The Pawnbroker's Niece Page 4

  Margaret’s lips tightened. ‘I think I’ve heard enough about men for the moment. If you want to eat, wash your hands in the sink here.’

  Rita held up her hands and looked at them. ‘They’re not dirty.’

  ‘Don’t argue with me! If you don’t wash your hands and face you don’t eat. If you’re going to look for Eve you’ve got a long journey ahead of you so you’d better get something in your stomach.’

  The girl’s mouth fell open. A satisfied smile gleamed in Margaret’s dark eyes as she brushed past her niece. Rita rallied quickly and followed her into the kitchen. ‘You mean yer don’t want me to stay, you want to be rid of me after all?’

  ‘I’m not forcing you to stay. Why should I?’ said Margaret, setting two places at the table. ‘You could prove more trouble than you’re worth. How you’re going to get to Cardiff interests me, though. Got money hidden away somewhere, have you?’

  Rita glowered at her. ‘Yer must know I haven’t. All I got is what I arrived in.’

  ‘Then you’ll be walking to Cardiff in your bare feet if that’s the only way you can get there.’ Margaret glanced at those appendages. ‘I threw your shoe in the bin, as well as your frock. What happened to the other one, Cinderella?’

  ‘Very funny! I was running away from someone, if yer must know.’

  ‘You mean me?’

  ‘No! If yer must know it was a couple of blokes. One was after me body, the other wanted to save me soul. Still, yer had no right to throw me shoe away. I could have gone back and found the other.’ Rita’s bottom lip jutted out as she folded her arms across her thin chest. ‘Yer going to have to get me a new pair.’

  Margaret gasped. ‘You’ve got a nerve! Have you forgotten already about the cane I keep by for impudent boys? Don’t think just because you’re a girl I won’t use it on you.’

  ‘But I’m your niece!’ Rita delivered the words as if they were a password that would open doors. ‘You have a responsibility towards me!’ There was a look of triumph on her face.

  ‘Exactly! If you weren’t so against your soul being saved then you’d know that in the Bible it mentions not to spare the rod and spoil the child.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Margaret made an exasperated noise, raised her eyes to the ceiling and hurried into the scullery to check the porridge hadn’t caught.

  Rita followed. ‘I’m not thick, yer know!’

  ‘So your teacher told me.’ Margaret stirred the porridge with a wooden spoon. ‘Although she also told me that Eve kept you away from school more times than was good for you.’

  ‘That’s because she always felt terrible the morning after and wanted me by her. Besides the place was always in a mess and I couldn’t abide that.’

  ‘You surprise me. It’s a wonder she didn’t take you with her then, if you were so useful to her.’

  Rita’s small face looked stricken. Immediately Margaret regretted those words and tried to make up for it by saying, ‘She probably had no say in it. The bloke she went off with most likely laid down the law and said he wasn’t taking you with them.’

  The girl’s expression lightened a little but she made no comment about that, only saying, ‘Life was getting pretty tough for us. Mam’s still a looker but she’s not as young as she was and yer’d be surprised how many women are going on the game to feed their kids. She’s always had a yen to be respectable so maybe this bloke promised to marry her.’

  ‘Maybe! We can only hope,’ said Margaret, marvelling at her niece’s philosophical statement, while trying to conceal her shocked reaction to its content. She knew only too well of the deprivation that so many families suffered and could only hope that Mr Ramsay MacDonald’s Labour government could do more for the poor women of this country, who had lost so much and been given so little in return after the Great War.

  Thinking of all the men who had been killed she thought of Alan, although she had not lost him in that conflict. He had gone out as a missionary to China before the war and vanished. She had waited for his letter telling her to follow him out but it had never arrived. She could only believe that he had been killed in one of the uprisings out there.

  She caught herself up on the memory, chiding herself for dwelling too much on the past since her father had died. She filled two bowls with steaming porridge and carried them into the kitchen.

