This sudden rush of self-confidence did not leave her either, when she crawled carefully out of the back of the shed, towing her bag behind her. It did not even falter when she remembered she had left her ginger-beer bottle behind … if she had done such a thing yesterday she would have burst into floods of tears and wished herself dead once more. What a difference that young man’s championing of me has made, Biddy thought, raking her fingers through her hair and then setting off at a brisk trot. If she kept up a good pace she could be in Paul Street in no time.
Biddy arrived at the Bradley house just as the eldest son, Henry, was going off to work. He grinned at her, self-con
scious in a jacket, with a tie round his neck. ‘’Ello, Biddy, you’re around early! Wanna see our Ellie? She’s still in bed, lazy trollop!’
‘Hello, Henry,’ Biddy said. ‘Yes, I’d like to see Ellen. Can I go in?’
‘Sure. Mam’s gerrin’ brekky for them as ’as time to eat it.’
He grinned again, then hurried out of the court and into Paul Street.
Biddy knocked gently on the door, then opened it. ‘Cooee! It’s me, Biddy,’ she called. ‘Can I come in, Mrs Bradley?’
Mrs Bradley’s round and cheerful face appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Oh, hello, Biddy,’ she said at once. ‘Don’t ’over out on the doorstep, come right inside, queen. Our Ellie’s been rare worried about you. She’s in bed now though … want a spot o’ brekky?’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Biddy said, her mouth watering at the smell of tea and porridge which was wafting through into the front room. ‘Mrs Bradley, I’ve come to ask a favour. Can I have a wash and borrow a skirt and jumper off Ellen? You see …’
The sad little story was soon told. Mrs Bradley, bustling round the kitchen with the porridge pot, tutted. ‘You should ha’ come ’ere at once, queen, we don’t ’ave much, but what we do ’ave we share. ’Ere, get that down you.’
Hot tea tasted marvellous, the porridge better. Biddy tried to eat and drink slowly but somehow it was all gone in no time and she was eyeing the loaf.
‘There’s margarine in the cupboard and a scrape o’ jam,’ Mrs Bradley said, cutting a hefty slice off the loaf. ‘Go on, fill up. You’re a growin’ girl …’ she laughed, ‘…like our Ellen,’ she added. ‘She’s still fat, is our Ellen. You go up an’ ’ave a word when you’ve ate.’
‘I will,’ Biddy said thickly through bread and marge. It had never tasted so good … and the tea was sheer heaven after so long on water. ‘I’m going to ask her if I can borrow a skirt and jumper. I – I’ve not been able to wash my things and I didn’t bring much away with me anyway. I left in such a rush.’
But before she could go upstairs, there was a heavy thumping and Ellen came down. She was, as her mother had said, still large, but she beamed with delight to see Biddy and came running across the room to give her a kiss. ‘Oh, Bid, I’ve been so worried about you! I went into Millie’s an’ that sour-faced lemon wouldn’t tell me where you was, only that you didn’t work there no more.’
‘She sacked me,’ Biddy said briefly. ‘I’ve been sleepin’ rough.’
Ellen squeaked and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Sleeping rough? Oh, Biddy, why didn’t you come ’ere?’
‘I don’t know. I think I was a bit mad,’ Biddy admitted. ‘But I’m here now, Ellen. I’m going to borrow a skirt and jumper off you, if you don’t mind, and have a wash, and then I’m going to apply for some jobs. I think I could ask Miss Harborough to give me a reference, because she was cross with Miss Whitney for sacking me, said it wasn’t right.’
‘Course you can borrow some clo’es; I can’t wear any o’ me nice stuff,’ Ellen said regretfully. ‘Want a squint at the
Echo
?’
‘Oh, please! I’ve missed seeing the paper terribly,’ Biddy admitted. ‘Not that there’ll be anything for me, I don’t suppose,’ she added rather gloomily, ‘with Christmas only a couple of days away they won’t want shop staff.’
Ellen fetched the
Echo
and sat down opposite Biddy at the kitchen table. She handed the paper to her friend and took the bowl of porridge her mother was holding out. ‘Ta, Mam. I know what you mean about shop work, but there’s other jobs…’
Biddy’s eye scanned the pages keenly, then she put the paper down, shaking her head. ‘No shop work, or not the sort I could do, anyway. But I do wonder about one of the Register Offices? There’s several of them about, that I do know.’
‘One I can’t forget is Bradley’s, on Bold Street,’ Ellen said with a giggle. ‘Not that I ever tried there, because it’s Domestic Servants, of course. But Mrs Aspinall’s Registry, at No. 35 Bold Street, is well thought of, so I’ve heard. There wouldn’t be any harm in trying there … but don’t go until after Christmas, dear Biddy! Spend Christmas here!’
