, it was to see John standing there, legs akimbo and a smile across his face. ‘Shame on you, Archie,’ he tutted with a shake of his head. ‘I knew you had a reputation with women, but I’d have thought you were past all that by now?’

It took a moment for the little man to realise who it was, and when it dawned on him, he gave a loud whoop and a holler and threw his cap in the air. ‘JOHN! Well, I never!’ With his wispy hair stood on end, and a broad grin from ear to ear, he more than ever resembled a leprechaun. ‘I’m blowed if it’s not my old shipmate. Oh, but am I glad to see a familiar face!’

Eagerly flinging his arms round John he almost had the two of them unbalanced. ‘What’s brought you back, son? Oh, look now, this calls for a drink, only I’m spent out. That bloody Sadie – took me for every penny, she did, then threw me out on the streets like some old baggage. What d’you think to that, eh?’

John thought it served him right and said so. Soon, though, he had a comforting arm round his old mate, and was marching him off to the nearest public-house. ‘I knew you’d be up to no good,’ he chided. ‘Chasing women, causing trouble and dossing anywhere you could lay your head.’

Having now reached the pub on the corner, he threw open the door and propelled Archie inside. ‘I’ve found you a bed for a night or two. Just until we get you settled elsewhere.’

Archie was intrigued. ‘But what’s brought you back all of a sudden? What’s happened to your wedding plans and the little woman, eh? Tell me that.’ The old sailor had a feeling that John’s homecoming had not gone well, and his heart sank. ‘Has it all gone wrong, son?’ he asked sorrowfully. ‘Did it not turn out the way you planned, is that it?’

‘You might say that,’ John conceded. ‘But look, I’ll tell you all about it in a minute.’

Once they were seated, each with a jug of ale, John explained what had happened between himself and Emily. ‘So there you have it, Archie,’ he finished quietly. ‘Everything we planned – marriage, a family of our own … it’s all gone.’ Even now he found it so hard to comprehend.

Archie knew how badly his young friend had taken it, and he gave his best advice. ‘The way I see it, son, is this,’ he said. ‘Your woman has found what she wants and it doesn’t appear to be you. Now there’s one or two things you can do. You can go back to her now and plead with her to leave the husband she’s taken in your place. If she agrees to that, you have to ask yourself if you could ever trust her again. Moreover, you’ll be taking on another man’s child, and all the aggravation that goes with it, because I dare say he won’t take it lying down.’

John had already considered all that. ‘If I thought Emily could still love me, I’d take on the world if she asked,’ he confessed. ‘Only I saw her there, with him and the child.’ It was like a moving picture in his mind; the mature Emily, so beautiful, so happy with her family. ‘She was like someone I never knew before.’

‘Ah, that’s it, y’see, son.’ Archie had known many women in his time. ‘Women are changeable creatures. It’s in their nature – they can’t help it. And it’s not surprising how, in the space of time you’ve been away, your Emily has grown from a girl to a woman.’

‘You’re right.’ John had been astonished at the change in Emily. ‘She’s more beautiful than I remembered, especially when she took the child into her arms. It was a lovely thing to see.’

Cutting through John’s bitter-sweet smile when he spoke of her, Archie reminded him, ‘The truth is, she’s chosen another man over you, and that’s hard to accept. It’s your pride, son. A man’s pride is easily dented.’

John gave a wistful smile. ‘Pride has nothing to do with it,’ he murmured. ‘You can’t know how it was between us; nobody can. Emily may have turned from me to another, but I still love and want her. I always will.’

‘Then I pity you.’ Archie had never seen a man so devoted.

Taking a gulp of his ale, John asked, ‘Go on then, Archie. What was the other thing?’

After half a jug of ale, Archie’s memory was not what it used to be. ‘What other thing?’

‘You said there were two things I could do.’

Archie’s brain limped into action. ‘Oh yes. Well, it’s simple enough, I should have thought.’

Urging him on, John asked, ‘In what way?’

‘Your woman chose another man over you; they got wed and now she has a family she loves, and from what you told me, she seemed more than happy enough with her lot. Is that correct?’

John confirmed it was so.

‘So now, you’re within your rights to do the same.’

‘And what exactly would you have me do then, Archie?’

‘Cut loose, man! Why! You could choose any woman that took your fancy. Lord knows, you’re a good catch for any of ’em. You’re a fine figure of a man – fit and strong – and you’ve money in your pocket.’

John laughed, but it was a sound without mirth. ‘I’ve no mind to do any such thing.’

‘Then you’re a fool!’