  Rita was still drying her hands when she followed her in. Margaret pointed to one of the dining chairs and the girl sat down. She watched her aunt sprinkle salt on her porridge. ‘Where’s the sugar? Mam always had sugar when we had porridge.’

  Margaret felt a flicker of irritation. ‘Eve isn’t here. I eat it with salt. You’re going to have to learn my ways if you stay.’

  Rita put down the spoon and placed her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. She sniffed before saying in a trembling voice, ‘You don’t know what it’s like being me and having your mam leave you with someone you don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ said Margaret, not looking at her. ‘My mother left me in spirit if not in body and put a stranger in her place. You probably don’t understand what I mean by that but I can tell you it’s just as difficult to face up to as having your mother leave you and go off with a man. Now try your porridge with salt. It’s the way my parents always had it and I learnt to enjoy it that way.’

  Reluctantly but prepared to have a go Rita sprinkled salt on her breakfast. Then she picked up her spoon and began to eat as if every mouthful was an effort. She gagged once and Margaret shot a glance across the table and watched her force down the food. ‘Do you know your tables?’ she asked abruptly.

  Rita put down her spoon and said sullenly, ‘What d’yer want to know for? Yer thinkin’ of having me stay here after all and have me working for yer?’

  ‘That depends on whether you’re going to behave yourself. If you want to go to Cardiff and try to find your mother you’re going to have to earn money, even if you decide to walk all the way. I reckon it’s going to be nigh impossible you finding a job elsewhere the way unemployment is. I’m presuming you don’t already have a job or want to earn money by…by selling your b-body to men the way Eve…’ Margaret’s voice trailed off.

  Rita blanched. ‘I tried to find work but… Anyway, Mam didn’t always make money that way,’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s only since things got really tough that she began hanging out where she knew there’d be sailors. She did a bit of singing and dancing before that, playing the squeeze box.’ Margaret remembered her sister playing that well. Her niece continued, ‘But she had to pawn that in the end to pay the rent on the new place we’d flitted to. Now that was a real dump and not worth sacrificing the ol’ squeeze box for. I was real sad to see it go because it was one way we made a bob or two and, besides, the music used to cheer me up.’

  ‘Your mother should have got in touch with me sooner, then.’

  ‘Maybe she had her pride. If yer were my sister I wouldn’t have wanted yer knowing how low I’d sunk.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Margaret reached for the teapot but drew back her hand at the sound of the door knocker.

  They both half-rose in their seats. ‘You can stay where you are!’ ordered Margaret, waving her down. ‘You’re not dressed! And it’s probably only Mrs McGinty who does for me.’

  She swept out of the kitchen, thinking it could just as easily signal a troublesome customer. One she’d lent money to who was supposed to pay back a small sum weekly including interest. Some got into difficulties and after a sleepless night worrying about how they were going to ever be free of the debt, could get really truculent in their demands for her to lower her interest rates; rates which were set legally by the government. It was something they wouldn’t have dared do to her father.

  To her surprise it was Rita’s former teacher. Although she was not alone, because just behind her was Mrs McGinty. The cleaner excused herself, easing her way past Miss Turner who said, ‘Good morning!’

  ‘Good mornin
g to you,’ said Margaret, a slight pucker between her brows. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m just checking whether you found Rita or not? I was worried about the girl. As we both agreed, the last thing we want is her to take to the streets.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more but there’s no need for you to worry. She’s here and having her breakfast.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ said Miss Turner, smiling. ‘When I was in bed last night I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It’s not easy to take in a girl like her.’

  ‘No. But I’m sure we’ll sort ourselves out,’ said Margaret, her voice distant.

  Miss Turner flushed. ‘Well, if you need any help I don’t live far. I could put in a couple of hours of private tuition with Rita if you wished. Since Mother died I have time on my hands. We also have a Bible study at the church for girls of Rita’s age, if you were interested.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know.’ Margaret bid her good day and closed the door, hoping the woman was not going to be a nuisance. It was obvious Miss Turner was lonely and in need of extra income, as well as being a do-gooder, but at the moment Margaret felt she had enough on her plate, coping with the shop and her niece.

