Lizzie of Langley Street

by Carol Rivers

  ‘No. None.’

  ‘Are they continuing the search?’

  ‘Only with the boat, down river,’ Lizzie explained.

  ‘I see.’ When they were all seated, he spoke again. ‘As there is no news, I think I must share some information – confidential information – with you. Your father, Lizzie, was insistent I reveal this to no one. But now that the likelihood is. . .’ He held up his hands in a gesture of resignation, ‘I think what I have to say might help ease your minds.’

  Everyone stared at the old man. Lizzie’s heart began to pound heavily.

  ‘Do you want me and Doug to go, if it’s personal?’ Lil asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘No, Lil, course not.’

  ‘Very well.’ Dr Tapper drew himself up and looked straight at Bert. ‘You recall, Bert, some months ago, you came to the surgery on your father’s behalf?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bert said in an unusually quiet voice.

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’ Lizzie frowned at her brother. She wondered how many other things Bert had hidden from her.

  ‘Pa said not to bother,’ he stammered, going red. ‘It were only for his rheumatism pills.’

  ‘He may have told you they were for rheumatism,’ said Dr Tapper slowly, ‘but the medication I prescribed him was for the alleviation of pain.’

  Once more everyone was silent, until Lizzie burst out, ‘Pa was in pain?’

  ‘I’m afraid the gangrene had . . . accelerated.’

  ‘Oh, Gawd,’ gasped Lil, her hand going up to her mouth.

  ‘You mean . . . you mean . . .’ Lizzie began, her words tumbling out, ‘it was his stumps . . . they were . . .’

  ‘Lizzie, your father requested that I keep his condition – and treatment – secret. As his physician, I had to comply.’

  ‘You mean . . .’ Lizzie tried again, forcing herself to ask, ‘he was . . . he was . . . dying?’ Lizzie swallowed as a big tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to her hand.

  Again the doctor paused, then nodded slowly. ‘Laudanum appeared to provide the only relief.’

  Lizzie put her hands over her face. As she sat there, sobbing, Lil put her arm round her. ‘I didn’t have no idea it was that bad,’ Lil said in a shocked voice.

  ‘Poor old Tom.’ Doug had tears in his eyes.

  Lil pressed a clean handkerchief into Lizzie’s hands.

  ‘I’m sorry if I have upset you, my dear.’ Dr Tapper lifted his drooping shoulders. ‘But doubtless you have questions as to why your father might have taken his own life.’

  ‘And you think he might have gone down the river that morning to . . . to . . . ?’ Lil didn’t finish.

  ‘It’s quite likely, quite likely.’

  Lizzie could hardly bear it. Something was being ripped out of her. It felt like her soul, pulled out of her body by some dreadful force. She couldn’t get the terrible words from her mind. Pa had been dying and in pain. And she hadn’t known. She hid her face, fighting against the misery inside her. Oh, Pa, she wailed in her head, if only you had told me. I would have stayed with you.

  ‘Lizzie, there was nothing you could have done. Nothing anyone could have done,’ the doctor assured her.

  ‘Will the police want to know?’ Lil asked him in a shaky voice.

  ‘Yes, it may help with the investigation.’ Dr Tapper added softly, ‘There were many times when I thought it would have been kinder to everyone concerned to know the truth. But the last thing he wanted was pity. You must remember that, Lizzie. It will help.’

  Somewhere at the back of her mind she had always known Pa had locked himself away from the gaze of others to avoid their pitying glances. But, even so, it was like a knife plunged into her heart that his life had ended in this way.

  When Doctor Tapper had left, Lizzie went into Lil’s kitchen and blew her nose. Lil followed, sitting beside her at the table.

  ‘At least there’s a reason now, gel,’ Lil said in an empty voice.

  ‘It don’t seem to help much,’ Lizzie sniffed.

  ‘Your dad wouldn’t have wanted . . . well, if the stuff old Tap was giving him hadn’t helped . . . he would have done what he did whilst he was able to. Sorry to be blunt, but it all adds up, don’t it?’

  ‘He could have told me, though.’

  ‘Yeah, and worried the life out of you.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what he thought?’

  ‘He loved you, gel. I know he had a bloody funny way of showing it, but he did.’