‘Aye, and I’ll stay a fool.’ The idea of any other woman taking Emily’s place was unthinkable.

‘Then listen to me and listen good, son.’ Leaning forward, Archie spoke in a stern voice and with the merest scowl on his face. ‘No man should martyr himself for a woman who turns her back on him. If she has a husband and child, then there’s no going back that I can see. She’s made her bed and you’ll do well to let her get on with it. You’ve a life to live, and every minute spent brooding over her is a minute wasted. If you can’t see that now, you soon will.’

Something about the old sailor’s manner, a kind of rage, made John think he must have suffered a similar experience. ‘Is that what you did, Archie?’ he asked curiously. ‘Did the same thing happen to you that happened to me?’

For a long moment Archie stared into his ale. ‘It might have,’ he admitted. But he would not be drawn further on the subject. ‘All I’m saying is, if you brood after one woman for the rest of your life, you might as well not have a life.’

The two of them drank in silence, their thoughts going back to their own lives and recalling how it was before, and each of them knowing it would never be like that again. It was a sobering thought, and the more they thought the more they drank.

Yet they had their wits about them, and even now, though he wished it was any other way, John was musing over a plan that would take them forward. ‘What was your real trade?’ he asked of Archie. ‘Before you went as a cook on the ships?’

With a mischievous little smile, Archie held high his jug of ale. ‘Delivering this on a horse and cart,’ he revealed. ‘Thirty years and more, I drove for Thwaites’s Brewery … delivered all over the North, from when I was little more than a lad, right up to the day before I signed my name to be a sailor.’

Quietly pleased with Archie’s answer, John had more questions. ‘So you know how to handle a horse and cart?’

Archie stuck out his little chest. ‘I was the lead driver – that should tell you how good I was.’ He chuckled. ‘All done up in my breeches and red jacket, there wasn’t a finer sight to be seen.’ Giving a wink, he revealed, ‘I had my fair share of women then, I can tell you.’

John could well believe it. ‘So, you know the North well, do you?’

‘I do, son, yes – better than any man.’

‘And who made the wagons?’

Archie had to think hard on that one, but by and by he had the answer. ‘A family firm by the name of Armitage,’ he said. ‘The father owned a sawmill and the two sons made the wagons in a yard alongside. As I recall, each was run as a separate business.’ He cocked his head as he told John, ‘I were told the father passed on some years back, and the sons took over the timber business. But they can’t still be going, ’cause they’d be as old as I am now. Unless o’ course they too had sons and the tradition got carried on.’

John could see everything falling into place. ‘Where was it situated, this timber business?’

‘About four miles away, more in the countryside. The business lies alongside the Leeds and Liverpool canal – it’s easier y’see, for transporting and delivering the timber on the barges.’ Now it was Archie’s turn to be curious. ‘You’re asking a lot o’ questions. What’s all this about?’

John had not wanted to reveal his idea until he had made some more enquiries and could be sure what he was getting into, but now that Archie was asking, he decided to outline his plans for the two of them.

‘You recall I told you how I earned my living by repairing and building wagons, hay-carts and such … not in a big way, mind you, but I know a wheel from an axle and I had sufficient customers to bring in a fair enough wage.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘It was more than enough, until Emily and I got serious about the future.’

‘I see.’ Turning the idea over in his mind, Archie swallowed the dregs of his ale. ‘And how do you mean to go about starting such a business?’ he asked. ‘It won’t be easy. And I’m only saying that because I know there are enough well-established firms who supply all the wagons around these parts. What makes you think you can find an opening? And if you do find it, how could you secure enough customers to keep you going?’

John had already thought about that. ‘Back home there were some who said I was the best. Any cart or wagon I made or repaired, outlasted all the ones brought in from the big towns. I took a pride in what I did, Archie. I built and repaired everything the way I’d want it myself … strong and lasting, with the stamp of quality.’

‘Ah yes, but folks don’t want to pay for that.’ Archie had been around long enough to know the score. ‘Build it fast and sell it cheap, never mind quality.’

‘But that’s false economy,’ John argued. ‘There must be sharp-minded folks who’d rather pay a few guineas more for something that will last twice as long. My thinking is this – if there’s nobody building strong, quality wagons, the customers hereabouts might be glad of somebody like myself.’

He looked at Archie, his face determined. ‘I can tell there’s a place for me here,’ he declared. ‘Soonever I’ve introduced you to Harriet, I want you to take me to this yard you were talking about. I’d like to see how the land lies … get my bearings, so to speak.’

