Free Liverpool Miss by Helen Forrester Page A

should take it.’
    ‘What nonsense!’ He sniffed, and then added angrily, ‘I wish she would mind her own business.’
    ‘She means well, Daddy.’
    ‘She should hie her back to her nunnery and stay there. She has no right to interfere with my family.’ He thumped the arm of his chair. ‘She has no right to put ideas into your head.’
    I stood irresolutely before him, the broken dishes in my hand. I wanted to put my arms round him and beg him to intercede for me. When I was small and he was not too busy, we had been able to talk to each other. But this ease between us had got lost in the maelstrom of trouble which had engulfed us. So I hesitated, and the opportunity was lost.
    ‘Where is the newspaper?’ he demanded irritably.
    I put down the broken china and picked up the paper from the floor, where it had been thrown down during the quarrel. He shook out the pages and vanished behind them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Washing greasy dishes in cold water without soap is not easy. The grease impregnates the hands and forms an oily ring round the basin. I had two saucepans left over from lunchtime to wash, and their exteriors were covered with soot from the fire. To save the gas, I had put the pans on the living-room fire to finish the cooking of the children’s midday dinner. Now the soot floated revoltingly amid the grease. I did not dare to put a kettle of water on the fire as I was afraid of irritating Father further by pushing past him. I let the water from the single cold water tap cascade into our tin wash basin to sweep out some of the soot, and stood gazing at the backs of my hands in the light of the candle I had just lit.
    My hands were small and well-formed. The skinwas ingrained with dirt and round the quicks the nails were almost black. The nail tips were long and uneven and filled with grime. Sometimes I tried to clean my nails with a sliver of wood, but without plenty of soap it was a hopeless task. I remembered the scathing remark of the sweet-shop lady, and, with a stomach clenched with apprehension, I realised that to make myself thoroughly clean and neat for work would be very difficult.
    In a painfully sweet voice, Mother suddenly called me from the front room, and I was jolted back from depressing contemplation to frightening reality.
    I wiped my hands on the family’s solitary towel which hung on a hook on the back door. The towel was nearly black from use by nine people and it invariably stank. I added a streak of soot to it.
    Father had joined Mother and the deaconess, Miss Ferguson, in the front room, and was perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the easy chairs. I could feel the blood draining from my face; and, as I gave Miss Ferguson a nervous smile, I wanted to faint.
    ‘Miss Ferguson insists on hearing from you personally that you do not want to go to work,’ announced Mother frigidly, and Miss Ferguson shifted uncomfortably around in her chair. ‘I understand she spoke to you in the library this afternoon.’
    ‘Yes, she did,’ I whispered, in answer to the second statement.
    Miss Ferguson took a large breath, as if the effort to speak was going to be too much for her. Then she turned her worried-looking face towards me, and said very carefully, ‘I have been trying to persuade Mr and Mrs Forrester that it would be greatly to your advantage if you could go to work and be trained for some worthy occupation, and that it would be possible for them to spare you from the house to do this. I tentatively made an appointment for you for tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.’
    Father made a wry face, and I had the feeling he wished he was a hundred miles away.
    Mother interjected, ‘Helen will not be keeping the appointment, I am sure.’
    Undeterred, Miss Ferguson pressed on. ‘I have assured your mother that you will be working with nice women, all from good families, and I am sure you will be well trained.’ She turned to Father and said very earnestly, ‘She would be quite safe