  Lizzie didn’t want to talk about it anymore or the tears would never stop. She scrubbed the mugs in the sink, then the teapot. She could hardly see what she was doing for the tears welling in her eyes.

  Lil dried the china in silence, then suddenly said, ‘What you gonna do about next door?’

  Lizzie shrugged. ‘I ain’t thought much about it lately.’

  ‘Does old Symons still come to the shop each week for the rent?

  Lizzie nodded, placing the shining teapot upside down on the draining board. ‘It used to be regular as clockwork on a Friday. Funny thing is, I ain’t seem him since the end of March. I got the rent waiting for him in me bag.’

  ‘That’s queer. He never missed a week with yer poor old mum. She never let him down, neither. The rent was always there in the cocoa tin, come rain or shine.’ Lil dropped the towel to the draining board, her intake of breath loud. ‘Blimey, you know the answer, don’t you? He’s been paid already!’

  Lizzie looked round at Lil. She didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean, Lil?’

  ‘Vinnie’s paid him, ain’t he?’

  ‘But I’ve got the rent book.’

  ‘But you’re not living there.’

  ‘Neither is Vinnie,’ Lizzie spluttered.

  ‘Yeah, but it’s only your word against his. With yer Pa gone and you up Ebondale Street . . .’ Lil’s face was white. ‘No wonder we seen a bit of Vinnie round here lately. He’s staking his claim, ain’t he?’

  Lizzie sank down on a chair. It all felt too much, as though her brain was going to burst. ‘But why would he do that?’

  Lil bit her lip. ‘Saw a business opportunity, I ’spect.’

  Lizzie knew what Lil really meant. That Vinnie trampled over anything and anyone, even his own family, if there was money at the end of it. ‘We’re only guessing,’ Lizzie said vaguely.

  ‘We ain’t far wrong, and you know it,’ Lil said with a sigh.

  ‘What about Bert?’ Lizzie asked faintly.

  ‘The poor sod is terrified of them women. He won’t go back whilst they’re there.’

  ‘But it’s his home, not theirs.’

  ‘It was,’ Lil said sharply.

  ‘Maybe I should tell the police.’

  ‘What good’s that gonna do if your Vinnie’s paid the rent and got a rent book? You can bet yer life he’s bunged old Symons a few extra quid to back him up, otherwise you’d have had the old skinflint on yer doorstep a month ago.’

  Lizzie tried to think, but grief kept getting in the way. She was feeling so many conflicting emotions. She was beyond tears. A terrible emptiness had taken hold of her. She knew she should fight for the house, but she didn’t have the conviction.

  ‘Come on, gel, it’ll all work out,’ Lil said, patting her shoulder. ‘Bert’s welcome to kip on the mattress in the front room, like yer Pa did, till everything’s sorted out. He’s no trouble. In fact, Doug likes the company.’

  ‘You sure, Lil?’

  ‘Wouldn’t say if I didn’t mean it, would I?’ Lil got up and put on the kettle, resorting to another cup of tea to bolster them, before telling the men.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The months passed slowly by and there was no news from the police. It was December once more and the nights were closing in. Hundreds of chimneys puffed out smoke, mixing with the mist that rose from the river. A damp yellow fog spread over the houses. It was Saturday evening and Lizzie was in the storeroom with Bill.

  ‘Bert doing the last of them deliverie
s?’ Bill wheezed as he spat on the big brass scale and polished it with his elbow.

  Lizzie nodded, her back beginning to ache. She was glad it was the end of the week. Tomorrow was bath night. The old tin bath was filled with kettles of hot water in front of the open fire.

  ‘He should be back soon. Then we’ll close up.’

  ‘Ain’t seen that son of mine around for a while,’ Bill muttered. He glanced at her sharply.

  Lizzie hadn’t seen Frank all week. She knew he would turn up when he was hungry or needed money.

  ‘You all right, gel?’ Bill Flowers’ gruff voice broke into her thoughts.

  She nodded, reaching for the broom.

  ‘You looked a bit like my Daisy, then,’ he told her. ‘She was always sweepin’ up. A good little worker, she was. You two would have got on like a house on fire.’

  It was the first time Bill had spoken intimately of his dead wife. ‘How did you manage after she died, Bill?’

