Hester, who had no relatives at all in England, or none that she knew of, and realised that she was ill-equipped to get any sort of job just yet, murmured that she would stay with Lonnie as long as Miss Hetherington-Smith wanted her and then changed the subject. ‘Don’t forget, your father will be visiting England to see how you are getting on in a year or two,’ she reminded her charge. ‘By then you’ll probably have forgotten all about me.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Lonnie said, blissfully indifferent to any feelings she might hurt, Hester thought ruefully. Not that her feelings were hurt. She had already realised that young Lonnie was so self-centred that it was almost impossible to like her, though she quite often felt sorry for the child. Still, you never knew. When they got ashore and moved into their new home things might be different.
The weather continued stormy as the ship entered
the Irish Sea and many of the other passengers stayed in their cabins. Then one morning Hester and Lonnie awoke to blue skies and pale sunshine, and when they went out on deck they realised they must be approaching the end of their journey. The ship was entering the mouth of a great river which must, Hester knew, be the Mersey, and she and her charge stayed where they were, leaning on the rail and ignoring their stomachs’ insistent clamour that they had had no breakfast. Fascinated, they saw the distant blue of great hills, the golden strip of sand along the coastline. And then, as the ship continued on her way, the banks of the river grew closer and closer and the city itself appeared. It was a big, imposing city, Hester saw, with great white buildings and warehouses, shipyards and other signs of industry crowding close.
‘Miss Elliott, are they the Liver Birds?’ Lonnie said presently, as they steamed along. ‘One of the deckhands told me that if a virgin passes by, those birds flap their wings … do you think it’s true? And what’s a virgin, anyway?’
Hester turned away to hide the smile twitching her lips. ‘It’s just one of those silly sayings that sailors know,’ she said, keeping her voice level with difficulty. ‘I should forget all about it if I were you. Oh, look, there’s a train – it’s actually above the ground! Oh, that must be the overhead railway … my father talked about it sometimes. He used to travel by it when he lived here. He told me to buy myself a ticket when I came Home. He said you got a wonderful view of the docks from up there.’
‘I see it,’ Lonnie said, and Hester, glancing at her companion’s small, sallow face, saw it flushed with excitement. For once Lonnie was not simply thinking
of herself, she thought, surprised. ‘Oh, Miss Elliott, I really
am
excited now! Can you see all the people waiting for us to dock? I wonder which one is my aunt? She must be very nice, because she’s Daddy’s sister, and my daddy is the nicest man I know. Let’s go to our cabin and start getting ready to go ashore!’
Ben Bailey came along Heyworth Street heading straight for the pet shop. He was earlier than he had been on previous occasions, anxiety getting him out of bed well before his usual time on a Saturday, because he now had a vested interest in the contents of Mr Madison’s pet shop. In fact, the kittens in the window were his, or practically his at any rate.
Reaching the shop, Ben pressed his nose against the glass and peered inside. It was so early that the shop was still closed and the kittens, in their nest of wood shavings, were asleep, curled into a ball in one corner of their cage. Anxiously, Ben counted them; one, two, three, four … his heart gave a little bound. Had Mr Madison already sold one of them? But then someone inside the shop pushed open an inner door and all in a moment the kittens were awake, rolling over to reveal a fifth kitten, a little gingery one, which had been hidden by the recumbent bodies of his brothers and sisters.
Ben heaved a sigh. He didn’t know whether it was relief because all the kittens were still in the window, or disappointment because none of them had yet been sold. He wanted them to be sold, of course he did. It was the only way, he had assured himself, of seeing that they got good homes. Folk, particularly kids, would take on a kitten which had been given to them free and then cheerfully neglect it, believing that cats hunted for their own food and needed no
help from their human owners. If you paid money for a kitten, however, you valued it more, perhaps even returning to the pet shop on a regular basis to buy the cat’s meat which Mr Madison kept in the room behind the shop.
On the other side of the glass, the black kitten with a white tip to its tail detached itself from its fellows and stared up at Ben out of milky-blue eyes. Its small mouth opened in a soundless miaow, and Ben’s heart melted. I’m the nearest thing to a mother they’ve ever knowed, he told himself, so it’s natural they should miss me. Why, if it hadn’t been for me, they’d have been dead weeks ago, poor little blighters. I wish I could have kept ’em, but as Mam said, there ain’t enough food for all of us, let alone a brood of kittens. Still an’ all, Mr Madison seemed to think he could sell ’em, so at least they’ll get good homes.
Ben had found the kittens in a tumbledown warehouse some five weeks earlier. He had heard their hungry, agitated wailing as soon as he had climbed into the building and at first he had not realised they were motherless, but as soon as he touched one and felt its frantic mouth attaching itself to the tip of his little finger, he had realised that the kittens were starving.
For several days he had begged, borrowed or stolen milk for them, feeding them by dipping a piece of rag in the liquid and letting the kittens suck, one by one. Within a week, the little things were making progress, sucking at the bread which he dipped in the milk and growing round-bellied and bright-eyed. Ben had adored them, and named each one. Tip was obvious, Ginger more so and then there was Spot, who was white with black splodges, and Blot who was white with a black blotch on his nose. That left
only the tiniest kitten, so Ben had christened him Joseph, since his coat was most definitely of many colours.
