To her parents the piano was a symbol that they had succeeded in lifting their children up to the middle classes, and as such they would never suffer the hardships they themselves had endured. Yet by being protected from want and shielded from the hard facts of real life, both she and Sam lacked the resources to cope with poverty.
Beth could bake cakes, lay a table properly, starch and iron a shirt, and had acquired dozens of other refined accomplishments, but she’d never been taught to plan a week’s meals on a tiny budget. Sam might be able to haul in coal for the stove, shovel snow out of the backyard and be on time every day for work, but he had no idea how to unblock a sink or fix a broken sash cord in the window.
All their childhood there had always been a fire in the parlour, the stove in the kitchen and even fires in the bedrooms when it was really cold. The gas was lit in all the rooms before it grew dark, there was always fruit in a bowl, cake in the tin and meat every day.
The coal ran out soon after Christmas and when they ordered more they were shocked at the price and could only keep the stove in the kitchen going. The gas ate up pennies so fast that they were afraid to light it. Fruit and cake disappeared from their diet.
Sam’s wages were spent on food long before Friday came round, and once they’d eaten all the preserves and stores of sugar and flour their mother had so frugally tucked away in the pantry, they were down to bread alone until pay day.
Maybe Sam should have held out for a better price for their mother’s prized round mahogany table and matching chairs, but they needed the money to pay for the coal and the bill from Dr Gillespie. There was no doubt they were swindled when the grandfather clock was sold. But neither of them had any idea of the real value of these items, or that second-hand furniture dealers could smell desperation.
Although Beth loved caring for Molly, she hadn’t reckoned on the loneliness of being home all day alone with a baby. She never seemed to have a minute for herself to read, play her fiddle or take a bath. Sam wasn’t interested in hearing about Molly when he came in from work, she had no one other than Mrs Craven she could talk to, and she was continually worried about money.
By the middle of March Sam could see no alternative other than to find lodgers to make ends meet.
One of the more senior clerks in his office suggested his cousin Thomas Wiley and his wife Jane, who had been staying with him and his family since Thomas moved from Manchester to take up work in the Liverpool post office. The couple were in their mid-thirties, and Beth took an immediate dislike to Jane. Everything about her was sharp — her eyes which darted around the room as she spoke, her nose and cheekbones, and even her voice had a sharp edge to it.
She showed no interest in Molly and she looked Beth up and down as if pricing up the value of her clothes. When Beth tried to suggest they figured out a plan when each would cook their evening meal, Jane dismissed her by saying she wasn’t one for cooking.
Her husband, Thomas, was easier to take to, a jovial, ruddy-faced man who appeared very grateful to be offered the parlour and Beth’s old bedroom up on the top floor above the kitchen, for she and Molly were now in her parents’ old room. Thomas said he had begun to despair of ever finding anywhere decent, or even clean, for he had been to view rooms that he wouldn’t even keep a dog in.
Sadly it soon transpired that Thomas liked the drink more than he did his wife or home. Most evenings he didn’t roll back till after ten.
Beth tried hard to get along with Jane, but it was clear from the start she thought a lodger should be waited on. She ordered Beth to fill the tin bath in the bedroom for her on her second day there. When Beth said she and Sam always had a bath in the kitchen as it was far warmer and more convenient, and anyway Jane must fill it and empty it herself, the woman flounced around indignantly, declaring ‘she’d never heard the like’.
As it was, she spilled water all over the kitchen floor and made no attempt to clean it up. She complained that the sound of Molly crying in the night woke her and that the mattress on the bed was lumpy. Beth rushed to feed Molly if she woke in the night, and she spent a good hour shaking the feather mattress outside to make it fluffier, but Jane didn’t reciprocate in any way. She could make a mess even making a cup of tea, and never cleared it up. She would fill the sink with washing and then disappear, which meant Beth had to do her washing for her or was unable to use the sink.
