Between Friends (19 page)

With a smoothly smiling backward glance Benjamin Harris moved towards the door.

‘You leave Mrs Whitley alone,’ Meg shrieked. Tom was holding her tightly, his face as white and set as her own as they struggled to get out of the chair. In their eagerness they impeded rather than helped one another. Tom clasped her lovingly and stroked her back as he tried to soothe her.

‘Don’t lovey, don’t,’ he murmured. ‘She’ll be alright. There’s nothing he can do to her.’

‘He can frighten her, Tom. Let me go please. Let me go with him. I can’t let her be looked at by a stranger. I’ll behave myself, honest Tom. Please let me go. Come with me if you want but don’t let her wake to a stranger’s face. She’ll be frightened out of her wits. Please Tom, she’s been like a Mam to us. Don’t let him do this to her!’

Tom’s eyes were soft with understanding but his mouth was grim. He was not much more than a boy and this was a man’s thing and he was not sure how to deal with it. He had been ordered to stay where he was by a man of some importance in the shipping line and if he disobeyed he supposed he was in danger of losing his job but Meg was right and he did not hesitate.

Together he and Meg were out of the kitchen and into the long, narrow passage which ran the full length of the house from the front door to the kitchen. It was like stepping into a freezing, numbing stretch of icy water. The warmth of the kitchen lapped from the door behind them, leaking into the hallway but it had no effect on the temperature. Upstairs Meg could hear footsteps echoing on the carpetless stairs at the top of the house and without a moment’s hesitation she flung herself to the bottom of the stairs, Tom right behind her!

‘I’m here, Meggie,’ he said encouragingly and she turned for a second to look into his familiar face. She felt a surge of loving gratitude but without stopping she galloped up the stairs holding
her
long skirt so high Tom caught a glimpse of the garters which held up her black stockings.

Benjamin Harris was in Mrs Whitley’s bedroom standing before the blazing fire, his hands lifting the tail of his coat to allow the warmth to his thin buttocks. The soft glow of the flames peached the walls and ceiling and cast an almost healthy glow on Mrs Whitley’s pale, sleeping face.

A sudden squall of wind peppered the tightly closed windows with hard pellets of snow and as if suddenly aware that she was no longer alone the woman in the bed stirred. She turned from her side to her back and immediately, as the new position disturbed the thick phlegm which choked her lungs, she began to cough violently. She struggled to push aside the warm covering which Meg had tucked neatly about her and in an instant Meg was by her side. Tom moved to the far side of the bed and as gently as Meg, lifted the distressed woman to a sitting position.

Slowly the coughing spell began to subside. Mrs Whitley did not appear to notice the tall threatening figure before the fire, but tried to smile, nodding her head and patting the hands of the two who helped her but still she could not get her breath to speak.

‘It’s alright, Mrs Whitley, we’ve got you, just take your time. Me and Tom have got you.’ Meg murmured soothingly to her as the woman eased herself back on the pillows which Tom had plumped up for her

‘That’s better,’ she wheezed at last, taking shallow, painful breaths. ‘That’s it, thanks Tom. Will … you … pass … me medicine. It’s …’ She panted a little and beads of perspiration dewed her flushed face, ‘… on the dresser.’

She pointed vaguely, her hand a mere wisp of white flesh and transparent bone and as she turned her head she saw Benjamin Harris. He had remained perfectly still during her coughing bout but as she started convulsively at the sight of him he took a step forward and bowed, his arrogant smile as hard as the buckshot of snow which bombarded the window.

‘Good evening, Mrs Whitley. I do beg your pardon for intruding in this ungentlemanly fashion but I have same rather sad news to impart to you. I would not ordinarily invade a lady’s room in this manner but Megan here said you were unwell and could not be brought down so I was forced to come to you!’

He smiled his fox’s smile and the bright feverish colour drained from Mrs Whitley’s face, leaving it damp and leaden grey. Her
eyes
stared in fearful bewilderment and her hands clasped those of Meg and Tom as she drew further back in her nest of pillows.

‘I must say you seem extremely comfortable here,’ Mr Harris continued. He looked about him musingly, his expression implying that he had never quite seen anything like it in his life. ‘Your room is warmer than my own at the club and I see you are eating well, too!’ He slyly indicated the dainty tray on which the remains of the steak and kidney pie lay, and a half eaten egg custard Meg had made to tempt Mrs Whitley’s capricious appetite. ‘Did … er … Mr Lloyd give his permission for this … luxury in which you appear to live or were you constrained to take it upon yourself to …’

Meg turned on him, her eyes flashing like beacons in her rosy face.

