A Winter Baby for Gin Barrel Lane

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  Naturally, news of the disaster had spread like wildfire and landlords tied to him were forced to find their ale elsewhere. From necessity sprang pleasure at no longer having to only sell Ezra’s beer, so giving their customers a wider choice.

  Money continued to drip into Ezra’s account from the public houses he owned but it was not nearly enough, and he worried he would not be able to pay off his loan. He had to get the brewery up and running again as soon as possible.

  Taking a cab, Ezra journeyed once more to Hodges’ yard.

  ‘I can’t take the job on I’m afraid, Mr Moreton, I’m too busy. Maybe in a few months I’ll have time to spare,’ Eli informed him, silently delighted to be able to turn the man down.

  ‘That will be too late! That roof needs doing now!’ Moreton exploded.

  ‘Sorry and all that, but I can’t help you.’ Eli hitched his horse to the cart which he then began to load up with house bricks.

  Moreton hissed a curse and climbed back into the cab.

  Once he was sure Ezra was gone, Eli unloaded the cart again and freed the horse from its traces. There was no way Eli Hodges would undertake work for that man, and he doubted anyone else would either.

  Moreton tried every builder, roofer, carpenter and handyman he could think of, only to be given the same answer. They were far too busy to take on any more work at the moment. He returned home, sure there was a conspiracy; surely not everyone was that busy.

  He swore again and kicked the fire guard when he saw the fire had gone out. As he built another, he thought the world was against him. He muttered a string of curses which would have made a sailor blush as he watched the flames lick around the coal nuggets.

  If he couldn’t get the roof fixed then there was nothing he could do to save his brewery – the business he had built up over the years. If only he hadn’t bought those premises on Navigation Street. He would then have had some money in his pocket. He could sell them, of course, but who would be interested in a couple of run-down pubs? He wasn’t desperate enough yet to offer them to Dolly Perkins. He would see that woman in hell before he’d sell to her!

  He should have had the roof mended as soon as his workers had complained it was leaking, but he hadn’t, and now the brewery was standing idle. He was losing money hand over fist and could do nothing but sit at home and mope.

  Was there a chance he could cancel the agreement made with the bank? It was unlikely because he’d signed the documents and saw them witnessed. It was a binding contract.

  Ezra Moreton was in the mire up to his neck and felt himself being dragged further down with each passing day. Was he destined to die a lonely old man with nothing to show for his life’s work?

  No matter how much he thought about his predicament, he could see no way out. He was stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, and it was all of his own making. With no money coming in from the brewery, and stubbornly unwilling to sell his pubs, thereby giving Dolly a chance to buy them, he was unsure of what to do next. He just had to hope his small income would cover his bank loan and then he must tighten his belt.

  Never once giving a thought to the men laid off from the brewery work, Moreton cared only for himself. How would he manage? What was to become of him?

  Going to the kitchen to make tea, Ezra fed the range but then realised it too had gone cold. He kicked the cast iron doors and howled as pain shot through his toes. Hopping around on one foot he yelled, ‘Bugger it! Bloody, bloody bugger it!’ It did not, however, make him feel any better.

  While Ezra was nursing his injury, Jack and Dolly were still getting used to being a married couple with Jack living at the Palace. He’d brought his belongings over and found it strange to be going out to work every day. He left the Emporium each night at nine o’clock, secure in the knowledge that Frank and Joey would lock up at midnight. The following morning Jack would head over to the Emporium and cash up before opening the doors to the thirsty public.

  Dolly would stop work when Jack got home so they could spend time together and exchange news.

  At nine on the dot one morning, Aggie was first in at the Palace.

  ‘Blimey, Aggie, you’re in early!’ Dolly said as she pushed the door closed to keep out the cold.

  ‘Oh, have I got summat to tell you!’ the old woman said, her mouth stretching into a wide toothless grin.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Dolly said as she limped to her place behind the counter. She grimaced as she watched Aggie gulp the gin poured for her. How could anyone drink alcohol at this time of the day?

  ‘Have you eaten yet?’

