Always With Us

By Morgan Cheshire

Liverpool, 1896: Wealthy Harrison Calderwood has never given much thought to the poor of the bustling city until he accidentally runs into firebrand Daniel Harper. Through Daniel's eyes he begins to see how much more could be done to improve the lot of the working people, and at the same time he begins to feel a very strong attraction towards Daniel himself. However this is the Victorian era, Daniel is believed to be a troublemaker, and Harrison has a position to maintain and a family who are expecting him to marry a well-to-do young woman and settle down to a conventional life …

• Language: English
• Publisher: satis fiction
• Release date: Apr 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393820123

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Liverpool 1896

As he paused near the carriage-rank to catch his breath and check his watch, Harrison Calderwood knew he should have left the office earlier; his tardiness would certainly not improve his brother's temper. He wiped his face with a white linen handkerchief. Even the wind blowing up from the river was warm, incapable of cooling the heavy stickiness of what was probably the hottest day of the year so far - and it was only the end of May. This wasn't how he would have preferred to spend his Saturday morning, but somehow Todd had managed to persuade the owner of the Western Salt Company to ship with them, and had wanted to get the details sorted out as quickly as possible.

It was not until he stopped moving that Harrison noticed groups of men straggling across the road in front of him, all of whom, like himself, were heading for the docks, and it was another few moments after that before the significance of the scene became apparent to him; to judge from the intense expressions on their faces and the placards they were carrying, this could only be another strike. His brother Todd had complained loud and long about the disruption the city had been suffering for most of the previous month, and surely this must be the latest protest.

At the crossroads traffic was halted in all directions, with shouts and cat-calls from drivers and pedestrians, the neighing and stamping of horses adding to the cacophony. It was too late now to take a different route, so he had no option but to try to find a way through the chaos. Weaving through the edges of the throng, therefore, Harrison found himself being forced towards a cart which had been drawn up across the road, in the bed of which stood a man of roughly Harrison's own age and of a similar height and build. To judge from his clothing he did not appear to be one of the dock workers; instead he was neatly dressed in a suit and waistcoat, although his dark hair was tousled and untidy; he was addressing the crowd in clear and resonant tones.

Stand firm! Right is on our side. Now is the time to fight, not surrender to the owners.

Harrison felt a shock of recognition; his whole attention was focussed on the man, who spread his arms to emphasise his words.

You've stopped Jacobs shipping, nothing of theirs is moving in or out of port. The owners are helpless, they can do nothing without you. A few more days and they will have to meet your demands; they will have no choice!

Harrison knew this man; he tried to remember from where. What was his name? Harper, that was it; he was chief clerk for Scott, Byrd and Company, a fellow firm of solicitors in the city. Or, at least, he had been; surely they would not be willing to put up with such rabble-rousing behaviour on the part of one of their employees?

There was movement in the crowd and a man pushed his way forward. It's all right for you, he shouted. Your kids ain't starving, crying all the time 'cause they're hungry!

Murmurs and shouts of agreement rose from the crowd.

I promise. Harper paused for effect. I promise that every child who is brought to the shelter will be fed. You know me; you know you can trust my word.

Roars of approval rose around him and, riding the tide of sound, the speaker made one more passionate appeal. No cargoes will be moved! We can win - and we will!

It was a persuasive argument; Harrison himself was mesmerised, almost convinced of the justice of the men's cause, so that the voice suddenly raised close beside him came as a shock.

'ere, this man's a bloody spy!

Pushed sharply from behind Harrison reached out to try to steady himself, but fell against the man standing front of him, who caught hold of him roughly by the lapels of his coat.

A spy for the bosses!

No. No, you're wrong, I'm nothing of the sort.

Aye, nancy, we can all see what bloody sort you are! With no further warning the man drew back his fist and punched Harrison in the face. The sudden blow to his jaw snapped his head back and he tasted blood as he fought to free himself from several pairs of hands that held him. Staggering, he clutched at his attacker and knew he had to stay upright somehow - because if he didn't, if he went down, they would undoubtedly kill him.

Harrison's feet were knocked out from under him; he hit the cobbles elbow first, the pain from countless kicks and blows merging together into one agony. Trying to protect himself, he had curled defensively onto his side when he heard a voice which he recognised as Harper's.

Let me through! Leave that man alone!

He's a spy. He's working for the bosses. He's one of them!

Don't be ridiculous, Anderson, no self-respecting spy would make himself that obvious. Out of the way!

The immediate crowd backed off slightly, and Harrison could see his rescuer bending over him.

Are you badly hurt? asked Harper.

I don't think so. Yet the truth was that he didn't really know the answer.