Archie’s eyes lit up at the mention of a woman’s name. ‘Who’s this Harriet then?’

‘She’s the landlady at my lodgings.’

‘Bit of all right, is she?’ Archie said eagerly, though whether that was the prospect of meeting Harriet, or the effects of too much ale, John couldn’t tell. ‘And she’s agreed to put me up, has she?’

John confirmed it. ‘You’ll have a camp-bed in my room, and it’ll be for no more than three nights, that’s the deal.’

‘Hmh! That’s not much help, if you don’t mind me saying. When the three nights are up, where am I supposed to go from there?’

Now, when John stood up, Archie followed suit. ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ he answered. ‘First, let’s get you settled, then we’ll head off to the timberyard. It won’t be dark for a few hours yet.’

‘And what will you do when we get there?’

John hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said lamely. ‘Mebbe I’ll offer my skills and a deal of money to buy in as a partner.’

Archie laughed at his bare-faced cheek. ‘What if they don’t want a partner?’

‘Then I’ll set up on my own.’

Archie was impressed. ‘You’ve got big ideas, I’ll say that for you.’

Taking him by the elbow, John chided, ‘Seems to me, you’re slightly tipsy.’ He observed how Archie was gently swaying from side to side. ‘I can tell you now, Harriet won’t like that.’

‘Then she’s not my sort o’ woman and that’s a fact!’

‘Mebbe, but I reckon a bite to eat is in order before we see her.’ He led Archie to the door. ‘There’s a little tearoom round the corner,’ he said. ‘We’ll spend a few minutes in there before we make for the lodgings.’

Moaning and complaining, Archie followed him. ‘If your landlady is one o’ them miserable types that doesn’t like a man to be merry, I’m not sure I want to lodge there at all!’

John laughed. ‘I can’t deny she has a forceful side to her, but she’s agreed to let you stay, and that’s good enough for me. So, get a move on, and stop complaining, or I might decide to leave you where I found you.’

The threat didn’t worry Archie, for he knew that was the last thing John would ever contemplate.

An hour later, with Archie more sober and milder of mood, John presented him to Harriet. ‘This is my old shipmate Archie,’ he said. ‘A more amiable man you’ll never meet.’

While Archie took stock of this big, awkward woman with her straight face and large, unattractive hands, Harriet also observed Archie, who nervously glanced away under her scrutiny.

She walked round him a few times, sniffing at him like a dog might sniff at a bone. And when she was done, she stood before him, hands on hips and her eyes boring into his. ‘You stink!’

‘I do not!’ Archie glared back. ‘I’m a particular man and always have been.’

‘Hmh! Not particular enough, from where I stand.’ She took another sniff at him and wrinkled her nose. ‘If you ask me, you’ve been keeping company with the dogs on the street, or women of a certain reputation. Either way you stink to high heaven and I’ll have no argument on the matter.’

When John gave Archie a warning glance, the old man took the hint. ‘All right, so mebbe I do pong a bit. It’s hardly surprising, is it, when I’ve been forced to sleep rough. But you’ve shown a kind heart to a poor old fellow, and I’m ever so grateful for that.’ He congratulated himself on being able to charm the birds from the trees. The trouble was, he hadn’t come across a woman like Harriet before; more was the pity.

‘Three nights!’ she declared. ‘But first, you go into the bathroom and strip off your clothes. You throw the clothes outside the door, and while you’re scrubbing the dirt off yourself, I’ll get the dirt off your clothes. I usually send everything to the laundry, but this is an emergency!’

Archie treated the idea with utter contempt. ‘If you think I’m handing my clothes over to you, you’ve got another think coming, missus! Moreover, if you’re expecting me to climb into a bath, you can keep your lodgings, ’cause I’m not interested.’

Harriet took him at his word. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘You can leave the same way you came in. I can’t say it was a pleasure meeting you.’

Smartly turning, she was about to go out of the door when John called her back. ‘He’ll do as you say,’ he promised, and looking at Archie with a warning glare, he instructed, ‘You’ll hand over your clothes and you’ll take a bath, even if I have to scrub your worthless back myself. Isn’t that so, Archie?’

The old chap remained sullen.

John gave him a shove. ‘I said isn’t that so, Archie?’

With great reluctance, he nodded.

Harriet tutted and John urged his old mate, ‘So, tell the lady, Archie.’

Snorting with disgust, Archie glared back at John, and in the meekest of voices told Harriet, ‘All right, missus. I’ll do as you say.’ His voice hardened. ‘But I want you to know, I’m not happy about it.’