  Back in the kitchen Margaret found Mrs McGinty staring at Rita, who was down on her knees in front of the fireplace cleaning out last night’s ashes. The char shot a look at her employer and folded her arms across her scrawny bosom, which was covered by a sacking apron. ‘Who’s this? What’s she doing here taking over my job?’

  Before Margaret could answer Rita glanced up from beneath her eyelashes at the char. ‘I’m Miss Sinclair’s niece and I’m makin’ meself useful. She’s not going to be needing yer anymore.’

  Mrs McGinty’s mouth fell open. ‘Is this true? What am I going to do? I need this money with my Alf’s back being bad again. He hasn’t been able to do any roofing work lately; only had a few hours of cocky watchman’s work.’

  ‘Of course she’s not taking over your job,’ said Margaret soothingly. ‘Get up, Rita! You’ll get filthy! When I said I’d put you to work you know I had no intention of having you scrub floors or clean out the grate. Into the scullery and out of that nightgown and wash your hands and face. Then upstairs and wait in the bedroom for me.’

  ‘OK! I was only trying to help. It’s what I used to do for me mam.’ Rita shrugged her bony shoulders and, brushing ash from her palms, walked out of the room, her head held high.

  ‘Well, I never,’ said Mrs McGinty, looking flabbergasted. ‘Where did she come from?’

  Margaret did not answer, having no intention of letting the woman know the ins and outs of her business. What she knew already would soon be all over the neighbourhood. She left the char to take over from where her niece had left off and hurried out of the room and into the storeroom.

  *

  Rita watched Margaret pull at the seams of the plain blue frock as if to reassure herself that it was not going to come apart, before placing the garment on the top of a small pile of clothing. She made a satisfied noise in her throat. ‘These should fit you.’

  Rita could not make her aunt out. Right now she was a very different person to the one who had threatened her with an umbrella that first evening they had met. She should be used to changes of mood. Her mother was the same. One day she would be as bright and cheerful as a sunny day and then the next it was as if a cloud had descended and she wouldn’t get out of bed. Still, they’d been together through thick and thin and Rita could not dismiss easily those memories. There’d been times when Rita had never been able to get warm and as for food…gosh, her stomach had never been full. She remembered begging for a stale loaf on a Saturday night from the bakery and stealing fruit from handcarts. She had been caught once but got off with a severe reprimand from the bobby on the beat. He had frightened the life out of her and she’d told her mother never again. The worst day of her life, though, had been when she’d arrived home from school and found her mother in bed with the rent collector. They hadn’t stayed in those rooms, though — Eve had disliked him as much as Rita and they’d flitted. That had been when they had lived the other side of Liverpool, not far from Great Homer Street. It had been the start of Eve carrying on with the men. Some had been good to them both and some had been bad.

  ‘Will you stop daydreaming!’ Margaret nudged Rita’s foot with the toe of her shoe.

  ‘I’m not daydreaming! I’m thinking of Mam.’

  Margaret’s expression became austere. ‘That’s a waste of time. Get dressed and be downstairs in five minutes!’

  Rita nodded and picked up a pair of camiknickers and sniffed them cautiously. They smelt of camphor but she wasn’t going to complain. One thing was for sure: she was going to be warmer this chilly March day than she had been for a long time. She put them on and reached for the hand-knitted black stockings, which itched slightly but were as warm as toast, reaching just above her knees to be held up by proper fancy garters, not just elastic bands. Next came a vest, which was a bit long but at least it would keep her bum warm. After the vest came a liberty bodice. My Aunt Fanny! she thought, this is the gear! I’m feeling snug already. She began to hum ‘What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor’ as she put on the blue frock, and deftly did up the dozen or so tiny pearl buttons which fastened up the front. After that there was a navy-blue wool cardigan.

