Liverpool Angels Read online

  ‘I really must go and see her, to thank her,’ John said, carefully handing his daughter back to her aunt.

  ‘Come up with me now. You don’t have to stay long. It’s always bedlam in their house but she’s so easy-going and it doesn’t seem to affect Mae. I’ve a cottage pie in the oven; we’ll have it when I get back and Billy should be in by then.’

  John got to his feet. She was right, he wouldn’t need to stay long but he had to thank Annie Taylor. Without her help the Lord alone knew what would have happened to his little girl.

  John wasn’t surprised that there was still no sign of Billy when he got back from Annie Taylor’s house, so he busied himself unpacking his kitbag and putting his bundle of filthy working clothes in the scullery, then settled down with the early edition of the Mercury that he’d bought from the news vendor at the waterfront. When Maggie came back with Mae and Eddie he put the paper aside and got up.

  ‘She’s asleep so I’ll put her down, if you don’t mind,’ Maggie said. ‘I know you love cuddling her but you’ll spoil her and then when you’ve gone I won’t be able to do a thing with her. Believe me, they learn very quickly about things, tiny though they are. Is there no sign of Billy?’ she asked, feeling annoyed. At least he could have made an effort, knowing John was coming home. ‘Well, I’m not going to have another meal ruined. We’ll have ours now.’

  By nine o’clock she was getting worried but at the same time increasingly angry. There would be precious little left of whatever he’d earned today. ‘He should be in by now,’ she commented sharply, glancing at the clock.

  ‘Do you want me to go and look for him?’ John asked. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to drag his brother-in-law out of some pub.

  ‘No. I’ll give him another hour or so then I’m going to lock the door,’ she snapped. ‘He seems to be totally incapable of passing a pub when he has a few bob in his pocket.’ It was about time he took his responsibilities more seriously – especially now that there was another child on the way, although she had no intention of informing her brother of the fact this trip, given she’d not fully discussed it with Billy. John would be able to see for himself next time. She’d be showing by then.

  Half an hour later Eddie awoke and started to cry and Maggie went up to see to him.

  ‘He’s probably had a bit of a bad dream,’ she said to John, who nodded in agreement. It hadn’t been an easy time for the little lad either, he thought.

  When Maggie came downstairs she looked pale and distraught.

  ‘What’s wrong? Is he ill?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, just a bad dream, but I went to get him an extra blanket from the chest and … and everything has gone! All Billy’s things! Gone! The wardrobe is half-empty. Just my few clothes are left.’

  John’s expression changed. He jumped up, shocked, and, walking over to his shaking sister, put his arm around her. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Everything. He … he’s gone, he’s … left us!’

  John felt fury rising in him. The bastard. The cowardly, selfish, pathetic bastard! ‘Sit down, Maggie. I’m going out to find him and bring him back here if I have to break every bone in his miserable body. He can’t desert you like this.’

  Maggie had to sit down now as the full realisation began to dawn on her that Billy had gone for good.

  John had rammed his cap on his head and was shrugging into his jacket. ‘Have you any idea where he’d make for, Maggie? Think, luv!’

  ‘He … he had a drink with a feller he knew from home recently,’ she remembered.

  ‘From Belfast?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Right, I’ll go first of all to the Landing Stage.’

  ‘But he went out early this morning, John. If … if he intended to go back to Belfast the ferry will have sailed hours ago.’

  ‘Then I’ll bloody well take the next one!’ he vowed. If he had to sail to Belfast and scour the city for Billy he’d do it. Maggie hadn’t seen him so furious for a long time.

  After he’d gone she sat hugging her misery to herself. What had she done that had made Billy desert her? And even if John found him and dragged him back, what good would it do? Would he only leave again when her brother had gone back to sea? She felt as though she had been dealt a physical blow. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want little Eddie or the baby she was carrying.

  On his way into the city John’s anger increased even more. He’d never really taken to Billy; like Agnes he thought Maggie deserved better. She was right, of course; if Billy had left early that morning he was more than likely disembarking from the ferry now, but he’d sworn he’d follow him and so he would.

