by Dilly Court
‘I expect he’s gone back to the pub. He’d be worried about Dolly.’
‘Yes, that’s it, he’ll have gone to fetch Dolly home.’ Exhaustion was catching up with her and Eliza allowed Davy to help her over the rubble.
A sudden shout from one of the firemen brought them to a halt.
‘A body. Over here.’
‘Ted!’ His name was wrenched from her throat as an icy hand clutched Eliza’s heart: she knew, without even looking over her shoulder, that it was Ted. He had been at the forefront of the firefighting regardless of his own safety, protecting the business that had been the major part of his life for almost half a century. She had heard his voice sounding firm and decisive just like the old Ted when he had taken her from Uncle Enoch’s cruel clutches. It was only latterly that he had become ill-tempered, impatient and unreasonable; but for all his moodiness she had still loved him. Now, some primitive animal instinct told her that it was Ted lying there beneath the ruins of his life’s work. ‘Ted.’ Her voice broke on a sob as she struggled to free herself from Davy’s restraining hand.
‘Don’t go there,’ Davy said, holding her tightly. ‘It might not be him.’
But she had broken free and was running and stumbling over the debris.
A fireman barred her way. ‘It ain’t a fit sight, miss.’
‘I think it’s me – me dad.’ Choking on a sob, Eliza fell down on her knees. A hand and arm stuck out of the mound of charred wood and bricks and in the red glow of the embers, Eliza saw the outline of a balding head and just the top of a torso. His starched collar had burst open and stuck out at right angles. Very gently, Eliza laid it back into place. ‘He always had trouble with that bloody collar stud.’
*
Next day, after a night when she had barely slept, and despite Davy’s insistence that she should stay at home, Eliza went to the corner of Old Gravel Lane and Wapping Street to examine the ruins, and to see for herself if anything could be salvaged from the fire. A gang of workmen were shovelling debris into horse-drawn carts and had almost cleared the thoroughfare. A sickening smell of burning lingered in a pall over what remained of the building and, although the flames had been doused, spirals of smoke rose in plumes from the blackened timbers. Eliza could see nothing but desolation and it was obvious that the flames had consumed everything in their path. She turned at the sound of footsteps behind her and saw Arnold shambling towards her, holding his cap in his hands.
‘Terrible thing, missis. Terrible.’
‘Everything has gone, Arnold. We’ve lost everything.’
‘Have you looked?’
‘Of course I haven’t looked.’ Instantly regretting her snappy retort, Eliza moderated her tone. ‘I don’t think anything could withstand all that heat.’
Arnold’s face set in a stubborn, child-like expression. ‘Won’t know if you don’t look, missis.’
‘Very well.’ Hitching her skirt above her ankles, Eliza picked her way over the debris. She knew that nothing but action would satisfy Arnold when he was in one of his mulish moods. Besides which, he could be right, there might be something they could save from the wreckage. She could hear him lumbering along behind her, stumbling over fallen masonry. She ignored the warning shouts from the workmen that the building was dangerous and there could be pockets of fire still smouldering.
‘Wait there, missis,’ Arnold said, lifting Eliza off her feet as though she were a rag doll and setting her down on the flagstone that had once been the doorstep. Eliza was not about to argue. The stench of the charred remains filled her nostrils, and amongst the rubble pools of water hissed and bubbled with steam. It was like the vision of hell that the vicar had described in his long sermons when Eliza was a child. If this was Uncle Enoch’s revenge, then it was complete.
‘Look here.’ Arnold raised one large hand, beckoning to Eliza. ‘I reckon I found something. Best mind your step though, missis.’
Stepping carefully, Eliza made her way to where the counter had once been but was now a blackened mass of wood and brick. Arnold kicked at something with the toe of his boot and, hearing the metallic ring, Eliza’s spirits lifted. If it was the iron box that contained a week’s takings, then all might not be completely lost.
‘Can you pick it up, Arnold?’
