by Carol Rivers
Her brother slouched off and Lizzie sat listening to his heavy steps on the stairs. Her thoughts were of Jenny in the hospital, but what of Madge and Elsie? Where were they?
And then she thought of Elsie's husband. He was sick and must be alone and distraught. But had Elsie managed to escape the fire and go home? Had the police investigated yet?
After speaking to Mrs Price tomorrow, Lizzie decided to drive to Bow and find Lavender Court herself.
Chapter 37
Lizzie searched the street as she drew the car up at the school. There were mostly mothers and small children leaving the school gates. There were no men and unless Vella was in disguise – and a very good one at that – it was clear he hadn't put in an appearance this morning.
'Auntie Lizzie, I hope that man don't come back again,' Polly wailed from the seat beside her.
'Don't worry Pol,' Lizzie told her niece. 'I'm going to speak to Mrs Price to make sure the playground is watched.'
'Can I come with you?'
'No, you'd better be at your desk for the register.'
Polly looked upset, but walked with Lizzie into school, then after a little more reassurance, left for her classroom.
Lizzie found Mrs Price in her office. 'Good morning, Mrs Price. May I speak to you about Polly and the disturbance yesterday?' she asked.
'Good morning.' Mrs Price gestured to a chair. 'It was an upsetting incident.'
'Polly was in tears when she came home from school.'
'Sometimes we attract beggars who play on the children's generosity, hoping for a windfall.'
'This man is no beggar,' Lizzie replied as she took a seat.
'You know him?' Mrs Price asked in surprise.
Lizzie nodded. 'From Polly's description, I believe the man was Salvo Vella, a man who trades in prostitution and who has attacked my tavern in order to do business there, At Christmas he befriended Polly in the street in order to threaten me. And the visit he made to the school was a deliberate attempt to put pressure on me to get his way with the Mill Wall.'
Mrs Price lifted a critical but unsurprised eyebrow. 'Mrs Flowers, I must be direct with you. I think that becoming involved in the nefarious world of alcohol is the cause of your problems. Prostitution has always flourished in taverns. Wouldn't it have better to keep Polly away from such an influence in the first place? Now the damage is done. And it's Polly and the school who are paying the price.' Mrs Price folded her hands together on top of the desk.
'There are reasons why I'm in business at the Mill Wall, Mrs Price,' Lizzie replied coolly. 'As I've told you, Polly's father, Frank, is manager there.'
Mrs Price looked disapprovingly down her long nose. 'It's common knowledge that Mr Flowers has always had criminal leanings. And though he's Polly's father - and Polly calls him her uncle - we have taken care at school never to complicate matters any more than they already are.'
'I'm grateful for that,' Lizzie replied. 'Though Frank may not have been the best father in the past, he's reformed now and works hard at the pub.'
'I hope that will remain the case, but I feel it's unlikely,' said the teacher doubtfully, standing up. 'However, you can be assured that Polly is in safe hands at school from any outside influences including the man and woman who appeared yesterday. I've given the caretaker orders to call a policemen should they return.'
Lizzie rose to her feet. 'Thank you.'
'Good day, Mrs Flowers.'
After the abrupt dismissal, Lizzie went into the playground. It was deserted, as was the street outside. She sat in the car thinking about what Mrs Price had said. The lecture she had just received had at first annoyed her. But on reflection there was more than a grain of truth in what she had said. Mrs Price had known Polly ever since she'd begun school at Ebondale Street and had always been a stern, but caring teacher. She had taken on the role of headmistress but still taught the children. She knew the name of every child and the background to their families. It could not be an easy job to undertake. She also knew that Babs was Polly's mother and understood that Polly had been too young to understand that her Uncle Frank was really her father. Mrs Price had been very discreet. She always had her pupils welfare at heart.
Slowly Lizzie regained her composure as she drove to Bow. Lavender Court was in a very run-down area. The tenement slum was four storeys high. The dirty brickwork and stone steps were neglected. When she climbed them, an army of cockroaches spilled out from every nook and cranny. Grimy, battered doors along the passages were worn down to wood. She held her breath at the smell rising up from the latrines below.
