by Carol Rivers
Chapter 2
Now in his thirty-third year, Danny Flowers stood tall and upright at the door of his upmarket car showrooms in London's West End. As he surveyed the endless streams of traffic, he ran a hand over the scar on his forehead just visible beneath his well-groomed fair hair. The slash of raised skin reminded him that he was now free! Free from the villains who had previously threatened his livelihood.
Fleetingly, he thought of his old dockland garage and of his best mate and first class mechanic, Cal Bronga. Danny could still see Cal in his minds's eye, his wild black hair accentuating the rare smile that would splinter across his rugged face as he wrestled with the mechanics of some oil-leaking critter. But after Leonard Savage had burned down their livelihood last year - their dream had ended.
Heartbroken after the end of his affair with Ethel Ryde, Cal had returned to Australia. There had been nothing left for Danny in the East End and so he'd sold up. A smile touched Danny's lips as he thought of the twist of fate that had brought him such good fortune - for no one had been more surprised than him when the land had netted him a near fortune!
An elegant double-fronted city property had caught his eye and he'd turned the place into a classy car sales, fully expecting Lizzie to join him. But with his good luck had come bitter disappointment. For Lizzie had refused his offer …
But why was he thinking of Lizzie now? Why was Lizzie on his mind, when only this morning he had enjoyed April's warm embrace? Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the confusion, his gaze returned to the interior of his showroom and the tastefully furnished office where his salesman, Hugo Price, was in conversation with a customer. Hugo's faultless taste in fashion and astute head for figures was a perfect addition to the business. His head was bent over a large polished desk. On its surface lay an open diary and beside it a newly-installed telephone.
There was a good deal of cigar smoke and laughter as they drank from tumblers of decanted whisky. Up for discussion was the purchase of the three-litre, six-cylinder Lagonda currently on display. All shimmering chrome and flawless paintwork, the motor was a work of art in itself.
It was at times like this, Danny was still unable to believe he had achieved his ambition. Prosperity was once a mere dream. Who would have thought that his life could turn out in such a way?
'I say, old chap,' greeted a voice beside him. 'I've watched your progress in Euston and you seem to be doing just fine.'
Danny smiled, roused from his thoughts by a tall, black-haired man wearing a dark beard. He had an unusual lilt to his voice, but quite pleasant to listen to. 'Thank you,' Danny replied. 'Are you interested in cars?'
'Horses more like, my friend. But I could be tempted.'
'I like horses too,' Danny agreed. 'My father kept them for his business many years ago. To pull carts.' Danny regretted his admission, remembering April's advice, that with their new clientele he should adopt a different approach.
'What was he in?' asked the stranger.
'Retail,' said Danny vaguely. 'And you?'
'Breeding,' came the easy reply. 'I'd wager a good mare is a better investment than that!' He nodded to the Lagonda.
'Perhaps I can change your mind?' Danny gestured to the new Riley on his left. 'Like a run out?'
The bearded gent laughed. 'Why not? I have time to spare. Tell me, how much do you take in a day?'
As Danny walked to the Riley he shrugged. 'That would be telling.'
'Yes,' his customer agreed. 'I suppose it would. But comparing notes might not do any harm from one garage proprietor to a stable owner.'
Danny opened the passenger door of the car. 'Stables, eh?'
'Quite,' said the man as he bowed his dark head and slipped inside.
'May I be so bold as to enquire after your accent? It's not one I recognise.'
The handsome features hardened somewhat. 'My ancestors come from a very small island in the Mediterranean, south of Sicily. And you? Are you a Londoner by birth?'
Danny nodded. 'And proud of it.'
'So you should be, my friend,' came the flattering response.
Danny had noted the impeccable cloth of the stranger's suit, though slightly stained on the trouser bottoms. His brogues, too, had been polished but a tell-tale trace of mud lay about the heel. No doubt from his stables, Danny thought curiously. 'You must let me try to convince you of a new way to travel,' he offered. 'Do you drive?'
The stranger looked up at him through the lowered window with piercing black eyes and a charming smile. 'Oh, yes, indeed I do, Mr Flowers. A very hard bargain!'
