by Carol Rivers
‘Would the bookie really have – you know?’ Ethel began uncertainly.
Lizzie shrugged but felt certain Mik Ferreter would have no qualms about meting out his own form of justice to anyone who betrayed him. ‘He said Frank had pushed his luck once too often – so unless Frank talked his way out of it . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
‘Did you tell the police that?’
‘We had to. I mean, with the shop in the state it was, they wanted to know all the ins and outs. With all the unrest in the country lately they seemed to think that Frank was involved in some kind of political uprising.’
Ethel burst out laughing. ‘Sorry, but that’s daft, knowing Frank as I do.’
Lizzie agreed with Ethel. Anyone who knew Frank realized his sympathies were directed entirely towards himself. But, had his plan succeeded to set fire to the building, everyone in the place could have been killed. Had Frank hated them all so much?
‘Thank Gawd it was a bodge job,’ Ethel sighed, ‘and just made a mess. Think what would have happened if Danny hadn’t arrived in the time to stop him.’
They had managed to clear the debris but all the windows were still boarded. Only the open door let in the daylight. ‘The police said it was a crude incendiary device that backfired,’ Lizzie explained. ‘And they came to the conclusion Frank was in with the political agitators.’
‘What about the business of the ring?’ Ethel asked curiously. ‘Did you tell the police about it?’
‘No, I left that bit out.’
‘No wonder, if it was stolen.’
‘I was lucky no one noticed before. It was a lovely ring.’
Lizzie felt for the vacant space on her left hand. Her heart gave a little flutter as she thought of what she had done. But throwing the ring away had been an outward sign of her inner determination to start again.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Ethel said quietly. ‘You loved that ring.’
‘I love me life more, Ethel. And I intend to get on with it.’
‘You sound different, you know.’
Lizzie knew what Ethel meant. She felt different inside, more sure of herself and less uncertain of her future, which was odd in a way. She didn’t know what she was going to do about the shop – her livelihood. Bill was going to retire, although he had told her he wanted her to start again, that he would even let her have money to put new windows in and buy stock. But she wasn’t rushing into it. She wanted to make the right decision for her and Polly. ‘Well, I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last week,’ she said quietly. ‘With Babs disappearing it’s down to me to decide what’s best for Polly.’
‘Do you know where Babs is?’
‘No. Someone told me they thought they saw her at the train station but couldn’t say for definite.’
‘Poor old Pol,’ Ethel sighed. ‘How is she?’
‘I think she understands a lot more than she lets on.’ Lizzie’s overriding worry was that if Frank really was Polly’s father and if it was him lying dead on that mortuary slab, how would they all feel then?
‘What about Danny?’ Ethel asked with a curious frown.
‘What about him?’
‘You know what I mean,’ grinned Ethel.
Lizzie smiled. ‘You sound like your mum.’
The two girls burst into laughter. Ethel’s eyes opened wide. ‘Tell you what, you and Pol and Danny and Tom could all move back to Langley Street. Number eighty-two is empty now. After all the police raids on the knocking houses, old Symons would be only too pleased for you to take it over again.’
Lizzie sighed. ‘I don’t even know if I’m a widow yet.’
‘You’ve been one for five years,’ Ethel answered drily, ‘the amount you saw of Frank.’
Lizzie’s green eyes were far away. ‘I couldn’t go back to Langley Street.’
‘Why not? Mum and Dad would love it. It’d be just like old times.’
‘But it’s not old times, is it? It’s the here and now.’
‘Crikey, you have changed.’
Lizzie nodded slowly. ‘I don’t want to live with ghosts, Ethel.’
‘You’re not afraid of ghosts are you?’ Ethel chuckled. ‘’Cos I can tell you right here and now, ghosts won’t last long round Langley Street, not with old Vi on the loose. It’s supposed to be ghosts that do the haunting not the neighbours.’
They laughed again until Lizzie stood up, stretched her back and glanced round the shop. ‘I think we’ve just about finished in here. Ethel, I really appreciate you coming over to help on your day off.’