  The waterfront was crowded with the usual assortment of drunks, thieves, pimps and Maggie Mays – prostitutes – but none of them accosted him, the expression on his face making them turn aside. He asked in various pubs what time the Belfast ferry had sailed and was told it had gone on time at noon. He also enquired, without much hope, if anyone had seen a man fitting Billy’s description either boarding it or waiting to board. He was disappointed – no one appeared to have noticed one man amongst many. He was about to make his way back towards the tram stop when he noticed the old man he’d bought his newspaper from earlier that day packing up to go home.

  ‘Wait a minute, mate!’ he called, hurrying across the cobbles towards him. ‘It’s all right, I’m not about to rob you or knock you on the head and I’m not drunk,’ he assured him. ‘I bought a paper from you earlier. I’d just come off the Campania. I’m looking for my brother-in-law. He’s scarpered, run out on my sister and her little lad. I think he got the Belfast ferry.’

  ‘What’s he look like?’ the old man asked.

  John described Billy, saying he was probably carrying a large bag of some sort, seeing as he’d taken all his belongings.

  The news vendor thought and then shook his head. ‘Didn’t get that ferry. I was watching them all going up the gangway, wondering what Belfast is like. Never been out of the ’Pool in me life but I like watching people who do go.’

  John thrust his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. ‘If he wasn’t going to Belfast then where the hell is he?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Thanks, mate.’ He nodded to the newspaper seller. ‘I’ll probably have to search every pub in the city for him now.’

  The old man turned away and then he turned back. ‘Hang on, lad. I do remember seeing someone like him. Remember now he looked sort of … scared, as if the scuffers were after him. Kept looking over his shoulder and I wondered why.’

  ‘Where did you see him?’ John felt slightly relieved. It would help if he had some idea of where to start to look for Billy.

  ‘He was going aboard one of them old trampers, the sort that will carry any cargo anywhere for a price.’

  ‘And ask no questions about who they take on as crew,’ John added to himself. ‘I take it that it’s already sailed?’

  ‘Left about three o’clock, headed out into the river about the same time as you were coming up it on that big Cunard steamship.’

  John sighed. They would be well out to sea by now and could be going anywhere. It was hopeless. They’d never see Billy McEvoy again, he was almost certain of that. He’d have to go home and break the news to Maggie and he wasn’t looking forward to it one bit.

  ‘Thanks for your help, mate. Goodnight and take care,’ he said tiredly as he turned away. Fate was being exceptionally cruel to both himself and his sister of late, he mused grimly, but there was no use letting it grind you down. That wasn’t the way people in this city behaved; they gritted their teeth and got on with it.

  Maggie just nodded when he told her. She hadn’t held out much hope that he would find Billy and she’d already decided, reluctantly and bitterly, that she didn’t want John going on a wild-goose chase to Belfast to look for him. Billy had made his decision and in the circumstances she felt that she really didn’t want him back.

  ‘I just wish you’d never married him, Maggie,’ John said w
earily as he sat down to the tea she’d made.

  ‘I know. You warned me, Agnes warned me, but like Nancy Ellis I wouldn’t listen. You know he could charm the birds off the trees with that blarney of his.’ She’d fallen for his easy charm the moment she’d met him, she mused; then she sighed. ‘I’ll manage, John. I’ll get over it.’ She smiled sadly. ‘As Mrs Webster is always saying, “Time is a great healer,” but I feel so … utterly humiliated!’

  He nodded, understanding her pain at such a public rejection. ‘Don’t be worrying about not being able to manage, luv. You know I’ll do whatever I can for both you and little Eddie.’

  ‘I know you will and I’m grateful,’ she replied, but it made her feel even worse. She could do nothing to help herself, not pregnant and with a young child. Without her brother’s help the alternative was the workhouse and that didn’t bear thinking about. She couldn’t even contemplate telling him now that in time there would be another mouth to feed. The feelings of hurt and humiliation were beginning to harden into anger and contempt for her husband. She’d never forgive Billy for this – never!

