Down Daisy Street (11 page)
Kathy was secretly doubtful. There were so many nurses and they worked on so many different wards. She also knew from talking to the staff on Billy’s ward that nurses were not well paid and wondered if they could afford the sort of price her mother would have to charge for a room. Shift work would also mean that they would expect to have meals provided at odd hours, or so she imagined; far from being ideal lodgers, therefore, nurses might be very difficult.
She said as much to Jane when the two girls met next day. Kathy flourished the two cards which she had written out in her very best Gothic script, and explained how she and her mother meant to cope. Jane admired the notices and agreed to accompany Kathy both to the Snelling’s shop and to the
Echo
office on Victoria Street, though she was doubtful that the Kellings would get a woman as a lodger. ‘There’s plenty of folk on the flower streets as has lodgers, and they’s all men,’ she told her friend. ‘Railway workers mostly, but there’s one or two dockers, I believe – or fellers who work in the dockyards,’ she amended. ‘There ain’t much work for women round here. Still, you might be lucky.’
Echo
office on Victoria Street, though she was doubtful that the Kellings would get a woman as a lodger. ‘There’s plenty of folk on the flower streets as has lodgers, and they’s all men,’ she told her friend. ‘Railway workers mostly, but there’s one or two dockers, I believe – or fellers who work in the dockyards,’ she amended. ‘There ain’t much work for women round here. Still, you might be lucky.’
The advertisement and the postcard in Snelling’s window did not elicit an immediate response but since Sarah Kelling knew her daughter was the best person – next to herself – to look after Billy, she had no worries about him whilst the school holidays lasted.
As she cleaned around the kitchen and prepared their evening meal, she kept a casual eye on Billy, who was sitting on the hearthrug in a patch of sunshine, carefully building a tower with the blocks that Jack had made for Kathy when she was small. Billy was concentrating hard, his tongue poking out of one side of his mouth and his hands steadying the bricks, as the tower grew higher. Sarah was pleased to notice that the small, grubby hands were steady as rocks and that the tower was rising at an astonishing pace.
Billy had returned from hospital somewhat subdued, but otherwise his normal, cheerful self. ‘Boys will be boys and your Billy is a grand little chap,’ Dr Trelawney had told her. ‘In my opinion, Billy must have knocked his head whilst squabbling with Tommy over the orange peel and this brought on a slight epileptic fit. From what you tell me of his behaviour whilst at the child minder’s, he had been suffering from what we call “petit mal”, which is a very mild form of epilepsy and one which he is almost certain to outgrow.’
This conversation had heartened Sarah considerably. She was determined to keep Kathy at school for as long as she possibly could, partly because it was what she knew her dear Jack had wanted and partly because she admired Kathy’s bright intelligence and quickness of comprehension.
It was unfortunate that the job at Dorothy’s Tearooms might have to be sacrificed. She had been there for ten months and in that time had learned to like both customers and staff. She was proud of the fact that the tearooms, which had not been doing particularly well before she joined them, were now the highest earners in the group. Dorothy McNab owned six tearooms scattered across the city and was truly pleased with the way Mrs Kelling had increased profitability and efficiency at the Stanley Road café. As a result, Sarah had received a generous bonus at Christmas and a promise of an increase in salary when she had worked a full year.
Because she was so happy there, she had said nothing to her employer regarding her intention to leave work as soon as she found some other source of income. She could not help hoping that some miracle would occur which would enable her to keep her job, if only on a part-time basis, but in her heart she knew this was impossible; the tearooms needed a full-time manageress. On the other hand, there were the school holidays. Unless Billy’s fits were more frequent – and more frightening – she was pretty sure that Kathy could cope with her little brother at such times, so she toyed with the idea of getting a short-term job then, preferably in catering of some sort. And of course, if Billy improved, as the medical staff hoped, he would begin school in a couple of years, which would mean she might work once more.
When the knock came on the door, Sarah guessed that it would be a friend calling for either Billy or Kathy. Her daughter was upstairs in her room, working on an essay which was part of her holiday task, so Sarah crossed to the back door and opened it, her brows already rising. ‘Kathy’s busy, but . . .’ she began, then realised that the man who stood in the small yard was a total stranger. Hastily, Sarah tried to smooth her hair behind her ears and glanced, rather self-consciously, down at the stained calico apron she wore. It was Sunday evening and she had not expected a visitor on such a day. However, she did not wish the man to think he had caught her out. ‘Good evening,’ she said politely. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought you were a friend calling for one of my children. How can I help you?’ She spoke with care for she had learned, in Dorothy’s Tearooms, that a pleasant and unaccented voice won respect from staff and customers alike, and was pleased to see the man remove his cap as he answered.