Ethel smirked. ‘I’ve enjoyed meself, really. All this excitement.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth, her blue eyes wide. ‘Fancy saying that when Danny is out looking at a dead body.’ She went pink. ‘What time d’you think he’ll be back? Wonder what happened?’
Lizzie nodded to the small green Singer car that was pulling into the pavement outside the front door. A tall figure in a grey suit climbed out. ‘Here he is now. We’ll soon find out.’
Half an hour later, after a cup of tea in the kitchen, Lizzie stood at the door of the airey, hugging her friend goodbye. A soft April breeze swirled down the concrete steps. ‘Thanks for everything, Ethel. You sure you won’t have a lift?’
‘No thanks. I’m off up the market while I’ve got the chance.’ She added in a soft voice, ‘I really am sorry, Lizzie. I know what a bugger Frank was, but it must have been a shock all the same.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘It was, even though I was expecting it.’ She cleared her throat. It hadn’t sunk in yet that it really was Frank’s body they’d found.
‘I expect it’ll be in the papers,’ Ethel sighed.
‘Yes. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Gossip only lasts till the next bit.’
‘See you over at Mum’s soon then, like old times.’
Lizzie watched her friend climb the airey steps. She didn’t know if it was possible to return to old times. She certainly wouldn’t move back to Langley Street. She wasn’t sure she wanted to stay here either. She had saved a little money and put it by for a rainy day. Had the rainy day arrived, she wondered?
She closed the door. There was half an hour before collecting Polly from school. Enough time to talk to Danny on their own for a while. He stood by the fire, his elbow resting on the mantelpiece. For all Frank had done, neither of them wanted him dead.
Without a word, he took her in his arms.
She leaned her head on his chest. ‘Do they know how he died?’
‘He drowned, the police said. And there’s no evidence to suggest foul play, but. . .’ Danny held her gently away from him. ‘You’d better sit down. I’ve got something else to tell you.’
‘What?’ Lizzie clutched his arms. ‘What’s wrong?’
Danny pushed her gently into the armchair. ‘The police were going to arrest Frank. He had set up a house at Whitechapel.’
‘You mean a brothel?’
Danny nodded. ‘And it was with Babs.’
She stared at him. Her voice shook as she asked, ‘How do you know?’
‘The police inspector said they had a tip-off. Because of all the unrest in the city, they’re having a crackdown.’
‘So that’s why they wanted to know if we’d seen Babs?’
Danny nodded. ‘She faces arrest too if she’s found.’
With difficulty, Lizzie composed herself. If she was honest it was no longer the fact that Babs had no love for her as a sister that hurt, but it was hard to accept that Babs and Frank had formed a relationship that seemed to have endured. She looked up at Danny. ‘And Vinnie?’
‘He’s at Bow Street. Nothing to do with the brothels, but for receiving stolen goods. Some of the charges, including a West End burglary, go back years. Like Frank, Vinnie must have upset a few people in his time.’
Lizzie felt tears of anger spring to her eyes. ‘What’s so unjust is that the bookie won’t answer for his crimes,’ she said bitterly. ‘If it wasn’t for him—’
‘That’s where you’re
wrong,’ Danny interrupted. ‘The police have found new evidence against him and closed down his businesses. He was the last person to see Frank alive, but the police have no proof of murder. It’s my feeling they’re going to make another charge stick.’ He looked back into the fire. For a moment he stood there deep in thought. He had loved his brother, if Frank had never loved him. That was the tragedy, Lizzie thought sadly. It could have been so different.
Lizzie stood up. She laid her hand on his shoulder. As he turned round she saw the grief in his eyes. He drew her into his arms. A warmth flowed slowly back into her body, a love that was immeasurable.
‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘Marry me—’ She put her hand up to his lips. ‘Don’t ask me yet.’ He gazed into her eyes, sighing heavily. ‘I’ve waited twelve years to say that, I suppose I can wait a bit longer.’ His arms folded tightly round her. ‘Just don’t forget that as each day goes by, it won’t come again. I want to wake up with you beside me each morning. I want to look after you and the kids. I want us to be a family.’
A family . . . yes, it was her dearest wish. But it was too soon . . .the memories too fresh in her mind.