  He shrugged. ‘Gertie came in to ’elp, didn’t she? Give the baby his milk and keep an eye on Frank. Trouble was, Frank never took to her. He missed his mother. The doctor told Daisy she shouldn’t have no more after Frank. But it weren’t no good telling Daisy about kids. She had it in her mind to have a clutch of ’em.’ The old man stared into space, his lips trembling. ‘Frank was three when it happened. He somehow thought that Danny was responsible for Daisy going.’

  ‘But she died in childbirth,’ Lizzie protested. ‘Danny couldn’t help that.’

  ‘Frank never saw it that way. Felt bitter, even as a kid. And his nature ain’t improved. You know that better than anyone.’

  Lizzie knew. Frank had been a different person before their marriage, kind and caring. Why had he changed? Or had he changed? Had she just thought he was someone else?

  ‘Still,’ Bill changed the subject quickly, ‘this won’t get the work done. He bent to lift a sack of potatoes on to his back, a slow and painful process.

  ‘I wish you’d leave that to Bert,’ Lizzie said anxiously.

  ‘The day I can’t pick up a sack of spuds I’m finished.’ Bill humped the sack to the back of the storeroom and dropped it beside the others.

  Knowing she couldn’t stop him, Lizzie finished sweeping the floor. Then she put on her coat and went to the till and rang up the day’s takings. The books on the shelf below were all up to date. Although business was good, more money was going out than coming in. The shop was up fifty per cent up on last year. So was Frank’s spending. A fact neither she nor Bill had the power to change.

  It was half past six when Lizzie locked up. Bert and Bill went off to the pub. Lizzie hurried down to the airey, wondering if Flo was in. She had left school in August and found work as an office clerk. Since the office was in the pickle factory it was a kind of compromise. Saturday was Flo’s half day.

  When Lizzie walked in, Flo and Sydney Miller were standing in the middle of the room. They broke apart quickly.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Flowers.’ Sydney Miller wasn’t tall, standing just an inch above Flo, but he was well built and upright. His cap was stuffed in his pocket and his brown hair was cut neatly, short back and sides. His boots were shining, a fact that didn’t escape Lizzie’s quick eyes.

  ‘Hello, Sydney.’ Lizzie took off her coat, wondering what to do. She knew that, whether she liked Sydney or not, Flo was going to have her own way.

  ‘Sydney walked me home,’ Flo said hurriedly, going bright pink.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘For a walk. Over Blackheath. We passed Rickards and waved to Ethel.’

  ‘So what are you doing now?’ Lizzie looked at Sydney, who didn’t seem like a ruffian. In fact, she couldn’t fault his clean trousers and jacket.

  ‘We thought we’d . . . er, just say hello.’ Flo still had her coat on. Sydney shuffled his feet, looking awkward.

  At least Flo had brought him home, Lizzie thought. They hadn’t gone to the house in Poplar as Flo had once threatened, an outcome Lizzie had always dreaded.

  ‘Would Sydney like to stay to tea?’ she asked.

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Flo was at her side in the kitchen, talking ten the dozen. Sydney sat by the fire, contemplating the shine on his boots.

  ‘Thanks, sis,’ Flo whispered, as Lizzie fried bubble and squeak from Thursday’s leftover mash. She gave Lizzie a peck on the cheek.

  ‘What was that for?’ Lizzie hid her amusement.

  ‘You know, having Sydney home.’

  ‘Don’t think I’m gonna do this every week.’ Lizzie fried sausages, adding an extra two to the pan for Sydney.

  ‘No,’ murmured Flo with a giggle. ‘I’ll do the cooking next time.’

  Sydney left at eight. He thanked Lizzie for the lovely meal and grinned at Flo. The young man had surprised Lizzie. He hadn’t said much. Maybe it was because Flo nudged him hard when he opened his mouth. But he always called her Mrs Flowers and said ta or thank you. He was eighteen, two years older than Flo, but he had a young, fresh face with a big smile plastered permanently over it.

  No one brought up the subject of the Millers’ reputation. Lizzie didn’t know if Sydney took after his six notorious brothers. But since Flo was determined to go out with him, she was prepared to give him a chance.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Flo asked as they sat by the fire before bed.

  ‘What do I think about what?’ Lizzie knew what Flo wanted her to say.

  ‘About Sydney, of course.’

  ‘Has he got a job?’

  Flo looked disappointed. ‘I knew you’d ask that.’

