Читать книгу Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection - Josephine Cox - Страница 56

‘WHERE ARE WE going?’

Half-asleep, his hair standing on end, and with two small squares of paper stuck over the areas where he’d sliced himself with the razor, old Archie was none too pleased to have been dragged out of his warm bed.

‘For Gawd’s sake, it’s seven o’clock on a February morning!’ he grumbled as they boarded the early tram. ‘It’s freezing cold and what’s more it’s Sunday – my only day for a lie-in. You work me like a dog from Monday to Sat’day. You’d think I’d be entitled to a lie-in!’

The three nights under Harriet’s roof that Archie had been grudgingly allowed had long since extended themselves to several years spent as the new lodger in the cosy back room – an arrangement that suited the little man down to the ground. Spruce and well-fed, he was more fond of his formidable landlady, and she of him, than either of them would ever admit.

Ushering him to a seat, John slid in beside him. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about. If Harriet and me can get out of bed on a Sunday morning, why can’t you?’

‘Because I’m a poor old man, that’s why.’ Archie folded his arms sulkily and slunk deeper into the seat. ‘Wake me when we get there.’

John let him sleep. He needed this quiet time anyway, to think about his future with Rosie. He had doubts – of course he did – but it had been years now, since he and Emily had made plans together.

His love for Emily was as strong as ever and always would be. But he knew now that in spite of everything, Emily had never felt the same way, or she could not have turned her back on him the way she did. It had taken years for him to accept the truth of that. Years when he had hoped and prayed there might be a way in which he could turn back the clock, but that wasn’t to be, he knew that now. And painful though it was, he had to look forward, or live a lonely, empty life till the end of his days.

Putting Emily behind him would not be easy, but he could no longer spend precious time yearning for something that could never be. Lizzie was right. It was time to accept that Emily had gone her way, and he must go his, for it was plain that they were never meant to be together.

‘Albert Docks!’ The conductor’s voice rang through the tram. ‘Last stop before we turn round. All off that’s getting off.’

John gave Archie a nudge. ‘Time to go.’

The old man didn’t hear. Instead, with mouth hanging open, he remained seemingly unconscious, his robust snores shaking the tram while John tried frantically to wake him, but with no success.

‘Here. Let me.’ Impatient to be on his way, the conductor leaned forward and, taking the end of Archie’s nose between finger and thumb, he held on tight and squeezed hard. At once the snoring stopped and Archie was fighting for air. ‘Gerroff!’ With arms flailing and feet kicking, he lashed out at all and sundry.

‘There you are!’ Giving John a triumphant wink, the conductor moved on. ‘Pinch the nose till they can’t breathe. It’ll do the trick every time.’

As they got off the tram, Archie gave the conductor a hard stare. ‘I won’t forget you in hurry, matey.’

‘And a good morning to you, sir.’ The conductor tipped his hat and walked away grinning.

‘I’ve a good mind to smack him one!’ Archie rubbed his nose. ‘He could ’ave broken it!’

Glancing at Archie’s bright red nose, John couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘It’s a good job the rozzers aren’t after you,’ he said. ‘See you coming a mile off, they would.’

That tickled Archie’s funny bone, and at once his mood was lighter. ‘Where are we off to then, eh?’

‘Be patient,’ John answered. ‘You’ll know soon enough.’

As soon as they turned the corner to the boatyard, Archie guessed. ‘You’ve finished the house, haven’t you?’

‘I might have.’

Archie was excited. ‘You have!’ He gave John a nudge that nearly sent him hurtling into the canal. ‘What’s it like?’

John told him to wait and see.

They launched the narrowboat and were soon under way. On workdays it was a good half-hour to the site, but this Sunday morning, with fewer barges chugging about, the waterway was quieter.

Twenty minutes later they had moored the boat and were on their way across the site. ‘I still can’t believe what you’ve achieved here.’ Not for the first time, Archie looked at the place where they worked and was amazed. Where the site had been unusable and derelict, it was now a thriving business, with large, well-designed buildings, a small office, and dozens of watercraft lined up in different stages of repair or construction.

Instead of rubble and grass underfoot, it was all neatly paved, with areas of concrete and a slipway second to none, complete with winches and machinery to lift the craft out of the water like a child might lift a toy.

‘You’ve done yourself proud,’ Archie told him. ‘And thanks to you, we’ve all got work, so’s we can hold up our heads in anybody’s company.’

That meant a lot to Archie. There was a time back there when he thought he’d end up a tramp like Michael. And now, even Michael was respectable, thanks to John.

He mentioned the man now. ‘Funny that, you knowing Michael from before.’ Archie had asked about him many a time, but had always been given the same old brush-off. Now he tried again. ‘What did he do before? How did you know him? What made him turn out the way he did? Was it to do with a woman? It usually is.’

Taken off-guard by Archie’s barrage of questions, John tried to make little of it.

