Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection

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.

Chapter 15 (#ulink_adc62a3a-baef-5a96-b5bc-6da1c8b7a0fb)

FOR LIZZIE, FEELING poorly as she did, the journey from Liverpool to Blackburn seemed to take a lifetime.

Twice the passenger opposite had tried to engage her in conversation. Each time she smiled and listened but didn’t feel able to do more than that. In the end he gave up and when he got off the train at the first station, she was relieved to be left on her own.

As the train drew away again, great billows of steam crept up to envelop the carriages and everyone inside. In the midst of that huge, grey cloud, it seemed to Lizzie that she was the only person left in the whole wide world. It was an eerie feeling; though the steam soon evaporated and glimpses of the outside world crept in.

A moment later she heard the muffled tap of footsteps going along the corridor. Fearing that people might come in if she smiled at them, Lizzie looked away when curious passengers peeped inside, their faces pressed to the window of her compartment. When they walked on by, she settled back in her seat and, closing her eyes, began to relax. The gentle rhythm of the train and the distant, soothing clatter of iron against iron, soon lulled her to sleep.

Many hours later, the weary soul finally arrived in Blackburn town.

The station was always busy, and this morning was no exception. With porters scurrying about, frantic people rushing in all directions, some passengers queuing for tickets and others reading papers or merely chatting to colleagues, it was all Lizzie could do to forge a way through.

‘Need any help? Want a carriage, do yer?’ The ruddy-faced little porter came tripping forward with his trolley.

Too fagged to answer him, Lizzie shook her head and moved on. She only had the one bag, and had no intention of travelling to Salmesbury in a carriage, not when there was a perfectly reliable tram service at half the price. ‘Thank you all the same.’

She had tried to press on John the money he had left with her when he had first come back from sea, bursting with health and optimism, ready to marry his Emily. John had made her bring it home again: she must save it for her old age, he said – not that she would ever be old to him. But he and Rosie, and all who saw it, admired the beautiful patchwork bedspread she had painstakingly made for them over the months leading up to their marriage. It was a wonderful gift.

The symptoms she had experienced earlier still lingered. So now, as she wended her way towards the exit, Lizzie’s footsteps got slower and slower, until she felt the need to lean against a pillar where she took long, gasping breaths.

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ A kindly old gent came up alongside. ‘Do you need help?’

Embarrassed, Lizzie shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m feeling better now.’ Mustering all her strength, she moved on. Behind her, the gent watched her for a moment before hurrying for his train.

Outside in the fresh air, with the keen March breeze in her face, Lizzie took a few invigorating breaths and set off in search of the tram to Salmesbury.

‘That’s right, luv. We’re about to leave for Salmesbury now. If you’re coming along, you’d best get on board.’ The conductor was a lanky sort, with a mop of wild ginger hair.

When Lizzie arrived, he had been lolling against the tram and puffing away at his pipe. Now though, he tapped out the bowl against a street-lamp. Helping Lizzie aboard he continued to chat. ‘Been on holiday, have you?’ He pointed to the big tapestry bag, which he had collected from Lizzie by way of his common duty. ‘Somewhere nice, was it?’

As Lizzie climbed the two steps, it felt like she was climbing a mountain. ‘I haven’t been on no holiday,’ she informed him. ‘I’ve been to a wedding.’

‘A wedding, eh?’ Remaining on the platform while she made her way to a seat, he called after her, ‘Now I see. It’s late nights and too much booze that’s wrong with you. A face the colour of chalk and not hardly able to put one foot afore the other – it gets me the very same way.’

Lizzie thought it best not to put him right. Instead she merely smiled at him. ‘Mind you tek care o’ my bag.’ She was beginning to wish she hadn’t let the cheeky monkey take it from her.

‘Don’t you worry about your bag, missus,’ he called back. ‘I’ll put it here, under the stairs. Don’t forget to ask for it as you get off.’ He didn’t hear Lizzie thank him, because now he had to contend with a woman and three boisterous infants, and not too far behind them came a miserable round, balding runt of a man, accompanied by his shrew-faced wife who went at him like a pecking hen. ‘I told you we should ’ave caught the earlier tram!’ she crowed. ‘Now we’ll be late and it’s all thanks to you!’

