Her Heart's Desire Read online

  Lily had been lying on her bed reading her book. Now that she had made her mind up that Lawrence was making a big mistake by marrying Bertha instead of her, she had put the matter from her mind and was concentrating on the fascinating story. How anyone could believe that a human being could be reduced to the size of a little finger was beyond her, but the author had made it quite believable in Alice in Wonderland.

  She heard someone’s tread on the stairs and groaned inwardly; another member of her family coming to pat her on the head. It was dark now, so much so that she couldn’t see who was at the front door when she had looked out of the window when she had heard the knocking earlier. Whoever it was, someone had dealt with them and the household had settled down to its usual sounds.

  “Lily, you’re wanted.” Ellen poked her head around the door, lacking the social nicety of knocking first in case her sister was asleep. Lily hastily pushed her book under her counterpane; it wouldn’t do for Ellen to see that she had been reading.

  “Who wants me?” she asked in a plaintive voice, wondering childishly if Lawrence had realised his mistake and had come back to tell her so.

  “Grand-mama – and be quick, she wants to retire early, says all the excitement of the day has been too much.”

  A summons from Grand-mama – everyone had to obey her command, it didn’t do to not. Sighing, Lily slid her indoor shoes on, a type of ballet shoe with a black satin ribbon tied around the ankle. She pushed her cream blouse into the waist of her skirt, hoping that her elderly relative wouldn’t notice how rumpled her outfit had become. She quickly glanced into the cheval mirror as she passed by it, noting that she looked as of she had been dragged backward through a hedge.

  “Hurry, Lily,” Ellen frowned as she saw her sister tweaking at her hair and smoothing her skirt down. “You’ll get me into trouble if you continue to dawdle. Why didn’t you put on your wrapper before you got into bed?”

  Lily shrugged. Had she cared about donning a wrapper, when all she could think of was Lawrence and Bertha and their underhandedness? She should be the one who was showing off her ring to the Patterson family, taking the congratulations from all and sundry and listening to her cousin’s endearments and professions of love. Why did it have to be Bertha, who would get more pleasure from seeing her cakes rise, or polishing the satinwood tables until they had a mirror-like shine? How was it that she had not seen it coming? She was always listening at her Grand-mama’s door.

  “Ah Lily, there you are.” Grand-mama’s tone was brisk, as she beckoned her granddaughter into her sitting room and motioned her to sit on the sofa by her father, whilst her mother sat in an upright chair by the fire. Lily felt troubled. What was so important that her parents had been summoned as well, while the rest of the family wasn’t? Had she done something very wrong by making such a fuss before?

  Grand-mama held up a very bedraggled bunch of flowers, wrapped in a piece of jaggedly ripped newspaper. Her expression was one of distaste as she stared across the room.

  “A person of the male variety handed these in at the door earlier. What have you got to say for yourself, Lily?”

  “Why should a bunch of flowers have anything to do with me, Grand-mama?” Lily was at a loss as she stared at the wilting dahlias, pink petals beginning to drop on Grand-mama’s lacy shawl that she wore across her knees.

  “Ellen informed me that the young man who left them for you was a follower, Lily. It appears he used to walk you back from Ashmore School – something we were quite unaware of.”

  “Oh.” Lily’s brow cleared from the frowning she had been doing. “That will be Charlie Wilson, he’s always hanging around me.”

  “Then he will have to be stopped,” her father broke in, sounding angry. “You can give me his address and I will go and see this young fellow-me-lad. I will make him see the error of his ways so that he won’t continue to pester one of my family.”

  “He was only protecting me from some of the orphan boys, who I had to pass on my way home.” Lily felt quite surprised to hear herself defending him. “I think his mother sells flowers outside the cemetery. Anyway, that was years ago. I can’t be blamed for his attention nowadays.”

  “That’s enough, Lily.” Grand-mama looked askance at her granddaughter. “Consorting with a young man whose mother sells flowers for a living isn’t what your father wants to hear. Isn’t that so, Mannion?”