Day by day Beth saw the comfortable and orderly life she’d been brought up with, and had struggled to maintain, eroding away. As she was bathing Molly in the sink, Jane would come in and start frying bacon, knocking the clean nightgown, vest and napkin from where they were airing by the stove to the floor. If Beth wanted to sit in the armchair to feed Molly, Jane was already sitting there. She helped herself to their food; she didn’t wash up her plates or pots. Beth soon gave up hope of her ever offering to take a turn cleaning the kitchen, the stairs or the privy, yet Thomas would walk in at night with muddy boots and next morning Beth would see a trail all along the landing and up the stairs.
Beth felt unable to complain. Not only was she a little afraid of Jane, but she knew how desperately she and Sam needed the rent money. Yet it was so hard to see the home which had always been so clean and tidy degenerate into squalor, to listen to Thomas’s drunken ramblings late at night, and never to have any real privacy. Playing the piano or her fiddle had always been her tried and tested way of escaping from her problems, but she no longer had the piano, and with Jane stalking around she didn’t feel able to play her fiddle. She could feel herself becoming wound up like a watch spring, and she was afraid of what might happen when that spring finally snapped.
It happened one morning in July. Sam and Thomas had left for work about an hour earlier. Beth went into the kitchen with Molly in her arms, ready to feed her, and found Jane pouring some of the milk in the baby’s bottle into her tea.
‘What are you doing?’ Beth exclaimed. ‘That’s Molly’s!’
‘There’s no other milk left,’ Jane said.
‘Well, go out and get some,’ Beth retorted angrily. ‘What sort of person would take a baby’s food?’
‘Don’t you speak to me like that.’ Jane’s eyes narrowed and she stuck her thin face right up to Beth’s menacingly. ‘You feed her too much anyway, that’s why she’s so fat.’
At seven months old Molly was plump, but Beth took a pride in her being so healthy and strong. She had masses of dark hair, four teeth, and she could sit up unaided now. She was a happy, contented baby who smiled and gurgled all day long.
‘She’s beautiful, not fat, and you should be ashamed of yourself,’ Beth snapped back. ‘It’s bad enough you stealing our food. Have I got to hide Molly’s milk now too?’
‘Are you calling me a thief?’ Jane shrieked, and catching hold of a clump of Beth’s hair pulled her head back sharply, making her cry out. ‘That’s right, snivel. You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? But what’ve you got to be high and mighty about? Yer pa topped hisself, and everyone knows why.’
She let go of Beth’s hair and looked at her contemptuously. ‘Don’t yer know everyone talks about yer ma? Me and Tom heard about it afore we even moved in. Yer pa must’ve been soft in the head, topping hisself instead of throwing her out on the streets. No wonder yer brother don’t want nothin’ to do with the bairn.’
Beth backed away with Molly in her arms. She was horrified that the truth about her mother had got out, and she was afraid of Jane too, but she’d had enough, and she wasn’t going to let the woman get the better of her.
‘What you’ve just said is completely untrue,’ she shouted back at her. ‘I won’t have anyone slandering my mother, so you can pack your bags and get out of my home now.’
‘And how do you think you’re going to make me?’ Jane put her hands on her hips challengingly. ‘Big brother going to throw me out, is he?’ She cackled with laughter. ‘He’s as soft as shit.’
All at once Beth knew she had to be strong and fight for her rights
. She turned, darted into the bedroom and laid Molly down safely in her cradle. She howled in protest, but Beth ignored her and returned to the kitchen to face Jane.
‘I don’t need my brother,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of dealing with the likes of you. Get out now and I’ll pack your stuff and put it down in the yard for Thomas to collect later.’
Jane leapt towards her, one hand raised to slap her, but Beth was quicker, catching her by the wrist and twisting it, making the woman squeal in pain. ‘Out!’ she yelled at her, still twisting her wrist as she pushed her towards the stairs. ‘And if you try to come back I’ll make you sorry.’
Beth had never fought anyone before, apart from play-fighting with Sam when they were younger, but anger made her strong and determined.
Jane tried to fight back, clawing at her with her free hand, but Beth had youth and righteous indignation on her side, and she managed to haul the older woman down the stairs towards the back door. Once she’d got her out into the backyard she pushed her so hard that Jane fell over.
