When Day is Done Read online

  When Day is Done

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Liverpool Sagas

  Copyright

  When Day is Done

  Elizabeth Murphy

  Dedication

  To

  Sophia Chapman,

  who endured a hard life with courage,

  cheerfulness and without self-pity.

  May she rest in peace.

  When day is done and shadows fall I think of you.

  Chapter One

  A gusty wind blew across Anfield Cemetery in Liverpool on a cold October day in 1904, causing the women gathered around an open grave to clutch at their large black hats. The mourners were few: only the dead woman’s two widowed, childless sisters, her two young daughters and a few neighbours.

  Several of the neighbours sobbed noisily and the two girls, twelve-year-old Kate and ten-year-old Rose, wept as their mother’s small coffin was lowered into the grave, but Sophie Drew’s two sisters showed no grief. Plump Beattie Anderson, wrapped in a sealskin coat, dabbed at her eyes with a black-edged handkerchief but there were no tears to wipe away, and her sister, Mildred Williams, tall and gaunt, only gazed stonily into the grave.

  Rose wept because her elder sister did, but she felt no real grief for her mother. She was enjoying the drama of their situation, and wearing the new black dress and cape and large black hat provided by her Aunt Beattie. Only Kate truly grieved, but their neighbour Mrs Holland had told her that was because she had done so much for her mother. ‘She never let you leave her side, girl, so you’re bound to miss her,’ Mrs Holland had said.

  Kate was still weeping when the brief service was over and her aunts led the way from the grave. Rose slipped her hand through Kate’s arm. ‘Don’t cry, Katie,’ she said. ‘Mama’s in heaven now with Dada, the minister said.’

  Mrs Holland came to Kate’s other side and put her arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘Your mama’s better off, love,’ she said. ‘And it will be better for you too.’

  ‘You’ll be able to go to school every day,’ Rose said, but Kate was not comforted.

  ‘I don’t care about school,’ she said. ‘I’m not clever like you, Rosie. I just want Mama back. I liked looking after her.’

  Their two aunts had arrived at the funeral carriage and they turned and beckoned to the girls. Kate and Rose followed them into the carriage, feeling shy and nervous. Kate had only seen the aunts once before her mother’s death, when they had visited after her father had been killed fighting the Boers in South Africa. Kate recalled that Mama had been hysterical with grief and Aunt Mildred had slapped her face and told her to pull herself together. There had been a violent quarrel and Aunt Mildred had stormed out, followed by Aunt Beattie.

  Kate remembered how upset they had all been, but Mrs Holland had come in to comfort them. She had kissed her and Rosie and told them that people said things they didn’t mean at such a time, then she had taken a black bottle from under her shawl and poured something into a cup for Mama. ‘One hundred per cent proof. It’ll do you the world of good,’ she had said. It had been good for Mama, Kate thought. She had been much calmer although she still wept for Dada. That was four years ago, and Mama had never been well since, but the aunts hadn’t called again, not until after Mama died.

  The carriage had arrived back at the house in Rowan Road, where a neighbour had food prepared and a kettle boiling for tea. There was little conversation and the few neighbours soon left, intimidated by Mildred’s grim silence and Beattie’s evident wealth.

  Only Mrs Holland lingered to fling her arms around the two girls, weeping and calling them her poor dears. They clung to her and she looked defiantly at Mildred. ‘I know I’ve no rights,’ she said, ‘but I know what their mama would’ve wanted and I’d do my best for them.’

  Mildred snorted. ‘As you did for my sister—’ she began, but Beattie coughed warningly and said to Mrs Holland:

  ‘The girls should be with us. We’re family, you see.’

  ‘Family!’ exclaimed Mrs Holland. ‘You never came next or near poor Sophie except to upset her when Johnny was killed by them murdering Boers. She never got over it. Called out of bed beside her by a bugle blown in the street and she never saw him again. It was enough to break any woman’s heart. That’s what she died of, poor Sophie. A broken heart.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Mildred said angrily. ‘She should have shaped herself and looked after her children like other widows do. Not sat feeling sorry for herself and drinking herself to death with your help.’

