by Dilly Court
‘You’re lying.’
‘No, I ain’t. I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Don’t answer back. Haven’t you learnt anything in church on Sunday?’
‘I done nothing wrong, Uncle.’
‘Nothing wrong?’ Enoch’s voice rose to a roar. He went to search behind the counter, scrabbling around amongst the ledgers and receipts until he found a piece of card and a pencil. He wrote something on it and beckoned to Eliza. ‘You’ve helped a murderer to escape and you won’t say where he has gone. You are a liar and everyone shall know it. Come here.’
Reluctantly, Eliza went to him.
‘Turn round.’
Eliza turned her back to him and she could feel him pinning the card to her thin cotton blouse. The pin scraped her flesh but she did not cry out.
‘You’ll wear that until you’ve learnt your lesson. Now get about your business and clean the shop before the customers arrive.’ Enoch looked up as the door opened, and a ruddy-cheeked, bald-headed man strode in followed by four boys. ‘You’re late, Peck,’ Enoch said, scowling. ‘Don’t expect me to lower the rent on the premises if you can’t fulfil your orders.’
Ted Peck, the sailmaker, strode past Enoch, heading for the ladder. ‘Don’t worry, old man, you’ll get your rent as usual.’
Eliza kept her head bowed so that she did not have to look at the youths as they filed past her. She did not know what Uncle Enoch had written on the placard but she could guess, and it wouldn’t be flattering. Ted stopped at the bottom of the ladder, waiting until the last apprentice had scampered up into the loft before following them at a more orderly pace. When he reached the top, he looked back over his shoulder. ‘Miserable old bugger,’ he said, scowling at Enoch. He closed the hatch with a bang.
Enoch looked up, frowning. ‘I’ll double his rent if he’s not careful. And you,’ he added, pointing his quill pen at Eliza, ‘get to your work or I’ll take you across the road to the workhouse and leave you there.’
The threat of the workhouse was enough to make Eliza run out to the back yard where she filled a bucket with water from the pump. She carried it back inside, walking slowly so that she did not spill water on the tiled floor. Having fetched a mop, scrubbing brush and a cake of lye soap from the store cupboard, she was about to start work when Ted wrenched the hatch open and slid down the ladder. ‘How many times have I told you to clean up your mess before we start work?’
Enoch looked up from the ledger. ‘What’s this?’
Ted approached him with a belligerent outthrusting of his chin. ‘You may own the place, mister, but that don’t give your relations the right to leave my sail loft like a midden. There’s been food left out and that’s brought in the bleeding rats. They’ve had a go at the spanker we’ve been working on, and eaten half a pound of beeswax to boot. I tell you, Enoch, I ain’t running a home for waifs and strays up there and that’s a fact.’
Enoch turned on Eliza with a face like thunder. ‘You, girl. Go up there and sort it out. From now on you sleep under the counter. Don’t never bring food into the chandlery again.’
‘Come now, that’s a bit harsh.’ Ted cast an anxious glance at Eliza. ‘Maybe I spoke up a bit too hasty.’
‘You did not. I’ve been a sight too lenient with the girl and her feckless brother. Get up that ladder, Eliza.’
There was no point in arguing, and she climbed up into the loft where the apprentices were sitting cross-legged on the floor, working on the large piece of canvas that Eliza knew would eventually become a fore-and-aft sail, called a spanker. Stepping carefully, and ignoring the taunts from the Tonks brothers, two of the older apprentices, she went over to the table to clear away the debris left by the rats. She was not in the mood to be picked on by anyone, least of all two cheeky boys only a few years her senior. Mostly the apprentices treated her with casual indifference, like a younger sister or an amusing puppy-dog, and the copper-headed Tonks brothers were all right if you kept them in their place. Dippy Dan Bullen was a bit simple and laughed a lot even when things weren’t funny. Only Davy Little was her real friend, and then he had to make certain that the other lads were not looking when he chatted to her, or gave her a fluff-covered humbug from his pocket. They would have teased him mercilessly had they seen him taking notice of a mere girl.
Ginger Tonks looked up and grinned. ‘What’s this we hear about your Bart then, young ’un?’
Carrots nudged Davy. ‘Your little friend’s brother is a murderer, Davy. Did you know that?’
‘He ain’t,’ Eliza cried, balling her hands into fists. ‘Don’t you dare say that. It were an accident and that’s the truth.’