  Aggie shook her head. ‘This is my breakfast and lovely it is,’ emptying her glass she corrected herself, ‘was an’ all.’

  Dolly refilled the glass and asked, ‘So, what have you to tell me today that’s got you here so early?’

  ‘What? Oh, ar, Ezra Moreton is in the do-do! He can’t get a builder anywhere to fix his roof!’

  Dolly listened and again couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the man.

  ‘Nobody will work for him. They’ve all said they’m too busy!’

  ‘They’re conspiring against him?’

  Aggie nodded.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cos he’s a murdering bastard!’ Aggie snapped.

  ‘Aggie, nothing has ever been proved as far as I know.’

  ‘Maybe not, but it don’t change the fact that everybody knows he’s guilty!’

  ‘That’s slander, so you just be careful he doesn’t hear of it,’ Dolly warned.

  ‘I don’t care a bugger if he does! I’m too old to be worrying about that varmint!’

  ‘Just remember I warned you,’ Dolly said again, seriously.

  Aggie took her drink over to the fireside as the bar began to fill up and work in the Palace started in earnest.

  Dolly thought over what Aggie had said as she served her customers. Was Moreton a murderer? If so, why had he never been arrested? Did he have the police on his payroll? Dolly shook her head, dismissing the idea as ridiculous. The police were honest, hard-working men who kept the town safe. But the thought of Moreton killing people lingered and Dolly shivered involuntarily.

  It was then that Wilton arrived, looking haggard. Clearly his young son was keeping him up at night, but Dolly was surprised to realise that she envied him.

  44

  ‘Congratulations, Mrs Larkin,’ Wilton said quietly and, nodding his thanks for the offered tea, went on, ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t get to your wedding.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, with the weather as it was,’ Dolly replied with a forgiving smile. She noted Wilton didn’t give her a smile of his own. His complexion was pallid and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair was a mess and his hands shook. Was he ill?

  ‘Wilton, what’s wrong?’ Dolly asked gently.

  ‘My son died,’ he said in hardly more than a whisper.

  ‘Oh my God! Wilton, I’m so very sorry!’ Dolly exclaimed.

  Sadie and Alice gasped as they looked at each other in shock.

  Silent tears rolled down his pale cheeks and dripped off his chin. Suddenly he drew in a great breath and, throwing back his head, he roared his grief and pain and anger at the heavens.

  Alice dropped a cup and Sadie almost jumped out of her skin.

  Dolly watched her friend’s anguish pour from him and wondered if this was the first time he’d been able to grieve. It was her guess he had been supporting his wife and staying strong for her. Now all of his emotions were bursting forth in a torrent of fury and utter misery.

  Wilton sobbed for a long time and Dolly allowed him his grieving time in her kitchen. Her tears fell too as she watched him shake his head, still trying to come to terms with why this had happened to his family.

  No one spoke as Wilton’s heart was breaking; there was nothing to say that could ease his sorrow. Eventually he dried his eyes and looked at Dolly. The usual sparkle had gone and she wondered if it would ever return.

  Wilton sip
ped his tea then said, ‘My little boy went to sleep as usual, but he just never woke up.’ He sniffed. ‘The doctor said it happens like that sometimes and they don’t know why.’

  ‘Oh, Wilton! How is your wife?’ Dolly knew it was a stupid question the moment it left her lips, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Devastated. She won’t eat and she can’t sleep. The doctor gave her a sleeping draught and it helped a little.’

  ‘Should you be working? I mean…’ Dolly began.

  ‘I had to get out of the house. I couldn’t bear it any longer, seeing her so distressed.’

  And needing to grieve yourself, away from her, Dolly thought but kept her counsel.

  ‘We buried him in the little churchyard. He had a lovely little white coffin which I carried myself,’ Wilton said almost to himself.

  Sadie was undone and wept into her apron. Alice put an arm around the older woman, her own tears falling fast.

  ‘He is safe in the arms of the Lord now,’ Wilton said and tried to force a smile.

  ‘He is,’ Dolly agreed.

  ‘Oh, my poor boy! My little Cedric!’ Wilton sobbed.