When, some time back, after Michael had cleaned himself up and John had recognised him, the man had pleaded to be left to sort out his own problems. He asked if John would mind not telling the others about his past and the shocking manner in which he had deserted his family.

John had readily done as he asked, for he knew that the man had suffered a complete breakdown, and he was sympathetic, as well as respectful to Emily’s father for her sake as well as for Michael’s. He did, however, inform Michael of Emily being happily wed, with child and all. It was cheering news to Michael, who was unaware of John’s heartbreak. He knew of the friendship between Emily and John, yet had left Potts End before it had developed into love.

‘Michael was a neighbour.’ John gave Archie the same answer as always. ‘As for his private business, I don’t reckon it’s anything to do with us.’

‘You know more than you’re letting on.’

‘D’you want to see what I’ve done to the cottage or not?’

Archie good-naturedly took the hint. ‘Go on then,’ he said, and gave him a push forward.

Beyond the working area was the site of the cottage. With a screen constructed all round it, the building was hidden from view and no one – not Rosie, Archie or anyone else – was allowed inside – apart from the delivery men, who were too tired and preoccupied with their jobs to notice what was going on right under their nose.

‘Mind you don’t walk that muck into the cottage,’ John warned as he led Archie over the rubble. ‘And don’t say a word until you’ve seen everything,’ he ordered, ‘upstairs and down. I want you to look properly, and then tell me what you think after we’re done.’

‘I should have thought Rosie would be the one to see it before me,’ Archie pointed out. ‘I mean, it’s her who’ll live here with you.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Or am I invited into the happy home as well?’

John was horrified. ‘Good God, man! Don’t you think I’ve suffered your company long enough? Harriet and I have put up with your snoring, sleep-walking and smelly feet, and now she and the other lodgers can have you all to themselves. So, no! You’re definitely not invited to share the cottage with me and Rosie.’

‘Ah, go on. You’ll miss me really,’ Archie said fondly.

‘Yes, I will, even though you’re a crafty old bugger. Now then, shipmate – inside with you, and like I say, don’t utter a word until we’ve gone all over. After that, I’ll want your honest opinion.’

‘What if I don’t like it?’

‘You will.’

‘Mebbe, but what if I don’t? Have I to say so, or would you rather I pretend?’

‘I want the truth, Archie. Whether you like it or not, I need you to tell me the truth.’

‘All right. Lead on.’

John entered the cottage first, with Archie treading carefully behind. As John had instructed, he took note of everything as they went from room to room.

‘Good Lord above!’ The old chap was flabbergasted. ‘However did you do all this by yourself? I can’t believe it. Since when were you a builder and decorator?’

‘Since I set my mind to it,’ John replied. ‘Once you get started, it all seems to fall into place.’

Pointing to the sitting-room floor, Archie was about to speak, when John stopped him. ‘Not a word, remember?’ he warned. ‘Until you’ve seen it all.’

Archie duly clamped his mouth shut and followed John upstairs, growing more and more amazed as he went. The last time he had been in this place, it was shabby and neglected, complete with crumbling walls, dipping floors you tripped over, and ceilings that sagged to a dangerous low. But now it was as pretty as a picture. Every wall and floor was straight as a die and made good; the floors had new floorboards and colourful rugs; the walls were finished in soft, subtle colours, and at each and every window were hung curtains of dainty floral fabric.

There were four fireplaces throughout the cottage; small, beautifully tiled ones in each of the three bedrooms, and a larger one in the sitting room. As with the other three, this one was newly fitted; blackleaded to a bright shine, and with a marble hearth surrounded by a smart brass fender – though unlike the other three, this one had a slipper-box at each end of the fender. The fireplace itself was a grander feature as this was the room where they would do their living and entertaining, if any.

The furniture had been chosen to complement the warm, homely character of the place: a deep brown horsehair sofa, matching armchairs and a delightful, honey-coloured deep-drawered dresser beneath the sitting-room window.

In front of the fireplace was the loveliest peg-rug of browns and greens, with a splash of cream round the edges. Hung on the wall above the hearth was a picture of a ship in full sail, and covering the mantelpiece, a tasselled cream-coloured velvet runner set the whole thing off to perfection.

The bedrooms, too, were furnished in the same simple but attractive manner.

‘Well? What do you think?’ Eager to know what somebody else made of his handiwork, John could hardly wait for the verdict.

As they came out, Archie closed the freshly painted front door behind him. ‘I can’t believe what I’ve just seen,’ he answered quietly, shaking his head.

‘What?’ John’s disappointment was etched on his face. ‘You don’t like it, do you? Rosie will hate it – that’s what you’re saying?’

Smiling, the old man put him out of his misery. ‘I think it’s the prettiest little palace I’ve ever seen,’ he said proudly. ‘You’ve done wonders!’

John laughed out loud. ‘So, you think Rosie will like it, do you?’

Archie had no doubts whatsoever. ‘She’ll love it!’ A thought occurred to him, though. ‘How did you know what colours she liked? And what about the furniture – did she tell you what she wanted? Is that how you went about choosing it all?’