The door of number sixty-six on the second floor had a small, broken window with a hole in it the size of a fist. The knocker had fallen off and left a splintered hole in the wood. Lizzie bent close to the window. 'Mr Booth, it's Lizzie Flowers,' she shouted. 'Is Elsie there?'
She waited, listening for movement. When no one came, she shouted again. 'Mr Booth, please I must speak to you!'
After a few minutes there was a shuffling noise. Lizzie's heart raced. What was she to say to the bereft husband? Obviously Elsie wasn't there or she would have answered straight away. Did he know of the circumstances of the fire and what might have happened to his wife?
The door opened an inch. Lizzie peered into the foul-smelling blackness.
'Come in,' a voice whispered.
Lizzie stepped inside. She jumped as the door quickly closed behind her. Blinking her eyes, she tried to adjust them to the dark shadows. Eventually a face formed in front of her. To her great surprise there stood Elsie! Thin, pale and grubby-looking, she was very much alive.
'Oh, Elsie! Thank heavens!' Lizzie hugged her tightly. 'I'm so pleased to see you.'
Elsie nervously stepped back. 'What do you want?'
'I thought you might have perished in the fire at the bakery.'
'As you can see I didn't.'
'Have the police called?'
'Yes,' Elsie retorted. 'The buggers was banging on the door so loud it nearly gave me hubby a relapse.'
'What's wrong with him?' Lizzie asked.
'It's his lungs. Has to stay in bed.'
'Do you know the bakery has been burned to the ground?'
Elsie gave a non-committal shrug.
'What did you tell the police?'
'Nothin',' Elsie declared. 'Give the coppers a chance and they'd pin the fire on me.'
'Why would they do that?'
'I've got previous, ain't I?'
A man's voice shouted from behind one of the closed doors. 'Elsie, get your arse in here. I need me pills!'
'That's my old man,' Elsie croaked, glancing over her shoulder anxiously. 'You gotta go.'
'Elsie, I must speak to you. Please! Just a minute or two.'
Elsie gave a soft groan. 'Keep yer voice down then. Come into the scullery while I see to him.'
Once taken to the scullery, Lizzie stood listening to the raised but muffled voices coming from another room. The man seemed very agitated, swearing and cursing. The kitchen was cramped and cluttered and smelled of stale food. The grime-ridden stove stood next to a brown-stained sink overflowing with dirty pans. There were no chairs, or table on the unswept floor; just a broken three-legged stool propped in the corner. The single curtain at the window was torn and ragged.
'So, what do you want to know?' Elsie said in a shaky whisper when she reappeared.
'How did the fire start?'
'Dunno, I wasn't there.'
'Didn't you go to work that day?'
'I did, but I left. There was this almighty row in the shop. Jen sold a pie to a bloke who took a bite, spat it out and said it was pig-swill. Madge was ear-wigging through the hatch and before I knew it, she rushed out to confront him. I tried to stop her but when she threatened to call the law I done a bunk.'
'Did you see this man?'
Elsie looked away. 'I told you, I was in the kitchen.'
'Did he sound foreign?'
'Gawd knows, there was too much shouting going on.'
'Elsie, is there anything else you can tell me?' Lizzie pleaded. 'Jenny's in hospital and don't remember what happened and poor Madge has gone missing.'
'I'm sorry to hear that,' Elsie replied truculently. 'But there ain't nothing more to say. Now, I'll see you out.' She scuttled from the scullery. 'Don't send the coppers again,' she warned in a hushed voice as they stood at the door. 'If you do, I'll deny everything.'
'But Elsie - '
The loud shouting came again and Elsie pushed Lizzie out. The door slammed in her face and Lizzie stood at the broken window through which she could hear Elsie's husband's angry roars. For someone with bad lungs, he seemed to have no trouble in yelling at his wife.
Lizzie went slowly down the many steps of the tenement. What was she to do now? There was no one she could ask for advice. Except perhaps one.
Starting the engine, she drove towards the bridge that would take her across the river to Deptford.
And Murphy.