‘I’ll make you pay for this,’ Jane shouted back as she lay sprawled on the ground, her grubby petticoats and drawers on display. ‘You won’t get away with it. I want my things.’
‘You can have them,’ Beth said. ‘I’ll throw them out the window to you.’
With that she turned away, went in through the back door, locking it behind her, and ran upstairs. It took only a couple of minutes to scoop up the woman’s coat, hat, purse and a pair of boots from the bedroom, then she threw the kitchen window open and dropped them down into the yard below.
‘Be grateful you’ve even got those,’ she yelled. ‘The rest will be left in the outhouse for you to collect this evening.’
Mr Craven had come out into the alley beyond the backyard and he was looking up curiously at Beth in the window. ‘I’m just chucking her out for slandering my parents,’ she shouted to him. ‘Would you mind helping her on her way?’
She stayed just long enough at the window to see her neighbour escorting Jane out of the back gate, and to hear the woman’s vitriolic stream of abuse.
Somehow Beth managed to give Molly her bottle, even though she was trembling like a leaf from shock. She heard Mrs Craven calling from the yard and went down to let her in.
‘Oh, lovey!’ she exclaimed when she saw how pale and agitated Beth was. ‘We heard the yelling, and that’s why my Alfie went looking to see what was going on.’
The sympathy in her voice made Beth cry, and Mrs Craven embraced her, then took Molly from her arms. ‘I’ll make you a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me all about it.’
‘There isn’t any milk. That’s how it all started,’ Beth began.
‘Then I’ll just go and get some,’ Mrs Craven said. ‘And you’d better change Molly’s napkin while I’m gone. She stinks!’
Half an hour later, Beth had explained everything. The tea and her neighbour’s concern had made her feel better.
‘I knew she was a baggage the first time I clapped eyes on her. Common as muck and hard-faced too,’ Mrs Craven said, bouncing Molly on her knee. ‘As if you haven’t had enough to cope with! But you mustn’t pay any mind to what she said about your mother.’
‘But is that what people are saying?’
Mrs Craven frowned. ‘No one has said it to me. If they had I’d have put them straight. But my Alfie did say there was talk in the Fiddlers.’
The Fiddlers Inn was around the corner in Lord Street. Papa hadn’t been a drinker, but most of their male neighbours drank there, and Thomas Wiley did too.
It hadn’t occurred to Beth before that anyone would suspect Molly wasn’t her father’s child, and she was horrified to learn they did, but she had no intention of admitting the rumours were true, not even to kind-hearted Mrs Craven.
‘Why are people so cruel?’ she asked in bewilderment.
‘Sometimes it’s from jealousy. Your family looked so perfect, your mother was a pretty woman, your father had a good business and two children to be proud of. No one could understand why he took his own life, so they make guesses at the reason.’
‘What will become of us now?’ Beth asked sadly. ‘We needed lodgers to manage. Sam’s going to be so cross with me.’
‘I don’t think so, Beth.’ Mrs Craven reached out and took Beth’s hand across the table. ‘You showed a lot of spirit, he’ll admire that. Now, let me help you pack up the Wileys’ things. My Alfie will keep his ear open for when they come back for them, and help if they start any trouble.’
Chapter Six
‘I wish we could emigrate to America,’ Sam said dejectedly as he ate his supper. ‘This place is full of bad memories. I hate it now.’
It was the day after Beth had thrown out Jane Wiley. Sam hadn’t been angry about it, only demoralized. He had pointed out that there were hundreds of people needing somewhere to live, but it was impossible to know who might rob them or make their lives a misery.
Beth had been badly shaken by the whole thing. When she’d gone to clean out the Wileys’ room, she’d found the chamber pot hadn’t been emptied for days, and there were crusts of stale bread dropped on the floor and filthy underwear strewn all over the place. Even the sheets on the bed were bloodstained and there was a big scratch right across the dressing table which looked as if it had been made by a knife.