It would have been nice to have kept even one of the kittens, but Mrs Bailey had been firm. ‘You’ve brung in two mangy old toms and that horrible black dog what must have been a hundred when you found it and died after six months,’ she had pointed out. ‘I know that cats fend for themselves pretty much, but a kitten’s different. It’ll want milk, just for starters. No, Ben, they can’t come here.’
So Ben had begun to check on the pet shops in the area and had finally decided that Mr Madison’s was the best one. On the previous day he had plucked up his courage and had tackled Mr Madison. At first there had been some confusion due to Ben’s approach, which had been to go into the shop and ask Mr Madison if he sold kittens. Mr Madison was a heavily built man with thinning, gingery hair, pale-blue protuberant eyes and a dangling, wispy moustache. He wore a stained brown overall and large rubber boots but Ben noticed, with approval, that the little shop was beautifully clean and all the animals and birds looked well housed and fed. This was clearly the sort of place he was searching for. However, Mr Madison, joyfully seizing the wrong end of the stick, had assumed Ben to be wishful of owning a kitten and had immediately promised to get some in so that Ben could choose which one he wanted. When Ben had managed to explain that he was a purveyor of kittens rather than a customer, Mr Madison had turned quite nasty and had tried to order Ben out of the shop. But Ben had been too anxious for his kittens to take such an attitude lying down and had returned an hour later with the five
kittens in his mother’s canvas shopping bag, tipping them on to the counter when the shop was empty and drawing Mr Madison’s attention to his protégés’ shining fur, bright eyes and round little stomachs.
‘They certainly look healthy enough,’ Mr Madison had said grudgingly, having examined each kitten closely. ‘Well, all right, lad, I’ll take ’em on. They don’t look as if they’ll croak on me, at any rate.’ He had leaned confidentially across the counter, lowering his voice. ‘You’d be amazed the state some of the stock arrives in: dirty, neglected, underfed, yet folks still expect me to buy ’em and sell ’em on and who’s the one to get cursed and complained at when the bleedin’ little critter snuffs it? Why, me, of course! They wants their money back, sometimes they even want the price of the food they say they’ve give it. Not that they gets anything, ’cos that ain’t how it works, but it makes for unpleasantness, like.’ He eyed the kittens keenly then turned back to Ben. ‘How much?’
Dizzily, Ben realised that the man actually meant to pay him for the kittens. Since he had not dreamed of such a thing – had rather feared Mr Madison might charge
him
for their keep – he had no idea what to reply, and merely shrugged helplessly.
‘Thruppence a piece, then,’ Mr Madison said briskly. He lowered his head then peered up at Ben, grinning like a shark. ‘Now you’ll still be at school, young feller-me-lad, so you’ll be a bit of a mathematician, like. What’s thruppence five times over, eh?’
‘It’s one and thruppence,’ Ben had said at once. His mother often got him to do her messages and already, at the tender age of ten, Ben knew how to make sixpence do the work of a shilling. ‘Thanks ever so much, Mr Madison. Mind if I pops in now and then to see how the kittens are doing?’
Mr Madison had confirmed that this would be all right but Ben had realised he must make such visits infrequently; he did not wish to wear out his welcome. So now he had no intention of entering the shop but had merely stopped by to see that the kittens were still thriving. Indeed, as he watched, a hand with a tin bowl in it appeared as if from nowhere, unfastened the top of the kittens’ cage with a practised flick of the fingers and then descended. The tin bowl was placed in a cleared space, right against the glass, and Ben saw with approval that it contained a generous amount of bread and milk. The kittens must have smelt the milk, for they all dived across their cage and were soon enjoying an excellent breakfast, the larger of the kittens, Tip and Spot, actually standing in the bowl whilst gobbling as fast as they could. ‘You greedy little tykes …’ Ben was beginning, when a sharp elbow was driven into his ribs and a small, clear voice said imperiously: ‘Go away, you common little slum child! I want to see the kittens have their breakfast, so you can just clear out and keep your filthy paws away from my nice clean coat.’
Ben was so astonished that he actually sidled away before realising that he had been mortally insulted, and by a girl, too! Hastily, he moved back to his previous position, saying gruffly: ‘Just who do you think you are, Lady Muck? I’ve gorras much right as you to stand by the window – more, ’cos they’re my kittens, so why don’t you just shove off?’
‘I shall do no such thing!’ the girl declared. Ben saw that she was very small and very thin, with pale, unhealthy-looking skin and lank light-brown hair tied back from her face so tightly that her eyebrows slanted upwards at the ends. She had long,
dark-brown eyes, thickly fringed with black lashes, a small dab of a nose and a sulky mouth. She was wearing a very smart red coat – a winter coat in May, Ben thought incredulously – woollen gloves and lace-up boots. Her expression, moreover, was so superior and scornful that she looked as though she thought Ben a worm beneath her feet.