Grunting, Arnold scrabbled amongst the bricks and roof tiles and, after a good deal of swearing and with sweat pouring down his face, he managed to heft the box onto a fallen rafter. Eliza’s hands shook as she unhooked the bunch of keys from the chatelaine at her waist. The gold sovereigns inside it might have melted with the heat but, as the lid ground on its rusty hinges and fell open, she saw that the coins were untouched. Tears of relief sprang to her eyes as she picked up a handful of gold, copper and silver.
‘Best tuck it away safe,’ Arnold said, glancing anxiously over his shoulder. ‘There’s men no better than sewer rats what takes advantage of this sort of mishap to loot and steal.’
‘You’re right,’ Eliza said, taking off her shawl. She tipped the coins into its folds and knotted the material into a bundle. It was not a fortune, but at least it would pay for Ted’s funeral, and help to keep the family fed until she could find work. She raised her head to thank Arnold but he had already moved away, climbing over debris to get to the yard at the back of the building. Tucking the bundle under her arm, Eliza followed him. The back door had gone but the lintel was still standing and it seemed unreal to stand beneath it looking out into the back yard. Arnold was stomping around, kicking over bits of roof timber and with his boots crunching broken tiles. He turned to Eliza with a triumphant grin on his face.
‘This lot ain’t been touched. There’s barrels of pitch, kedges, anchor chains and all sorts here. You ain’t lost all your stock.’
‘And nowhere to sell it,’ Eliza said, looking around and frowning. ‘You’re right though, Arnold. This stuff isn’t worth a fortune but it would be a start.’
‘It will all get pinched if it’s left out here.’ Arnold kicked at a barrel as if to emphasise his words.
‘Then it must be stored somewhere.’ A gleam of hope flickered in Eliza’s breast. With the money in the cash box and what remained of the stock in the yard, she might just have a chance to rebuild the business. The fire might have destroyed the fabric of the building but she was not going to admit defeat.
‘Hey, Miss Bragg.’
A voice from the alley outside the yard dragged Eliza back to reality and she looked up to see Joe Bullen striding towards them dragging his son by the ear. Stepping over the broken fence, Joe shoved Dippy Dan forward. ‘Dan’s got something to tell you, miss.’
Hanging his head, Dan stared down at his feet. ‘It were me, miss.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Eliza raised her eyes to Joe’s harsh face. ‘What’s wrong with him, Mr Bullen?’
‘He done it, miss. He knocked the paraffin lamp over and then the stupid bugger run off without telling no one. I’ve already leathered him with me belt, but you can hand him over to the coppers. I’ve washed me hands of the witless little sod.’
Dan began to whimper and his father cuffed him on the side of his head. ‘I’ve done me duty by the poor fool for twenty years. Now he’s on his own. Do what you like with him.’ With one last malevolent glance at his son, Joe stormed off towards the docks where he worked as a labourer.
‘It were me. They’ll lock me up in prison.’ Dan’s sobs grew louder and his whole body shook. ‘I never meant no harm, but the flames was so pretty – all blue and yellow – I couldn’t do nothing but watch. Then the fire began to spread and I run. I run and run and I hid in the cupboard under the stairs at home, until me dad found me.’
Arnold laid his big hand on Dippy’s shoulder. ‘There, there, cully. Don’t take on.’
Somehow Eliza could not find it in her to be angry with Dan. It would be like blaming a small child who knew no better, even though he had been responsible for the disaster that had not only robbed her of her business but had taken Ted f
rom them in a terrible accident. There was no point in assigning blame: it had happened and the future must be faced. Above all, she had Dolly and Millie to care for. There were funeral arrangements to be made, and she must find a temporary home for what was left of the stock. Arnold was staring helplessly at her, waiting for her instructions, and Dippy Dan was sobbing on his shoulder like a baby. Squaring her shoulders, Eliza made an effort to sound calm. ‘Arnold, I want you to look after Dan. There’s no need to mention what happened to anyone. What’s done is done. I’ve got things to see to, but I want you to stay here and keep an eye on this stuff. Stay here until I come back, d’you understand?’
‘Yes, missis.’ Arnold’s eyes gleamed with relief and he patted Dan on the back. ‘Did you hear what the missis said, boy? You and me is going to guard this lot until she comes back. Now stop piping your eye and we’ll set about tidying up.’