  Beattie rose to her feet, exclaiming, ‘Mildred!’ and Mrs Holland said loudly, ‘God forgive you. Your own flesh and blood. You’re not fit to look after a dog, never mind a child.’

  Beattie opened the door wide. ‘This has gone far enough,’ she said. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Holland.’

  Mrs Holland kissed Rose and Kate. ‘Don’t forget – I’m always here if you need me, girls. And never forget your mama and your dada, the best and kindest man—’ She mopped her eyes and went to the door, but there she paused for a parting shot.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know why you came here like a pair of vultures before poor Sophie was cold, and why you want the girls: one for a toy and the other for a skivvy. God’s ways are slow but sure. He knew what He was doing when He didn’t give you no children of your own.’

  Mildred banged the door shut behind her. ‘What a virago,’ she began, but Kate was staring at her.

  ‘Mama didn’t die of drink,’ she burst out. ‘She only took it for her cough. It was her heart – the doctor said it was.’ She broke into a storm of weeping, sinking on to a stool by the fireplace and covering her face with her hands.

  The two women looked at each other and Beattie leaned forward and patted her arm. ‘Don’t take on, Kate,’ she said soothingly. ‘Aunt Mildred didn’t mean anything. We’re all upset about your poor mama, and you’re just too soft-hearted like your father was.’ Rose came to stand beside Kate and put her arm around her sister’s neck, Mildred sniffed, looking uncomfortable.

  Beattie looked from Kate’s tear-blotched face and mousy hair to Rose, who stood twisting one of her fair curls round her finger. Her dimples showed as she smiled at her aunt, and Beattie beamed approvingly at the pretty child.

  ‘Kate favours Johnny’s side in looks too,’ she said. ‘Rose takes after our side of the family.’ She held out her arms. ‘Come to Auntie, dearest,’ she said, and Rose moved away from Kate and went to lean against Beattie’s knee.

  Beattie hugged her and looked at Mildred, who nodded. Then Beattie said, ‘Now, girls, we’ve talked it over and we’ve decided that Rose will come to live with me. Kate, you’ll go to Aunt Mildred.’

  ‘And you’ll have to behave yourself. No tantrums,’ said Mildred. ‘My guests are very particular.’

  Kate looked bewildered. ‘But – but I thought – I thought we’d stay here,’ she stammered. ‘I looked aft
er Mama and I can look after Rosie.’

  ‘Talk sense, girl,’ Mildred snapped. ‘Ten and twelve years old to look after yourselves! And what would you live on, may I ask? No, you’re lucky you’ve both got good homes to go to.’

  She had been rapidly clearing up and stacking dishes and now she looked with exasperation at Beattie, sitting placidly in the rocking chair. ‘Well, come on, Beattie,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got time to waste. Let’s get these washed and straighten up and I can get off.’

  Beattie smoothed her black silk dress over her ample stomach but remained seated. ‘Don’t bother, Mildred,’ she said calmly. ‘Essy will see to them tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ve never left dirty pots overnight in my life and I’m not going to start now,’ Mildred said tartly. ‘Essy will have enough to do tomorrow anyway.’ She looked at Kate, still sitting in stunned silence on the stool, and said abruptly, ‘Come on, Kate. You can give me a hand.’

  She carried the tray of dishes into the scullery, followed by Kate, who silently dried the dishes as swiftly as her aunt washed them. Mildred glanced at her averted face and said abruptly, ‘Don’t go upsetting yourself about what I said. I speak my mind and some people don’t like it, but that’s my way.’

  Kate said nothing. She was still stunned by the news that she and Rose were to be parted, and was wondering desperately what she could do about it.

  Mildred began to stack the clean dishes in a cupboard, and before her courage failed, Kate faltered, ‘Aunt Mildred, couldn’t Rose come with me – or me go with Rosie? She’s so little and we’ve always been together.’