‘I haven’t even asked her.’ John was made to think at Archie’s observation. ‘I just listened and watched and made mental notes when we were out and about. I saw how she’d furnished her father’s cottage, and I got a sense of what she might like.’

‘Hmh!’ Archie thought he was a brave man. ‘Women can be funny about such things.’

John was really worried now. ‘I should have asked her, shouldn’t I?’ he groaned. ‘I should never have done it without talking to her first.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Archie snorted. ‘Rosie knew all along that you were doing the cottage up.’

‘Yes, but she didn’t know I was furnishing it and everything.’

‘Oh, don’t start worriting, man! Any woman would give her right arm to have that cottage. Trust me, she’ll be over the moon.’

What Archie had said touched John deeply. ‘Any woman’? And John couldn’t help but wonder if Emily would have liked this place, too.

As though he had read his thoughts, Archie said gently, ‘Don’t go upsetting yourself about things you can’t change, lad. The past is the past and this is your future – yours and Rosie’s. You remember that, and you’ll be all right.’

John nodded. ‘You’re right. The past is the past, and there’s no going back.’ He slapped Archie on the shoulder. ‘You’re the best mate I’ve ever had, did you know that?’

Archie made light of it. ‘Does that mean you might still let me come an’ live here too?’

John laughed out loud. ‘Nice try, but no. And think how poor Harriet would miss you!’

Archie had noticed something else as he went through that delightful little cottage, and he told John now. ‘You put an awful lot o’ work into that place. For somebody who claims not to be getting wed for the love of it, there seems to have been a lot of time and care in the choosing of things.’

Taken aback, John swiftly put him right. ‘That’s because I was spending good money and I wanted it to be right for Rosie. She’s a good woman, as you well know. What! If it hadn’t been for her, I doubt we’d have a business at all.’

Archie had his own thoughts on that but he brushed them aside, as he asked hopefully, ‘I know it’s early, and I know it’s Sunday, but there’s a friendly landlord who might just serve us with a pint of good ale, to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials. What d’you say to that?’

John liked the idea. ‘I say we should pay this friendly landlord a visit.’ And that was exactly what they did.

The wedding took place on 1 March, at St Peter’s Church in Liverpool. It was a cold day, but with a welcome smattering of sunshine. The church was packed, and it seemed that everyone the couple knew had turned out to wish them well.

There was Archie as best man, all done up ‘like a penguin’, as he aptly put it. Then Rosie’s family: her father, Lonnie, a large-boned man who hid the pain of his physical disabilities behind a warm, proud smile, and her older sister, Rachel, who with her long fair hair and brown eyes looked uncannily like Rosie, but without the smiling eyes and sense of mischief.

Harriet Witherington was a guest of honour, looking grand and very overcome, her hankie at the ready for when the emotion of the occasion became too much.

Michael Ramsden lingered at the back of the church, his mind on his own wife and family, and the need to go home becoming stronger with every passing day.

The congregation kept arriving: the eight men who had been given work by John and who had come to admire and respect both him and Rosie for the honest and good people they were; and with them they brought their families, who also felt a need to wish the happy couple well on their special day. Two public-house landlords turned up, expressly to witness Archie in his unlikely role as ‘best man’. They were followed by many other townsfolk, who packed the church. Everyone loved a good wedding, and they all knew of John Hanley’s story – how he beat the big boys and bought the derelict site at auction, then turned it into a thriving place of work.

The bride looked very fetching in her long white gown, with its high buttoned neck, tiny waist and swirling hem, and pretty tight sleeves culminating in an extravagant lace frill at the wrist. Her long fair hair was piled on top of her head and loosely draped in a veil of silk, cascading from a mother-of-pearl headdress.

Everyone agreed that Rosie looked beautiful. But the most beautiful part of all was her smile, for she had come to love John very deeply, and this was the day when, in the eyes of God and the world, he would take her as his wife: ‘To love and to cherish from this day forth, till Death us do part.’ Strong words, for a strong love. She knew John had loved before, and she had long suspected that he still felt great affection for Emily Ramsden.

When they first became good friends, before the friendship turned to love – at least on her part – John had begun to confide in her; not all of it, but enough for Rosie to realise that for whatever reason, he had walked away from the girl he adored. Once he and Rosie had decided to get married, he would not be drawn on the subject. So because she needed to, Rosie came to believe that he had finally got over that first, special love. She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know what the answer might be.

Keeping her gaze on the man who was about to become her husband, Rosie walked slowly down the aisle, pacing herself with the man who walked arm-in-arm with her – her father, of whom she felt so proud. Her hero.

Leaning ever so slightly against her as he took each careful step up the aisle, Lonnie Taylor was determined to walk his daughter right up to the altar where her future husband waited. Situated at the top pew to reassure him was his bath-chair, where he would sit during the service.

Behind them came the older sister, Rachel, dressed as maid of honour in a pale blue gown and carrying a pretty posy of pink and white tulips, to match those of the bride.