‘Yes, dear,’ he answered meekly. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘You’re right, it won’t,’ she replied sharply. ‘Because next time, I intend going shopping on my own.’ It was just as well she didn’t see the look of pure joy on his face at such a promise.

Thankful that her queasy stomach was beginning to settle, Lizzie dropped into her seat. With home in sight, she was feeling more like her old self, well enough now to chat with the woman who was desperately trying to control her three offspring. ‘I never had children of my own,’ Lizzie confided.

‘Well, I’ve got five … these three lasses and two big lads!’ The poor woman was haggard and frantic. ‘The boys are away at board-school, thank Gawd.’ Loaded down with bags, which she had refused to leave under the stairs and, not wanting to cause a riot, the conductor had wisely allowed her to take them inside.

‘I want a toffee!’ The oldest girl looked to be about three. ‘Sally ’ad a toffee, an’ now I want one.’

Sighing from the bottom of her boots, the beleaguered woman dipped into her bag and, taking out a wrapped paper cone of sweeties, gave one to each child. ‘That’s all you’re getting for today,’ she warned.

Sitting back in their seats, the children were astonishingly quiet, until the toffees were sucked away and the arguments began. ‘If you don’t behave yerselves, I’ll tell yer dad when we get home,’ she threatened. ‘He won’t take no nonsense. He’ll tan yer arses good an’ proper!’ That did the trick. Peace was restored, at least until Lizzie reached her stop.

As she climbed off the tram, she heard them starting up again. ‘I’ll not have arguing and fighting aboard my tram!’ The conductor’s voice sailed down the street. ‘Any more hanky-panky and you’ll be thrown off, the lot of yer!’

There then came the sound of the woman’s voice, raised in anger. ‘Don’t you dare threaten to throw my kids off this tram!’ she screamed. ‘My husband’s a big man!’

At that, Lizzie went away chuckling.

Instead of walking the whole distance along the winding Potts End Lane, she decided to take the short-cut across the fields; that way her cottage was only half a mile as the crow flies.

It wasn’t the easiest of journeys, though – not with the weather suddenly turning and the drizzle beginning to trickle down the collar of her coat. Before long, the soil underfoot became boggy, and the going got harder.

When the drizzle thickened to a torrent, Lizzie found shelter under an aged oak tree, its outstretched branches protecting her from the weather like a giant umbrella.

She looked across the valley and thought how beautiful it was. The rain poured down, and right there before her eyes, the grass began to sparkle clean and bright, glinting under the darkening skies, like an endless carpet of shining emeralds.

As quickly as it had started, the rain stopped and the skies cleared. The air smelled fresh and everywhere was newly cleansed and sharper to the eye.

Lizzie continued her journey along the valley’s edge and up towards the brow of the hill. In the far distance she could see the sheep grazing, their heads bent and their bellies swollen with the weight of new life. Seemingly content with their lot, they relentlessly moved along, a white mass of munching machines.

At the top of the hill, Lizzie paused for breath; the sense of weakness was creeping back. ‘Tek your time, Lizzie!’ she chided herself. ‘You might wish you were a young lass, but you’re not. You’re a silly old fool, with no right to be tackling this long trip across the fields.’ She wished now that she had gone down the lane. At least that would have been firm underfoot, and there were no hills to climb. It was high time she learned that she couldn’t do what she used to. Like it or not, them days were long gone.

Taking a moment or two to regain her composure, she roved her quiet gaze over the landscape. She was a fortunate woman to be living amidst such beauty. There were many folk who would give a lot for just a glimpse of this little piece of God’s Heaven.

From where she stood, the view went on for miles. She could see her own little cottage tucked into the ring of trees like an egg in a bird’s nest, and beyond that she located Potts End farmhouse, with its smoking chimney and pretty orchard – and oh, look there! Surely that was Danny the milkman, striding out across the fields.

She walked on a little way and stopped again, her legs feeling like a ton weight; although she was without the patchwork counterpane, the bag was beginning to weigh heavier at every step. She wondered if she should leave it behind and fetch it later, when she felt more able. Or maybe that nice young man Danny would pick it up tomorrow, when out on his morning rounds.