Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection

Behind her, Emily was wracked with loneliness. ‘Why didn’t you come back for me, John?’ she sobbed. ‘How could you fall out of love with me so easily?’

Seated in the train and travelling further away from her with every minute, John was asking the very same question of Emily.

However long he lived, and whichever way his life turned, he was certain of only one thing.

He would never love anyone as he loved his Emily.

Part 3 (#ulink_56879428-de5e-5572-802d-53868b4f661a) March, 1905 Apart

Chapter 7 (#ulink_0fbc7038-7c59-578c-a84e-0c7f9219fc49)

‘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.