He undid the turban round her head. Her black hair tumbled over her shoulders and her green eyes shimmered as she stared up at him. ‘That’s better,’ he told her. ‘This is the girl I remember.’
She looked up into his dear face. She knew he loved her and that she loved him and they were now free to let that love grow. Love was a blessing she would treasure and never take for granted. And whatever the future held, life would be rich with the fruits of that love.
Please read on for a quick look at the next instalment
THE FIGHT FOR
LIZZIE FLOWERS
by
Carol Rivers
Now available in print and eBook
December 1932
It was a sunny winter’s morning and ladders of gold streamed in through the registry office windows. It was also the last Wednesday before Christmas and Lizzie rejoiced in the fact that, at last, in her twenty-seventh year, she would be married to the love of her life, Danny Flowers.
The scene was set – low-key, no frills, just as she had wanted. Beside Danny stood Bert, her brother and best man. The ring was poised carefully between his great clumsy fingers, ready to pass to the groom. Bert’s towering six-foot-four frame strained every stitch of his ill-fitting wedding suit, his presence giving her a feeling of reassurance. As did her good friends Lil and Doug Sharpe, seated in the row behind, the only witnesses to today’s brief civil ceremony.
Lizzie looked into Danny’s clear blue eyes, spaced evenly in his handsome, weather-beaten face. A jagged scar on his forehead was still visible, the handiwork of her late husband, Frank, Danny’s older brother. Thankfully, nature had healed the vertical slash of smooth, pale skin and Danny’s blond hair fell lightly across it, disguising any unsightliness. But the thought of Frank and the violence he had been capable of still made her shiver.
Uncannily, a door ground open at the back of the room and her mother’s words flashed into mind. ‘Someone’s just walked over my grave, Lizzie, girl. The hairs on my neck are standing on end.’
But why had she thought of that now? Lizzie wondered as Danny took her hand in his. Frank was dead and buried; a swollen, almost unrecognizable corpse dragged from the River Thames seven months ago, now laid to rest in East London Cemetery.
She and Danny were to be man and wife today. Nothing could spoil this moment. Not even those painful memories she had buried, sealed and locked away, and hoped would fade completely as the years passed.
Danny moved closer. His tall, powerful figure was dressed impeccably in a hand-finished black suit and silk tie. Thick blond waves parted on his crown and a smile curved over his even white teeth.
Lizzie’s heart lifted in anticipation. This was the moment she had dreamed of since Danny had sailed out of her life to seek his fortune in Australia almost twelve years ago. She had loved him then. She loved him now. It was as if she had never lost him, never taken his brother for her husband.
And lived to regret it.
Chapter One
‘I love you,’ Danny whispered, tracing his thumb gently over her fingers. ‘Always and forever this time.
Her heart raced, missing yet another beat. ‘Always and forever,’ she repeated, her voice lost as the registrar, pasty-faced and squat cleared his throat noisily.
The door rattled again.
Danny held her gaze, as though forbidding her to turn around. She saw Bert pass Danny the ring and the golden band gleamed, poised to glide effortlessly over her finger.
But it was as if her eyes couldn’t help themselves. As if in slow motion, she turned, the minute details of the room imprinting themselves on her mind. The shabby wallpaper, the well-thumbed reference books on the shelves, a vase of white chrysanthemums placed on a small table and a sprig of holly pinned precariously above the handwritten notice wishing the public at large a Festive Christmas and Happy New Year.
‘Oh Christ, it can’t be,’ she heard Lil gasp behind her.
In that moment, Lizzie’s world began to crumble. The feeling of unreality she had been trying so hard to suppress all day now fully encompassed her. The man – the intruder – was walking towards them. A dark fedora shaded his eyes. A camel-coloured coat was buttoned over his chest. But it was the two-tone brown-and-white brogues that sent real fear throughout her body. Shoes that were her late husband’s trademark in life.
And so – Danny had told her – in death.
Lizzie shook her head, refusing to believe what she saw. If this was a ghost, then everyone else was seeing it too. Lil and Doug stood open-mouthed, staring at the figure in the aisle. The registrar frowned, a look of annoyance on his face at the interruption. But it was Danny who stepped forward and squared his shoulders, confronting the apparition. ‘Frank? But you’re supposed to be—’
‘Brown bread,’ Frank acknowledged, his pale blue eyes moving uncertainly in their red-rimmed sockets.