  When she told Agnes the following day what had happened, she expected her friend to say ‘I tried to warn you’ or words to that effect. Instead Agnes’s hazel eyes darkened.

  ‘Maggie, you’re better off without him! I mean that. Times are going to be damned hard for you, luv, but at least you’ll not spend your life having to watch him become more and more addicted to the drink – and he will. We’ve all seen fellers like him. Oh, they start off with just a few pints after work, but in the end it gets to the stage where every last penny is spent in the pub. You’d have had a life of terrible poverty and the shame of having to drag him out of the gutter every day.’

  ‘I’ve the shame of having everyone know he’s run out on me. That he couldn’t stand the thought of spending his life with me,’ Maggie replied, for that was what hurt her so deeply. ‘Am I that bad, Agnes?’

  ‘Of course not! You’re a good-looking woman, you keep the place clean and tidy, you’re thrifty and hard-working and I think you’ve stayed cheerful despite everything. He’s a fool who doesn’t appreciate how fortunate he was. You know I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Even if he came back you’d never be able to trust him again and you can’t live like that, Maggie.’

  Maggie knew she was right, that everything Agnes had said was true. Hadn’t she begun to realise that Billy couldn’t pass a pub lately? She’d said it often enough. Yes, she told herself, she was probably better off without him. He was a weak man who would only get weaker, and that was the top and bottom of Billy McEvoy.

  Both she and John were very surprised when, the day before John was due to sail again, old Isaac Ziegler called at the house.

  Maggie ushered him into the kitchen, wondering what had brought him here. She had said nothing about Billy’s leaving when she’d gone to carry out the usual Saturday tasks; she was still trying to come to terms with his desertion and the bitter hurt she felt.

  ‘Maggie, I hope you won’t think I have come to pry, but I have heard how Billy has … treated you and I am sorry. It makes me feel ashamed to be a man. I want to help.’

  Maggie twisted her hands together and bit her lip. It must be all over the neighbourhood then, but you couldn’t keep something like that quiet for very long.

  John frowned at what Mr Ziegler seemed to be offering. John himself had told Maggie that she was not to worry about money, and if the truth were told Billy hadn’t contributed much to running the home.

  ‘Harold and I … we are so very sorry such a thing has happened. I have discussed this with my son and we agreed we will help you. So I am here.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Isaac, to offer but I have a steady job …’ John started but the old man held up his hand.

  ‘You also have a child, John. You will need to look to her future – she was precious to her mother – and Maggie must have some means of earning a living of her own, not only for Eddie but so that she can hold up her head.’

  ‘But how can I earn my own living? I can’t go out to work with Eddie and Mae to look after,’ Maggie reminded him. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to admit that the fact she was pregnant again had probably proved to be the last straw where Billy was concerned. That was the reason why he had avoided mentioning it. She wondered if the old man had taken leave of his senses to think about her going out to work.

  ‘That is where I can help, Maggie. Always you have been a hard worker, always my Rachel said you were a good girl with much common sense, and it is for her sake that I come with this offer of help.’

  John was as bemused as his sister. ‘Help how, Isaac?’

  The old man raised his index finger and moved it slowly up and down in her direction. ‘I will lend to you some money, Maggie, which you in turn will lend out in small amounts to people who ask. When they pay you back you will charge them interest on the loan and so you will earn a little each time.’

  Maggie couldn’t quite grasp what he was saying. ‘But … but how will I pay you back?’

  He smiled. ‘A little at a time and I will waive the interest. I will not charge you. It will only be a very small profit to start with, Maggie, but it will grow and then you will be able to lend more and so increase your profits. It will be your own business, yes?’

  Maggie was shaking her head in confusion but John had instantly grasped what the old man was saying. ‘You mean you’ll lend her the money so she can become … a proper moneylender?’

