Beyond a Misty Shore Read Online Free Page B

and the doorsteps had been scrubbed and whitened. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad living here after all.

Chapter Two

    T HE FRONT DOOR OF number sixteen was painted dark brown but the paint was peeling and was badly scuffed at the bottom. The brass knocker and letterbox were tarnished but the curtains at the window were clean. In reply to Sophie’s knocking the door was eventually opened by a thin girl of about Maria’s age with reddish-brown hair and grey eyes that regarded the little group on the doorstep with open suspicion.
    ‘Is this where Mrs Quine lives, Mrs Lizzie Quine?’ Sophie asked, while Maria took in the girl’s hand-knitted, multi-coloured, striped jumper – obviously made up from odds and ends – and her brown, well-worn tweed skirt. Judging by her appearance the Quines were far from ‘well set up’, shethought, which was how her mam had described her brother’s family.
    ‘Who wants to know?’ was the ungracious reply.
    Before Sophie could answer the voice of an older woman came from somewhere at the back of the house.
    ‘Katie, who’s at the front door at this hour of the morning?’
    ‘It’s two girls with a kid, asking do you live here, Mam! They’ve got cases with them an’ all,’ Katie yelled back.
    Maria raised her eyes skywards. A nice way to describe anyone, she thought, and bad mannered too. This Katie – who was obviously their cousin – hadn’t even bothered to ask their names. Well, she could soon put that right.
    ‘It’s us, Aunty Lizzie. Maria, Sophie and little Bella – from the Isle of Man! Mam wrote to you about us!’ Maria yelled down the dark, narrow hallway.
    Katie stared at her but before she had time to comment a door opened and a small, stout woman with greying hair twisted tightly up in curling papers, wearing a rather grubby, wrap-over pinafore over a flowered blouse and black skirt, bustled towards them, her face wreathed in smiles.
    ‘I’ve a memory like a sieve these days! Never been the same since the Blitz, I haven’t! You’re Sarah’s girls! Come on in with you all, you must be worn out after that journey,’ she cried, hugging them each in turn before turning to her daughter who was looking a bit mystified. ‘Katie, luv, these are your cousins – I told you they were coming. Maria, Sophia and little Isabella – named after the big wheel at Laxey, so our Jim says, isn’t that right?’
    Sophie smiled with relief. ‘That’s right, Aunty Lizzie. The wheel is called the “Lady Isabella” and I always thought it was such a pretty name that I named this little one Isabella, but we call her Bella for short.’
    Lizzie ushered them all down the lobby and into the kitchen which to Sophie seemed crammed full of furniture and was very untidy. The overmantel above the range was littered with bric-a-brac, while ash had fallen from the range into the hearth. The dresser held not only dishes but a great and varied collection of odds and ends, the lino on the floor had seen better days and the table, which seemed to take up most of the room, was covered with newspaper and dirty dishes. Suspended from the ceiling was a rack, operated by a pulley and cord system, which was festooned with damp clothes.
    ‘Well, sit yourselves down, take your coats off and tell me all about the journey and how your mam is getting on. You’ll find things a bit different here, after living in Peel. Pretty little place, I remember it well from the time we took that trip over. Katie, put the kettle on, luv, and give that pan of porridge a stir. Come here to your Aunty Lizzie, queen, and let me take your coat and hat off,’ she instructed Bella.
    The child eyed her uncertainly; she’d never been called ‘queen’ before. She’d been named for the ‘Lady’ Isabella but maybe this new aunt had got it mixed up. She knew there was a
real
queen, Queen Elizabeth, King George’s wife, because she had seen pictures of her. She was totally unaware that it was a local term of