They both laughed at the quip. But as Danny prepared to take his customer for a spin the thought occurred to him that he had not given the man his name. The nameplate above the glass doors showed only, 'The Euston Showrooms'.
But he did not have time to consider this for long. He fetched the keys from the office and they soon fell into discussion over the pros and cons of travelling by mechanical wheels.
Chapter 3
'Crikey, what's going on?' Jenny exclaimed, bringing Lizzie sharply back to the present as she peered through the bakery window. 'Someone's in trouble out there!'
Lizzie narrowed her eyes and saw Bert on his knees, supporting a limp figure. Leaving Jenny to serve her customers, she hurried out into the rain.
'It's Ethel!' Bert gasped when she joined him. Staring down at the pitiful figure that her brother was cradling, Lizzie hardly recognized her old friend, Ethel Ryde. Soaked through to the skin, her fair hair was plastered to the sides of her rain-streaked face. Her faded blue eyes were bruised by heavy shadows. This was not the healthy, happy girl she had once known.
'Ethel, Ethel, it's me, Lizzie,' she whispered, taking Ethel's wet, cold hand.
'H … help me,' Ethel stammered, sliding her fingers from Lizzie's grasp. She gently pushed the wet rags from the bundle she was carrying. 'This is my baby … '
'Oh, Ethel, ' Lizzie breathed, unable to believe this poor little wretch was Ethel's child. 'What's happened to you?'
'Cora wanted me to give him up. But I couldn't. I … I've been walking, thinking what to do. Somehow I found myself here. '
'Hush,' Lizzie soothed gently. 'You're safe now. You and your baby. No one is going to take him from you.'
'Promise me?'
'Of course I promise.'
'What am I to do, Lizzie?'
'Stop fretting, my love,' Lizzie said softly. 'Bert will help you to the car and drive us all back to Ebondale Street.'
A faint but grateful smile touched Ethel's quivering lips. Slowly she closed her eyes. 'Blimey, she's passed out!' Bert said in alarm.
'Carry her to the car, Bert. I'll take the baby.' Lizzie slid her hands under the weightless bundle and hugged the child to her. 'The poor little mite is soaked to the skin. I'll find something warm in the shop to wrap him with.'
Leaving Bert to attend to Ethel, Lizzie made her way back to the bakery.
'Oh Gawd!' Madge hollered as she bustled out of the kitchen to join Jenny. 'What have you got there?' Her eyes went wide when she saw the baby and she quickly made the sign of the cross. 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph, a poor soaked bairn!'
'Looks like a parcel of wet rags,' Jenny gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.
'How did the poor wench out there get in such a state?' Madge demanded, glancing through the window.
'Heaven knows,' Lizzie responded. 'Ethel's my best mate, but I've not seen her in over a year. I didn't even know her baby son was born.'
'There's no time to lose,' said Madge, pushing a greying lock of hair under her cook's hat. 'Jenny, while I get me breath back, find a spare towel to dry him with!'
A rough-looking cloth was snatched from the counter and Madge nodded approvingly, swiping her sweating forehead with her wrist. 'We use the oven towel for the hot trays and it's a bit floury, but it'll do the job nicely. But let's have them wet rags off him first,' said Madge, taking the little boy and allowing Lizzie to discard the wet clothing.
'Oh, Gawd b
limey!' Jenny shrieked. 'Listen to that chest of his. I wouldn't put it past him getting pneumonia!'
'You know his mother, then?' Madge asked breathlessly as she helped Lizzie to make the baby more comfortable.
'We lived next door to each other in Langley Street,' Lizzie explained. 'Ethel got married and went to live in Blackheath with her husband Richard. But he died last year.'
'So, she's a widow already?' Jenny asked, her eyes wide.
Madge waved her away. 'That's none of your business, ducks. Now get along and serve your customers and I'll see Lizzie off.' Madge handed the swaddled infant back to Lizzie. 'You must get his chest looked at, my dear. I don't like the sound of that wheeze, not one bit.'
Lizzie held the baby against her. 'I'll send Bert for the doctor as soon as we're home.' She drew her finger tenderly over the baby's smooth, toffee-coloured skin. He was as light as a feather and she suspected that like Ethel, he was undernourished.