  “That is so, Mother-in-law.” Lily’s father nodded in agreement, somehow missing the fact that Mabel, another daughter, was also a purveyor of the blooms. “I have decided that your request for some time away from home will be granted, Lily. However, you will not be sent to stay at your Aunt Patricia’s in Southport. There is a possibility that you will be going to stay with an acquaintance of your grand-mama’s, who lives near a small village called Greasby. Let me finish, Lily…” Mannion could see that Lily was about to argue. “No, I think your grand-mama should let you know of the rest of my decision.”

  “As you know, Lily, your father has always wished for you to be married into a wealthy family.” Grand-mama was feeling gracious towards her son-in-law, although she had only made her suggestion to Mannion once she had seen her granddaughter’s distress at Lawrence’s announcement. What a silly innocent, she thought. “It has been brought to my attention by a member of my bridge club that Mrs De Crosland, someone that I met in my younger years when I was a guest at Arrowe Hall, is hoping to find a good wife for her son, Roland. He is an army officer. He is at present overseas with his battalion in Burma, but according to Millicent Broster, my partner at bridge, he will be returning very soon.

  “Under the circumstances, Lily, I feel sure that a stay for a week or so with Mrs De Crosland might be just the making of you.”

  Mannion, taking up the thread of his mother-in-law’s suggestion, looked on with pride at his daughter, who he knew could charm the squirrels out of the trees if she put her mind to it. “You will get to know her very well and as you are from a good family, I am sure she will agree to present you to her son, as the perfect future wife on his return.”

  Up to now Lily had been silent, speechless because she would not have been allowed to speak while her elders were talking anyway. However, she was more astonished that her family were already making plans for her future happiness, even though she had behaved so badly that afternoon. The more she began to think about living in Greasby – a place she had only heard about at school when shown a map – the more the idea of marrying an officer appealed to her. She would be able to cock a snoot at Bertha, show Lawrence that he wasn’t the only pencil in her drawing box and imagine their envy on seeing her abode, when she invited the couple there for afternoon tea.

  “Grand-mama, do you know anything about the family’s residence?” That was the most important requirement in Lily’s eyes, as she had to have somewhere grand to show off to her family.

  “I think the place is called Brookvale.” Grand-mama looked thoughtful as she cast her mind back to when she had stayed in the area, when her best friend from a ladies college invited her to stay one Christmas. “I seem to remember it was on the road down to Frankby, near the crossroads. I met Lydia at Penelope’s, before she married into the De Crosland family.”

  Three pairs of eyes looked at Lily expectantly after the elderly lady had finished speaking and her mother was smiling encouragingly.

  “The village of Greasby happens to be mentioned in the Domesday Book.”

  Charlie walked back quickly along the road from Rosemount Terrace. He was trembling, either with the cold or excitement, which one he didn’t know. He pulled his oilskin closer to him and wondered at the onset of the shaking that had hit him, as soon as the young woman had taken the flowers from his outstretched hand and had closed the front door. She had obviously been the live-in maid, unused to polite society; she would have at least expressed some kind of appreciation if she had been a member of the family.

  He hoped that Lily was at that moment enjoying the smell of his mother
’s last precious flowers and would be effusive with her thanks next time they met. Pity it was at the expense of a pint at The Grapes at some point, but to have Lily’s affection would be worth it in the end. For now, a plate of his mother’s Sunday roast, the meat having been cooking slowly since she had put it in the oven before trundling off to the cemetery, was fast approaching and his stomach rumbled at the agreeable thought.

  The room was dim as Charlie walked through the door of the cottage; the oil lamp shed a feeble light and the fire was reduced to a faint glow. It was obvious that Jane had taken herself off to bed, probably worn out with all the work she’d had to do. He opened the warming compartment of the cooking range and found that his mother had left a plate of beef and vegetables. Ravenously hungry, after taking off his oilskin and laying it at the foot of the stairs to be carried up later, he carved himself a hunk of bread then took a seat at the kitchen table.