Lizzie felt fingers of ice on her neck. Frank, her dead husband, was here, in this room. The same man Danny had identified in Limehouse morgue, back in May.
‘But it can’t be you,’ Danny said. ‘I saw you. Fished out of the river—
‘Not me,’ Frank replied softly. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’
‘Is this some sick joke?’ Danny demanded. ‘What are you playing at, Frank?’
‘This ain’t no game, Danny. I’m flesh and blood standing here. Same as you.’
‘But I saw what I saw,’ Danny insisted. ‘It was you—’
‘Floaters are ten a penny in the docks,’ Frank interrupted with a slight shrug. ‘You should have took a closer gander.’
Before Danny could reply, the registrar spoke. ‘Who are you, sir? This is a private ceremony, with invited guests only.’
‘You’d better ask her.’ Frank nodded at Lizzie.
But she was speechless; like Danny she couldn’t believe this was Frank. He was thinner and paler than he used to be, his cheeks sunken under his eyes. But he was still wearing his trademark stacked-shoulders overcoat and ridiculous two-tone brogues.
‘Mrs Flowers?’ the registrar prompted. But Lizzie could only shake her head as she tried to speak.
‘I . . . I . . . don’t know . . .’ she mumbled at last, her voice a distant echo in her ears. ‘He was – he is—’
‘Alive and kicking,’ Frank said quietly. ‘Last time I saw you, gel, I was on my way out of this world. And no one is more surprised than me to be standing here in one piece. But this time, you have my word I ain’t here to make trouble.’
‘Your word?’ Danny repeated incredulously. ‘Why the hell should anyone take your word? You’re nothing but bad news, Frank. And though you are family and in all conscience I should be relieved that it wasn’t a brother of mine they fished out of the river, I am truly gutted.’
As the two men faced each other, all Lizzie could think was why in God’
s name had she married a man like Frank Flowers? She could still smell his drunken breath on their wedding night. Feel his hands ripping at her clothes. The dream had turned to a nightmare. She had been blind. Naïve. And worst of all, she had lost Danny.
‘Get out of here,’ Danny continued with quiet menace. ‘You ain’t welcome, Frank. This is my and Lizzie’s day. We are going to finish what we came here for.’
‘Problem is,’ Frank said, slowly raising his eyes, ‘the law thinks different.’
Suddenly Lizzie understood what was truly happening. It didn’t matter where Frank had been or why he was here. The sad truth was there wouldn’t be – couldn’t be – any marriage today. No blushing bride or wedding kiss after Danny had slipped the ring on her finger, no congratulations and confetti on the registry office steps. No wedding breakfast. Gone was the planned knees-up, the tinkling of ivories and serious drinking until dawn. Frank had robbed her of happiness once again.
‘Come, come!’ the registrar exclaimed impatiently. ‘Please either leave or be seated, Mr— ?’
‘Flowers,’ Frank provided. ‘This lady here is my wife.’
The silence in the small room was deafening; Lizzie could hear her own heartbeat. No one moved, or drew a breath.
‘It’s true, ain’t it, Lizzie?’ Frank insisted. ‘You and me tied the knot – when was it? Must be all of seven years back.’
‘Wife?’ the little man repeated as he turned to Lizzie. ‘But you have applied as a widow to be married here today.’
Lizzie felt her face flush. She stared at Frank and into his expectant gaze. ‘Y-yes . . . I was,’ she faltered. ‘But there’s been some kind of mistake—’
‘Obviously,’ the official replied, and taking the ledger in front of him, he snapped it closed, pushing it to one side of the desk with an expression of undisguised anger.
Chapter Two
A bead of sweat rolled down Lizzie’s back. Her two-piece suit, the perfect shade of green that she loved and only a shade lighter than her deep, sea-green eyes, was clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Her jaunty, narrow-brimmed hat of the same shade, with a delicate three inches of embroidered veil felt a mockery now.