'Off you go, then,' Madge said, smiling broadly and flashing her one gold tooth of which she was very proud. 'You've done your good deed for the day, bless you. I'll say a rosary tonight for that poor girl and her child.'
With Madge's blessing Lizzie left the shop and hurried to the car where Bert was fussing over Ethel.
'I covered her with me old coat,' he said, looking worried. 'But she's out cold.'
Lizzie wondered what could have happened during the past twelve months at Cora Ryde's house? Ethel had cut all ties after her husband Richard's death. Not even her parents, Lil and Doug Sharpe, had managed to get a foot past Cora.
Lizzie gently rocked the little boy snuggled in her arms. He looked up at her with his big, dark eyes fringed by thick black lashes. Lizzie's heart melted.
Patting his back to ease his cough, she felt his tiny body shudder. 'Will the car go any faster?' she asked Bert anxiously as he cursed the rain-soaked windscreen.
'Hold on to your horses,' he shouted. 'We're about to find out.'
With a forceful surge of energy, Lizzie felt the powerful vehicle roar them away towards Ebondale Street, taking them deeper into the heart of the East End. Back to her turf, where Ethel and her baby would be safe, no matter what crisis had befallen them.
Chapter 4
It was over an hour later when Lizzie gently tucked the bed covers around Ethel. A faint flush of colour had crept into her pale cheeks. Her wet clothes were drying in the kitchen on the airing line over the stove and had been replaced by one of Lizzie's cotton nightdresses.
Once so healthy and bonny, Ethel looked starved. How had she managed to make the journey across the river from Lewisham?
'Lizzie?' Ethel's voice was faint as she opened her eyes.
'I'm here, Ethel.'
'Where's Callum?'
'That's a lovely name. It suits him.' Lizzie thought of Cal Bronga, the Australian whom Ethel had fallen in love with during her ill-fated marriage. She eased the baby into Ethel's arms. 'He's got a rotten cough though. I'm going to send for the doctor.'
'No!' Ethel hugged Callum against her. 'You mustn't! They'll take him away.'
Lizzie shook her head, perplexed. 'Who will?'
Ethel's voice broke into tiny sobs. 'That's why I left. That's why I couldn't stay at Cora's. Even though I had to leave Rosie and Timothy.' She moved her head violently, her eyes protruding from their sockets. 'You don't know the half. Cora told the doctor to take Callum from me. He almost did. Oh God, Lizzie, I can't bear to think of it!'
'Hush,' Lizzie consoled, pressing her back on the pillows. 'Try to rest now.'
Ethel shuddered, looked wildly around her, catching hold of Lizzie's arm. 'No doctor, Lizzie, please!'
Lizzie gave a half-hearted nod and slowly Ethel's head sank into the pillow. Her eyes closed and she lay there, exhausted from her efforts.
Lizzie lifted Callum into her arms. 'You must be very hungry, my little sweetheart,' she whispered kissing him softly on his silky black cap of hair. Nestled between the thick layers of Bert's cut-down combinations, he gazed at her with trusting eyes.
Lizzie stood rocking him as her thoughts returned to the time when she had done the very same with Polly. Her sister's child had been born with great difficulty. Babs was not a natural mother. Perhaps it was no surprise that she'd turned against her child. But Lizzie had loved her niece from the moment she had set eyes on her. And now she held this little boy in her arms, wondering what was best to do. Just as she had wondered with Polly.
Callum coughed and Lizzie left Ethel to rest. She made her way along the passage of the upper rooms above the shop to the kitchen where Bert was eating at the big wooden table.
'What's the score?' he asked in concern as he jumped to his feet.
'Ethel's resting,' she explained. 'But in her condition, she had no milk to feed him. And worse, she refuses to have a doctor.'
Bert's jaw fell open. 'The kid needs help! So does she, poor cow.'
'She thinks the doctor will take Callum away.'
'Gawd love us, he wouldn't do that.'
'Cora's doctor had a good try,' Lizzie said as she took a seat. 'Now put the kettle on Bert and bring me the Friar's Balsam. We'll get it steaming while I give Callum his milk from Polly's bottle.'
Bert, who had enjoyed Lizzie's home remedies for the best part of his thirty-two years, as large as he was, sprang like a five-year-old to the larder where the reviving elixir was kept.