  His mind floated to his beloved. What would she be doing at this time of day? He imagined she would be sitting amongst her family in the parlour. He knew she had many sisters, because she had told him so one day. They would be busily engaged in all manner of ladylike pursuits; perhaps Lily liked to crochet, draw or write in her diary. She could even be writing at that moment about the flowers she had received that day. He felt happy, warm and comfortable and with a full stomach to content him, he supposed he had better take himself off to bed.

  A tapping somewhere in the house, or maybe from the next cottage, brought Charlie wide-awake the next morning. It was Monday, the first day of the rest of his life as a fully-fledged worker. Today he would be walking through those shipyard gates not as an apprentice, but as a person who had been taught all there was to know about the installation and maintenance of electric equipment. Well, perhaps not everything, only what Lairds had taught him before assigning him to the development department. He had been told they were to work on something very secret there.

  He could hear his mother breaking wind beyond the curtain and courteously tiptoed out of the room, rather than bring her attention to the fact that he had heard her. It was strange that she wasn’t up and moving about, but when he glanced at his fob-watch that he had left on the kitchen table the night before, he found it was only half past five. He didn’t start work until eight; there was no point trying to go back to sleep again, instead he would use this quiet time wisely – light the lamp, bring the fire to a glow once more with a few choice coal bits and boil an egg for breakfast.

  He put on his black trousers, part of a very smart three-piece suit that his mother had collected from the ‘off the peg’ tailors on Borough Road, precisely for that day when Charlie would be out of his time as an apprentice. It was another call on her purse, as she could only afford to buy it through a voucher system, paying a bit off weekly to the visiting tally-man. Checking his appearance in the mirror after a quick wash in the scullery sink, he decided he didn’t need to shave as he found it hard to grow whiskers. He put on his long sleeved white shirt, with the turned back cuffs and ivory buttons, fastened the black buttons on the waistcoat that were made from the same material as his suit, then shrugged into the matching jacket. Next he donned his black leather lace-up shoes that he had polished to a mirror-like shine. Finally he slicked his fair hair down with pomade that he had purchased himself at the market. Thus suited and booted, Charlie felt ready to face the world.

  Of course there was still his breakfast. Perhaps he’d been foolish to wear his suit, when it was quite possible that he could get some egg upon his waistcoat and coal dust would be a devil to brush off should the wind outside be in the wrong direction when he brought in a fresh scuttle. He glanced above, hoping that he could hear his mother moving about. When her footsteps could be heard at the top of the stairwell, it was much to Charlie’s delight.

  “There you are Charlie,” said his mother, glancing over to where her son was attending to the oil lamp. “My, you do look smart. You certainly pay for dressing; Mary Casson would be pleased to see you in that get up.”

  Charlie groaned inwardly at the reference to Jane’s would-be daughter-in-law, wishing she would give the subject a rest.

  Jane looked tired as she shuffled around in her voluptuous, white nightie and down-at-heel shoes that she wore for slippers, before checking the water level in the kettle. “Take that nice jacket off will you, Charlie, and fill this up, then when you’re done get me a scuttle full.” She sat down quickly on one of the kitchen chairs, looking pale and drawn. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m just as tired when I wake up, as when I go to bed.”

  “You’re doing too much.” Charlie took the kettle to the scullery and filled it to the brim. “Now that I’ll be getting a man’s wage, you can start getting your feet up.”

  “That will be the day, son.” Jane sounded bitter. “One day you’ll marry and have a wife and family to keep, so I’ll have to keep going to put something by for a rainy day.”

  “I’ll probably not get married, Mam, so I’ll be living here with you and taking care of you like you’ve looked after me since I were a nipper. There’s only one girl I want to marry and if she won’t have me nobody else will do.”

  “Get on with you, Charlie, I’ve told you before that Lily Griffiths isn’t for the likes of you. Mary Casson is much more suitable.”

  “I’ll have a boiled egg this morning, Mother.” Charlie changed the subject, heartily sick of his mother pushing Mary in his direction. She was a nice enough young woman, but certainly not for him.