‘Is that why you got LIAR written on your back?’ demanded Ginger, chuckling.
Davy leapt to his feet. ‘That’s enough. Leave her alone, can’t you? Whatever Bart’s done it ain’t Liza’s fault.’
‘Ooer!’ Dippy Dan jumped up and did a jig, giggling and chanting. ‘Davy’s sweet on Liza, Davy’s sweet on Liza. Bart’s going to have his neck stretched. Bart’s going to have—’
‘Shut up!’ Davy turned on him. ‘You ain’t funny, Dippy.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Ginger said, shoving the needle through the canvas with the aid of a sailmaker’s palm. ‘Best get on, Davy, or Peck will give you what for.’
‘Be quiet, all of you,’ Eliza said, piling the palliasses one on top of the other and shoving them in a far corner. ‘And don’t let me hear one bad word about Bart or I’ll …’
‘Or what, young Liza?’ Carrots got to his feet and struck a pose. ‘Want to take a big feller on then?’
‘She can’t, but I can,’ Davy said, squaring up to him. ‘Pick on someone your own size.’
‘Stop it.’ Eliza swept the remains of the supper into her apron. ‘I’ll tell you this once and for all: my brother never killed no one, at least not intentionally. He’s gone off on a ship to the other side of the world and …’ Choking on a sob, Eliza bunched up her apron and made for the ladder.
Davy followed her to the open hatch. ‘Don’t pay no heed to them idiots.’ Thrusting his hand in his pocket, he pulled out an apple and handed it to Eliza. ‘Here, take this. The rats ate your supper and I bet you ain’t had nothing to eat this morning.’
Eliza hesitated, certain that this was Davy’s dinner, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings and she was extremely hungry. She took it with a smile and a nod. ‘Ta, Davy.’
At ten o’clock that evening, just as it was getting dark, Enoch emptied the till and put the takings into a leather pouch. ‘Don’t forget,’ he said, scowling at Eliza, ‘you sleep under the counter and I want the shop floor cleaned and everything nice and tidy when I arrive in the morning.’
‘Yes, Uncle.’ Dog-tired and fraught with worry about Bart, Eliza stood with her hands behind her back, digging her fingernails into her palms and biting back tears. Apart from the apple that Davy had given her, she had eaten nothing all day and now she was light-headed with hunger.
Enoch was about to leave, but he paused in the doorway, delving his hand into his pocket. He produced two pennies, tossing them onto the floor at Eliza’s feet. ‘Get yourself something to eat in the pie shop. I won’t have anyone say I neglect my duty. And make sure you lock up after me.’
After he had gone, Eliza bolted the door. Left alone in the gloom, she felt suddenly nervous. The stands of shelves seemed menacing as they loomed over her in the half-light; there were creaks and scuffling sounds coming at her from all directions. It could have been the floorboards contracting in the cool of the evening, or it might be rats coming out to look for food. She had been forbidden to go upstairs to the familiar surroundings of the sail loft, but the shop at night was a frightening place. Even if Bart had been late home, at least she had always known that he would come eventually. How would she manage without Bart to comfort and protect her? All day, she had worried about him, wondering if he had managed to get a berth on a ship and praying that he had got away. Surely she would have h
eard if the police had caught him? The light was fading fast now and Eliza went behind the counter to look for a box of vestas, and having found one she lit a candle. Its flickering flame cast ghostly shadows on the walls and ceiling. Something brushed past Eliza’s cheek and she let out a scream, but it was only a moth attracted by the candlelight.
By now, she was trembling with fear, as well as hunger, and shielding the flame with her hand she went through to the back of the shop. She stuck the candle on the lid of a paint tin with a bit of melted wax, and unlocking the door to the back yard she went outside into the velvet warmth of the July night. The stench from privies, overflowing sewers, rotting detritus in the streets and the stinking mud from the river made Eliza cover her nose with her hand, but within a few seconds she had accustomed herself to the noxious smell. She felt her way through the packing crates and other items that Uncle Enoch stored outside, to the heavily locked gate. She turned the iron mortice key in the lock and shot back the three strategically placed bolts. It would, she thought, be easier to escape from the Tower of London than Uncle Enoch’s back yard. As she stepped outside into the alley, something large and black ran across her feet. An unseen hand touched her arm and she screamed.