‘Well
I
ain’t shiftin’,’ Ben said positively. His mam had always told him that women were the weaker sex and that he should treat them with a special care, but the girls he knew had never insulted him, though from time to time clacks had been exchanged when tempers grew frayed. So now Ben stood his ground and pressed his nose to the window once more, trying to ignore the stiff little figure beside him.
But the girl was clearly not used to such treatment and turned to a young woman standing nearby and watching them, Ben thought, with some amusement. ‘Miss Elliott!’ the girl said haughtily. ‘Tell this … this untouchable to move away from the window! I wish to watch the kittens … and he smells horrible.’
‘Why, you rude little bitch,’ Ben said, his face growing hot with outrage. ‘If anyone smells, it’s you! Why, I were down bathing in the Scaldy no more ’un three weeks ago and me mam makes us all wash reg’lar.’
The girl laughed scornfully but Ben noted that her colour, too, had risen. ‘
Now
you’ll be in trouble,’ she said gloatingly. ‘Miss Elliott! Come at once when I call!’
The tall young woman came towards them. She was dressed in a winter coat made of navy-blue wool with a matching felt hat. It looked a bit like a uniform and must, Ben thought, be far too hot in this mild May sunshine. The young woman looked down at
her charge and Ben thought her lips twitched, but could not be certain. ‘Yes, Miss Leonora?’ she said. Her voice was low and pleasant and Ben thought he could detect a trace of a Welsh accent. ‘What’s up now?’
‘This – this guttersnipe called me a
very
rude name,’ the small girl, who appeared to be called Leonora, said impressively. ‘Make him go away at once, Miss Elliott, or it’ll be the worse for you.’
The young woman had large dark eyes and pale skin, whilst her hair, peeping out from beneath her navy-blue felt hat, was dark and shiny as a blackbird’s wing. Ben saw now that something was definitely amusing her, though she surely could not find the small girl’s rudeness funny? However, she said in a perfectly serious voice: ‘Calling names is rude, Miss Leonora Victoria Hetherington-Smith, and a girl with as many names as you should know it, though I’m pretty sure you were the first to start calling names – you usually are. Anyway, why can’t you
both
watch the kittens? Surely the window’s big enough!’
‘But he’s an
untouchable
,’ Leonora almost wailed, the colour in her cheeks darkening from rose to red. Ben thought she looked a good deal healthier when she was angry, but did not intend to tell her so. ‘Oh, how I wish you’d stayed in India, Miss Elliott! If only my dear
ayah
were here instead, how much happier I should be! Why, you aren’t even a proper governess. You’re just the daughter of a common clerk, when all’s said and done, and I won’t share the window with a guttersnipe whatever
you
may say, I won’t, I won’t!’
Ben, looking from face to face, saw that though Miss Elliott was smiling, she was also angry. He thought she looked quite dangerous and waited hopefully for
her to give Miss Leonora a clack across the ear, but though the young woman folded her lips tightly for a moment it seemed that her sense of humour was stronger than her outrage, for she shook her head gently and took hold of her charge by one skinny shoulder, turning her back towards the window. ‘Watch the kittens and mind your manners,’ she advised softly. ‘And don’t you ever let me hear you call my father a common clerk again. He was a civil servant, an important man with many responsibilities, and a better man never breathed. What is more, you know very well he was your own father’s dearest friend. After my mother died, my father brought me up with almost no help and saw to it that I had a decent education and learned some manners, which is more than
you
ever did, miss. Now save your breath to cool your porridge and don’t you threaten me again either, because it won’t wash. I’m being employed to keep an eye on you but I don’t believe your aunt would much care if I beat you black and blue so long as you didn’t interfere with her life. Understand?’
Ben had expected the girl to be abashed by Miss Elliott’s words but Leonora merely turned and gave her a glare, then swung round to face the window once more, pressing her nose against the pane. Ben, glancing sideways at her, thought that he had never seen a colder, harder expression on anyone’s face and was accordingly astonished, a few moments later, when he shot another look at her to see two large tears making their way down her thin cheeks.
Ben had honestly thought her the most detestable person he had ever encountered, but at the sight of her tears he began to feel a tiny bit sorry for her. He thought she was probably a kid of only six or seven. He moved nearer, saying in an undertone:
‘You don’t smell, or only of something sweet at any rate. But there’s no cause to go calling names, like the young lady said. Us can both see the kittens, can’t us? And they
were
mine, honest to God they were, until I put them in the pet shop so’s they could find good homes. I’ll tell you their names if you like.’ Then he added, with more than a touch of curiosity, ‘What’s an untouchable when it’s at home, anyroad? I’ve been called a lot of names in me time, but never that one.’
Leonora pretended to cup her hands round her eyes so that she could see more clearly into the window, but Ben knew she was really wiping away those two tell-tale tears, then she turned to him. ‘An untouchable is someone very low caste, someone who does the dirty jobs around the city which no one else would do,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘I – I suppose it was rude to call you that, but how was I to know?’ She sighed deeply. ‘This country is very different from India. Oh, I wish I were back there with my own dear
ayah
to take care of me and my own beautiful house and garden to play in, and the river, and the willow trees …’ Her voice faded into silence.