  “Talking of Mary, do you think you could write a note and push it under her doorway? I might not be up to the Temple Road soiree, so could you ask her to drop in?”

  “Mam,” Charlie groaned. “Do I have to? It means walking all the way down to the river and it’s much quicker for me to cut along by Mersey Park.”

  “Well, I suppose I could add it to my list of things to do this morning. Feed the hens, dig the cabbage patch over, pick the last of the sprouts, do the washing, black lead the grate and nip into the grocers to get some flour.”

  “Oh, all right then you win. I’ll get some paper and you can tell me what to say.”

  Mary’s dwelling could only be described as a ‘hovel’, certainly ready for demolition according to the town hall planners who had been asked to consider a tanker berth there. Until a place could be found to house the Casson family, they lived in squalor. It was up to a newly formed committee attached to the Birkenhead Council to find accommodation for families that were removed from the area compulsorily. Having always lived in rat-infested surroundings, where the winds from the Mersey air-conditioned the dwelling summer or winter, whether they liked it or not, the ten offspring of the union lived cheek by jowl. Mr Casson had decided he was going to be choosy about the area they were sent to. He quite fancied living in one of the larger terraced houses at the back of Hamilton Square, close to the warehouse, where he earned a pittance unloading the dray wagons that had come over from the docks at Liverpool. Until someone forcibly removed them from the place where his ancestors had lived since before William Laird created the new town of Birkenhead, he was staying put.

  So when Charlie turned up that morning with the note from his mother tucked into the pocket of his new suit, Mr Casson, who was lighting a cigarette on the muddy pathway and just about to set off for work, saw red when he spotted the official looking young man about to come sneaking around his property. He was stopped in his tracks when he heard his elder daughter shrieking from the doorway. Charlie, by that time, was suspended in the air choking, whilst Mr Casson clutched at a handful of the poor lad’s shirt.

  “Leave ‘im Father, that’s my beau, me and Charlie’s bin walkin’ out and I won’t ‘ave yer treatin’ ‘im that way!”

  “Ahh, sorry mate, I thought yer were from the council. ‘Ere I’ll just brush yer down, yer’ll soon be right as ninepence.”

  Whilst Charlie fought for his breath, the man apathetically smoothed down his suit and Mary patted him
hard on the back, calling her father nasty names that Charlie thought a decent young woman shouldn’t even know. He was surprised that the church going Mary would speak to her father in such a way and felt distaste once he’d got his breath back and could speak again.

  “I was bringing you a note from my mother, Mary. She’s not very well and wondered if you would call in on her.” He noticed that Mary’s father was still standing there, finishing off his cigarette whilst he listened to his daughter assuring Charlie that she would go to his mother’s just as soon as the pavements were aired. If Jane needed a hand with the allotment then she would help her there as well.

  “So, how long ‘ave yer bin walkin’ out with our Mary?” Mr Casson asked in a wheedling voice, trying to make amends; this young whippersnapper looked as if he might have a bob or two.

  Charlie looked nonplussed. He didn’t know he was walking out with Mary Casson, in fact he had left her at the gates of Victoria Park last time he looked. “Well err…” He looked at the size of the man standing five feet ten to his five foot five and panicked – he needed to get to the shipyard in one piece that morning. It was the first day of his job for life and the manager in charge of prototypes wouldn’t take it kindly if he was late. It was quite a walk to the buildings just off Princess Dock; dawn was still an hour away and the gas lampposts to light his route were few and far between in that area. Trapped, he acknowledged that he was indeed his daughter’s beau, but had only just begun their courtship and regretfully he was in a bit of a hurry and must be on his way.

  Chapter Six

  Grand-mama’s letter to Lydia De Crosland was sent in the next morning’s post. Not that Lily had any indication of what had been put in the correspondence, but a few days later she was summoned back to Grand-mama’s sitting room again. This time there was only Mother and the elderly lady in the room, as Father had business to attend to and, really, the minor details of his daughter’s sojourn to the country was women’s work.