With a vague plan formulating in her mind, Eliza went out through the alley to Old Gravel Lane. She stopped when she saw Davy walking briskly along the street towards her. As he drew nearer she could see that his face was drawn and a worried frown creased his brow.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Liza. You ought to be at home with Dolly. This ain’t no place for you.’
‘You got no right to tell me what to do. At least I’m doing something.’
Davy’s face crumpled into a look of near despair. ‘What can I do? The business is gone, and Ted’s lying in the dead house along with those they pulled out of the river in the drag.’
Eliza winced; if he had slapped her in the face it could not have hurt more. It was true, last night the police had taken Ted’s body to the dead house to await the coroner’s arrival and the issuing of a death certificate. She had not dared to think about his poor broken body lying there with only the bloated corpses from the Thames to keep him company in the long night vigil. Trying to make Dolly understand what had happened had been heartbreaking and, even then, Eliza was not sure that she fully comprehended the fact that her beloved husband was dead. In the end Eliza had given her a hefty dose of laudanum and Dolly’s screaming hysterics had gradually quietened down, but then her mind had begun to ramble and she appeared to be talking to Ted as though he were sitting in his chair by the range. Millie had helped Eliza get Dolly up the stairs to her bed and then she too had collapsed in floods of tears. It had taken Eliza a long time to calm and comfort her. It had been a dreadful night and one that she knew she would never forget.
Now Davy was standing there, telling her what to do and looking as though the world was about to come to an end. Her stretched nerves snapped into a burst of temper. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself for one thing and, for heaven’s sake, take that miserable look off your face.’
Davy stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. ‘Liza.’
‘Don’t Liza me. Get off your backside and do something useful, or do I have to do the thinking for everyone round here?’ Eliza turned away from him but Davy caught her by the wrist.
‘Here, take this. It’s what I went round to your house to give you but Millie told me where you’d gone.’ He pressed an iron key into Eliza’s palm.
‘What’s this?’
‘You’ll need Enoch’s house now, either to sell it or rent it out to a family what can pay the going rate. We’ve lived off your charity for the last five years, Liza. Even me dad agrees that we can’t go on doing it.’
‘But … this is silly.’ Eliza stared down at the key in her hand and then raised her eyes slowly to Davy’s face. ‘No, I don’t want this. We’ll manage, Davy. Somehow we will manage and I won’t see your mum and the nippers put out on the street.’
‘I can’t live off a woman. I can’t do it.’
The bleak expression in Davy’s eyes went straight to Eliza’s heart. Taking his hand, she closed his fingers over the key. ‘Don’t talk like that, Davy. This is me, Liza, your good friend. We’re like family and families take care of each other.’
Davy shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘We’ll talk about it later. Right now I’m going to see the vicar about Ted’s funeral and then I’ve got a bit of business to do.’
‘What business? What are you going to do?’
In spite of everything, Eliza smiled. The urgency of his voice and the anxious look in his eyes made him look like a frightened schoolboy, and she suddenly felt old enough to be his mother. ‘Nothing bad, I promise you.’ She thrust the bundle of money into his hands. ‘I managed to save this from the fire. Take care of it for me until I get home, there’s a good boy.’
Without waiting to see his reaction, Eliza walked off in the direction of St Peter’s church. There was enough money to give Ted a good send-off, which was the least she could do for the man who had been a second father to her. It was unthinkable to let the parish bury Ted in a pauper’s grave, even if it meant that they went without necessities for a while. An hour later, having made the necessary arrangements with the vicar and the undertaker, Eliza stood outside the warehouse in Pennington Street that ran alongside the London Dock. A cooper was hammering a cask on the quay wall, the cranes clanked and their chains rattled as they flew up and down. The thunder of empty casks rolling on the stones and the splash of ropes hitting water were all familiar sounds to Eliza as she stared up at the four-storey brick warehouses with their impressive stone plinths. The air was pungent with the smell of tobacco, tar and rum mingled with the sickly stench from bins filled with horns and hides. Bracing her shoulders, Eliza walked into the outer office and asked to see Mr Miller.
