A Liverpool Lass (39 page)

Lilac spent a lot of time dreaming and even more time cross-questioning people. She went off Mrs Manders after she heard that lady telling Mrs Matteson that if her Lucinda had come into the drawing room with jam round her mouth she would have her whipped. Mrs Matteson, who frequently entertained her two small nephews and who loved them dearly, frowned a little but said nothing. Toby, the jammy one, was the apple of her eye, at five a handsome, noisy, normal little boy. Mrs Matteson often got down on the hearthrug the better to play tigers, or to join in a game with Toby’s wooden tramcars. Lucinda Manders, on the other hand, had a stammer and bit her nails.

Lilac heard Mrs Matteson relating the whole affair to her husband that night at dinner whilst she waited at table, Polly having succumbed to a heavy cold.

‘Sally Manders can’t keep a maid more than a month,’ Dr Matteson remarked as Mrs Jenkins put down the dishes of vegetables and Lilac reverently brought in the gravy boat. ‘Her main aim in life is to enjoy herself, so I doubt she’s ever seen either of her children in less than pristine condition. But she shouts at them and keeps dismissing their nursemaids – no wonder Lucinda stammers and Felicity keeps wetting the bed.’

‘You are their doctor, Gerald. Can’t you say
anything to her?’ Mrs Matteson asked hopefully. ‘Whenever I see those poor little souls I wonder what they’ve done to deserve such a fate. I’m just so grateful that my sister is as fond of Toby and Benjy as I am.’

‘I see the nurserymaid and the patient, not the mother,’ Dr Matteson said. ‘Sally Manders leaves the children very much to her staff. Socially, we measure up because of your parentage, my dear. But I’m just a general practitioner, someone she probably wishes she could ask to use the tradesmen’s entrance.’

‘Just let her dare ...’ Mrs Matteson began, a frown beginning to form on her white brow, whilst her fine, dark eyes flashed, but then Lilac and Mrs Jenkins left the room, having no further excuse to linger.

Back in the kitchen, Lilac glanced curiously up at Mrs Jenkins.

‘What about that then, Mrs J? Fancy that beautiful Mrs Manders being such a wicked woman!’

‘It don’t do to listen when you wait at table, dear,’ Mrs Jenkins said repressively. ‘We only hear half a tale most of the time. Just you shut your ears to it and concentrate on your work.’

Able now to concentrate on Mrs Prescott, Lilac took to lurking. She shamelessly listened at doors when her victim came calling, but apart from learning that Mrs Prescott was called Charlotte and greatly admired Italian opera she discovered nothing whatsoever about her.

March came, a windy, boisterous March with high blue skies and scudding white clouds, with brief rain showers and long periods of sunshine. The evenings lengthened and when they had done their work Polly and Lilac became delivery girls, for Dr Matteson had a great many patients needing medicine, which the two girls carried importantly from Dr Matteson’s tiny
dispensary in an upstairs room to addresses all over the city. As a result, Lilac learned to know Liverpool pretty well – she and Polly even visited the Culler, where they were kindly greeted, to say nothing of a foray into Dunn’s devils’ territory, where they were boisterously welcomed and sat down in the kitchen with a cup of hot cocoa and a biscuit, the evening being late and chilly.

‘Them boys are lucky,’ Polly said after that particular visit. ‘The Dunns treat ’em like their own kids ... we was treated like bloody nuisances from the first.’

‘Not in the nursery,’ Lilac said quickly. She still had fond memories of her early days at the Culler, before Miss Hicks took a hand in her upbringing. ‘Miss Maria was nice.’

‘It weren’t Miss Maria when I were small,’ Polly reminded her. ‘Come on, let’s step out, we don’t want to miss staff supper!’

One of the reasons they were allowed to deliver medicines was undoubtedly due to the fact that there were still not as many men about as there had been before the war; demobilisation took time, and some of the troops were coming from distant theatres of war and could not leave until there were ships to carry them. Even so they were warned to be careful out on the streets.

‘Keep to the main thoroughfares and come home before Mr Elphick gets this far if you possibly can,’ Mrs Jenkins had advised. ‘Stay together and don’t talk to strangers. Then you’ll be all right.’

Mr Elphick was the lamplighter. Before the war there had been a bright young man on a creaking, elderly bicycle but now it was Mr Elphick, who was seventy and as creaking as the previous lamplighter’s cycle. But he was goodnatured and chatty and quite often the girls
would meet him as the dusk deepened and walk home with him, exchanging gossip all the way.