‘It’s only me, Liza.’
Spinning round to face him, Eliza slapped Davy on the shoulder. ‘You idiot, you frightened me half to death.’
‘Sorry, I never meant to. I was waiting for you.’
She took a deep breath, struggling to control her erratic heartbeats. She had thought for an instant that it was the police, who had been lying in wait to trap her into telling them where Bart had gone. ‘How did you know I’d come out this way?’
‘I knew you’d have to get some grub and the old skinflint wouldn’t be asking you round to dine at his place.’
Even in the darkness, Eliza sensed that Davy was grinning and suddenly her own mood lifted. ‘I got tuppence,’ she said, jingling the coins in her pocket. ‘Let’s go to the pie shop.’
‘I wouldn’t say no to a plate of pie and mash. The old man’s drunk his wages again this week. We’re on bread and scrape until Pete brings his wages home from the brewery.’
‘Come on then,’ Eliza said, breaking into a trot. ‘I’ll race you to the pie shop.’
Later, having enjoyed a plate of steak pie, mash and gravy washed down with mugs of sweet tea, Eliza and Davy walked down Old Gravel Lane to Execution Dock, where pirates had once been hanged and left in cages to rot, as a warning to those who might consider following their bloodthirsty profession. Despite its grim history, or maybe because of it, Eliza and Davy often walked this way; deliberately ignoring Bart’s stern warning never to venture there, especially at night. Drunken sailors of all nationalities were weaving their way back to their ships, some with equally intoxicated women hanging on their arms, singing, laughing and taking swigs of jigger gin from crusty bottles. Eliza cast a pitying glance at an old woman bent double, skimming the pavements for dog faeces, which she would sell as pure to be used in the tanneries. Turning her head away, Eliza held her nose. ‘I don’t know how she can do that.’
‘I don’t expect she’s got much choice,’ Davy said, guiding Eliza away from a particularly putrid pile of turds. ‘Hey, lady, there’s a tuppenny-worth of pure here.’
The old woman raised her head. ‘Ta, ducks.’ Shuffling up behind them she scooped the revolting mess into her bucket.
Eliza walked quickly on. ‘Poor soul! I don’t suppose she was always like that.’
Davy fell into step beside her. ‘It’s easy to fall on hard times.’
Coming to a halt on the edge of the quay wall, Eliza stared down at the oily black water slithering out to sea on the high tide. The reflections of the gaslights shimmered in fractured pools on the surface. ‘It looks like dead people holding flaming torches beneath the water,’ Eliza said, shuddering.
Davy looked over her shoulder. ‘It’s just your imagination, Liza. It looks like reflections of the street lights to me.’
She gave him a sideways glance, unsure whether or not he was laughing at her; he wasn’t. ‘That bloke died in the river; the one that Bart pushed off the quay wall. He never meant to kill him.’
‘Did he drown then?’
‘He was dead when they fished him out. Bart thought his neck was broke.’
Davy hooked his thumbs into his belt with a careless shrug. ‘There’s plenty of corpses dragged from the river every night. The dead houses is stacked high with suicides and them what’s met a sticky end. Me dad says that poor sods chuck themselves off bloody bridge in New Gravel Lane, sometimes two or three a night. They ends up floating in the East London Dock or else they gets carried out through the basin into the river. He drags them out all bloated and swollen – that’s when he’s sober enough to know what he’s about.’
Eliza had seen the odd dead cow or dog floating downstream but never a human body; she quickly put the image out of her mind. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it.’
A noise from across the street put a stop to the conversation as two drunken men lurched out of a pub, falling into the gutter. Punching and kicking, they rolled over and over on the thick carpet of straw, mud and horse dung. Men and women staggered out of the pub door, forming a small crowd and egging them on. Then the fight seemed to escalate as minor scraps broke out, and soon there was a tangle of flailing limbs, shouting, swearing and grunts of pain.
‘Come on,’ David said, grabbing Eliza by the hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ They ran along the quay wall in the direction of home. Davy slowed down a little as they reached the workhouse at the end of Old Gravel Lane. They were out of range of the brawling drunks now, but he would not allow Eliza to rest until they reached the alley behind the chandlery.
Breathless, and with a stitch in her side, Eliza leaned against the gate. ‘You’d best get home, Davy; it’s late and you got to get up early.’