  Isaac nodded.

  ‘But they charge extortionate rates of interest,’ John stated, thinking he wasn’t sure about all this.

  ‘Not necessarily and there are those who would say that “business is business”, that it is only fair to charge; after all, it is your own money you are risking. It is the old situation of supply and demand. If people have urgent need of money, you will have it to lend them and they must pay for the service.’

  ‘But what if … if people can’t … or won’t pay it back?’ Maggie asked.

  The old man looked meaningfully at John. ‘I am sure that wouldn’t often be the case. Think about it, Maggie. It would mean a little money of your own, a little bit of independence. Oh, I do not wish to offend you, John, you will provide as best you can, I know, but surely she should have this chance that I am offering?’

  Maggie didn’t know what to say. Having some money of her own was something she’d never envisaged and he’d said it would be a business, her business. Oh, it wasn’t the conventional type of business such as Mrs Webster’s shop but he was right, it would help her to put behind her the humiliation of Billy’s desertion and she wouldn’t be dependent on John for the rest of her life. She had no experience but she knew a lot of people who she was sure would be only too glad to come to her for the loan of a few shillings and no, she wouldn’t charge them an exorbitant rate of interest and she’d always been good at arithmetic. She smiled. ‘Thank you, Isaac. I’d be very grateful for the chance of having my own business and I can promise you that I’ll pay you back as quickly as I can.’

  John nodded. He could see she was determined to get on with her life now and he’d try to help her pay back whatever Isaac agreed to lend her. At least if anything were to happen to him, she’d have something to fall back on. And he appreciated Isaac’s generosity. There were very few people round here who had money and if they did, they’d think twice about lending some of it to help a woman who’d been left virtually destitute by a faithless husband to get on her feet again financially. Just as he was determined that he would work himself into the ground so that Mae would have a decent life, he knew Maggie was prepared to do the same for her family.

  Liverpool, 1907

  ‘Eddie, go and see if our Alice and Mae are ready,’ Maggie instructed her son as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror in the small parlour. ‘I’ll have Agnes and the family over here in a minute and I can hear your Uncle John mooching around in the kitchen, a sure sign he�
��s getting impatient.’ Today they were going out as a family – which was in itself a rarity – but this was a very special day indeed.

  Rays of strong August sunlight filtered through the cotton lace curtains that now adorned her windows, backed by a pair of dark blue chenille drapes – the bleached sacking had long gone. The room was well furnished, there was a rug on the floor and her two treasured Staffordshire dogs reposed on the mantelpiece either side of the clock. She smiled at her reflection. She was still quite a good-looking woman, she thought, although she’d grown plumper and was now approaching middle age. The years had been kind to her: there were no grey hairs amongst the dark ones, no deep lines of anxiety etched on her face, but then, apart from the welfare of the children and that of her brother, she had few worries. Agnes had been right all those years ago when she’d said she was better off without Billy. She barely gave him a thought these days.

  She certainly didn’t have to worry about relying on him for anything any more. From tiny beginnings her business had grown. She’d quickly had a steady stream of customers seeking loans when the word had got around, and they did not complain or grumble too much about the rate of interest she charged; desperate times needed desperate remedies and they expected no charity. As she always said, she hoped she was fair. They knew her; they knew she had not had an easy life and that every penny was hard come by, and that she’d sold some of her small number of possessions, including her wedding ring, to get started. She had never told anyone that it had been Isaac Ziegler who had lent her the initial sum, apart from Agnes whom she trusted implicitly, and she’d paid off Isaac’s loan with John’s help and the sale of a few items to a local pawnbroker.

  Her expression hardened a little. There had been one unpleasant incident at the beginning when someone in the same line of business had violently objected to her rates and had come to the house and threatened her, but it had come to nothing. She’d heard that he’d fallen foul of a group of ruffians in a back alley one night although very few people, including herself, believed that. As he’d left the house on that particular night John Strickland’s expression had spoken volumes.