And right there in pride of place next to Harriet, was Lizzie.

Having travelled up from Salmesbury and spent a couple of nights at Harriet’s, getting to know her, and rejoicing in John’s company, she was refreshed and smart in her new outfit of long coat and matching hobble skirt that finished at the ankles and allowed the merest sighting of her brand new, black boots. The only problem was, the left one pinched so badly that she had to keep wiggling her toes to keep the blood flowing. ‘Take it off!’ Harriet whispered. ‘I’ll bend it about a bit. It’ll be all right then.’

Hoping no one could see, Lizzie unhooked the half-dozen buttons with the button-hook hidden in her little reticule, slipped it off and, true as her word, Harriet ‘bent it about a bit’. When Lizzie surreptitiously eased it back on again, it was much more comfortable, and she was able to watch the service in relative comfort, though she secretly vowed that the minute she got back to Harriet’s, she would exchange the boots for the comfy old shoes she had travelled up in.

Harriet herself was looking neat and tidy in an oyster-grey skirt, the wide belt with its silver buckle emphasising her considerable bosom. The bushy iron-grey hair was scooped up and rammed out of sight beneath a straw boater with an oyster-grey silk band and huge jet hatpin. Archie’s eyes had gone out on stalks at the magnificent sight of her!

The service was conducted by a frocked priest who, when it was over, blessed the newlyweds and led them to the vestry, where they signed the register as man and wife.

Afterwards, when they emerged into the bright March daylight, everyone shouted and laughed and threw rice, before setting off on foot or climbing into their carriages to be whisked off to the grand inn on King Street, where the celebrations were soon under way, with the invited and the uninvited mingling to drink to the couple’s happiness, and dancing until late.

In the ornamental garden at the back of the inn, hung with Japanese lanterns for the occasion, Rosie told John how happy she was. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’ she asked nervously. The feeling that he would rather be somewhere else was haunting her.

John thought she looked lovely and told her so. He took her in his arms and kissed her softly, and whispered in her ear, ‘Of course I love you.’ And he did. But not in the same way he had loved Emily – though he didn’t tell Rosie that much. He was too fond of her ever to hurt her. That would be too cruel. She was his wife now, and he would care for her and look after her.

Yet for him, there would always be something missing.

‘I know you can’t love me in the way you want to,’ she told him with understanding, ‘but it won’t matter. We have all the time in the world.’

Sliding his arm about her slim waist, he walked her to the pond. ‘I do love you,’ he said honestly. ‘There are things I want to tell you, but I can’t, not yet. Though like you said, we have all the time in the world and we’ll use it to get to know each other, as well as any man and wife can know each other. The kind of love you deserve will follow, I’m sure.’

‘We’ll make it happen!’ she murmured, nibbling his ear. For now she was content to know he loved her enough to take her as his wife.

‘We will,’ he said. ‘With the help of God, we’ll make it happen.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘Meanwhile, Mrs Hanley, we have guests to tend, and Harriet’s beautiful cake to cut.’

As they walked back to the guests, John could not deny there was a certain sadness in his heart. But when he walked through the door and everyone turned their heads to look at them, his handsome, ready smile gave nothing away. Instead, when the music started, he took his wife by the waist and waltzed her across the floor.

Before they, too, paired up and joined the dance, the guests allowed the bridal couple a few minutes on their own, during which time they held each other and seemed for all the world like two people deeply in love.

Lizzie knew the truth. She watched them for a long time, praying that her anger and lies had not ruined four young lives.

‘We’ll have to leave soon,’ John told Rosie, taking her aside. ‘We need to get moving before it grows dark.’

Rosie was intrigued. ‘Leave for where?’ Then she groaned. ‘Oh John, don’t tell me you forgot to book us in here for the weekend?’

‘I didn’t forget,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t book it.’

‘So where are we spending our honeymoon?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

‘I knew something was going on,’ she said with a knowing smile. ‘Though I didn’t like to mention it, we haven’t had any wedding presents. Is everyone in on this surprise of yours, whatever it is?’

‘Don’t ask questions, Mrs Hanley,’ he gave her a wink, ‘… and you’ll get told no lies.’

Half an hour later, while Rosie was thanking the guests, John went to the landlord and collected the portmanteau he had brought here the day before. ‘We need to get changed,’ he explained. ‘Is it still all right for us to use that back room?’

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ the landlord confirmed. ‘There you are, son.’ Handing the portmanteau over, he wished John well. ‘You found a good ’un there,’ he commented, gesturing to where Rosie was laughing at Archie’s little joke.

Catching Rosie’s eye, John held up the portmanteau and she understood. While she drew the conversation with Archie to an end, John made his way to the back room. By the time Rosie arrived, he was changed and ready to leave. ‘I just need to have a word with Lizzie,’ he told her. ‘Harriet says to leave our wedding clothes here, and she’ll take care of them.’

