by Carol Rivers
Lizzie Flowers and the Family Firm
Carol Rivers
Details of the Carol Rivers Newsletter can be found at the back of this book.
Contents
LIZZIE’S STORY SO FAR
Prologue
Part I
Part II
Part III
Also by Carol Rivers
About the Author
Excerpt of Christmas to Come
LIZZIE’S STORY SO FAR
Lizzie's story begins in 1919 after Lizzie Allen's mother's untimely death. Lizzie's disabled war veteran father Tom, has been left a broken and bitter man; her elder brother Vinnie, is a villain in the making and her two younger sisters are in danger of being taken into care. Lizzie is left to pick up the pieces of their lives, without even her sweetheart Danny Flowers to help her, as he sets sail for Australia to seek his fortune.
Determined to unite her family with the help of close friends and neighbours, yet unable to escape the poverty of the slums, heartbroken Lizzie is tricked into marriage by Danny's unscrupulous brother, Frank Flowers.
It is only with Frank's death, and her great success at running the Flowers greengrocer's, that gives Lizzie independence at last. With the support of the East End community and Danny returning from Australia, Lizzie's happiness seems complete. But as their wedding day dawns, Frank rises from the dead and Lizzie's life is once again thrown into turmoil.
1934: Having struggled through the years of the Depression and won her battle against the protectionists and thugs who have threatened the East End, Lizzie buys the lease of a disreputable dockland's pub called the Mill Wall. Even Danny warns her she's bitten off more than she can chew this time. The word on the street is that Lizzie Flowers and her family are finished - but are they?
Lizzie is not beaten yet. She calls in favours, refusing to be intimidated and determined to keep the Mill Wall clean. But even her friend and close ally, the canny south London Irishman, Murphy, is outwitted by the most cunning crime lord of them all. He's infamously known as The Prince, but is far from royalty. His currency is women and he will stop at nothing to conquer Lizzie's turf.
It's said that where there is muck there's money. But when Lizzie's success comes at a cost of losing all she has worked so hard for, a pact with The Prince may be the only way to go. We re-join Lizzie at one of her spectacular new enterprises, the prosperous Ripon Street Bakery. It's here that Lizzie's sick and desperate best friend Ethel Ryde, returns from exile to plead with Lizzie for help and protection for herself and her illegitimate baby …
Now, read on!
Prologue
Lewisham
South London
November 1934
Ethel Ryde cowered in fear at the sight of her enraged mother-in-law. Cora Ryde's tall, skeletal frame and contemptuous eyes were a sight to behold; a sight Ethel had always feared she would be faced with one day. The confrontation had been in the offing and it was only Ethel's strict avoidance of Cora that had so far kept a roof over their heads. Now the older woman's anger knew no bounds and it was terrifying.
'I've done my Christian duty and given shelter to you and your baby,' Cora insisted. 'But enough is enough. Your child was never destined to survive its sinful conception. It's time you considered my son's children, Rosie and Timothy. You must give your bastard over to the authorities.'
Ethel shook her head determinedly as she clutched her baby. Her mother-in-law's ultimatum was unthinkable. Wasn't it enough punishment that Cora had already evicted them from the home they had shared as a family when Richard was alive? 'Callum's done nothing wrong,' she defended. 'He needs his mother, just like Rosie and Timothy. If only you'd not turned us out of our house … '
'My house!' Cora interrupted, freezing the protest on Ethel's lips. 'Did you really think I would allow you to stay?'
'Doesn't your Christian faith teach mercy?' Ethel pleaded as the salty tears pierced the corners of her eyes. 'Richard and me lived there all our married life.'
'You should have thought about that before you took a lover.' The red blush of fury showed under the deep grooves embedded in Cora's gaunt cheeks. 'I've held my tongue long enough, but the truth will out. To think what you've put your children through. A humiliation beyond words. My Richard was a God-fearing man and devoted son. He was a faithful husband to you, decent and upright. Thank the good Lord he never knew of your shame.'