‘Evenin’. I take it I’m addressing . . .’ he glanced at the piece of paper he held’. . . Mrs Kelling? I came to the back door because I thought it likely you’d be in the kitchen round about now and I didn’t want to put you out. I’ve come in answer to your advertisement . . . is the room still vacant?’
‘I’m – I’m not sure,’ Sarah said cautiously and untruthfully. She had stated plainly that she wanted a lady lodger and one glance at the stranger on her doorstep, dark haired, broad shouldered and with a long and drooping black moustache, was enough to show her that he was most certainly not a female. ‘I have had a couple of young ladies to look at the room but they’ve not let me know for definite whether they will be taking it.’ She paused, eyeing him reproachfully. ‘I did say that I wanted a lady lodger, you know,’ she finished.
The man grinned. She judged him to be between thirty-five and forty and she realised he was an attractive fellow, though the very blackness of his hair and moustache made him look grim until he smiled. ‘I can’t pretend to be a lady,’ he said, still grinning. ‘But I can assure you I’m pretty desperate. I’ve been living on Crocus Street, with a family you may know – the Osterleys – but Mr Osterley has got a job as stationmaster somewhere in Cheshire, so they’re moving out and the folk who are moving in don’t need a lodger – they’ve got eleven kids.’ He let his glance range around the pleasant kitchen and his eyes became wistful. ‘You’ve gorra nice home here, Mrs Kelling, and the Osterleys will give me a good reference. I suppose you wouldn’t consider . . .’
Sarah was about to say that a male lodger was out of the question when Billy’s small voice cut across her thoughts. ‘Oozat, Mammy?’ he asked curiously. ‘It ain’t me daddy, is it?’
Sarah swung round. ‘No, of course it isn’t your daddy, chuck,’ she said gently. She turned back to her visitor, still hesitating. He was so very tall, and – and – broad, and – black! He was clearly a Liverpudlian, but he could have been a Mexican bandit, or a Spanish pirate, if looks were all you had to go by. ‘You’d better come in for a moment, Mr – Mr . . .’
‘Sorry, Mrs Kelling,’ the man said humbly. ‘Me name’s Bracknell, Sam Bracknell. I brung me references wi’ me, just in case you could let me have the room while I’m searching for somewhere else. You see, the Osterleys didn’t tell me till today and they’re movin’ out at the end of the week, so as I said, I’m pretty desperate.’
He came into the kitchen and took the chair Sarah offered, then produced several letters from his pocket. One was clearly from the Osterleys, for it was ill written and ill spelt – Sarah knew the family and had no very high opinion of them – but the others seemed to be more official. One was headed ‘The Liverpool & General Assurance Company’ and another, on equally official-looking paper, looked like a letter from the gas company. ‘Here’s me references,’ Mr Bracknell said, pushing them across the table towards her. ‘You can see I’m a pretty steady sort of chap. I were in the offices of the Liverpool Gas Company in Duke Street for seven years, only moving to the Liverpool & General because there weren’t much chance of promotion with the gas. All the clerks were young, like meself, so I changed to insurance – they wanted an agent for Bootle and district – and I’ve took to it like a duck to water, as you’ll see if you read me reference.’
‘It seems wrong of me to read your references when I’ve already told you that I want a lady lodger,’ Sarah said, half apologetically. ‘You see, apart from Billy there, we’re an all female household, have been ever since my husband was killed, almost a year ago.’ Sarah would not have admitted as much to a stranger had she not known that the Osterleys would undoubtedly have passed the information on, even if Mr Bracknell was not already aware of her circumstances due to having lived in the neighbourhood for some while.
‘I don’t mind who reads me references, ’cos they’re good ones,’ Mr Bracknell said, with a touch of complacency. ‘Each one of ’em says you’re welcome to check up that I’ve not writ ’em meself on headed notepaper. Oh, an’ there’s one from me old landlady, though it’s a bit tattered like. I’ve been with the Osterleys five years, you see, and to own the truth I didn’t plan to move on, not so far as lodgings were concerned. I’m a steady feller, Mrs Kelling, and I’ve been saving up for years to gerra place of me own. So if you’d just read me references an’ give me a chance . . .’