Chapter 38
Lizzie banged on the big wooden gates, under the weathered sign that announced, "Murphy's Haulage and Transport". She had never been here before, but she could hear activity beyond the gates. The yard was situated a little way off the busy High Street where the engineering factory sat close to the rows of terraced houses. Many barrows – laden with just about anything you could wish to trade – lined the road and led down to a branch of FW Woolworth.
Slowly the gates creaked open. A very tall, muscular man with a bull-neck peered out. Beyond Lizzie glimpsed a group of men of similar build talking together, but when they saw her they quickly dispersed.
'I've come to see Murphy,' Lizzie said a trifle nervously. 'My name is Lizzie Flowers.'
'Wait here.' The big gate closed and she heard shouting. A minute later it opened again and Murphy stood there.
'Lizzie!' he cried. 'Come in.'
She stepped towards him and jumped when two more burly men appeared. At Murphy's command they hoisted a long wooden plank and slotted it securely onto the back of the gate.
'Just a precaution,' Murphy said with a gracious smile.
Lizzie hoped she could get out again. The yard and its outbuildings were built like a fortress. There were lookouts stationed above on a platform that wound around the yard and men positioned in every section.
'Follow me, Lizzie.'
Murphy led the way into a long, narrow building. Lizzie was surprised to find this part quite light and airy.
'My office,' he told her, urging her into a large, well-furnished room that reflected very good taste. She supposed the beautiful paintings of rural landscapes on every wall must be from Murphy's beloved Ireland. Although there were bars at the window, these were disguised by heavy, crimson curtains tied with thick, woven rope. There were books of all shapes and sizes arranged in a tall bookcase, and a long desk equipped with a comfortable looking half-chair.
'Sit here,' said Murphy, guiding her to a long, low-backed leather settee. Its small, stout legs stood on a thick rug and as she sat down, she gazed admiringly at the highly polished boards of the floor. Then her eyes fell on a glass cabinet in the corner of the room. Her heart gave a little jerk.
'The firearms are securely locked away,' Murphy dismissed as he took the half-chair. 'As you know, we must protect ourselves.' He opened a drawer in the desk. 'Will you take a drink?'
Lizzie shook her head as Murphy stood a small tumbler and a bottle of whisky in front of him. 'You don't mind if I do?' He poured a hefty measure. 'Now, Lizzie, you have travelled across the river today. How can I help you?' He eased his shoulders, staring at her from under his tangle of brown hair. To Lizzie he looked much the same as he always did. He wore his trademark leather waistcoat still and his bright brown eyes were alert, taking in every detail. But now she saw tiredness in them. His jaw showed more than a few nights' stubble and he made quick work of his drink.
'My bakery burned down,' she began. 'I believe it was Vella.'
'Are you certain?'
'Who else could it be?' Lizzie explained all that had happened since their last meeting. His eyes never left her face as she spoke of her constant fears for Polly's safety and her mistake of not protecting the bakery. She confided her guilt at Jenny's injuries and Madge's disappearance and the concern she had for the Mill Wall.
A kind of an uneasy silence descended. 'You have paid a heavy price for your tavern,' he agreed.
'What am I to do Murphy?'
'Our turf is threatened, too,' he said with a regretful sigh. 'Salvo Vella is a cuckoo in London's vast nest. He's moving across the city with his thieves and his pickpockets, his painted women and a gang of pantomime artists. They favour belts and buckles, razors and knives and they'd clout a man round his head with a fire iron or take out his eyes with stones. Just a month ago, in the dead of night they came to my gates with their tricks and taunts. They are a new breed, Lizzie, without faces, vultures thirsting for blood.' He turned the glass thoughtfully. 'It took the resourcefulness of all my soldiers to hold them off. I cannot advise you to fight them. 'Tis no disgrace to know when you're beaten.'
'Murphy, I can't give up now.'
'But you know the score?'
'I do, but what choice is there? They will come, just as they've come in the past, wherever we do business.'
'Then you have work in front of you. I have lost good men in recent months. My numbers are depleted.'
Her spirits sank as she thought about the Mill Wall. She had come to Murphy to ask for his help. But he had told her what she didn't want to hear. Was she capable of resisting Salvo Vella alone?