Help me get him up, Harper instructed, and grudgingly two of the men strong-armed Harrison to his feet and pushed him in Harper's direction. Fire burned along his ribs, and he realised with alarm that Harper's firm grasp was all that was holding him upright.

On the far side of the crowd a cry went up. It's the coppers!

Coppers! The police are here!

Desperate to escape arrest and imprisonment, the crowd surged to and fro. Confusion reigned, men running in all directions, with shouts and the strident sounds of police whistles filling the air.

I must go. Harper glanced around. The officers will take you home.

No, managed Harrison. I don't want any involvement with the police.

Although clearly taken aback, Harper responded quickly. Can you walk?

Yes.

This way, then.

Supported by Harper, and still clutching his ribs, Harrison set off; his rescuer set a sharp pace, keeping close to walls and shop fronts, turning in and out of alleyways, while Harrison concentrated on simply keeping up.

Soot-blackened, high-walled tenements closed in around them, dimming the sunlight. Here the salt tang of the open air was suffocated by rotting vegetable matter, fish waste and cesspit stink. Dirty children played in the filth, and small knots of ragged women watched suspiciously from darkened doorways. Harrison lost all sense of direction as they hurried from one noisome court into another.

Reaching the double doors of an old red-brick hall Harper halted, pushed them open and, once inside, manoeuvred Harrison towards an old fashioned carver chair.

We'll be safe here, he said. How are you feeling?

Fighting to breathe, Harrison could not reply.

You look terrible, I think you'd better lay down. Father Ashmore, can you come and help me?

A tall, thin man had been hurrying towards them from the far end of the building, and between them he and Harper managed to move Harrison to a cot-bed at the side of the hall.

What happened? asked Ashmore.

Bert Anderson decided Mr Calderwood here was a spy.

And is he?

I doubt it, but we didn't have time to argue the point; the police broke up the meeting and I've brought him here for his own safety.

Father Ashmore took this news remarkably calmly. I'll ask one of the women to make some tea, was all he said in reply.

After the priest had left them, Harrison allowed several moments to pass before attempting to open his eyes. When he did so, he was almost overwhelmed by dizziness; he felt as if the walls were swaying dangerously towards him. Slowly his senses cleared and he found he was in a large white-washed room, at the far end of which a number of people were gathered. Where are we? he asked.

Eden Street Temperance Hall. I help out here from time to time.

A woman brought over a bowl of warm water; Harper wrung out a cloth and began to wipe the blood and dirt from Harrison's face. I'm sorry about what happened. Feelings are running a bit high at the moment.

On both sides, it seems.

Carefully Harper cleaned the swollen flesh around one eye. I'm Daniel Harper, he said, almost as an afterthought.

Yes, I know.

Harper rinsed the cloth and applied it again. I thought perhaps you would have recognised me, Mr Calderwood.

I remembered that I'd seen you somewhere before - it was at Mr Byrd's office in Dale Street. Thank you for coming to my rescue.

It was the right thing to do; you could have been badly injured. Carefully Harper cleaned Harrison's cut lip and inspected the soon-to-be black eye. Are you hurt anywhere else? he continued, changing the subject.

My ribs are bruised, and someone seems to have trodden on my hand. Harrison flexed his fingers experimentally, pleased to discover that they would still bend.

Father Ashmore returned, bringing a tray of tea which he set down on a nearby table. I can't offer you brandy, he said, handing Harrison a mug. This is a Temperance building.

That's quite all right, thank you. Harrison pulled himself up into a sitting position, unable to suppress a groan of pain at the movement. He accepted the mug from the priest, It's kind of you to take so much trouble.

Not at all, my dear sir, that's precisely what we're here for - to take trouble. And with that he walked away again, back to the far end of the room, where he busied himself in what appeared to be a kitchen alcove.

Did I hear you call him 'Father'? Harrison asked. I suppose that means that he's Roman?

Yes, he is - and a great help to me. The Irish trust him, though he comes from Lancaster and not Leinster.

Do you trust him, too?

Of course. We have the same background; I'm from Walkden.

Harrison knew of the area; Walkden was one of the ancient Catholic strongholds in Lancashire, which meant that Harper might well be Roman Catholic himself. He was uncertain how he ought to feel about this possibility; he had met several Catholics in the course of business, but socially they moved in very different circles and the two groups rarely mixed.

Harper stood up. You rest a while, I'll go and help Father Ashmore.

Harrison watched him walk over to the kitchen, then turned his attention to the other occupants of the hall. Four older women, who appeared clean and decently dressed, were busy in the kitchen; at the other end of the room a fair-haired young woman, helped by a child of about ten, had charge of a group of small children and was reading to them from a book.