‘I’d love to, but I can’t risk missing out on a job,’ Biddy told her. ‘Someone may have been let down, or need a servant badly, I can’t risk waiting and then finding everyone is suited. Look, I’ll walk round there this morning, see what the situation is, then come back here tonight, if you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘Mind? We’ll be real upset if you don’t come back to us,’ Ellen said vigorously. ‘Wharra friends for, eh? I shan’t forget what you did for me when I were in trouble.’
‘You’ll be in trouble right now, my lady, if you don’t get your breakfas’ ate and yourself and the baby down to the clinic,’ Mrs Bradley said. ‘Go on Biddy, you run upstairs an’ ’ave a wash, then get into our Ellie’s skirt an’ jumper. An’ don’t go toting that bag off, call back later.
A job’s easier to find if you’re not cartin’ your ’ome on your back, so to speak. There’s a grey pleated skirt wi’ a blue jumper … you’d look a treat in that. Ah, don’t forget the jug o’ water, I hotted you some special.’
Biddy went up the stairs and washed and changed, reappearing presently in the blue jumper and grey skirt. She had washed her hair and dried it, then tied it into a neat tail at the back of her head, using a length of Ellen’s blue ribbon, secure in the knowledge that her friend would not mind. Now she stood anxiously at the foot of the stairs, watching her friend’s expression. ‘Do I look all right? Good enough to get a job?’
‘Good enough to eat,’ Ellen said exuberantly. ‘Come on, we’ll put each other on the leckie, an’ we’ll see you tonight. Don’t be late, ’cos I made some curtains for Mrs Gregory last week an’ tonight we’re ’avin’ mutton scouse to celebrate. You don’ wanna miss that!’
‘I’ll be back,’ Biddy said thankfully. ‘Don’t worry, Ellen, I’ll be back.’
Bold Street was in a smart area of the city, but Biddy, thanks to her job as a delivery girl, knew most of it by heart. She had never actually visited any of the Employment Registers – there were three on Bold Street alone – but she always lingered when passing the Lyceum, the Liverpool Library, and Liberty’s wonderful window displays.
Now, however, she ignored the lures of theatre, books and fabulous dresses and materials and went straight to the Employment Register run by Mrs Jane Aspinall. She lingered outside for a moment or two, adjusting her little hat – well, Ellen’s little hat – and smoothing away a stray wisp of hair, but then she went inside.
It was a pleasant, bright little room with a long counter, behind which sat two ladies. They looked up and smiled as Biddy entered, then looked down again. There were telephones before them, and large ledgers. It all looked very businesslike. Biddy wondered doubtfully whether she had been right to come.
Walking over to the counter she cleared her throat. The lady nearest her looked up again and smiled encouragingly.
‘Yes, madam?’
It reminded Biddy sharply and poignantly of her friend Mr Meehan. Just as soon as she had a job she would go round and see him again and he would probably tell her that she had been silly not to come before. Why on earth had she panicked the way she had and kept away from all her friends? But the woman was looking at her enquiringly, so she gathered her wits and spoke.
‘Good morning. I’m looking for a position in someone’s house, as – as a domestic servant. I would like to live in, if that’s possible.’
The woman was grey-haired with a pair of rather small but very shrewd brown eyes. ‘Ah, yes. Parlour maid? Kitchen work? What previous experience have you, Miss … er …? My name is Mrs Edmonds, incidentally.’
‘O’Shaughnessy; Bridget O’Shaughnessy. Experience? Well, I ran the home for my mother whilst she was ill,’ Biddy said a little uncertainly. ‘I’ve worked at a small sweetshop where the owner expected me to do the laundry, clean the house and cook the meals when she was otherwise occupied, but lately I’ve worked for a gown shop – Millicent’s Modes. I’m sure they’ll give me a reference, if you would like one.’
‘Hmm. Let me see what’s wanted at present. Cook general? Do you think you could do that sort of thing?’
Honesty forbade Biddy to agree completely. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said cautiously. ‘If it was very simple cooking … but I can make confectionery, of course.’
‘Wages?’
‘Oh yes, I’d like to be paid,’ Biddy said thoughtlessly, remembering Ma Kettle. The grey-haired lady gave her the sort of look idiots all over the world are probably used to receiving and Biddy, blushing, realised she had not given the expected reply. Trying to turn it into a joke, she added hastily, ‘as much as possible, I suppose.’
