Liverpool Angels Page 2

  He knew instantly by her expression that something was very wrong. He took off his jacket and cap and ran his hands through his mop of thick curly dark hair. ‘Maggie, what’s wrong? Is she worse? I’d have been home the sooner hadn’t I chanced to fall in with a feller I knew back in Belfast and we went for a wee drop or two.’

  Maggie thought bitterly of the long grief-filled hours she’d endured. ‘She … she died this afternoon, Billy. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.’

  ‘Jaysus! I’d have come straight home, Maggie, if I’d known! The Lord have mercy on her.’ He was shocked. He’d realised Beth was desperately ill but women often were after giving birth and he’d not thought she would die. ‘Did ye get a doctor?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘I told you there wasn’t anything … Agnes and her mam have been very good and so have the neighbours. The women came to lay her out …’ She dissolved into tears and Billy came and put his arms around her.

  ‘Ah, don’t fret so, darlin’. Isn’t she in a better place now?’

  ‘But she was so young, Billy!’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he soothed, wondering how Big John Strickland would take it. ‘When’s Himself due home?’

  Maggie calmed down a little and wiped her eyes. ‘In four days and God only knows how I’m going to break the news to him. He has a baby daughter but he no longer has a wife.’

  Billy nodded as he glanced around the kitchen, which was more untidy than usual, with dirty dishes still on the table and Eddie’s clothes hanging to air over the fender although the fire was almost out. There might be little in the way of furniture but the kitchen was usually neat and tidy with a good fire burning by the time he got home. ‘Where is the bairn?’

  ‘In our bedroom with little Eddie, both asleep. She … Beth … is in the back bedroom.’

  Billy nodded. ‘What’s going to happen to the bairn now?’ he wondered aloud.

  Maggie raised her tear-stained face from his shoulder. ‘We’ll look after her. I promised Beth.’

  Billy frowned. ‘Isn’t that your John’s responsibility?’

  Maggie was confused; she didn’t understand. ‘How can he bring her up when he’s away so much?’

  Billy didn’t reply. He was certain that John Strickland wouldn’t want to give up a steady job with a fairly decent regular wage to stay at home and mind a baby, not that slaving away in that pit of hell known as a stokehold was any kind of a picnic, but it was better than the few bits of jobs he managed to get, and John always had money in his pocket. His brother-in-law would be devastated by the loss of his young wife but he was sure that he would be quite happy to leave Maggie to care for Mae. The thought didn’t please him one bit. Why should they be responsible for Beth’s child? John Strickland was her father. But hadn’t Maggie already gone and promised the dying woman? She would be sure to inform her brother of the fact. The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became. Couldn’t she have waited and discussed it with him first? John would be away at sea; it would be himself who would have to cope with the child on a day-to-day basis as she got older, as well as being responsible for Eddie. Well, for now he’d let the matter rest, he thought, but he certainly wasn’t going to just let it go.

  He wasn’t at all happy with the way life was working out, he thought irritably. Jobs were hard come by, they were short of space in this decrepit old house and Maggie had changed lately. Where had the easy-going, cheerful girl he’d married gone? Oh, to be sure she was upset by Beth’s death but it wasn’t just that. She’d become sharp-tongued of late, always complaining and comparing him – unfavourably – to that Bertie Mercer who was married to Agnes. Didn’t she make him out to be some kind of paragon who didn’t drink or smoke or have the occasional bet on a game of pitch and toss? Who never seemed to put a foot wrong or say a thing out of place? No, this wasn’t the life he’d envisaged when he’d left Belfast. Lately he’d begun to realise that Liverpool, with its grand buildings and docks crammed with ships, wasn’t the Promised Land of his dreams and now it looked as if he was going to be saddled with someone else’s child too. He wished he’d stayed longer in the pub.

  Billy didn’t go to look for work the following day. There was never very much going on at the docks on a Saturday and he intended to call into the pub later to meet his mate from Belfast, for the atmosphere in the house was dark and depressing. He wasn’t very pleased when Maggie asked him would he go down to see old Mr Ziegler today as she had so much to do that morning and she felt far from well. Apart from the shock, regret and grief, she was also suffering the nausea of early pregnancy. She hoped he would offer to help with the formalities that had to be undertaken today too.