After waiting for what seemed like hours but was probably only half an hour, Eliza was shown into a wainscoted office.
‘Miss Bragg to see you, Mr Miller.’ The clerk bowed out of the office, closing the door behind him.
The young man seated behind the desk stopped writing and raised his head. A look of recognition lit his face and he stood up, smiling. ‘Miss Bragg, we meet again.’ Moving quickly around the large mahogany desk, he held out a chair for Eliza and the scent of expensive cologne and bay rum brought back vividly the awful events of last evening. She sat down suddenly as her knees gave way beneath her. Although his face had been disguised with a mask of soot, she would recognise that voice anywhere.
‘You’re the bloke who saved me when the wall come tumbling down.’
‘I only did what any man would have done in similar circumstances. If I’d realised what a lovely young lady I’d plucked from the jaws of death, I might not have left so quickly, Miss Bragg.’
His flippant tone was making Eliza feel distinctly uncomfortable. His expensive clothes and his self-assured manner were those of a gentleman, and she felt at a definite disadvantage in the shabby mourning gown that she had snatched from the cupboard early this morning. She had not given it a second thought then, but now she was acutely aware that it was old-fashioned, the black dye had faded into green-tinged streaks and it smelled strongly of mothballs. Clasping her hands tightly in her lap, Eliza angled her head. He was young and arrogant, totally self-assured and yet there was something about him that was not unattractive. But she had come here on a mission, and she was not going to allow him to intimidate or patronise her. ‘My business is with Mr Aaron Miller what owns the warehouse.’
‘I’m Brandon Miller. My father is at a meeting in the City but I’m sure I can be of assistance, especially when it involves a beautiful lady in distress.’
Eliza studied his face. She was used to dealing with men in the hard world of commerce, but she was finding it difficult to categorise Brandon Miller. ‘Thank you, but I’d rather speak to your father. He knows me.’
A flicker of annoyance momentarily wiped the urbane smile from Brandon’s face. ‘My dear young woman, I’ve spent four years studying ancient Greece at Oxford and I’m more than capable of handling a small matter like this.’
Eliza tossed her head. ‘I’m sure that will be very useful if you deal with a lot of old Greeks, but we gets all sorts of foreign sailor
s coming ashore. You’d have done better to learn to parley French or Italian in my opinion.’
Brandon’s eyes opened wide and then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘My God, Miss Bragg, you’re a one to be sure.’
Rising to her feet, Eliza gave him a frosty look. ‘I can see I’m wasting your time. I’ll come back another day when Mr Aaron is in the office.’
He motioned her to sit down. ‘No, please. Tell me what you came for.’
‘My business is with the organ grinder, not the monkey.’
Brandon’s laughter echoed round the oak-panelled room. ‘I’ve been called lots of things in my life, but never a monkey.’
‘The show is over, Mr Miller. I’m going.’
His smiled faded and he leapt to his feet. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve obviously caused you some unintentional offence. You must forgive me, Miss Bragg, but I’m not used to dealing with young ladies in business.’
Eliza hesitated, undecided whether to make a dignified exit or to plead her case. Asking for help did not come easily.
He came round the desk and held out a chair. ‘Please sit down and tell me why you came.’
She hesitated. He was too young, too good-looking and too full of himself for her liking. She was used to dealing with down-to-earth sea captains, quartermasters, rope makers and merchants. She had come prepared to speak to Aaron Miller, who might be a wealthy corn merchant and ship owner, but had the common touch. He was well known in the London Docks, where he conducted his business in person rather than through a series of managers. His son was another matter. He had obviously been raised as a gentleman, but his arrogant attitude irritated Eliza. She decided that it did not sit well on a man of business, and she steeled herself to resist his undeniable charms.
Brandon motioned her once again to be seated and Eliza stared at his fingers gripping the back of the chair. Last night those hands had pulled her to safety and held her; she remembered their touch with a shiver that was not altogether unpleasant. ‘I come to see your dad. It’s a business matter. I ain’t looking for charity.’