  She went over to the dressing table where she remembered catching a glimpse of herself earlier. She hadn’t liked her reflection, mourning the loss of her hair, but now as she turned her head this way and that she thought she didn’t look half as bad as when wearing the nightgown. Pity she didn’t have Mam’s blonde hair and blue eyes, but there — she was as God had made her. If only Eve could see her now. Suddenly Rita was angry. Whatever her mother’s motive had been for sending her to her aunt, she should not have done it in the way she did. It wasn’t what mothers should do! It was wicked sending her to the aunt she didn’t know existed and then leaving her without a goodbye or an explanation. But her rage did not last long and she began making excuses for Eve.

  Maybe a proper goodbye would have been too upsetting for them both! It was possible that her mother would write asking how she was getting on and, when she wrote back and told her how unhappy she was, then Eve would send her a postal order for the fare with orders to come to Cardiff right away. She mightn’t know where her mother was but Eve certainly knew where she was. Presuming Rita stayed on with her aunt.

  She heard her name being called but made no move to hurry. Instead she took Margaret’s silver-backed brush from the glass tray which contained a comb, a pair of small scissors and hair grips, and brushed her shorn hair, smiling at her reflection before replacing the brush and tripping downstairs to remind Margaret that she had no shoes.

  Rita remembered how she had lost them and thought briefly of the two men she had met. What had been their names? Billy and Jimmy, that was them. She hoped the sailor had caught his ship and that the younger handsome one saved the yard he had been going on about. If only she could meet him again — now she was looking so fine.

  Shoes were found for Rita among the unredeemed goods in the storeroom. They were a little too big but with newspaper stuffed in the toes they were comfortable enough.

  Margaret handed her a note and two half-crowns. ‘I want you to go to Lomax’s the chemist in Berry Street. I expect you to be no longer than half an hour. So don’t go wasting time looking in shop windows.’

  ‘What about me coat? Did you throw that in the bin as well?’ Rita looked up at her aunt who was taller than Eve by at least three inches and lacked her glamour. It was difficult to believe that they were sisters.

  ‘No! That’ll do you for now. You need a hat, though.’

  A small green felt cloche was found in the storeroom. Rita had never owned a hat and she spent several minutes looking in the mirror, tilting the hat this way and that until she was satisfied. Then she skipped out into the street, aware of an overwhelming sense of freedom. F
or the moment the pain of her mother’s desertion and the strangeness and apprehension she felt being around her aunt were put aside.

  Rita made for Berry Street, thinking how well her aunt had her taped. The girl had never had money to spend on herself in her life so the next best thing was to window-shop. Cripps in Bold Street was already displaying tailored suits for the race-going middle classes. In a few weeks, Liverpool would be horseracing mad because of the Grand National at Aintree. Visitors from all over the country and even abroad would crowd the streets.

  Another lovely shop was De Jong’s, specialising in lingerie made of lace, satin and silk. Then there was Pacquin’s, who catered for a Jewish clientele. Further down right in the city centre there were Lewis’s, Bunney’s and Frisby, Dyke & Co’s stores, crammed with all sorts of things, dresses and furnishings and pretty knick-knacks; things she could only dream about. Right now, though, Rita was prepared to settle for the smaller shops in Berry Street.

  But the first thing she did, as soon as the three golden balls hanging above her aunt’s shop were out of sight, was to open the note. She grimaced as she read One fine toothcomb, one bottle of nit lotion and a block of Derbac soap. Please write the cost of these items down for me and enclose the note with said items. Miss Margaret Sinclair.

  ‘Damn!’ murmured Rita. ‘She doesn’t trust me! But surely she’d realise I’d read the note…or was it that she thinks I can’t read well enough?’

  She pocketed the note, feeling annoyed as she walked in the direction of Berry Street. As she turned the corner where Lunt’s the bakery was situated opposite St Luke’s church, she noticed a youth in a shabby torn jacket and trousers kneeling on the pavement next to a grating outside a shop. He held a cane with a large bent spoon tied to it, which he lowered through the grating. Guessing what he was up to, she crossed the road and stood next to him.