  ‘Agnes has promised to have our Eddie this morning even though it’s their busiest day and you know I always go down and light the fire and put their meal on to cook and do whatever else needs to be done. It’s their Sabbath and they can’t do things like that,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Both he and Harold manage to work just the same – Sabbath or no Sabbath!’ Billy retorted but grudgingly put on his jacket; it wouldn’t take him long to complete the tasks that Maggie usually carried out. She said she did it to help the old man, but he knew Isaac paid her for her time. At least he’d have a few more coppers in his pocket to spend when he finally arrived at the Alexandra.

  ‘I’d be very grateful, Billy, if later you could go and … register poor Beth’s death. They close after dinner and I’ve to see the undertaker and the vicar and then I’ll have Eddie as well as the baby to see to this afternoon.’

  Billy frowned, his annoyance increasing. At this rate he wouldn’t get to see his mate at all. By the time he’d finished at Ziegler’s and been to register the death, Nick MacNally would have given up hope of seeing him and moved on. John Strickland should be doing all this running around, not him. ‘Didn’t Himself pick a fine time to be away,’ he muttered as he went out.

  Maggie stared after him bleakly, too sick and heartsore to demand to know just what he meant, as she would have done ordinarily. He’d obviously had plans that would now have to be disrupted. But it surely wasn’t too much to ask that he give her some support? She wasn’t looking forward to the visits she must make this morning either and Agnes couldn’t be of assistance. She could hear the baby beginning to wake and murmur, she’d soon be wailing to be fed so she’d have to call into Mrs Taylor’s on her way to the undertakers. Yes, she thought wearily, as another wave of nausea overtook her, she had a full day ahead of her.

  Both Isaac and his son Harold were working when Billy entered the shop. The garments and materials here were way beyond his means, he deduced as he glanced around. Harold Ziegler was about his own age, tall and slim, but his black hair, brown eyes and rather swarthy complexion betrayed his origins. Old Isaac was stooped now, his hair snow-white, his face lined with age but his dark eyes were bright and questioning.

  ‘Maggie isn’t able to come this morning, so I’ve come instead. If you’ll show me what needs to be done I’ll be after making a start. I’ve to go on to the register office afterwards,’ Billy informed them.

  ‘We heard about poor Beth. Ah, such a tragedy – so young. We both offer our deepest condolences. We prayed for her when we attended shul – synagogue. How is Maggie? She was fond of John’s wife,’ Isaac asked, shaking his head sadly. Maggie was a good girl, kind, hard-working and generous, his Rachel had always said so. Maggie was clean, tidy and organised and a thrifty housekeeper too, and he knew that wasn’t easy on what little she had. She had suffered such loss in her own young life and now this.

  ‘She’s upset – it was a terrible shock – but isn’t that only natural? And hasn’t she been left to see to the bairn, with Beth dead and Himself away.’

  Isaac nodded his agreement. ‘Poor little Mae. The world is a hard place for a child without its parents, that I know. I came to this country as a small boy with my zayde – my grandfather – for my parents had been killed. It was not a good time to be Jewish – the po
groms? Persecution,’ he added, noting Billy’s mystified expression.

  ‘Ah, don’t we understand all about persecution in Ireland,’ Billy agreed, thinking of his own country’s troubled past.

  ‘But we have no wish to be involved in politics or rebellions, we just want to live and work and practise our religion in peace,’ Harold added quietly, ‘and perhaps this is not the time to be talking of such things,’ he gently reminded them both.

  Billy certainly had no wish to continue this discussion either; he just wanted to be away as soon as he could.

  ‘You will tell Maggie that our thoughts are with her and that she is not to trouble herself about us, and if she has need of anything she must come to me and I will do all I can to be of help, ’ Isaac instructed Billy as he showed him through into the kitchen at the back of the shop. ‘She is a good woman and a good wife, Billy, and they are more precious than diamonds. You must cherish her always – as I did my Rachel. I have great admiration for Maggie.’