Rosie was impressed. ‘You seem to have organised everything,’ she said suspiciously. ‘I wish you’d tell me what you’re up to.’

‘You’ll soon find out. Be as quick as you can. I’ve put your clothes on the chair.’ He had the portmanteau with him. ‘I’ll take this.’ It held all their necessities for the night.

First stop was Archie. ‘I hope she likes what I’ve done to the cottage,’ John said to his old mate.

‘She’ll love it!’ Archie had no doubts on that score.

Going quickly round the guests, John thanked them all, and they wished him well, and then it was Lizzie. ‘Are you happy, son?’ She was concerned for him, and Rosie too. Ever since she had received his invitation, Lizzie had wondered if her nephew was making the biggest mistake of his life. ‘Now I’ve met her, your Rosie seems a nice enough lass – a lot like Emily, I think. But I’m so worried you might have got wed for the wrong reasons.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m doing what you told me. I’m getting on with my life the best way I know how.’

Lizzie looked at him through tearful eyes. ‘I so much want you to be happy.’

‘How can I not be happy,’ he said, holding her hand, ‘when I’ve got you?’

Just as he’d hoped, she smiled through her tears. ‘Go on with yer!’

‘That’s my Lizzie!’ He held her in his arms awhile. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ he promised, and as he walked away, she seemed a little more content.

By the time he’d organised a carriage, Rosie was ready to leave.

Outside, everyone waved them off. ‘What are you up to, John Hanley?’ Rosie was loving every minute.

‘Just you sit back and relax,’ he told her. And she did, mainly because her feet were aching from all the dancing after the wedding, and her new shoes didn’t help either.

When they reached the boatyard, they boarded the waiting barge, and were soon on their way. ‘Now I really am worried!’ she said, only half-joking. ‘You’re surely not making for the site, are you?’

‘I am.’

‘Do you intend setting me to work, is that it?’ she laughed.

‘I might.’

‘My God! I’ve married a bully-boy.’

Negotiating the barge through the waters, he smiled at her from the tiller. ‘I hope you like your wedding present.’

‘What if I don’t?’ She knew now it must be to do with the cottage. It was common knowledge how he had busied himself behind the screen for months on end, not even allowing herself to enter.

‘Archie says you’ll love it.’

‘Oh, I see!’ She feigned indignation. ‘So Archie’s seen it, has he?’

‘Apart from myself he’s the only one.’

‘Well, hurry up, then, husband. Get me there quick, before I faint from curiosity.’

On arriving at the cottage, John carried her over the threshold. ‘I can’t believe it!’ Rosie could hardly trust her own eyes. Running from room to room, she was overwhelmed. ‘It’s beautiful!’ She flung her arms round him. ‘Oh, John! It’s just perfect. Thank you. Thank you!’

A couple of the men had been in to lay and light the fires, keeping an eye on them until the hour John had said he’d be back. Rosie threw off her warm, outer clothes and danced jubilantly around the small house, exclaiming with delight at each new treat, while John lit the lamps and put the brand new kettle on the range for a welcome pot of tea – their first in the new home. He was tired but very pleased with Rosie’s – his wife’s – unfeigned pleasure. He wanted her to be happy.

Later, when the first rush of excitement had settled to a feeling of contentment, they opened their presents together.

There was a flat-iron; a blue and cream china tea-set; a pair of cushion-cases; a pretty lamp; lavender bags that scented the air and other useful items that were made to suit different rooms in the house. ‘You asked them to buy things for the cottage, didn’t you?’ she said, and this time, when she threw her arms round him, she didn’t let go. Guiding his hands, she helped him to unbutton her pretty lilac blouse and to slide it off her shoulders. The single strand of pearls he had given her as a present gleamed in the soft light and he gazed at the fullness of her breasts beneath the virginal chemise.

‘Make love to me,’ she whispered naughtily. ‘I’m your wife and I demand it.’

‘You’re a hussy!’ He smiled at her boldness. ‘But you’re so pretty, how can a man refuse?’

There and then on the peg-rug in front of the fire he took her to himself, with reluctant passion at first. Inevitably, and much because of Rosie’s unbridled enthusiasm, the passion deepened and in spite of his misgivings, he could not hold back. To Rosie, and to John, the lovemaking was both satisfying and beautiful.

Afterwards they sat together on the rug, looking into the fire. ‘Got another little surprise.’ John opened the lid of the portmanteau and reaching inside, extracted a bottle of best wine. ‘Compliments of the landlord,’ he quipped. There were two glasses, a bottle-opener and a large pork-pie as well.

Filling the glasses, John handed Rosie one and holding his glass to hers, he said quietly, ‘Here’s to happiness and contentment.’ Though without Emily, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find either.

‘I’ll make you a good wife, John, I promise.’ It was as though Rosie had read his thoughts.

‘I know,’ he answered. ‘And I’ll do my best to make you a good husband.’

‘And we’ll build our business up to be even bigger and better.’

‘The best in Liverpool, if not the world,’ he teased her.