In this fashion Lilac and Polly became familiar with the crowded slum-courts of Hampton Street and also with the marvellous houses built around Abercromby Square, with its trees, grass and beautiful walks. They delivered to the huge Deaf & Dumb Institute on Selbourne Street and visited a wounded soldier who lived with his bedridden mother in Roscoe Lane. On their way to and from Maghull Street they explored the intricacies of Wapping Dock and prowled around the goods station whilst Lilac told Polly how she had stolen coal when their money ran out and Polly remembered pinching ollies from some kids in St James’s cemetery, whence she had gone to put a holly wreath on her parents’ grave.

‘It’s ages since I played ollies,’ Lilac said wistfully, for indeed sometimes her childhood seemed to have vanished into the mists of time. ‘I won a big blue glass one, a real whopper, once. But someone took it off me.’

‘Did you ever play skipping?’ Polly asked. ‘They didn’t let you at the Culler, but I saw other kids doin’ it. It looked great.’

‘Oh aye, we always skipped; used to get the yeller ropes off the orange boxes, and use them,’ Lilac remembered. ‘We didn’t get oranges during the war, but the ropes were still about. I were good at it, better than Art. Tell you what, Poll, when the evenings draw out a bit we might have a go at skippin’. In the back somewhere, away from carts and that.’

‘Right, it’s a date,’ Polly said. The two of them shook hands solemnly, then set off again, the big basket almost empty, now, of medicines, pills and potions, slung between them. ‘Come on, only a couple more deliveries and we can go home!’

And Lilac, casting an eye at the cathedral which was still only half-built and God alone knew how long the rest of it would take, thought that she had only been with the Mattesons three months and already their house seemed more like home to her than anywhere else on earth.

The Corry was nice, and Aunt Ada’s house was cosy when we had the fire lit, she thought to herself. But I truly was born to better things, that’s why I’ve settled down so well and feel so at home at the Mattesons’.

It did not cross her mind that Polly, who had no claim to be high-born, felt equally at home in Rodney Street.

At the end of April, a big change came about in Lilac’s life. As it happened she was passing through the wide upper landing, carrying a jug of hot water up to her attic so that she might scrub the floors, when Mrs Matteson appeared in the doorway of her room.

‘Ah, Lilac. Come in here a moment, my dear.’

Lilac stood the jug down on the floor, rubbed her damp hands on her apron, and followed her mistress into the bedroom. Mrs Matteson was studying a letter which she held in one hand whilst the other held the cup of coffee which Lilac had carried up to her room earlier.

‘Sit down, dear.’

Lilac sat on the little velvet footstool whilst Mrs Matteson continued to frown over her letter and to sip her coffee. Whilst she waited, Lilac looked round the room; how nice it was, with a big vase of sweetly scented white narcissus on the windowsill, a posy of dark purple violets on the dressing table and the big glass bowl of
poudre naturel
smelling faintly of roses.

‘Lilac, I’ve a letter here from a cousin of mine, Blanche, Lady Elcott.’

She waited, and Lilac murmured politely, though she had no idea what response was expected from her.

‘She wants me to spend a week or ten days at her home in Southport; she says her little dog, Spider, has had a litter of three puppies, she thought I might like one of them. She also thinks the sea air will do me good, or that is what she says, but in fact I believe she’s lonely. Her only son was killed in France and her husband, Lord Elcott, is busy with estate matters and is being sent abroad quite soon to represent Britain at a conference on agriculture. Of course I can’t stay long, Dr Matteson would not like that, but just for a week or so ...’

She paused again. Lilac said politely that it sounded very interesting. She did not mean it; to go abroad must be wonderful, but to a conference on agriculture? And a home with two old people in it would not be much fun for her, though she supposed that there must be servants – after all, this fellow was a lord. And then there was the sea. She had been to New Brighton once ... it had been wonderful, she longed to go again.

‘Yes. I would like to go, but ... well, the fact is, Lilac, I don’t have a child of my own, and I wondered if you would care to come with me and ...’

She’s going to adopt me as her own little daughter, just like in a novel, Lilac thought. She was about to clasp her hands rapturously before her in the manner of one of the heroines of her favourite
Peg’s Paper
when her mistress completed the sentence.