  Mildred frowned. ‘No, it’s all settled,’ she said. ‘Beattie only wants – she can only manage one and Rose will like living there. She’ll want for nothing, and you’ll soon settle with me.’

  ‘But what about the house? Our things?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Don’t worry. That’s all sorted,’ Mildred said briskly. ‘We’ll take a few of your clothes with us and Essy can pack up the rest. Now, no more questions. You’ve too much to say for a child. We’ll get off now.’

  Beattie still sat in the rocking chair with her arm round Rose. Mildred looked annoyed but said nothing, and went upstairs to bring down two straw bags, which she handed to Rose and Kate. ‘Some of your things,’ she said briefly then turned to Beattie. ‘Well, are you ready? My guests will want their meal, funeral or no funeral.’

  Both women still wore their large black hats. Now Beattie rose heavily to her feet and wrapped herself in her sealskin coat, while Mildred and the girls donned their own outdoor clothes. ‘Poor Sophie, who would have thought it would end like this?’ Beattie sighed, but Mildred only hustled the girls out and locked the door. She gave the key to Beattie.

  ‘Essy will want this,’ she said.

  Beattie had sent a small boy for a cab, and as they waited, the girls clung together, weeping bitterly. Mildred clicked her tongue in exasperation, and Beattie said, ‘Now, now, girls. You’ll see each other on Sunday when Aunt Mildred brings Kate to tea with us.’

  Tears filled Rose’s blue eyes and hung on her long lashes, but Kate dried her face and kissed Rose tenderly. ‘Don’t fret, love,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll see each other on Sunday and then every day at school, and I’ll be thinking of you all the time.’

  ‘I want you to come with me,’ Rose wailed, but the cab had arrived. Beattie drew her away and she stepped into it, followed by her aunt, and was borne away.

  Mildred set off briskly along Molyneaux Road and through into West Derby Road, with Kate almost running to keep up with her. As she walked, Mildred muttered to herself: ‘Today of all days, and wasting time bringing them back to the house, but that’s Beattie! Just because they collected for a wreath.’

  Kate suddenly realised that she had no idea of where her aunt lived. Mildred had turned into Everton Road, still keeping up the same rapid pace. Kate was too breathless as she rushed along beside her aunt to ask where they were going, even if she had dared. She felt as though she was in the middle of a nightmare, yet she knew she would not wake from it.

  She had assumed without consciously thinking about it that life would go on as before, only without Mama lying on the bed in the corner of the living room, usually with her face turned to the wall. Kate had looked after Mama, and cooked and cleaned with help from Mrs Holland, and Rose had done the shopping and anything else she was asked to do. Other neighbours had helped too. Since Mama had died, Kate had managed to control her grief by thinking that when these dreadful days were over and her aunts had gone, she and Rose and Mrs Holland, who had all loved Mama, could grieve together for her. Now the shock of being parted so suddenly from Rose drove even thoughts of her mother from her mind, and she hurried along beside her aunt in a daze.

  Suddenly Mildred stopped before a tall three-storeyed house with a basement and a flight of steps up to the front door. Kate stared up at it in amazement, but still without speaking, Mildred led the way down the basement steps and into a large gloomy kitchen.

  Fog had drifted up from the Mersey, and although it was only mid-afternoon it was almost dark, but the kitchen looked more cheerful when Mildred lit the gas mantle and stirred up the fire. She glanced at the clock as she swiftly took off her coat and hat and tied a large apron around her waist.

  ‘Dear heaven, look at the time,’ she exclaimed. ‘They’ll all be in and not a potato peeled. And no help either! That dratted girl walked out on me last night, and the charwoman sent a lad to say her leg was bad – and they knew it was the funeral today.’

  She was taking a large stone dish from the oven as she spoke, and Kate said timidly, ‘I can peel potatoes, Aunt.’

  Mildred looked up. ‘Well, you could make a start,’ she said. ‘I’ve got six guests, so there’s a lot needed. Come through to your room and change your dress before you begin.’