Harrison was aware of the poverty that blighted the city, and had read about the slums and the benevolent organisations that tried to alleviate suffering in the courts, but he had never fully understood how bad conditions really were. Clearly the hall in Eden Street was the centre for one of these small, local charities.

Daniel returned to collect the empty mug. How do you feel now?

Much better, thank you.

Good. I'm sorry this happened; they're not bad men, you know, they're just frustrated and angry. I'm afraid you were in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

Harrison did not want to debate the morality of attacking an innocent person, no matter how frustrated one might be. What is it you do here? he asked instead.

Daniel pulled up a nearby chair and sat down. Little enough, I'm afraid.

Nevertheless, please tell me - I'm interested.

Our main task is to provide a hot meal at midday, for the unemployed and their families. It's nothing fancy, just soup and bread and sometimes a little extra when we can get it. Whatever we're given, really.

Oh, you mean like the 'Clarion Van' on St George's Plateau? Harrison had often seen the van dispensing food to queues of people. What do they have to do to get a meal?

Arrive sober, nothing more than that. As Father Ashmore said earlier, this is a Temperance Hall and we have to abide by the rules.

And what about the children?

Harper's face clouded. There's not much we can do for them. We try to keep as many as we can off the streets and teach them their letters and numbers.

Don't they go to school?

They should, of course. The older ones are supposed to attend the Board School but truancy is a big problem; they and their parents think they should be doing something to support the family. Harper paused. A lot of them turn to thieving because there isn't any work to be had.

Although unable to condone criminal behaviour, Harrison was beginning to see how someone could be driven to steal simply in order to provide for his family.

My mother helps to support an orphanage, he said, financially and materially, but she feels she can never really do enough; neither of you working alone will ever be able to solve this problem.

I know. Harper looked across at the group of children. Hopefully things will change, though, when the authorities finally realise that your mother and I are not really achieving anything; we're only saving those we can. What the city needs is investment in housing, health and education, but the sums of money required would be colossal - and, until we get them, we'll just have to carry on doing our best.

And the strike? How did you become involved in that? Harrison was careful not to sound too critical, but it was a big step from feeding the hungry to actually taking part in an activity such as a strike and he could not quite imagine how it might have come about.

It's all part of the same problem. The owners can well afford to pay a living wage; they just don't want to do it.

Harrison sighed; he was tired and his head was aching, and this was too big a problem for him to think about at the moment. I should be going; you're busy, and I need to get cleaned up. Grimacing, he indicated the mud streaks on his well-cut grey suit.

Of course. I'll escort you to the carriage-rank.

Harrison accepted the offer with gratitude, knowing he would never find his way out of the labyrinth of courts by himself.

*

Curious stares followed the two men as they made their way through the tenements, past barking dogs and line after line of washing. Eventually, Harper asked the question Harrison had been expecting. So, why wouldn't you wait for the police?

Harrison could not help smiling. They would have been sure to ask me if I'd recognised the speaker, he replied.

Oh, of course, I see! As an Officer of the Court, lying to the police ...

... is probably not advisable, Harrison conceded. I'm sure you know that.

I do, smiled Harper in return, and I'm grateful for it.

They walked into sunlight as they rounded the corner onto the main street, only a few yards from the carriage-rank. There they paused, and Harrison held out his hand to the other man. Harper took hold of it firmly. God speed, he said.

With a nod Harrison got into a cab and gave directions to the driver. He leaned back against the upholstery, wondering how Daniel Harper had become so deeply involved in relieving the misery of the poor, and how it fitted in with his regular employment, but most of all just grateful to be leaving such wretched scenes of deprivation far behind him as he was driven away.

CHAPTER 2

Less than half an hour after leaving town Harrison arrived home, climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. The butler, Grainger, admitted him, eyes widening as he saw the condition he was in. Sir? he enquired, incredulously.

I know, Harrison replied wearily. He went into the hall. Is Miss Alexandra at home?

No, sir, Miss Alexandra is out with Miss Seward.

Good. He began to climb the stairs. I would rather not encounter her just at the moment.

Will you be needing any help, sir?

Harrison looked down into the worried face of the servant, who was also an old friend, and nodded thankfully. Yes, I would appreciate that, he admitted, as Grainger followed him upstairs and into his bedroom. I can manage here, but would you run a bath for me, please?

Grainger departed towards the bathroom and, finally safe in his own room, Harrison managed to undress and pull on the ancient blue dressing-gown he adamantly refused to replace. He sat drowsing in the fireside chair, exhausted by the effort.

Your bath is ready, sir, said Grainger after a short while.