  ‘Wilton, you know you will always be welcome here, but I really think you should be at home with your wife. You need to be together at a time like this.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. I just wanted to…’

  ‘I know, and we appreciate it,’ Dolly cut across to save him the explanation.

  Wilton stood to leave and Dolly threw her arms around him. He held her tightly for a moment then left as quietly as he’d come.

  ‘Cellar’s full again now, Dolly,’ Danny Whitehouse yelled and Dolly called out her thanks.

  ‘That poor man,’ Sadie said as she dropped onto a chair.

  ‘Life is so unfair at times,’ Dolly replied.

  ‘To the good ones it is,’ Sadie agreed.

  Dolly sighed and tried to imagine how she would feel if it happened to her. She prayed she would never truly understand.

  That night Dolly told Jack about Wilton’s sad news. Jack felt wretched for the man and also at how he had treated Wilton before he’d taken the time to get to know him.

  ‘He howled like a wounded animal, it was awful,’ Dolly said.

  ‘I can’t imagine how he must be feeling,’ Jack responded.

  ‘Neither can I, but he made the journey to let us know and, I think, to cry it out, which he couldn’t do in front of his wife. My heart goes out to them both.’

  Jack nodded.

  Later, in bed, Jack and Dolly clung to each other for comfort, their thoughts with the Burtons.

  Over the next few days, the thaw continued, leaving dirty puddles in its wake. People ventured out despite it still being cold, but life slowly began to return to normal. This winter was one they would remember for a long time to come.

  The gin palaces were full again and shops of all kinds and the market were doing a roaring trade.

  Dolly’s mind turned to Christmas and how they would celebrate. She decided to put to Jack a notion she had about having a party for the staff of all three gin houses. They could close early for one day and invite the staff to join them, where they could be praised and rewarded for all their hard work throughout the year. They could have mulled wine and Christmas foods and, if it was held at the Emporium, music too. They could sing carols around the piano. She wanted to give Jack a special gift but had no idea what, so she would have to think on that some more.

  When Dolly mentioned it to her husband he was in full agreement, so it was left up to Dolly to arrange the party.

  Going across to the Crown, Dolly told them about her idea. Everyone was excited at the prospect but Dolly noticed Nellie was not her usual cheery self.

  ‘Are you all right, Nellie?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, lovey, I’m just tired,’ Nellie replied.

  Dolly, however, feared it was more than tiredness. Nellie was clearly unwell but wouldn’t admit to feeling ill.

  ‘You should take it easy. You have enough staff to cope without you needing to run yourself ragged,’ Dolly said. It was only now that she saw Nellie had lost weight too. Her face was drawn and pale and she walked with a stoop. Nellie Larkin was getting old and no one had seen it coming.

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Nellie said but Dolly knew the woman would take no notice of her advice. She would go on running her bar until she dropped.

  Dolly would let Jack know what she thought when he got home that evening. Maybe he could persuade his mother to let the doctor check her out. She doubted it, for Nellie was a headstrong woman, but it was worth a try.

  Nellie stayed on Dolly’s mind for the rest of the day and no sooner had Jack arrived home than Dolly told him her worries.

  ‘I’ll go across in the morning before I go to work, I’m too tired just now,’ he said.

  Dolly nodded, seeing her husband yawn.

  They retired early, leaving Danny Whitehouse to lock up before he left for home. Jack was asleep within minutes of getting into bed and Dolly found herself worrying about him too. Was he working too hard as well?

  Dolly drifted into a fitful sleep. She had a feeling the fates had not finished with her yet.

  45

  The next day, Dolly and Jack ambled over to the Crown Saloon before the doors were thrown open to the public.

  Nancy greeted them with hot tea.

  ‘Dolly said Mum was looking a bit peaked,’ Jack said by way of explanation for their early visit.

  ‘She ain’t herself and that’s a fact. She’s still in bed,’ Nancy replied.

  Jack and Dolly exchanged a worried glance. Nellie Larkin was never the last to rise. All his life, Jack knew she was usually the first to be up in the mornings.

  ‘Go on up, lad, and take her this,’ Nancy said, handing over a cup of tea.