Harriet allowed herself a wry little smile. ‘I’m not concerned about you being happy,’ she replied. ‘I’m only concerned to be rid of the stink you’ve brought in with you.’

When she was gone from the room, Archie gave John a piece of his mind. ‘If I’d known what a tyrant she was, I’d have thought twice about coming here. Wanting the shirt off my back; demanding I get a bath. What next, that’s what I’d like to know!’

Amused by the confrontation between Archie and the landlady, John told him it was no use his moaning. ‘Think of it this way,’ he suggested mischievously. ‘Once she catches sight of your manly figure, why, she’ll be like putty in your hands.’

Archie chuckled at that. ‘I’m not so sure I like that idea,’ he said. ‘I mean, yon Harriet’s not the best-looking woman I’ve ever seen, I can tell you that for nothing.’

Half an hour later, Archie was shoved into the bathroom. ‘Throw your clothes out,’ Harriet told him. ‘I’ll be here waiting.’

Under protest, Archie did as he was told. ‘Mind you take care of them,’ he warned. ‘They cost money.’

Hiding behind the door he stripped off his clothes and slung them out. ‘And don’t put no sweet-smelling stuff on them neither. I don’t fancy walking about stinking like a ponce!’

‘It’s better than walking about stinking like a polecat!’ Grabbing the clothes with a pair of tongs before he could snatch them back, Harriet placed them in a straw basket held at arm’s length. ‘Make sure you use the carbolic and the razor,’ she reminded him. ‘And don’t come out of there pretending to have had a bath, because I’ll soon know. I’ve been about too long to be taken in.’

Archie slammed shut the door. ‘You’re right about that,’ he grumbled to himself. ‘Old battle-axe!’

Tiptoeing across the cold floor, he kept on grumbling. ‘You’re some kind o’ witch, that’s what you are!’ Stubbing his toe on an uneven slabstone, he swore under his breath. ‘Stealing my clothes, dumping me in a tub of water and ordering me about. It’s not as if I even know her. God help me, I only ever clapped eyes on the woman five minutes since!’

He dipped his toe in the warm water, shivered and took it out again. Stooping over, he gingerly ran his fingers through the water and straightening up, gave a little smile. ‘It’s not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all,’ and he climbed inside and lay back blissfully. In fact, it had been so long, he’d forgotten the pleasant, silky feel of warm water against his skin.

In the washroom, Harriet took Archie’s clothes out of the tub. They were so clean and colourful, where before they were dark and grubby, she could hardly believe they were the same ones she’d put in there. Tutting and complaining, she fed them through the mangle, before hanging them on the line in front of the fireplace. Tugging the shirt into place, she shook her head. ‘Blue,’ she declared with astonishment. ‘And I’d have sworn it were grey.’

Next stop was the big chest at the back of the room. From here, she took out armfuls of clean, neatly pressed clothes. When she’d finished matching them for size with Archie’s, she tucked them under her arm and made her way to the kitchen. ‘It’s a good job I keep a few spares,’ she told John. ‘Sometimes I have to confiscate the clothes in lieu of payment.’

John was seated at the table, busy making notes and drawings. ‘Sorry, Harriet?’ He looked up. ‘I didn’t hear what you said.’

‘That’s because you’re deep in what you’re up to.’ Reaching her gaze forward she tried to get a glimpse of his work.

‘What was it you said before?’

Harriet held up the garments. ‘I’ve found your friend some clean clothes.’ She showed him the selection. ‘These should carry him over until his own clothes dry out.’ There was a burgundy-coloured shirt, a pair of long-johns and a singlet, together with a jacket and trousers of similar colour to Archie’s own.

‘I should think he’ll be very grateful,’ John told her though, knowing Archie as he did, he couldn’t be sure. His old friend seemed to have taken against Harriet, and as for her part, she had shown little patience with him.

Draping the clothes over the back of a chair to get warm near the fire, Harriet crossed to the larder and poured them each a glass of sarsaparilla. ‘Grateful or not, he’ll either wear them, or walk about naked.’ She chuckled. ‘From the little I’ve already seen, that would be a terrible sight for sore eyes.’

Before taking a hearty gulp of her drink, she opened her little tin of snuff and applied a pinch to both nostrils. Then, seating herself beside him, she peered over John’s shoulder at the notebook. ‘What’s that you’re so intent on?’ she asked.

‘I’m making a plan.’

‘What kind of plan?’

‘A business plan.’

‘What kind of business?’

John explained, ‘I mean to have my own timberyard and men in my employ. I plan on making wagons, you see.’