  ‘Well, has he?’

  ‘Would you like him any the less if he didn’t?’

  ‘So he has, then?’ Lizzie smiled.

  Flo sat back in the armchair and nodded. ‘Up Billingsgate. Portering. Didn’t you smell the fish?’

  Lizzie ignored that one. ‘Are you two serious?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Flo cried indignantly. ‘We’re just . . . enjoying ourselves, that’s all.’

  ‘Not too much, I hope.’

  Flo grinned. ‘You sound just like Ma.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve got to keep my eye on you.’ Lizzie knew that Flo would have what she wanted in the end. But there had to be some rules defined.

  Flo snuggled into the chair and yawned. ‘He ain’t half a laugh, is Sydney.’

  ‘Well, you could have fooled me. He hardly said two words tonight.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he was nervous, wasn’t he?’

  ‘What of?’ Lizzie kept her smile hidden.

  ‘You. He didn’t know what reception he’d get.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t have anything to complain about when he left, not with that full stomach.’

  Flo burst into laughter. ‘Blimey, that is Ma talking.’

  They were both laughing then and Lizzie leaned forward to poke an ember of coal back into the grate. ‘Well, time for bed,’ she sighed. For a moment a pang of loneliness went through her. She would sleep alone without her man. Frank always collapsed on the couch when he came home, too drunk to take his clothes off. He rarely came to bed. She knew that he didn’t want to talk to her. There had been too many bitter quarrels and, worse, fights. His answer was to use the airey as somewhere to eat and fill his wallet.

  Lizzie sat back in the chair. She gazed proudly at Flo. She had turned into a lovely young woman, her health and weight regained. Her brown hair was no longer straight and lank, but shining and fashionably waved. Flo took care with her appearance and Lizzie knew why.

  ‘What you lookin’ at?’ Flo asked, yawning. ‘Me hair’s all right ain’t it?’

  ‘You know it is.’

  ‘He ain’t bad, is he, Lizzie?’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘If you say so. But you two – behave youselves. You’re only young.’

  ‘I know,’ grinned Flo, rising to her feet and yawning again. ‘As soon as I get as old as you I reckon I’ll ’ave had all me fun.’

  Lizzie snorted. ‘You cheeky bligh
ter!’ Flo was taller than her now. She couldn’t clip her round the ear anymore.

  ‘Night, then.’ Flo bent and kissed her cheek. She ran down the passage giggling. Lizzie knew that for the next ten minutes Flo would be painstakingly winding papers around her hair to curl it, attempting to look like Mary Pickford, her favourite film star.

  Lizzie cleared away in the kitchen. Then she undressed and washed, pouring warm water from the jug into the bedroom bowl. When all was done, she brushed her long black hair. Drawing it on to her left shoulder to plait, she looked into the mirror. Two large green eyes stared wistfully back at her from under the ebony tumble of hair. Was Pa’s body ever going to be found? Would they ever know what happened to him?

  Lizzie shuddered. She had tried to share her worries with Flo, but Flo refused to talk about Pa. She was only sixteen. Lizzie knew she wanted to block the bad memory out and she didn’t blame her.

  Lizzie slipped on her nightgown and went to lock the front door. Before she reached it, she heard noises outside. It couldn’t be Flo. She would be asleep by now. The voices got louder, laughing and singing. Her heart started to race. She hadn’t locked the door yet. She reached out, was almost there . . .

  It swung open. Frank, Vinnie and Babs all staggered in. Frank had his arm round Vinnie’s shoulders. They were laughing and falling over themselves.

  ‘Well, look who it ain’t,’ Babs screeched, her voice high and piercing. Her eyes were puffy and her red hair was so frizzy it looked like a mop. Lizzie stared at her sister’s swollen stomach.

  ‘What do you want?’ Lizzie faltered, hiding her shock.

  Babs laughed loudly. ‘Now that ain’t much of a welcome, staring at us like we was strangers! There was I, thinking you and me could have a couple of drinks and chat over old times.’ She paused, her red painted mouth quivering. ‘You know what I think? I think you should show a little more hospitality to yer family, that’s what I think.’

  Lizzie’s heart sank. ‘Do you know what time it is?’

  Babs shrugged, unconcerned. ‘So what? There ain’t no hurry.’