  She took Kate through to a room behind the kitchen. Though small, it was spotlessly clean, and the single bed beneath the window was covered with a white counterpane. A bowl and ewer stood on a yellow table, and a curtain covered an alcove. Mildred pulled it back. ‘Hang your new dress there and put your hat on the shelf. Change your boots too,’ she ordered. ‘As quick as you can.’ She took a dress and a pair of boots from the straw bag and laid them on the bed, then hurried away.

  Kate changed quickly, glad to take off the new boots, which had rubbed a blister on her heel, and to slip into her familiar dress. Then she returned to the kitchen, where Mildred was rapidly chopping cabbage. A large bowl of potatoes stood on the table with a huge pan beside it. Mildred handed Kate a sharp knife. ‘Mind you don’t cut yourself, but be as quick as you can,’ she said.

  Kate said nothing, but concentrated on her task, and soon the pan was full.

  ‘Good. You were quick,’ said Mildred.

  She had been bustling about the kitchen at top speed, opening and closing cupboards, and Kate asked if she could do anything else.

  ‘Come and help to lay the table,’ Mildred said. ‘Bring that big jug of water.’ She picked up a tray of cutlery and started up the basement steps.

  Kate followed her through the hall and into a large dining room. She was amazed at the size of it, and at the magnificent furniture. An immense sideboard stood against one wall, and the long table was surrounded by eight dining chairs and two carvers covered in horsehair.

  With an exclamation Mildred drew a box of matches from her pocket and lit the fire which was already laid. ‘I forgot the dratted fires,’ she said. ‘Here, Kate, go and light the fire in the parlour, the door opposite this.’

  The parlour looked even more imposing to Kate. It was twice the size of the living room in her home and contained two sofas and several armchairs covered in green plush. There were green plush curtains at the window and green plush draping the high mantelpiece. Many small bamboo tables were scattered about, with plants or framed photographs standing on them. Kate threaded her way through them carefully to light the fire which was laid ready, and then hurried ba
ck to help her aunt.

  She was sent back to the basement kitchen several times, for glasses and another jug of water and more cutlery. By this time the fire was burning well, and Mildred looked into the parlour where the fire was also bright. She looked satisfied but said nothing.

  They went back to the kitchen, and Mildred made a pot of tea and spread dripping on a slice of bread for Kate. ‘Eat it quickly,’ she said. ‘They’ll be in before we can turn round.’

  A little later there were sounds of light footsteps above their heads. ‘The teachers,’ Mildred said briefly, then there was silence until a bell jangled on a board on the wall. Mildred made an impatient exclamation. ‘Mrs Bradley’s coal,’ she said. A full coal scuttle stood near the basement stairs, and she took two lumps of coal from it and put them on the kitchen fire.

  ‘Can you manage this?’ she asked, lifting the scuttle, and when Kate took it from her she added, ‘Mrs Bradley. First floor front.’

  Kate managed to carry the coal scuttle up the basement stairs to the hall, but before continuing on up the next flight of stairs, she rested it on the bottom step and bent her head. Could this really be happening? Mama dead and Rosie far away in another house. And herself living here with the horrible aunt who told lies about Mama. She wished that she had died too.

  The front door suddenly opened behind her and a tall young man appeared in the hall. He was wearing a velvet-collared overcoat and a curly-brimmed bowler hat, and was whistling cheerfully, but at the sight of Kate he stopped. ‘Halloa,’ he said with a smile, then his face changed and he came and took the coal scuttle from her. ‘A bit heavy for you,’ he said. ‘Where’s it going?’

  ‘Mrs Bradley. First floor front,’ Kate whispered.

  As they started up the stairs, he put his hand under her elbow. ‘What do I call you?’ he asked.

  Nervously she mumbled, ‘Kate.’

  They had reached the door and he put down the scuttle and bent his head to smile at her. ‘Cheer up, Kate,’ he said. ‘It’s always darkest before the dawn.’