Harriet thought he was a dreamer, just like many other men who had lodged here before him. ‘Dreaming and making are two very different things,’ she warned.

‘I’m aware of that.’ John, also, knew it only too well. ‘But I intend making this dream into reality.’

She admired his ambitions, but, ‘Building a business takes a deal of money.’ She took a long gulp of her sarsaparilla. ‘Money and dedication, that’s what you need. Even then, it’s a long, hard struggle. More often you lose your friends along the way. Life can become very lonely. Have you thought of that?’

‘I’ve thought of everything,’ John imparted. ‘As for friends, if they turn their back on you when you need them most, then they can’t have been worth having in the first place, that’s my thinking.’

Harriet nodded. ‘That’s true enough. But look, as I’ve just said, dreaming is one thing. Making it all happen isn’t quite so easy.’

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ John replied, ‘but a man has to have a dream.’ He thought about Emily. She had been his dream; his life and his future.

Harriet’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘What are all these different areas?’ Pointing to the sections on his map, she listened while he explained.

‘These are work areas,’ he said. ‘Look, this is the office, and here alongside the canal, is where the timber will be lifted from the barges and stacked in different bays. The smaller sections are where the different pieces will be made and kept ready for use – such as wheels, axles, shafts and so on. Next to that is the larger area where the wagons and carts will be constructed. And the yard outside is where they’ll be lined up ready for collection.’

She smiled at that. ‘You seem to have given over a large area for lining up the ready wagons. Does that mean you expect business to be brisk?’

‘Without a doubt,’ he answered with confidence. ‘I hope we’ve got so many orders coming in, that I’ll need to employ extra men.’

Harriet drew his attention to the long bay at the back of the building. ‘And what’s this meant to be?’

John followed her gaze. ‘That will be the repair shop.’

Surprised by the detail he’d written into his plan, she asked pointedly, ‘I suppose you have the money for this grand idea?’

‘Not all of it, no.’ John was honest with her. ‘I saved every penny I could from my wages in the Merchant Navy, but some of that has gone. I’ll have to start out small – rent a yard or barn somewhere. I’ll begin by doing repairs, and take it from there.’

‘And do you think there’ll be an opening for that kind of thing?’ she wanted to know. ‘I mean, won’t there already be more than enough repair shops tending the wagons on the road?’

‘Well, that’s something I mean to find out, but according to Archie, there’s a shortage of good repair shops. Setting up my own shop will be the first step.’

‘What then?’

‘Well, I’ll get talking to the customers. One by one, I hope to persuade them to let me do more than just repair. I hope to show them how I can design and build top-quality wagons and such.’

Harriet liked the sound of it all. ‘And push the big boys out, is that it?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

‘You’ve got your work cut out.’

‘I know that.’

‘And it doesn’t frighten you off?’

John shook his head, a look of defiance in his eyes. ‘It only makes it all the more exciting.’

Finishing her drink, Harriet prepared to leave. ‘I’d best go and see what that friend of yours is about,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he hasn’t just stood in that room the whole time, shivering and shaking. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s never once dipped his dirty toe in the water.’

While John bent his head to his drawing, she ambled to the door. ‘I think you’ve got a good plan there,’ she casually remarked.

‘Why thank you, Harriet.’ It was good to have her believe in him.

Her next throwaway remark took him aback. ‘If you’ve need of capital to help get you started, I’ve got some savings tucked away. Mind you, it’ll only be a loan. I’ll want it back with interest!’ She took out her little tin of snuff and tapped the lid.

By the time John looked up, she was gone. ‘Good God!’ Her words echoed in his mind. ‘She offered me a loan.’ He could scarcely believe it. ‘Miss Harriet Witherington offered me a loan, and she hardly knows me from Adam!’

He had left himself a sizeable sum of money, after providing for Lizzie, but it wasn’t enough to take him where he wanted to go. His idea had been to approach the bank and ask for a loan, though he didn’t think much to his chances. But Harriet had offered him a loan just like that. It was incredible.

My God! he thought. If she really is serious, and she’s talking real money, I might just take her up on it. He laughed out loud. It was possible, of course, that Harriet’s idea of a loan wouldn’t even buy him a set of tools. He got back to his drawing. All the same, it was kind of her to offer.

His estimation of the landlady had gone up when she offered Archie a few nights under her roof, but with this latest offer, his regard for her was tenfold. In fact, he was beginning to realise that her bark was far worse than her bite. Moreover, he had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to Harriet Witherington, spinster, than she was letting on.