‘She’s ill, Mr Harris. You can see that for yourself. The doctor said she was to have eggs and …’

‘At whose expense, Megan?’

‘Pardon!’

‘It appears the shipping line is paying to keep its servants in considerable comfort!’ He turned to look at the fireplace. ‘This fire alone is worth a week’s wages to many a poor labourer and this room is very fine! Very fine indeed! Well, we shall have to see about that later.’ He became brisk. ‘I must be about what it is I came for.’ He rocked slightly on his heels and affected a peculiarly chilling smile. ‘I’m afraid one of our company’s servants has had a little accident. The snow and ice, you know. It really is dreadful underfoot. Apparently a Clydesdale lost its footing in Chapel Street. Its hooves could not find purchase on the hill and as it went down it took its partner and the dray they pulled. Beer barrels, I believe, which of course rolled down the hill and … well … poor Mr Lloyd was in their path and …’

Mrs Whitley began to moan and her head fell back limply on to her pillows. Harris shrugged and an unreadable expression moved across his face and lifted the line of his thin cut lips. There was, apparently, worse to come!

‘I happened to be in the office with Mr Hemingway when the news came and I thought, as I am to take his place, I would come and tell you of it at once.’ He paused. ‘Edward Lloyd is dead, you see, and I am to be the new agent for this house!’

He looked round at the three ashen-faced figures and his teeth showed exactly like those of a wolf as he smiled.

MEG AND TOM
attended Mr Lloyd’s funeral in the company of the new agent, who represented the Hemingway shipping line, and though Meg was anxious to get back to Mrs Whitley who had worsened in the last few days, Benjamin Harris refused to allow them to leave the graveside until the last spadeful of earth was patted into place on the grave. He spoke at length in false sympathy to the widow, eliciting a remark later to her daughters on his understanding kindness and how lucky dear Edward’s employees were to have someone of such benevolence following in his footsteps, and only when the last mourner had gone did he finally turn to the two who waited resentfully, indicating that they might go ahead of him to the hansom cab which waited.

Benjamin Harris was a widower. His wife, five years older than he had left him childless but with a comfortable income to augment the salary he earned as an official with the ‘Hemingway Shipping Line’. It was not quite enough to enable him to live in the manner which he would have liked, nor was his salary, but combined they gave him the means to maintain the standard of living which he considered suitable for someone of his station.

He was the youngest son of a parson and had been given a good classical education but little else besides an overwhelming sense of his own superiority. He was brought up in the sanctimonious atmosphere of the parsonage for the first eighteen years of his life since his father had not the resources to send all his sons to a good school, hedged about with pious observances on the sanctity of the cardinal virtues and the proper fear of God. Submissiveness, humility, respect for one’s own chastity and the exaltation of prayer! These had been drummed into the boy and his many brothers and sisters since his father’s views on celibacy did not extend to himself – from the moment he was able stand on his infant feet in church. He had repressed all feelings bar those of bitter resentment at the world which had consigned him to this
life
without the means or education to escape it but when he was eighteen a miraculous thing occurred!

An old school friend of his father came to visit the parsonage, a Mr Robert Hemingway, a shipowner and a wealthy and influential man in his home town of Liverpool. In a moment of expansive volubility Mr Hemingway had disclosed to those at table that he was about to employ a man to assist one of his agents in the matter of the emigrant trade which flourished in the city and before his father’s astonished gaze, young Benjamin had sprung from his seat and offered himself for the post. Of course his father had refused it, saying it was no position for a gentleman but Benjamin persisted and during the whole of Mr Hemingway’s visit took every opportunity to show himself to his best advantage.

‘If you can persuade your father the job is yours, my boy,’ Mr Hemingway said as he was handed in to his carriage by the young man, fully expecting never to see him again. Benjamin made no effort to convince his father. He had lived with him for eighteen years and knew the futility of attempting to change the man to a view which differed from his own but three weeks later, his possessions packed neatly in a carpet bag of which he was immensely ashamed, he caught the train to Liverpool, presenting himself at Mr Hemingway’s place of business.

He did not do well! Though he was charming and could mix with the society which was Robert Hemingway’s, as his employee he was not invited to, and those with whom he worked were not considered the ‘right sort’ by young Benjamin. When one called him ‘Ben’ in a friendly fashion Benjamin was most rude to him and he was ignored from that day by all levels of class. His courteous civility was not required when dealing with rough peasants who did not understand what he said anyway and he was short-tempered in his dealings with them. He was not liked! His contempt for those he considered beneath him was poorly concealed and he was cold-shouldered not only by those with whom he wished to be friendly, but by those he did not!