'If you want to stay in this game, unite your soldiers, Lizzie. Danny Flowers is the man you should have at your side.'
Lizzie listened with a sinking heart. 'I don't think that's possible, Murphy.'
'Listen to me now!' Murphy exclaimed as he poured himself another measure. He threw it to the back of his throat. 'I would fight shoulder to shoulder with you, Lizzie Flowers and not turn a hair that you wear a skirt. But my captains and lieutenants ain't likely to go into battle with Vella or his likes, for a woman. No disrespect, for I admire your mettle. But my men are fighters. They listen for the sound of a battle cry that don't come in soft whispers.' He pushed his broad hands over the table, flexing their joints. 'But if they were to see the man … the man who foiled Leonard Savage, then that would be another thing altogether …'
Lizzie looked into the deep brown eyes that seemed to be challenging her. They were asking her to sink her pride and beg Danny for help. Then perhaps Murphy would join her? But even as she took her leave, Lizzie knew that this would be one favour she couldn't call in.
Chapter 39
'We cleared all the rubbish outside the shop,' Maurice said, swiping the sweat from his black beard with a muscular forearm. 'It's Easter termorra. Do we get a day off?'
Lizzie hung her apron on the peg. Her hands were filthy with dust from the spud sacks and her hair had fallen untidily to her shoulders. 'You both have families,' she told them. 'Me and Bert can manage till Tuesday.'
Ron looked at Lizzie. 'You sure?'
Lizzie reached into the till. She had wrapped their wages and a bonus in brown paper.
'What's this?' Ron held out his package.
'It's a bit extra for the wife.'
'You've always been fair, Mrs.'
'You will come back?' she said anxiously, thinking of what Murphy had told her.
'Yeah, we'll be back. Ain't got nothing better to do.'
Lizzie smiled. 'Thank you.'
The shop seemed very quiet after they left. Bolting the shop door and turning the sign to "Closed" she thought about Danny. What was he doing this minute? Was he with April? Murphy had great respect for him and she could understand the Irishman's thinking. But Danny had another life now. He had warned her about staying in the East End. She could have gone with him …
It was a beautiful spring evening. Polly's voice drifted down from upstairs where she was playing with her friend. The two lit
tle girls had asked to skip in the street. But Lizzie was still nervous of Vella's whereabouts.
With a deep sigh, she sat on the stool. Ebondale Street lay bathed in the sunshine. Children of all ages were playing in the fresh air. The boys kicked stones and fought with each other. The girls played hop-scotch or tag and looked after their baby sisters or brothers.
Poor Polly, she thought once more. How long would she have to stay indoors while her friends had so much freedom? Lizzie's thoughts grew very dark as she wondered if, and when, Madge would be found. Elsie had been of no assistance at all and could not be persuaded to help. And Jenny, how long must she languish in hospital? Though Bert said Jenny was still only allowed one visitor, would the nurse allow two?
Her thoughts went round and around, making her dizzy.
Just then a small figure on a bicycle rode up to the shop. Dressed in his jaunty cap, jacket and shabby trousers, Whippet jumped off the bike and banged on the shop window.
'Trouble at the pub?' she asked as she opened the door.
Pushing back his cap, the young messenger grinned. 'Frank sent me to tell you the punters are in short supply. He ain't taking any money.'
'Then tell Frank to mark down the beer.'
'They don't like it when Frank chucks the dollies out.'
'The Mill Wall isn't a brothel, Whippet. The sooner they learn that the better.'
The boy just shrugged as Lizzie filled a brown paper bag with apples. She took a silver coin from the till and dropped it in his dirty palm.
'Ta very much,' he said with a wink. 'Do you like me new pedals? I'll run yer messages quicker now. If I hear anything about old Madge you'll be the first to know.'
'There's half a crown in it if you do,' she promised.
When Whippet had cycled off, Lizzie sat on the stool again, her thoughts returning to the Mill Wall. She was trying to make the pub a clean business. But was all this worry worth her efforts? The trade was slow because there were no distractions; the women had attracted the men. Shaking her head, she tried to clear her troubled thoughts. It was Easter Sunday tomorrow. Time to take Polly for an outing to Lil's and forget her worries.