‘And later, we’ll have children, won’t we?’

‘Dozens,’ he laughed. ‘All pretty and hardworking, like you.’

‘Oh, so that’s why you married me, is it?’ she demanded with a playful dig in the ribs. ‘Because I’m a work-horse?’

‘Of course. Why else would I marry somebody who can’t fry an egg without burning it to a cinder?’

She laughed out loud. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about that now.’

Their laughter rippled across the room, before in a more sober mood she reminded him, ‘I know we didn’t marry altogether out of love … and I know it was my idea to merge the businesses and make our relationship more permanent.’

John recalled the very conversation. ‘It was a good idea,’ he confirmed. ‘It secured two of our best contracts. Merging the businesses was the best thing we ever did.’

‘I agree,’ she said. ‘Only I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. But I did, and to tell you the truth, I couldn’t be happier.’

He smiled at that. ‘I’m glad, Rosie,’ he said sincerely. ‘You deserve to be happy.’ And so she did, he thought. Rosie was a delightful person, with a heart as big and kind as he had ever known, and though he didn’t feel the same kind of joy with Rosie as he used to when he was with Emily, he thought a great deal of her, in his own quiet way.

Touching her hand to his face, she stroked it gently. ‘My happiness would be complete if only you could feel the same way,’ she whispered.

Draping an arm round her shoulders, he drew her closer. He didn’t speak, because just then Emily came into his mind and subdued him.

Rosie sensed his sadness, and curling into the crook of his arm, she let him know she was there for him. No matter whatever else might happen in the future, she would always be there for him.

That night Lizzie’s conscience would not let her rest. Long after she had said good night to Harriet, she paced the bedroom floor, thinking and worrying, and realising, not for the first time, how she had been wrong all along. Wrong to turn her back on Emily; wrong to have jumped to conclusions when what she should have done was talk with the lass, try and help, instead of damning her from the outset.

And she was even more wrong to have sent John away, believing the shocking lie that Emily was already wed. Maybe if she hadn’t interfered in such a high-handed manner, John and Emily might have salvaged something good from a bad situation, and neither of them would now be wed to someone else. They belonged together. They had always belonged together, and it was she who had driven them apart.

It was striking two o’clock when Lizzie finally fell into bed, but even then she didn’t sleep. Instead she lay awake fidgeting and fretting, and wondering how she could put things right. She heard the hallway clock strike three, then four, but heard no more until Harriet tapped on the door at half-past seven.

‘I thought you might like a cup of tea,’ the big woman said, poking her face round the door. ‘For breakfast there’s toast, bacon and egg, muffins and porridge. Which do you fancy?’ Entering the room, she placed the cup and saucer on the bedside cabinet, surprised to see Lizzie making no effort to sit up. ‘Just tell me what you want and I’ll have it up here quick as a wink.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t face breakfast,’ Lizzie answered faintly. ‘Thank you for the tea though. It’s just what I need to get me going.’

Having opened the curtains wider, Harriet seated herself on the bed. She noticed how slow Lizzie was in sitting up, and how, when she took hold of the cup, it rattled against the saucer. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked worriedly. ‘Did you not sleep well?’

‘I’m a bit woozy.’ Lizzie laughed it off. ‘I must have drunk too much wine last night.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ Harriet chided. ‘You had one glass, same as me, and you hardly ate anything, so it can’t be the food that’s upset you.’

Lizzie brushed aside the other woman’s concern. ‘I’m allus slow to wake,’ she lied. ‘I’ll be right as rain, once I’ve had this cuppa tea.’ In truth she didn’t feel at all well, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

‘If you’re sure?’ Harriet had no choice but to take her at her word, though she thought the old dear looked pale and worn. ‘I’ll leave you to get washed and dressed.’

It was an hour later when Lizzie came down. Harriet had served breakfast to her one remaining guest, apart from Archie, and was just saying goodbye to him. ‘See you next month,’ she said, closing the front door and fishing out her tin of snuff for a welcome pinch or two.

On seeing Lizzie, she explained, ‘He’s one of these unfortunate men who go round the shops trying to sell merchandise … He arrives here once a month and stays for two nights. Always seems worn out, poor thing. It must be hard making a living trying to sell things to them as don’t want them.’

Eager for a womanly natter, Harriet soon had Lizzie and herself seated at the kitchen table, with a fresh brew in front of them. ‘Your nephew is a real credit to you,’ she said.

‘John is my pride and joy,’ Lizzie answered, her eyes shining. ‘He came to me as a little lad, and I took him in as my own son. It wasn’t easy, mind. We didn’t have much money and there were times when I thought I’d never manage. But we got through, and I’ve never regretted one single minute of it.’

‘And what do you think of Rosie?’ Dipping a shop-bought biscuit in her hot tea, Harriet tutted when it got sodden and fell in.

Lizzie didn’t hesitate in her answer. ‘She’s a very pleasant young thing. I liked her.’ No one had been more surprised than Lizzie, when she took to Rosie straight off. ‘I do, yes,’ she affirmed. ‘I like the lass.’