Thank you. Hopefully hot water would soak away some of the aches and pains.

Shall I ask Mrs Grainger to make you some tea, sir? the butler asked.

Harrison smiled, No, thank you. I would prefer something a little stronger than tea.

Shall I fetch the brandy, sir?

Yes, thank you.

Are you quite sure you'll be able to manage alone?

I'll call you if I need help, Harrison promised. He indicated his discarded garments, You may find it impossible to clean those, in which case ...

I'll see that they're given to the poor, sir.

Thank you, Grainger.

Left alone Harrison headed for the bathroom, where he stripped off his dressing-gown and stepped into the deep bathtub. Sliding into the water he felt the warmth begin to sink into his bones, relaxing tense muscles but making small cuts and grazes sting. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in comfort, washing away the sights, smells and sensations of his recent adventure and fully aware of his good fortune in being able to do so.

Grainger came in quietly and placed a tray on the chair beside the bath. Your brandy, sir.

Thank you.

Is there anything else you require, sir?

Nothing, thank you. Harrison smiled reassuringly. The only injuries I have are the ones you can see.

And those, sir, are bad enough.

Grainger's silent disapproval as he withdrew amused Harrison; if he had been badly hurt the butler would have been all concern, but since he clearly wasn't Grainger apparently felt that he had no right to come home in such a disgraceful condition.

The brandy was warming. Before he could get too comfortable and risk falling asleep, however, Harrison climbed out of the bath and towelled himself dry. He wrapped himself once more in his dressing-gown and then combed his hair, realising from his reflection in the steamed-up mirror that there would be no possibility of hiding what had happened and that therefore he had better have a good story ready.

Retiring to his bedroom with what was left of the brandy, Harrison settled himself again in the fireside chair. The cold grate was filled for the summer with a palmetto fan and Harrison's gaze rested on it unseeingly, wondering once more how a respectable solicitor's clerk could possibly have come to the point of leading a strike meeting on the Liverpool docks.

Elizabeth Calderwood stepped thankfully into the cool tiled hall, stripping off her lace gloves and removing her hat which she handed, with her silk shawl, to the waiting butler.

We need a good rainstorm, Grainger, to cool the air.

Yes, ma'am.

Would you please ask Mrs Grainger to send in a cold drink? I'll be in the drawing-room.

Yes, ma'am, he replied promptly, but remained where he was.

She had been looking in the mirror, satisfying herself that her silver-grey hair was still tidy, but now she turned to face him. Is there anything else? she asked.

It's Mister Harrison, ma'am, he began, carefully.

Yes? Is something the matter?

He came home in a dreadful state about an hour ago. He's upstairs in his room.

It was obvious to Elizabeth that Grainger was not prepared to add anything further, and his silence was troubling in itself. Thank you, Grainger. I'll go and speak to him now.

Tiredly, she climbed the wide stairs to her son's room and knocked on the door. Harry? May I come in? However she did not wait for a reply but went straight in; she quickly closed the door behind her, taking those few seconds to compose her expression into neutrality. She had rarely seen her younger son in such a dishevelled condition, and her immediate response was astonishment.

May I ask what happened to you?

Harrison, struggling to his feet to greet her, was unable to suppress a grimace of pain and sank back down into the chair. His mother was at his side in a moment, bending to inspect the damage, grateful that it seemed to be no worse than a developing black eye, a split lip and some rather colourful bruises. As soon as she was satisfied with her inspection she seated herself in the opposite chair.

What happened? she repeated.

Harrison sighed, clearly reluctant to speak, but she was confident that he would eventually tell her what she wanted to know; she was quite prepared to wait all night if necessary, and he knew that as well as she did.

I was mistaken for someone else, that's all.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

I know it sounds far-fetched, but it's the truth. I was on my way to meet Todd when I took a wrong turning and ran into some trouble; it was just bad luck, no more than that.

Aware that this was all the explanation she was going to get, Elizabeth stood up. I don't want Alexandra's first sight of you like this to be across the dinner table, she told him firmly. Do you think you will be able to come down to tea later? She was obliged to hide her amusement as panic washed across his face. There will only be the three of us, she reassured him. I'll tell Grainger we're not at home to visitors.

Unable to refuse, he nodded reluctant agreement.

Elizabeth paused in the doorway. Alex will want a better explanation than mistaken identity and so will I; you have an hour before tea to think of something more convincing.

Yes, Mother, he answered, as she closed the door between them.

Elizabeth hardly gave her niece time to get into the room before saying, Sit down, Alexandra, before you start asking questions.

Not quite eighteen years old, the girl was tall and slim, fair-haired and attractive. She had been living with the Calderwoods for ten