  Billy nodded but made no further comment as the old man pressed some coins into his hand. Maybe the old feller meant what he said about help but he doubted that it would extend to anything of a financial nature. The general consensus in the neighbourhood was that old Isaac wasn’t short of a few pounds by any means, even though he lived very frugally and seemed to have worn the same suit for decades. But, Billy thought sourly, there wasn’t much likelihood of him giving any of it away.

  Maggie was physically and emotionally drained when she called into Webster’s corner shop to pick up little Eddie. Agnes finished serving and then resolutely put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door.

  ‘They can wait for half an hour for their sugar or flour or whatever else is on the shopping list while we all have a cup of tea. You look as if you need one and Mam will be worn out with the antics of those three,’ she said as she guided her friend through to the kitchen, taking the sleeping baby from Maggie’s arms.

  Maggie was relieved to see that Eddie, Jimmy and Harry were sitting quietly at the table with a slice of bread and jam each. Agnes had a better standard of living than herself with Bertie in regular work and with what they made in the shop. She rarely had jam; usually Eddie only got dripping on his bread and sometimes not even that.

  ‘Sit down, girl, you look terrible,’ Edith instructed, reaching for the kettle.

  ‘I feel terrible,’ Maggie agreed, ‘although everyone was very kind and considerate.’

  ‘So everything is all arranged?’ Agnes asked, taking the cups from the dresser and wiping the excess of jam from Harry’s face with a damp cloth at the same time.

  Maggie nodded. ‘I … I didn’t think it would be right for her to be … buried before our John gets home.’

  ‘When is he expected?’ Edith asked.

  ‘Tuesday – late afternoon I think, according to the Journal of Commerce.’

  Agnes and her mother exchanged glances. It was going to be hard on Maggie having poor Beth in the house for another three, possibly four more days; it wouldn’t be healthy either, Edith thought. Especially not with those young children. She handed the girl a cup of tea. ‘Did Mr Thompson make any … suggestions?’ she asked.

  Maggie sipped her tea gratefully. ‘He did. He said that that being the case it would be better if he moved Beth to his Chapel of Rest later on today. It would be better for John to … see her there, rather than in the room they shared. Less painful, less upsetting. And then the funeral could take place on Thursday, the vicar being amenable, and he is.’

  Agnes placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘That will all be for the best, luv.’

  ‘He’s due to sail again on Friday, Agnes, you know they only have two days in port,’ Maggie reminded her. ‘It’s not very long to … to try to come to terms with it all, if he ever does.’

  ‘Will he go back, Maggie, do you think? Or will he want to stay at home longer?’ Mrs Webster asked.

  Maggie shrugged. She really hadn’t thought about that; how she would break the news to him had been her only concern.

  ‘Drink your tea, luv, while I wipe the hands and faces of these other two and then we’d better open up or they’ll be hammering on the shop door,’ Agnes’s mam stated.

  ‘At least you’ve got all the arrangements sorted out, that’s something to be grateful for,’ Agnes reminded her friend. She only hoped Billy had been to the register office and would be at home when Mr Thompson arrived with the hearse. She didn’t want her friend to have to cope with that all alone.

  Nick MacNally had waited for Billy and they’d had a few drinks and a great chat – in fact he’d have stayed longer but they’d both spent up and the landlord had a strict ‘no tick’ policy. On the way home Billy greeted the women gossiping on their doorsteps cheerfully and joked with those kids still playing in the street about being ‘mucky bairns’ and so was in a far better mood when he arrived. However, it didn’t last long. Both the baby and Eddie were fractious and Maggie was tired, harassed and tearful as she took his meal from the oven.

  ‘It’s dried up: I’ve been trying to keep it warm for an hour, we’ve had ours,’ she informed him as she put it on the table in front of him. ‘And I wanted to get the meal over with before Mr Thompson comes. He thinks it best if he takes Beth to his Chapel of Rest. The funeral is arranged for next Thursday.’