‘She loves your John, that’s for sure.’ Fishing the melted biscuit out, Harriet licked it off the spoon. ‘Head over heels, she is.’ Swigging a gulp of her tea, she was confronted by another mouthful of biscuit, which she quickly swallowed. ‘You’ve only to see her with John, to know how much she dotes on him.’

‘I can tell that, yes.’

For a long moment, while Lizzie sipped at her tea, deep in thought, Harriet discreetly regarded her. She thought Lizzie to be well past her sixtieth birthday, though she would never ask a lady her true age; it was too personal.

In the same way Lizzie had taken to Rosie, Harriet had taken to her. She could see by the workworn face and the leathery hands that Lizzie had had a hard life. In many ways she wished she had met her earlier. They could have been good friends from the outset, but never mind, she told herself, we’ve met now, and we’ll meet again many a time, no doubt.

Just then Lizzie glanced up. ‘Sorry!’ She was mortified to have been so rude. ‘I was miles away.’

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ Harriet assured her. She suspected Lizzie might be of the same mind as herself, with regard to John and Rosie so, daring to voice her opinion, she said warily, ‘I’m not so sure he loves Rosie – in the same way, I mean.’

Lizzie was astonished. It was almost as though Harriet had seen into her mind. ‘What makes you say that?’

Harriet explained, but with some reservations. ‘When John first came here we made friends straight off. There were times when we talked a lot, about life and stuff like that. He said something to me, about someone he loved … Emily, was it?’

Lizzie felt relieved. At least John had spoken about her to someone. ‘What did he say?’

‘Not much – though you could see he desperately missed her.’

Lizzie didn’t want to get into too deep a conversation about John and Emily, but she did tell Harriet, ‘Emily was his first love. They planned to wed, but things sort of got in the way. He went away to sea, and she found comfort in somebody else.’ She choked on the words. ‘She’s wed now, with a child – a delightful little girl called Cathleen, and –’

Harriet finished the sentence for her. ‘And John returned home, learned the truth and started a new life here, in Liverpool.’

Lizzie nodded. ‘He was heartbroken.’ She let slip a glimpse of what bothered her. ‘I was that surprised when I learned he was about to be wed. I worried he might be doing it for all the wrong reasons.’

Harriet could understand Lizzie’s concern but, ‘Rosie is good for him. They look out for each other. He helped her and got her more work by repairing a badly damaged narrowboat.’

She went on to explain how the two of them had got closer. ‘Later on, John bought the site he has now.’ The fact that it had belonged to her would remain a secret for ever. ‘Rosie ran the barges, and John built and repaired them. It was a natural thing that they should join forces. During the time they worked together they became friends, and I think the friendship gradually turned into something else.’

Lizzie was beginning to see the way of it. ‘So, during that time, Rosie fell in love with him, and now they’re wed. I can see how it all came about, but what of John? What was his reason for getting wed?’

‘Who knows?’ Harriet took another swig of tea. ‘He might have thought they’d do better business-wise to be man and wife. Think about it, love. They’re both very clever people when it comes to making things happen.’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘You’re saying that John got wed because he wanted to expand his business?’

‘That’s the way I see it.’ As a businesswoman herself, Harriet admired him for it.

‘But that’s not my John’s way of thinking,’ Lizzie objected. ‘It’s too cold and empty a reason for him to take such a big step as marriage.’

‘Well, maybe when Rosie told him she loved him, he married her because he liked her enough. Emily was lost to him and Rosie needed him. The business needed him, too, and to my mind that’s a very suitable arrangement.’

Turning Harriet’s words over in her mind, Lizzie lapsed into silence. It was possible Harriet was right in her assumption, but Lizzie wasn’t satisfied with that. She needed to know that John was content in his marriage. It was true, the couple seemed well suited. But was it enough?

‘Are you sure you’re all right, dear?’ Seeing how Lizzie had paled, Harriet was concerned. ‘And you haven’t eaten a thing.’

‘I’m weary, that’s all.’ Getting out of her chair, Lizzie thanked her for the tea. ‘I think I’ll leave on an earlier train. I know John said he’d come back this afternoon and show me his site and everything, but I’m just too tired. I can always visit another time, can’t I?’

‘He’ll be so disappointed.’

Lizzie was stood, her two hands gripping the back of her chair as though without the support she might fall over.

‘He’ll understand – and besides, I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than fuss over an old woman like me.’

Harriet wagged a finger at her. ‘You’d best not let him hear you say a thing like that!’ she chided. ‘He thinks the world of you. What! When he gets started on the subject of “my Auntie Lizzie”, you can’t stop him.’ She paused. ‘Aw, Lizzie, are you sure you can’t wait a while longer? Maybe go home tomorrow?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘He and I found time to have a good long chat,’ she revealed, ‘though there’s never enough time, is there?’