Sam had gone downstairs when Thomas arrived to collect their things and Mr Craven had stood out in the alley too in case of trouble. But Thomas had seemed resigned rather than fighting mad. He’d just picked up the bags and left with them.
‘But we’d need money to emigrate,’ Beth said wistfully.
‘We couldn’t go with Molly anyway,’ Sam retorted.
Beth felt a pang in her heart, for she knew that what he really meant was that he wouldn’t want her with them. He hadn’t softened towards her as she’d hoped; he never picked her up or played with her. Even when Molly laughed it didn’t make him smile.
‘If it wasn’t for her we could sell everything to raise the fare,’ he said bitterly. ‘As it is, I’ll have to take those two silver photograph frames tomorrow and sell them, just to keep us going.’
Beth went into the bedroom soon afterwards and opened the back of the photograph frames to take out the pictures. One was of her and Sam when they were around nine and ten, taken in a studio just down Church Street. She was wearing a white dress with a little straw bonnet, her hair in ringlets beneath it. Sam was standing beside her chair in a dark jacket and knee-length knickerbockers, looking very serious. Their mother had loved the picture, and Papa had bought the frame specially for it.
The other picture was the one she’d been asked to keep for Molly. Her parents were both smiling, and Beth remembered that seconds after the picture was taken they had all burst into helpless laughter because when the photographer bent down to put his head under the black cloth to take the picture he broke wind.
If only they could have all stayed as happy as they had been that day! Mama looked so pretty in her best dress and Papa distinguished in his striped blazer and boater. It had been very hot, and they’d all taken off their shoes and stockings and had a paddle in the sea together.
Beth could understand Sam’s bitterness. There were times when she too felt like cursing her mother for bringing all this down on them. Why couldn’t she have been satisfied with a good, kind husband who loved her?
The following morning Beth was feeling rather more positive and decided to write out an advertisement for two male lodgers. Later, with Molly in her arms, she took it down to the sweet shop further along Church Street. After handing it in to be displayed, she stopped to read the advertisements already on the board, and noticed one requiring a woman for a few hours a week to do laundry and sewing.
It was in Falkner Square, in one of Liverpool’s best districts. Beth had often walked around its wide streets and leafy squares to deliver shoes and boots for her father.
Thinking such a position would be ideal for her, B
eth rushed round to ask Mrs Craven if she would mind Molly while she went there.
‘I’d be glad to, my dear.’ Mrs Craven smiled, holding out her arms for the baby. ‘And if it’s only a few hours a week I’d be glad to mind her then too.’
Beth polished her boots, then put on her best dark blue dress with a lace collar and cuffs and a plain dark blue bonnet that had been Mama’s. It was the first time she’d worn anything other than black since Papa died, and she felt slightly guilty at not wearing mourning, but both her black dresses were looking a little shabby now, and dark blue was hardly frivolous.
Beth’s spirits lifted as she set off for it was a lovely warm day and it felt good to be going out without Molly for once, almost an adventure.
The gardens in the centre of Falkner Square looked pretty, with many flowering shrubs in full bloom. She stopped outside number forty-two, looking speculatively at the steps down to the basement area behind the black iron railings and the marble ones up to the front door beneath the pillared porch.
Beth had been told about life below stairs in big houses by her mother, and so she knew the basement door was the one she should knock on. But it had been made quite clear to her all through her childhood that she wouldn’t ever be a servant to anyone, so she wasn’t inclined to think of herself as one now.
Taking a deep breath, she marched up to the front door and rang the bell. It clanged loudly, echoing through the house, and suddenly she felt dry-mouthed and nervous.
The door was opened by an elderly woman in a grey dress with a white apron and frilly cap.
‘I came in answer to the advertisement for someone to help with sewing and laundry,’ Beth said, a little too loudly. ‘My name is Miss Bolton.’
The woman looked her up and down. ‘Where are you from?’ she asked.
‘Church Street,’ Beth said.
‘You’d better come in,’ the woman said, and frowned as if puzzled. ‘The mistress is out at the moment, but I’ll take your particulars and tell her when she returns.’