Ethel felt herself falling against the wall, the words striking at her heart like a poisoned dart. Cora had reminded her daily of her adultery and it was heartbreaking to Ethel.
'I've tried to make amends,' Ethel pleaded as she held her eight-month-old baby to her chest. 'There's not a day gone by when I haven't mourned Richard. Or the fact I went with another man. If I could turn back the clock - '
'How dare you!' Cora interrupted, stabbing an accusing finger in Ethel's face. 'You're not fit to speak my son's name.'
'But I've done everything you asked,' Ethel wailed. 'I've hidden Callum from the world and not ventured out. Not till he needed the doctor - '
'Whereupon you refused his advice!' Cora looked as though she had just been scalded by hot water. 'The boy would have been taken away there and then without further fuss.'
'But I'm his mother,' Ethel protested. 'He's my baby! How could I give him away?'
Cora lifted her chin and sneered. 'Then there's no more to be said on the matter.'
Suddenly there was movement at the top of the winding staircase. The big Victorian house echoed Ethel's teenage daughter's soft sobs. Rosie's tear-stained cheeks were hidden under her thick blonde hair. At sixteen, Rosie was already a beauty. Ethel's stomach cramped at the thought of how she had betrayed her family. Beside Rosie stood seventeen-year-old Timothy, her brother. Tall and lanky, his fair hair was swept over the crown of his head just as his father Richard had worn his.
Ethel marvelled at the sight of her handsome son. She gazed into eyes that were the same shade of china blue as her own and yearned to beg his forgiveness.
But the two young adults stood solemnly, as if separated from their mother by an invisible wall. Ethel looked pleadingly at them, desperate for understanding. 'Please give me another chance. I'll do everything your grandmother asks. I'll not set a foot outside again until I can find a place for us all to live.'
Rosie stared at her mother with sympathy and even a little concern as if considering Ethel's heartfelt plea. A small flame of hope flickered in Ethel's heart only to be dashed as Cora positioned herself squarely at the foot of the stairs. Folding her long arms across her chest, she held her head high.
'Rosie, Timothy,' she intoned in a long-suffering voice, 'you know how much I've tried to help your mother in her hour of need. But now my health is suffering. Despite offering her a solution to her disgrace she refuses to listen. It's time for you to make your choice. There is a home for you here as long as you want it. But if you leave today then I shall wash my hands of the whole sordid affair.' She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her nose.
Ethel was trembling violently as she stood by the open door; a chill winter breeze gusted in from the street, causing the baby to cough.
Surely Rosie and Timothy will join me, Ethel thought incredulously. Wasn't it obvious that Cora was trying to drive a wedge between them?
Ethel's wait was long and agonising. The seconds laboured into minutes until Ethel could stand it no longer.
'Rosie, Timothy, we're a family,' she beseeched for the last time. 'I know I did wrong, but I love you and need you with me.'
Earnestly she stared into her son's eyes, willing him to come down the stairs and stand at her side. For wasn't the love between a mother and her children unbreakable? But Timothy only stared back, his expression co
ld and devoid of sympathy. Ethel knew then that the son she had reared and comforted in the face of Richard's selfish neglect, was about to disown her.
'Timothy!' Ethel screamed as he turned his back and walked away.
'Mum?' Rosie's voice was soft, her eyes brimming with tears. 'Timmy is heartbroken. I am too. Can't you see that?'
'Yes, yes, of course I can,' Ethel agreed desperately, 'and I vow to make it up to you every day of your lives. In time you'll understand. You'll even grow to love your little brother. I know you will.'
'Don't ask me and Timmy for more than we can give,' Rosie said emptily, reminding Ethel of the confused adolescent she had once been after the war had taken her brothers' lives. She had tried to compensate her parents for their agony but in doing so, had lost her own identity. Now she was making the same demands on her own daughter and Ethel hated herself for it.
'We'll go back to Langley Street,' Ethel promised, almost hysterical with panic. 'We'll start afresh at Nan's. A new life for us all. You can get the job you said you wanted. I won't stop you.'