Harriet gave a wry smile. ‘Not in my experience,’ she answered knowingly.

‘I wanted to see him wed, and I’ve done that. I needed to know if he was all right in himself, and he seems fit and well enough, and doing good in business, just like he said.’ She smiled. ‘I feel a bit more settled now I’ve seen him. But I’m fair worn out, so I’ll start my journey home on the next train. If I write him a note and explain,’ Lizzie took hold of Harriet’s hand, a look of gratitude on her face, ‘you will make sure he gets it, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will,’ Harriet assured her. ‘The minute he comes through that door to see you and collect the rest of his things.’

‘You’ve been so kind, Harriet. It’s been a joy to meet you, but I really do need to get home now. The journey to Blackburn is a fair old way.’

Lizzie’s one thought was to see Aggie. It was time that dear woman knew the truth of it. Moreover, it would be a burden off Lizzie’s mind, to confess what a terrible thing she had done.

Harriet could see how determined she was. ‘There you are.’ Going to the drawer she handed Lizzie pencil and paper. ‘When you’ve done that, prop it behind the clock on the mantelpiece.’ Collecting her coat from the door she shrugged it on. ‘While you’re fetching your bag, I’ll pop down to the inn to order a carriage to take us to the station.’

Growing more weary with every step, Lizzie climbed the narrow stairs to her room. In a surprisingly short time, she had packed and returned with her hand-made tapestry bag, to find Harriet back already. ‘I’m ready for off,’ Lizzie told her.

‘And I’ve got the carriage waiting outside,’ Harriet informed her proudly. ‘My treat.’

Lizzie was horrified. ‘I can’t allow you to pay out for a carriage!’

Harriet was adamant. ‘You’re John’s aunt and my guest, so don’t argue!’

A few minutes later, wearing her outdoor clothes and carrying her precious handbag, Harriet led her to the door. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’m coming to the station,’ she said. ‘John would be happier to know I’d seen you board the train.’

‘That would be nice, thank you.’ Lizzie valued her company.

The carriage-driver took Lizzie’s carpet-bag and helped her aboard, though when he came to give Harriet a hand, she cast him such a wicked glare, he scurried away and almost lost his footing as he clambered onto his lofty seat. ‘All right for off, are we?’ he shouted, and before Harriet had fitted her backside into the seat, he started forward.

‘Hold your horses, you mad bugger!’ she screamed. ‘Are you trying to kill us or what!’

At the station, she ordered him to wait while she saw Lizzie on to the train. ‘I can take myself onto the platform,’ Lizzie pointed out, ‘if you’re in a hurry to get back.’

Harriet would hear none of it. ‘I came to see you off, and that’s what I mean to do,’ she answered in her sergeant-major fashion.

Once Lizzie was aboard, Harriet waved until the train was out of sight. Poor little devil, I hope she’ll be all right, she thought. She crossed to the waiting carriage. Something had upset the woman, that was for sure. Poor Lizzie didn’t look at all well.

Before she climbed back into the carriage, Harriet gave the driver another of her warning glares. ‘If you want paying, you’d best make sure I’m good and seated, before you go flying off up the street!’

‘Certainly, missus.’ He tipped his cap. ‘I’ll be as gentle as a babby.’

‘Hmh!’ The carriage tipped dangerously to one side as she hoisted her sizeable weight into the seat. Slamming the door shut behind her, she bawled out, ‘You’d better be, if you know what’s good for you!’

Up front, manoeuvring his carriage down the narrow cobbled street, the driver made faces as he chatted to himself. ‘Yes, miss, no, miss. Think yourself lucky I let you in my cab at all, you lard-arse!’

When they reached the lodging-house, he smiled sweetly at Harriet, took her money and went away at the double. ‘And good shuts to you an’ all, madam!’

A few hours later, John arrived to see Lizzie. ‘She’s gone, lad,’ Harriet informed him. ‘She went some time ago. Said she were dog-tired and needed to get home. She’s left you a letter, mind.’

Surprised and disappointed, John took the envelope she handed him, and opened it. The contents soothed him, for Lizzie had written a bright and happy letter:

My dear John,

Please forgive me for taking my leave, but I need to get back. Your Rosie seems a really nice young woman, and I’m so glad I came to see the two of you wed. Thank you both.

I’m sorry not to have waited for you this morning, but I know you will understand, son. In all the years I’ve lived, I’ve never once been this far from Salmesbury and Blackburn town. It just goes to show what an old stick in the mud I am, doesn’t it? I know you’ll be bringing your new wife to see me, and I really look forward to that.

I’ll write when I’m home, and maybe you will do the same? For now, God bless you, son.

Give Rosie my love, won’t you?

Lizzie XX

P.S. John, I’m so glad things appear to have worked out for you. You deserve all the happiness and all the luck in the world.

John read the postscript at the end and knew what Lizzie meant.

She was thinking of Emily, and wondering if he had got over her. Funny that, he thought, because he had spent many a sleepless night asking himself the very same question.