  Billy looked disdainfully at the dried gravy, fatty brisket and shrivelled potatoes before pushing the plate away. ‘I’ve lost me appetite. Can’t you keep those two quiet? I can’t hear meself think. What time is this Thompson feller coming?’ He’d expected to come home to a hot meal and a comfortable evening sitting reading his newspaper and dozing; instead of that his dinner looked disgusting, the kids were whining, Maggie was in a temper and the undertaker and his cronies would shortly be arriving and tramping up and down the stairs.

  Maggie snatched the plate away, her nerves stretched to breaking point. ‘Well, there’s nothing else!’ she snapped. ‘And Mr Thompson will be here any minute now so I’d be obliged if you could let him in and be civil to him while I see to the baby and meladdo here.’ She picked Mae up and instructed Eddie to be a big lad and stop crying while they took Mae up to Mrs Taylor to be fed. ‘And you might at least show more respect and a bit of consideration for me – maybe even some grief. Haven’t I enough to contend with as it is, without being in the family way again?’ she cried before slamming out.

  Billy stared hard at the door. There was no need for her to go carrying on like that, he fumed, she was getting more and more short-tempered these days. But as the meaning of her final words dawned on him he dropped his head in his hands and groaned. Ah, God, another bairn! He felt as though he was slowly sinking deeper into a bog of hardship and penury, disillusionment and despair, and he could see no way out. Life looked even bleaker now, but there just had to be something he could do about it, he thought in desperation. Things had to be better than this!

  That bright May morning the waterfront’s familiar forest of masts, spars and rigging, broken by the occasional smokestack of a steamship, held no fascination for John Strickland. His only thought was to get home to Beth and his family. As trips went it had been an easy one with no rough weather to speak of but he’d been anxious throughout the passage. Time after time as he’d laboured in the fierce heat of the stokehold, the sweat trickling down his bare torso, his thoughts had turned to Beth. Thankfully, now he was back; he couldn’t wait to get to Albion Street.

  He waved cheerfully, bidding farewell to the group of men now heading purposefully towards the nearest pub, thinking there wouldn’t be much left of their pay by the time they got home. But he didn’t blame them. The ‘Black Gang’, as the stokers, trimmers and firemen were collectively known, endured some of the worst working conditions at sea, slaving away in shifts of twelve hours on and four off in searing, dust-laden heat, tending the Campania’s thirteen boilers and hundred furnaces. She was Cunard’s first real steamship, with two smokestacks and a top speed of twenty-two knots. Sail had a
t last been abandoned by the company but the twenty tons of coal those boilers used per hour all had to be manhandled from the bunkers. The work was relentless and brutal, the heat intense and accidents frequent for they had little protection from the burning coals and white-hot cinders that spilled out from the furnace if the door wasn’t slammed shut before the ship’s bow rose. They were well fed and reasonably well paid by seafaring standards but were allowed no alcohol at all whilst at sea. Fights could and did erupt frequently between members of the Black Gang even without the inflammatory effects of liquor – and no officer was ever fool enough to intervene – so when the men were paid off they headed immediately for the pub or, if they were in New York, to the nearest dockside bar.

  The spring sun was warm on his face as he headed towards the tram stop, his kitbag, containing amongst other things the little gifts he always brought for Beth and Maggie, slung over his broad shoulder. He’d scrubbed the coal dust from his skin as best he could but it was impossible to get rid of it completely; it became ingrained and needed to be soaked away in a hot bath, a luxury he always looked forward to even though the tin tub had to be dragged in from the yard and filled with kettles of hot water. He grinned to himself. Beth always declared in mock horror that she’d never known water could instantly turn black.

  He boarded the tram, paid his fare and settled down on a wooden slatted seat by the door, wishing the vehicle could move as fast as his ship as it slowly trundled its way through the city streets. Had she had the baby yet? Was she all right? Was the baby perfect and thriving? The questions chased through his mind. He’d given up wondering if it would be a boy or a girl, all that mattered was that it was healthy. Of course he would like a son but he wouldn’t be overly disappointed with a daughter.