A frosty look stole into the eyes of the woman behind the counter. ‘Miss O’Shaughnessy, that is not the attitude you will be expected to display in domestic service, I suppose you realise that? We could not recommend anyone who …’
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t really being impudent, it was because the lady I worked for at first didn’t pay me any wages, just my keep,’ Biddy said, her voice trembling a little. ‘It – it wasn’t a happy situation, so when you said “Wages?” I thought you meant …’
‘Quite. A scandalous way to behave,’ the grey-haired one said, appearing to relax a bit. ‘However, perhaps you should discuss wages with your prospective employer rather than with myself. Now tell me, Miss O’Shaughnessy, why have you decided to apply for a job in domestic service? I don’t hesitate to tell you that it is not as well paid as shop work and carries with it a certain … well, almost a stigma with some young people. They would prefer to work in a factory or shop, where at least their evenings and days off are entirely their own. In service, the mistress’s wishes must always come first, even if it means you are working very much later than you had expected, or doing things which are not, strictly speaking, your job.’
Biddy took a deep breath. ‘I was living with a family who were not honest,’ she said. ‘They stole my savings and when I gave them an hour to return my money or I would go to the sc … police … they went to the police at once and said that it was I who was the thief. So I left there; I had little choice. Now, I’m staying with friends in Paul Street, but it’s a very overcrowded house already and I can’t continue to live with them. So I thought … domestic service would mean I could live in, and I’d be paid a wage … it just seemed best.’
‘Yes, by and large I agree with you. And why did you leave your last employer, Miss O’Shaughnessy?’
‘Because a relative of Miss Whitney’s came to the city and couldn’t find work, and Miss Whitney decided to employ her relative in my place,’ Biddy said promptly. ‘But she was not dissatisfied with my work … I’m a hard and conscientious worker, Mrs Edmonds.’
The older woman stared at her very hard for a moment and then gave a little nod, as though she had read something she liked in Biddy’s frank countenance. ‘I shall give you a chance, Miss O’Shaughnessy. There’s a lady who has a nice house just off the Boulevarde, in Ducie Street. Do you know it?’
‘Yes, I know it,’ Biddy said at once. ‘It’s close by Granby Street, isn’t it?’
Mrs Edmonds looked surprised. ‘Yes, that’s right … you certainly do know the city, Miss O’Shaughnessy.’
Biddy smiled demurely. She did not intend to admit she’d been a delivery girl if she could avoid so doing. A shop assistant in a smart gown shop was much more acceptable to this sharp-eyed lady, she felt sure.
‘Mrs Gallagher – that’s the lady’s name – needs a general servant, which usually means cooking, cleaning, answering the door etcetera. She has a woman in to do the rough scrubbing and so on. It’s live-in, with all day Sunday and Thursday afternoons off, uniform provided, no other servant.
Mrs Gallagher wants someone before Christmas, if possible, because her previous girl left some while ago and they haven’t bothered to replace her since they’ve been away a lot. Oh, there are three in the family, Mr and Mrs Gallagher and a daughter of about fifteen, I believe.’ She drew a pad of paper towards her. ‘Would you like to go along for an interview? They are on the telephone, so I can ring her right now and we can arrange a suitable time.’
‘Yes, that would be very nice,’ Biddy said, hoping this was the expected response. Apparently it was, for Mrs Edmonds nodded and took the telephone receiver off its hook, though she kept her finger pressed down on the rest.
‘Would you mind waiting over there, Miss O’Shaughnessy?’ She indicated a chair set well back against the wall on the opposite side of the room.
Biddy went and sat in the chair. It was too far away for her to hear any of the ensuing conversation and in any case Mrs Edmonds deliberately pitched her voice low, but she could not help wondering what this Mrs Gallagher would be like – and Miss Gallagher, too. Miss Gallagher was only a year younger man herself, they might even become friends!
Presently Mrs Edmonds hung her receiver back on its hook and beckoned Biddy over. She folded the sheet of paper upon which she had been writing and slid it into an envelope which she then sealed and pushed across the counter. ‘There you are, Miss O’Shaughnessy; a letter of introduction. Mrs Gallagher says if you catch the tram you can be with her quite soon, so she’ll expect you when she sees you.’ She paused delicately. ‘I take it you have the tram fare, Miss O’Shaughnessy?’
Not for worlds would Biddy have admitted that her tram fare was also her dinner money. She nodded and smiled brightly, taking the envelope and slipping it into her coat pocket. ‘Thank you, Mrs Edmonds. If – if I get the job do I come back?’
Mrs Edmonds shook her head. She was all smiles suddenly, as though simply seeing the last of Biddy was enough to cheer her up. ‘No, Miss O’Shaughnessy. The rest of the business will be transacted entirely between Mrs Gallagher and myself. Good morning.’