  Jack nodded and headed for the stairs.

  ‘It’s not like Nellie to lay abed,’ Dolly said once he’d gone.

  ‘I know, sweet’eart, and I’m worried too,’ Nancy replied.

  ‘I think the doctor should be called,’ Dolly suggested.

  ‘I agree. I’ll send a runner shall I?’ Nancy asked.

  ‘Yes, it would be for the best. It would set our minds to rest if nothing else.’

  ‘Nellie won’t be happy, you know that don’t you?’

  ‘I do know that but I’m afraid I don’t care. Her health is too important, Nancy.’

  Nancy called for her husband Fred and instructed him to whistle for a runner. ‘Send the kid for the doctor to come and see to Nellie,’ she explained.

  Fred did as he was bid, concern written all over his face. Outside he whistled loudly and watched as a scruffy urchin skidded to a halt in front of him.

  Handing over a sixpence he said, ‘Fetch the doctor for Nellie, would you, lad?’

  ‘Will do, guv’nor,’ the boy said, tucking the tanner in his pocket before he sped off.

  Fred returned to the kitchen to wait.

  Jack was upstairs a long time and Dolly became even more anxious. A while later the doctor arrived and was shown upstairs.

  Jack came down, saying, ‘Who sent for the doctor?’

  ‘I did,’ Dolly said.

  ‘Thanks, that was the right thing to do. Mum ain’t at all well.’

  They waited and shortly the doctor came down to the kitchen where he was given tea and Nancy paid his fee.

  ‘Nellie is tired to the bone,’ he said. ‘She needs rest to recuperate. I’ll leave a medicine for her which will help to build up her strength again. You must insist she undertakes no more work for the present; I cannot stress this enough.’

  Tipping his hat in farewell, the doctor left.

  ‘It’s going to be hell here when Mum knows she can’t work,’ Jack said.

  ‘We’ll manage,’ Nancy replied.

  ‘I don’t envy you trying to keep her out of the bar,’ Dolly said sympathetically.

  ‘For once, Nellie Larkin will have to do as she’s to
ld!’ Nancy replied sternly.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ Jack muttered.

  ‘Nancy, if you need help, just yell and I’ll come over,’ Dolly added.

  ‘Thanks, lovey.’

  ‘Keep us informed as to her progress,’ Dolly said as she and Jack stood to leave.

  ‘I will.’ Nancy watched them go and wondered how on Earth she would be able to ensure Nellie rested.

  ‘I’ll help, my love,’ Fred said.

  Nancy beamed. ‘I know you will. It’s gonna take some doing, believe me!’

  It was mid-morning when Nellie came down to the kitchen, a dressing gown draped over her nightie. She sat at the table looking worn out and nodded her thanks for the tea Nancy provided.

  ‘The doctor said you have to rest, Nellie,’ and she watched her friend nod. ‘You ain’t to work in the bar until you feel stronger.’ Another nod had Nancy really worried at Nellie’s easy acquiescence. ‘So, have something to eat, then get yourself back to bed.’

  ‘I will. God, Nance, I’m so tired!’

  ‘You’ve worked yourself half to death in this place, Nellie, and look where it’s got you!’

  ‘I know, Nance. It’s time to be a boss rather than a worker,’ Nellie replied with some effort. Even talking was tiring her out.

  Nancy cooked some scrambled eggs and when Nellie had eaten she insisted her friend retire back to bed.

  Nellie went without complaint.

  Later, Nancy took up a cup of tea. Nellie was sleeping peacefully so she left it on the bedside cabinet and tiptoed out of the room. On her way back to the kitchen, she decided Nellie would be having her meals in her bed for the time being, and tried to think of something to tempt Nellie’s appetite.

  The day passed in its usual fashion, the bar packed to the gunnels. Its patrons sang and danced and the staff coped admirably without Nellie.

  Nancy took her friend a bowl of beef broth for her lunch and Nellie ate sparingly.

  ‘How’s the bar doing?’ Nellie asked.

  ‘It’s full again so you’ve no need to worry,’ Nancy replied.