Later, as he sat beside her enjoying the wholesome camphor that now filled the kitchen, he watched the baby suck hungrily at the bottle. Already Callum seemed revived. Bert marvelled at the resourcefulness of his childless sister.
She had mothered the entire Allen family after their parents' early deaths. And, it was only through Lizzie's care that Polly had survived. Now Lizzie was once again in the business of child rearing.
He watched in admiration as she tended to the boy, bathing his face, patting his back, wiping the mucus from his nose. A mother if ever there was one, Bert thought to himself and not for the first time. She should have wed Danny Flowers and not his bastard brother, Frank. It was the unkindest trick of fate that Bert had ever witnessed.
'You reckon the balsam's working?' Bert asked doubtfully. 'Bit niffy, ain't it? Me eyes are watering something rotten.'
Amidst the healing vapour filling the kitchen, Lizzie continued to rock the baby. 'If he's not improved by tonight, I'll give you five bob to fetch the doctor. He can visit while Ethel's asleep and she won't know he's been.' Lizzie glanced up, her eyes fixed determinedly on her brother. 'But first go down to the shop and tell Elmo I want those spuds brought in from the storeroom. Have them priced in pounds before the day is out. Fowler can sweep through and empty the pig bins. And Bert?'
'Yes, gel?'
'Drive over to Langley Street. Break the news to Lil and Doug. Ethel's their daughter, after all. And Callum their grandson. Though what they'll say when they see the pair of them in this state, is anyone's guess.'
'Salt of the earth are the Sharpes,' Bert observed dryly as he paused by the door. 'They'll pull out all the stops for their girl.'
'I hope you're right,' Lizzie answered, wondering if Lil, her friend of many years and next-door neighbour from days long gone by, would forgive the ousting that Ethel had given her parents in preference to Cora Ryde.
But that had been almost a year ago. Time for Lil to sink her pride and show the better side of her nature.
Chapter 5
Sitting anxiously in the rear of the luxurious Wolseley, Lil Sharpe reflected on the new crisis at Ebondale Street. She was irritated that Bert had remained tight-lipped, providing no details, other than to say that Lizzie had summoned them, with the hint that she and Doug had no choice in the matter.
Not only had she left her washing on the line under a heavy sky swollen with rain and occasional bursts of sun, but she had backache second to none, from lifting pails of sodden clothing from her broken boiler.
Doug had warned her it was on the blink, but today of all days! Now it seem
ed they were faced with yet another drama at the Flowers, though what more could go wrong after last year, twelve months of hell and not to put a finer point on it – high water. And, if all the Flowers family were to be believed, the very same foul water that had filled Leonard Savage's hostelry well, sending that bugger to Hades.
The thought of the greasy-looking racketeer with his army of murdering muscle still made Lil's skin crawl. She had not one single regret that he had suffered such an excruciating end. Not only had he expected to capitalize on Lizzie's business but he'd also demolished Danny Flowers's workshop and garage in the process. Her hope was that Savage had rotted slowly and agonisingly in his watery tomb. But even such torment would not bring back Richard Ryde, her son-in-law. Although a mother's boy and with no balls at all to satisfy his wife, Richard did not deserve to die by Savage's hand. To perish with your bicycle clips round your ankles, well, it was a humiliation of the first order. Though they had never seen eye to eye, Richard was, nevertheless, the father of her grandchildren, Rosie and Timmy. If anyone needed a severe slap it was his mother Cora Ryde. She had smothered her son in order to keep him. At least, that was what Lil believed and she was entitled to her opinion.
She glanced surreptitiously at Doug sitting next to her. What was he thinking? She admired and respected the man she was married to; Doug would always be the young boy she'd first met as a girl. As lifetime sweethearts, for better or worse, they'd had their fair share of tragedy. Their beloved teenage sons, Greg and Neil had sacrificed their lives in the conflict and it was a wound to her and Doug that would never heal. But it was Kate Allen, Lizzie's mother, to whom she owed her recovery. If it hadn't been for her next door neighbour's friendship, she would surely have perished in that stormy sea of grief. And so, whatever the problem was today, Lil knew that she would back Lizzie to the hilt, no matter what.
'You alright, ducks?' Doug asked as he felt her gaze.