‘... and take care of the puppy, if I decide I would like one? I know very little about dogs, though we always had them at home when I was growing up. But here in Liverpool, Dr Matteson thought it unfair to keep a puppy always within doors.’

A puppy! Lilac had seen puppies wrestling and playing in the markets and occasionally on the end of long leads in the street, but she had never expected to be able to lay hands on one. Now, at the mere prospect, her fingers itched to stroke, to play, to cuddle.

‘Oh yes please, ma’am,’ she said at once. ‘It would be really lovely to have a dog here ... Polly and I could take it round with us when we deliver medicine.’

‘That’s what Dr Matteson thought,’ Mrs Matteson said, colouring a little. Lilac could see she was delighted to find a fellow dog-lover as eager as she for the puppy to come to the house in Rodney Street. ‘He thinks that owning a dog would be good for me since he has long recommended that I take gentle walks two or three times a day, so if you would not object to being out of the city for a week or so, we might set off at the weekend. I’ll write a note to school for you, of course.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Lilac said. ‘Oh, but ... ’

Mrs Matteson was engaged in putting a smear of
poudre
onto a swansdown puff before transferring it to her nose. Now, she looked enquiringly at Lilac through the mirror.

‘Yes, dear, what is it?’

‘Won’t anyone mind if I go with you? I mean I’m the newest and Polly’s my friend, I wouldn’t want ...’

‘Polly is a good girl, but she has never aspired to help me with my clothes or my toilette. One of these days, Lilac, it is possible that you might wish for a position as lady’s maid, so to travel with me and to help me when I need you is a necessary part of your training. Besides, I don’t believe Polly cares for puppies and someone must remain here and take care of the doctor for me. Now if that is all, you had better come here to my room first thing in the morning and we will go over
your clothes together to see that you are suitably dressed for your stay at the seaside.’

In the kitchen, Polly congratulated Lilac on her luck and Mrs Jenkins told her to remember to speak nicely, like a little lady, and to mind what Lady Elcott’s servants said.

Art, when she told him of the treat in store, was less sanguine.

‘Cor, you’ll be swimmin’ in deep waters, our Lilac,’ he said gloomily. ‘Don’t you go gettin’ ideas above your station. What’ll you do with yourself all day, though? She won’t let you play on the sand an’ that, not likely she won’t!’

So Lilac told him about the dog and saw the light of true envy shine out of his round brown eyes.

‘Oh, Li ... a dog!’ Art gasped. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted a dog of me own ... can I ’elp you tek it for walks?’

‘It won’t be mine, Art, and I don’t know whether she’ll let me take it out yet either,’ Lilac pointed out. ‘But I’ll do me best to let you have a look at it, whilst it’s still small.’

‘Lilac, you’re a reg’lar brick!’ Art said fervently. ‘I’d ’a had a dog years since, only me Mam says as it’s just another mouth to feed. We might teach ’im to beg, an’ die for ’is country!’

‘We’ll see,’ Lilac said, delighted with his reaction to her news. ‘Give us a kiss goodbye, Art O’Brien, ’cos you won’t see me no more for a whole week!’

The prospect of a week in the home of a real Lord, even if he didn’t live in Liverpool, fuelled Lilac’s interest in
her parentage as nothing else could have done. Now her dreams centred round a lordly father and a titled mother. She examined herself in the spotted mirror which hung between her bed and Polly’s and decided that her glorious red-gold hair and smooth, creamy skin could only have been passed down to her by a member of the aristocracy. She confided this information to Polly, and was rather cast down to be told that Elaine Gunny, one of the prettiest of the fruit-selling mary ellens, was reputed to have the most beautiful skin in the whole of Liverpool, yet everyone knew she was the daughter of a whore.

If Polly had hoped to cut Lilac down to size, however, she failed. Lilac was far too excited, and set off in the hired car which the Elcotts had sent with high hopes, which were not cast down by her reception at Elcott Hall.

For a start, the staff in the big, Georgian house on the outskirts of the town did not treat Lilac as a servant at all, because that was not how she appeared. Mrs Matteson told everyone that Lilac was staying with her whilst her relatives were abroad, and insisted that Lilac should sleep in the small dressing room off her own room, and when she dressed in the morning, changed for dinner, made ready for bed, Lilac was on hand to help. Lord and Lady Elcott knew the truth of course, but the servants assumed Lilac to be a favoured poor relation, a sort of companion, and treated her accordingly.