'Go back to the island?' Rosie repeated as if insulted. 'To us all being squashed in one room; you and the baby, me and Timmy, with Nan on at us every minute she gets a chance? No, Mum. I couldn't stand it. Nor could Timmy. Nan and Granddad mean well, but it'd drive us mad being cooped up in their small house. And anyway, you know I've got a good job in Lewisham at the Co-Op. I've made friends. I've actually got a life together at long last. This isn't about you any more. Or even me and Timmy. It's Callum who needs you now.'
Cora Ryde smiled supportively. Slowly she unravelled herself from the widow's weeds she had worn since her son had met his fate under the wheels of a motor car the previous year. An event that in Cora's mind was linked inextricably to her daughter-in-law's promiscuity. 'If you please,' she muttered, gesturing to the wet and shiny pavement outside. Her eyes never left Ethel's, unmoved by the baby's wheezing.
Ethel lifted her leaden feet and stumbled through the open door, glancing back one last time in the hope her children would follow.
But the door closed quietly and firmly. A dozen or so raindrops danced on the highly polished brass knocker as though confirming that Cora Ryde had once and for all separated Ethel from her own kith and kin.
Part I
Chapter 1
Not two months to go until Christmas and we're already in profit, Lizzie reflected as she watched the customers bustle in and out of her new bakery. The shelves were stuffed full of sweet-smelling bagels, pies, pastries, sandwiches, tarts, cheesecakes and delicacies of all shapes and sizes. The seasonal speciality of home-cooked mince pies were selling as fast as Madge Hobson, her cook, could bake them. All in all, business was booming.
Though not the modest greengrocers she had planned with Ethel over a year ago, the bakery was just as encouraging. London's specialist outlets like The Aerated Bread Company's A.B.C tea shops and Lyons Corner Houses were making a reputation for themselves. Small cafés and bakeries like hers were also prospering.
Lizzie thoughtfully studied her manageress, Jenny Maguire. Wearing her white cap and apron, the petite young woman was busily serving customers, then stacking the shelves as they sold out. Madge could be heard clattering the trays of hot breads as she waited for the arrival of Elsie Booth, her kitchen assistant.
Jenny looked so well that Lizzie could hardly believe she was the same battered and bruised young woman of six months ago. Both Jenny and Madge now lived free of charge in the upper rooms; all three of her staff had survived incredible hardship. Jenny, abused first by her father and then her husband. Madge, terrorised by a drunkard son. Even poor little Elsie had been thrown in prison for stealing in order to put food on the table.
Lizzie politely bade goodbye to the customers, then made her way to the counter that was decorated with bunches of holly bought early this morning at the market.
'Hurry it up, Madge,' Jenny hollered through to the kitchen. She banged a floury fist on the hatch door. 'I want as many mince pies out here as you can muster.'
The hatch doors flew open. A round, matronly face appeared. 'Well you can tell the hungry buggers to wait, I ain't a bloody miracle-worker. I've got rotten indigestion and one of me turns coming on.'
'It's all them mince pies you scoff on the quiet,' laughed Jenny with a wink at Lizzie.
'I don't want no cheek, you young hussy,' yelled Madge as with fat, doughy fingers she dusted down her apron that covered her ample chest. Catching sight of Lizzie, she gasped, 'Oh, it's you, Lizzie love! Sorry for me French, gel.'
'Don't mind me, Madge,' Lizzie dismissed. 'How can I help?'
'What, and get all your nice clobber ruined?' Madge gestured to Lizzie's neat figure, elegantly clothed in a ruby red woollen suit. The rich colour contrasted strikingly with the hue of her lustrous green eyes and thick ebony hair pinned up behind her head. 'I was just letting off steam,' continued Madge getting redder and redder in the face. 'There's only room for one cook in this kitchen, at least till Elsie turns up.'
'Then you'll be able to sit down and drink your gin in peace,' Jenny teased with a straight face.
'Chance'd be a fine thing,' Madge hurled back. 'I sweat meself silly over these stoves. Don't slum it like you, Jenny Maguire, waltzing about with yer airs and graces!' The hatch doors slammed closed again.
