Classic Bestsellers from Josephine Cox: Bumper Collection. Josephine Cox

       I had to write to you straight away, for I don’t want you wasting your life in waiting for me.

       I hope you’ll find someone who will love and cherish you as you deserve; because although it wasn’t meant for you and me to be together, you are a very special and lovely person, Emily.

       Please forgive me,

       John

      Now, as Emily looked up, her face crumpled with shock and pain, Lizzie was stricken with a terrible remorse. ‘Aw, lass.’ Going over to the girl, she put a comforting arm round her heaving shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry.’ And she was. But she couldn’t confess why; not to Emily nor to anyone else.

      Even now, she could not deny in her own heart how she truly believed the parting would be best for both of them in the long run.

      She comforted Emily as best she could, but it was of little consolation to the girl, who felt as though her life had come to an end. ‘How can I live without ever seeing him again?’ she asked brokenly. ‘How can I be without him, when I love him with all my heart?’

      Unable to provide the answers, Lizzie left some short time later. As she climbed the brow of the hill, she thought she could still hear the sound of Emily’s sobbing, carried on the breeze.

      ‘God help me!’ Lizzie murmured. But it was for the best that Emily should wed the father of her child. For the best, that John was not fettered by another man’s responsibility.

      And not forgetting the child itself, wasn’t it for the best that Cathleen should be brought up in the family security of her own father and mother?

      Suddenly, when the breeze became wild, cutting across the hills like a banshee, Lizzie tightened her shawl and quickened her steps.

      ‘I did right!’ she told the wind. ‘I’m sorry for the pain I caused, but it was the right thing to do.’ A woman of high principles, Lizzie believed that mistakes had to be paid for, and that was Emily’s punishment.

      As for John, he had done nothing wrong as far as she could see, so it was only right that he should make a new life without encumbrances not of his making.

      As far as Lizzie was concerned, that was how she saw it, and if there was any blame to be apportioned in this deceitful business, it lay fair and square with young Emily.

      Behind her, Emily was wracked with loneliness. ‘Why didn’t you come back for me, John?’ she sobbed. ‘How could you fall out of love with me so easily?’

      Seated in the train and travelling further away from her with every minute, John was asking the very same question of Emily.

      However long he lived, and whichever way his life turned, he was certain of only one thing.

      He would never love anyone as he loved his Emily.

Part 3 March, 1905 Apart

       Chapter 7

      ‘IT’S A POUND a week if you’re wanting bed, breakfast and a meal after work. An’ it won’t be the kind of meal you choose neither,’ she warned. ‘It’ll be what I’ve been able to get cheap over the butcher’s counter.’

      The round-faced woman with the pot belly and wild iron-grey hair had been opening her house near the Liverpool docks to strangers these past twenty years. In all that time, not once had she encountered such a good-looking and civilised fella as the one who stood on her doorstep now. ‘If you’re only wanting bed and breakfast,’ she went on, ‘that’ll cost you just eight shilling.’

      Smiling broadly, she showed the most frightening set of naturally large white teeth. ‘I reckon I could put your washing in for that price an’ all,’ she observed. ‘And that’s only because you look more particular than the usual ragamuffin types who come looking to set foot over this doorstep. What! I would no more put their shirts in with my laundry than I would eat tripe and jam on the same plate.’

      John liked her straight off. She was down-to-earth, with no fancies nor frills, and she spoke her mind – which left a man in no doubt as to where he stood. ‘It would be bed, breakfast and a meal after work,’ he informed her.

      ‘That’ll cost yer a pound a week then – how’s that?’ And when he nodded, she said briskly, ‘Right then, young fella-me-lad! We seem to know where we stand with each other.’ Just now when she wagged a finger with that certain no-nonsense twinkle in her eye, she put him in mind of his Aunt Lizzie. But that was where the likeness ended. Where Lizzie was small and neat, albeit plump, this kindly soul was large and spreading. Where Lizzie’s feet were dainty and narrow, this one’s feet were the size of canal barges.

      Also, he had never seen traces of Lizzie snuff-taking, while there was a distinct brown ’tash drawn between the landlady’s nostrils. Moreover, the thick powdery smell of snuff permeated the air.

      As if to confirm his observations, she now took a small shiny tin from her pocket. ‘So, will you be wanting to see the rooms? I’ve got two available; one at the front, one at the back.’ Taking the lid from the tin, she dipped finger and thumb into the brown granules and lifting out a generous helping, proceeded to ram it up each nostril in turn, sniffing and coughing as it went.

      ‘I’d be thankful for either,’ John answered gratefully. ‘I’ve spent hours wandering the streets, looking for good lodgings and a clean bed.’

      ‘Hmh!’ Observing him again, she wondered why a presentable young man like himself might have been wandering the streets. But she didn’t ask. In her experience it was always wisest to keep to your own business. ‘You’ll find a clean bed and good lodgings here,’ she answered, ‘so, if you want to follow me, I’ll show you the two rooms.’

      Flicking the brown dust from her blouse, she replaced the lid on the tin, and the tin into her pocket.

      ‘I’ve got rules and regulations,’ she warned. ‘I don’t mind you entertaining a ladyfriend, but there’ll be no goings-on after nine p.m. All strangers and visitors must be out o’ the door by then. What’s more, there’ll be no card-playing, or loud talking, and I don’t take kindly to things being pinned to the doors … if you know what I mean?’

      John recalled the many postcards he had seen pinned up inside the ship; saucy pictures of women winking, or smiling suggestively, and there had been some baring more than their smile. ‘I understand,’ he said with the merest of smiles, and his answer seemed to satisfy her well enough.

      Puffing and panting as she led him up the narrow stairway, she declared sternly, ‘I run a decent house and am proud of it!’

      ‘I’m sure you do, Mrs … Miss … ?’ Not having been enlightened as to her name, he lamely finished the sentence.

      Pausing to glance back at him, she imparted the information. ‘The name’s Harriet Witherington.’ Her expression hardened. ‘And it’s Miss Harriet Witherington, if you don’t mind.’

      That said, she reached the top of the stairs, where she paused again to catch her breath. ‘These blessed stairs will be the finish of me!’ she groaned, quickly setting off again.

      ‘Go on in, young man.’ Having covered the short distance along the landing, she threw open a bedroom door. ‘This one is at the front of the house. You’ll get a clear sight of the docks from here, but you’ll get the noise too.’ She tutted loudly. ‘Drunken sailors and streetwomen … touting and fighting at all hours of the night. I warn you now – you’ll get little sleep in this room.’

      Thinking her too honest for her own good, John followed her inside. The room was spacious enough, with a bed, wardrobe and manly chest-of-drawers. In keeping with