When he had been in Liverpool for two years he met the daughter of a moderately wealthy trader. The father, a widower, owned a brewery, a modestly luxurious villa in Sefton Park, and Matilda was his only child. She and Benjamin were married when he was twenty-one and Matilda twenty-six and from then on his life improved, for Matilda doted on her young husband. She was eternally grateful to him for selecting her as his wife and when,
three
years later her father died they lived together in his house, now hers and entertained the lesser gentry of the district.

Matilda was passive in their marriage bed, averting her face until he had finished whatever it was he did to her twice a week and so Benjamin took up again the pretty waitress he had met one night at the Music Hall and set her up in rooms and whenever he could get away from Matilda the waitress allowed him to act out the many perverted fantasies he had dreamed of as a repressed youth.

Ten years after he had married her Matilda died quite suddenly and all that she had came to Benjamin. He sold the small villa and joined a good club in town where he kept a room, alternating between there and his ‘love nest’ in Granby Street and passed the days – and nights – pleasantly enough.

He had never worked his way up as Mr Hemingway would have liked for he made no effort to. Perhaps Matilda’s cushioning inheritance had taken away any ambition he might have had, or perhaps it was all too demeaning to compete with men who were not of the same class as himself. Whatever excuse he made when he and Mr Hemingway met, the old gentleman, because of his schoolboy relationship with the ‘boy’s’ father, made no attempt to get rid of him as he would another and when Edward Lloyd died even found himself offering the position to Benjamin Harris. He was often to wonder why!

The new regime began immediately after the funeral since a new intake of emigrants was to arrive the following day. Mr Harris had waited until Betsy and May, who were sisters, had trudged through the snow from Banastre Street. They had scurried hastily to put their package of clothing in the tiny room they were to share, conscious of Mr Harris’ impatient eye upon them, before placing themselves beside Megan, Emm and Tom as Mr Harris began what he called the ‘new routine’.

‘I shall begin with the need for economy,’ he said grimly, and his eye fell directly on Meg. ‘I have noticed that the indiscriminate use of coal and other commodities which belong to Hemingway’s is taken for granted by certain members of the staff and it will stop immediately! This room will be kept warm by the kitchen range where the cooking is done and a fire will be lit each day in the communal room used by the emigrants
but that is all
. We are
given
an allowance on which to run this establishment and it cannot be used for the servants’ own comfort.’

Meg’s eyes were upon the square of drugget which lay before the fire – the small fire which burned in the grate. She was afraid to look into the face of the tall man who was now her master for if he should see the expression of pure hatred in her eyes there was no doubt in her mind he would make her pay for it. There were a hundred ways in which he could punish her for her very evident loathing of him. Small ways which are known to a man who employs others and over whom he has complete command. The servants were all in his power, almost as though they were slaves, for employment was hard to come by in this city of the workless! Because of it she and Tom, Betsy and May and Emm must take the long killing hours. Mr Lloyd had always taken on extra staff, casual girls to scrub and polish when the house was busy and even
then
they had worked a fourteen hour day, but the harmony of those who work in conditions of human kindness, almost like that of a family made up for the hard work. But it was evident Harris was about to take immediate advantage of the situation in which those who are employed are forced to put up with anything rather than lose the job they have! Because of it they must accept the cruelly small wage, the contempt and malice of the man whose menials they were. She would dearly love to tell Harris what to do with the buckets of coal, the bowls of milk and eggs he begrudged poor Cook. When Mrs Whitley was herself again, her ‘winter chest’ relieved by the warming breezes and the soft approach of spring, Meg would see to it that she and Tom and Emm found fresh work and somewhere for Mrs Whitley to end her days in peace. They could not work for this man, that was certain but whilst Cook was ill they could not leave. As she stood by Mr Lloyd’s grave she had made a vow for she knew the kindly gentleman had thought the world of Mrs Whitley, and would turn over in his grave if he knew of her present dilemma. It was he who had given Meg her chance and in repayment Meg would look after the old cook for as long as she was able. If Harris sacked her – and if he did Tom would go with her – Mrs Whitley would be left alone, probably to die. It would not be for long, she consoled herself, just until spring! Surely she could put up with this bastard for a few short months? Martin would come home and then the ‘three of ’em’ would find a solution to this plague which had befallen them!