'Madge has a short fuse in the mornings,' Jenny chuckled. 'Claims she can't get going until she's had her third cup of tea. But I wouldn't have it any other way, considering what my life was once like.'
Lizzie's heart had almost broken when she'd first heard Jenny's story. At twenty-two years of age Jenny had been beaten and abused all her childhood. Fists and boots were her father's religion. He had followed his baser nature as though violence was his bible. Her ill-fated marriage to another waster had fared no better. That was, until she'd struggled into Lizzie's greengrocery shop on the corner of Ebondale Street and collapsed. She'd miscarried her baby but Jenny had survived and now she managed the bakery as if she had been born to the trade.
Lizzie took a small leather pouch from her bag and placed it on the counter. 'There's enough change here for today,' she explained as Jenny took hold of the money bag and tipped the coins noisily into the till. 'But if the past few weeks are anything to go by, I think we'll soon double our takings.'
'I've taken orders from the markets an' all,' Jenny said proudly. 'We're reeling them in, traders and public alike.'
'Have we enough staff?'
'Elsie's a fine little worker,' Jenny replied thoughtfully. 'But she ain't a good timekeeper. She has to get here from Lavender Court over Bow. One of them seedy tenements off the high street. It's a filthy place, but all she can afford with that sick husband of hers.'
'Perhaps we'll engage another woman in the new year?'
'We could try down the women's 'ostel,' Jenny suggested eagerly. 'I kipped there once when my old man was pie-eyed. Some of the poor cows I met were worse off than me. If they stayed off the drink, they would clean up a treat - ' Jenny stopped speaking and peered out onto the street. 'What's that brother of yours up to? Got his head stuck under the bonnet of yer car as if he knows what he's doing.'
Lizzie laughed. 'Bert's out to impress a certain young lady.'
Jenny stared at her innocently. 'What, me?'
'You know he's sweet on you, Jenny.' Lizzie raised an eyebrow at the giant of a man tinkering about in the Wolseley's engine.
'I'm surprised he ain't spoken for,' Jenny replied coyly.
'Bert's wed to the shop,' Lizzie admitted. 'Give him a cauliflower or a spud to discuss and he'd talk the hind legs off a donkey. But girls? He don't know where to put himself!'
'I'll remember that,' Jenny answered with a blush. 'Talking of blokes, is your old man behaving himself?'
'I don't expect miracles, Jen,' Lizzie replied on a half-hearted sigh as she thought of her estranged husband. 'But I'm giving Frank a chance. He's still family after all.'
'Yer never thought of giving him the
boot?'
'Many times,' Lizzie admitted. 'But I've discovered that Frank is safer where I can see him. The Mill Wall is a rough and ready dockers' pub and managing it won't be a pushover. But if he turns trade around, he'll have earned his keep and my respect into the bargain.'
'Well, I hope he don't let you down,' Jenny retorted, 'What with setting up this bakery and taking on a pub like the Mill Wall, you've got your hands full. But remember, you're young yet. You gotta enjoy a bit of life as well. Find a nice sweetheart to cuddle up to.'
I did have a nice sweetheart, Lizzie thought sadly, one I wouldn't have traded for all the world. But Danny Flowers was also a man with a mind of his own. A fact that had been brought home to her all too painfully when he'd left the island last year and moved to a luxurious new showroom at Euston. Neither could she dispute the fact that Danny had asked her to leave with him.
But the Isle of Dogs was her home. She had been born in Langley Street twenty-nine years ago and had learned her trade in the shop on the corner of Ebondale Street. For better or worse, it was East End blood that flowed through her veins. She'd fought the racketeers and the protectionists; she'd defended her turf – and won. To give it up now was too much of an ask. Even for Danny.
Lizzie shivered a little as she remembered the barrow boy she'd fallen in love with. Tousled blond hair, tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes as blue as a summer's sky. Danny Flowers was her man. Despite the decade he'd spent in Australia, he was the one for her.
And to Lizzie, their falling out had been heartbreaking.