‘Will you be all right on your own, Liza?’
‘Of course I will.’ She tossed her head, but inside she was quaking at the thought of going back inside the empty building.
‘I’ll see you in the morning then. Ta-ta.’ Davy loped off in the direction of Farmer Street, where his large family dwelt in a damp, overcrowded cellar.
Eliza crept into the yard. In the distance she could still hear the blasts of police whistles and men shouting. A pair of eyes glowing in the dark made her stifle a scream, but it was only a cat out hunting: she could have cried with relief when it leapt on top of the wall with an angry miaow.
Having locked and bolted the gate, Eliza was fumbling for the key to the back door when someone grabbed her from behind and a hand clamped over her mouth.
Chapter Two
‘It’s me, Liza. I’m taking me hand away. For God’s sake don’t scream.’
‘Bart!’ Sobbing with relief, Eliza turned, flinging her arms around his neck. ‘Bart, you’ve come home.’
‘I can’t stay, poppet. I just come to make sure you was all right.’ Cocking his head on one side, Bart was silent for a moment, listening. He laid his finger on Eliza’s lips. ‘I can hear the cops’ whistles. Was you followed?’
‘No, there’s a fight going on outside the Blue Anchor.’
‘What was you doing on Execution Dock?’ Bart gave her a shake, and then he hugged her in a grip that almost robbed her of breath. ‘I told you never to go there.’
Eliza pushed him away, half laughing, half crying at the relief of seeing him when she thought he had left her for good. ‘Don’t scold me, Bart. I’m so happy to see you.’
‘I ain’t stopping. Let’s get inside.’ Bart stood back while Eliza unlocked the door. Once inside, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. ‘I don’t never want to live through another twenty-four hours like the last.’
Eliza felt along the shelf for the vestas and lit the candle. Holding it high, she could see that Bart was both dirty and dishevelled, with dark stubble sprouting from his chin. ‘Where’ve you been all this time, Bartie?
Why didn’t you go on the ship to Australia like you said?’
‘Missed the boat, didn’t I? But I went round the docks until I found a ship bound for New Zealand. I’ve heard stories about goldfields where you can pick up nuggets the size of a baby’s head and get rich overnight. That’s where I’m bound, Liza. I’ll come home a rich man or not at all.’
‘Don’t say that, you’re scaring me.’
He patted her cheek. ‘You mustn’t worry about me, love. I’m as tough as the next man, and I’ve got the will to succeed. I’ll not let you down, little sister.’
‘Oh, Bartie!’ Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. ‘I wish I could come with you. It’s horrible here without you.’
‘Has he been cruel to you?’ Bart’s voice cracked with concern.
‘No.’ She did not dare look him in the face. He would know for sure that she was lying. ‘Not particularly.’
‘What do you mean, not particularly? What’s the old bastard done since I left?’
‘Ted Peck complained because I’d left food on the table and the rats had made a mess of things. Uncle Enoch said I can’t sleep up there no more.’
‘What?’
‘It don’t matter, honest. I don’t mind sleeping under the counter.’
‘That’s it!’ Bart’s voice rose to a roar. ‘I’ll not have me sister treated like a common counter-jumper. We’re Braggs, you and me, Liza, and the old man’s got to take heed of that once and for all.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘We’re going round to his house in Bird Street, and I’m having it out with him.’
‘But the police?’
‘Damn the cops, I say, damn them all. I ain’t leaving London until I’m sure you’re fixed up proper.’
Storm clouds had blotted out the moon and a steady drizzle was falling as Bart dragged Eliza along Green Bank to Bird Street. Uncle Enoch’s tall, narrow house was wedged between a tobacco warehouse and a seamen’s mission. Although it was close on eleven o’clock at night, and in spite of the rain, the street was teeming with people. Ragged children stood in the gutter, soaked to the skin and ankle-deep in filth, begging for money from passers-by. Prostitutes solicited from gloomy doorways and drunks lurched out of the many public houses and gambling dens. Pickpockets, petermen, stevedores, lightermen and sailors crowded the street and, after the heat of the day, steam rose from the pavements. The damp night air was filled with the stench of unwashed bodies, tobacco and the fumes of alcohol. In the midst of all this hustle and bustle, Bart and Eliza were able to mingle unnoticed and they made their way to Enoch’s house.