‘All right, Mr Bracknell, but I really don’t mean to take any gentlemen,’ Sarah said, as firmly as she could. She read the letters quickly. Both the gas company and the assurance company clearly thought highly of the man seated opposite her, for both references were glowing. It appeared that Mr Bracknell was a great favourite with most of his clients and was welcomed into many local homes. This made Sarah think of her own insurance agent, who was a jolly little sandy-haired man with pincenez spectacles and a set of false teeth which clicked when he laughed. She reflected that she would have trusted Mr Pickering as readily as she would have trusted Jane or Mrs O’Brien, so surely, if Mr Bracknell came out of the same mould, she could trust him too? But he was younger, considerably better looking and much more dynamic. The thought of him living in the house made her think, incongruously, of the three little pigs and the wolf. Though I’m sure there’s nothing pig-like about us Kellings, nor anything wolf-like about Mr Bracknell, she told herself, turning to the Osterleys’ letter.
It wasn’t a particularly long missive but was, she supposed, sufficiently informative. Mr Osterley said briefly that Mr Bracknell was a quiet gentleman of regular habits, often out in the evenings since a good deal of his work involved visiting residences when the master of the house was at home. He had paid his rent regularly, had kept his room tidy and took his midday meals in the assurance company canteen except at weekends, when he often visited friends.
Sarah picked up the last letter which, as Mr Bracknell had intimated, had been written some time ago, presumably at least five years earlier. The lady said briefly that Mr Bracknell had lodged with her for ‘many years’ and had always been an ideal lodger, paying up when his rent was due and never causing problems with other residents. She went on to explain that he was tidy and helpful, but Sarah just skimmed that bit, handing the letters back to Mr Bracknell with an apologetic smile.
‘Thank you; I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty in getting lodgings. I’ll have a word with my daughter this evening, but I really do think that our decision only to have lady lodgers must stand,’ she said gently. ‘However, if my daughter disagrees . . .’ She rose to her feet and walked across to the door, holding it open for Mr Bracknell to pass into the back yard.
He gave a regretful sigh but, halfway across the yard, turned back for a moment. ‘If you would just have me for, say, a month . . .’ he began, but Sarah merely repeated that she would speak to her daughter and let him know their decision at the Osterleys’ in a couple of days. Then she closed the door firmly and turned back to continue her interrupted tasks.
When the meal was ready, Sarah called her daughter down and told her about Mr Bracknell as they ate salad and baked potatoes. She half expected Kathy to scold her for turning down a possible let but instead, Kathy nodded approvingly. ‘If you don’t want a feller, then you don’t,’ she said. ‘An’ if you’d agreed to let him come for a month, or three weeks even, just how would you get rid of him at the end of that time? We don’t
know
him, Mam, but we do know the Osterleys. I think Jane and her mam would say that a good reference from them wasn’t worth the paper it were written on. It isn’t that they’re bad or wicked, or that they’d lie,’ she added hastily. ‘But their standards aren’t – aren’t our standards, Mam, nor yet the O’Briens’. I know Mrs O’Brien is a bit slapdash and untidy and buys bought cakes an’ that, an’ never stays in one job for long, but she’s a far better housekeeper than Mrs Osterley. I’m not surprised Mr Bracknell only seems to have had his breakfasts at the Osterleys’ either, because from what I’ve heard tell, it’s mainly bread and scrape and cabbage soup with them.’
know
him, Mam, but we do know the Osterleys. I think Jane and her mam would say that a good reference from them wasn’t worth the paper it were written on. It isn’t that they’re bad or wicked, or that they’d lie,’ she added hastily. ‘But their standards aren’t – aren’t our standards, Mam, nor yet the O’Briens’. I know Mrs O’Brien is a bit slapdash and untidy and buys bought cakes an’ that, an’ never stays in one job for long, but she’s a far better housekeeper than Mrs Osterley. I’m not surprised Mr Bracknell only seems to have had his breakfasts at the Osterleys’ either, because from what I’ve heard tell, it’s mainly bread and scrape and cabbage soup with them.’
Her mother laughed. ‘Well, you’ve relieved my mind on one score. We’re both agreed we’ve to go on searching for a lady lodger, so later on you can nip round to the Osterleys’ and pop a letter through their door for me. I think I’d rather write formally to tell Mr Bracknell we’re very sorry, but we haven’t changed our minds, so there can be no misunderstanding. Now, I’m back in Dorothy’s tomorrow morning, so I’m afraid you’ll have to keep an eye on Billy, but until we get a lodger we’re going to need my money.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. I shan’t have Jane, of course, because – did I tell you? – she’s starting a permanent job tomorrow. It’s not much of a job; she’s helping out with Mrs Mitchell’s fruit and veg stall in St John’s market. Mr O’Brien says Mrs Mitchell is getting too old to hump sacks of potatoes and cabbages around and her eyesight ain’t so good either. A couple of weeks ago there was a row over her giving the wrong change. Mr O’Brien says she’s a lovely old lady and wouldn’t cheat anyone deliberate, but she can’t see what’s what, so she needs someone bright and sharp and not too expensive.’
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