‘Your milkman?’
‘Yes, my milkman,’ said Lilian.
‘What’s he after you for?’ asked Sammy
‘Not my gramophone records,’ said Lilian.
‘Is he synagogue?’ asked Sammy.
‘No, but he’s still after me. God knows what Rabbi Solomon’s going to say if he gets me.’
‘Are you talkin’ about your milkman treating himself to a little bit of what he fancies?’ asked Sammy.
‘I’ve got hopes,’ said Lilian.
‘Lilian, did you just say what I think you did?’
‘Yes, but I’m not myself lately,’ said Lilian, ‘I’ve just done a quick preparatory sketch for an evening gown and it’s come out looking like me being carried off in a milkman’s float, with the milkman whipping the horse into a gallop.’
‘Lilian, I’m suffering a bit meself today on account of what happened last night to Tommy and his fam’ly,’ said Sammy, ‘but I don’t think I feel like you do. Go home early and lie down with an Aspro.’
‘My life, be caught lying down by my milkman?’ said Lilian. ‘I should ask for it?’
‘He’s visitin’ you today?’ enquired Sammy.
‘This evening, and I’m bolting my door,’ said Lilian.
‘Some milkman,’ said Sammy.
‘You can say that again, Sammy.’
Lilian, however, didn’t bolt her door, and when she opened it, Bill was able to step in. Lilian made a pot of tea and over it they had a long chat about the events of last night, especially in relation to Tommy Adams and his family. Lilian let it be known that Tommy ran the garments factory in Shoreditch, where she worked as a designer for Adams Fashions.
‘That’s a good job, is it?’ said Bill.
‘I could afford to live in Maida Vale,’ said Lilian, ‘but I like it here. I like the people. And you like being a milkman, do you?’
‘Well, what I earn on my round and what I get from my annuity helps me to live comfortably.’
‘Well, I’ll say this much, you do wear good suits,’ said Lilian. ‘What annuity, by the way?’
‘One arranged by my favourite aunt, payable to me from the time she passed on, poor old lady,’ said Bill.
‘My life, that’s different,’ said Lilian.
‘What’s different?’ asked Bill.
‘Have some more tea and a slice of Madeira cake,’ said Lilian.
‘Madeira?’ said Bill.
‘Yes, I always offer it to my best friends,’ said Lilian. ‘Oh, and you can take your jacket and waistcoat off, if you like. The fire’s making the place warm.’
That done, Lilian thought that in his shirt he looked to have a splendid chest.
At the Harrisons’ home in Browning Street, Walworth, Fanny answered a knock on the front door. She found Tim on the step.
‘Hello,’ said Tim.
‘Oh, crikey,’ breathed Fanny.
‘Want to come to the pictures next Wednesday?’ offered Tim.
‘Me?’ gulped Fanny, going wobbly.
‘I did promise,’ said Tim.
‘Oh, I’ll ask Ma and Pa,’ said Fanny. ‘D’you want to come in and meet them?’
‘Might as well now I’m here,’ said Tim.
Fanny fainted with bliss. Well, almost.
Chapter Nineteen
THEY WERE IN evidence again the next morning, the reporters, and not at all tranquillized by the holy atmosphere of Good Friday. They were as extrovert a bunch as ever, pencils sharpened, notebooks at the ready, and experienced noses sniffing in search of the quarry at Tommy’s house, Boots’s house and the Simms’s mansion in Dulwich.
But they drew another three blanks. Tommy and family were all in hiding at Sammy’s house, having gone there to eat breakfast with them and to stay for the day. Boots and family were with Lizzy and Ned. And as for Polly and her father and stepmother, although they were in residence, their servants were a bar to any intrusion. Further, Sir Henry’s Alsatian hound was on the prowl in the grounds, and not muzzled, either. Having seen what yesterday’s evening papers had made of interviews with Freddy, Cassie and Mrs Brown, all quarry laid low again.
In Walworth, Rabbi Solomon met Lilian in Browning Street.
‘Ah, good morning, Mrs Hyams, a pleasant day.’
‘I hope it’s just as pleasant tomorrow, there’s a double wedding at St John’s Church involving friends of mine,’ said Lilian, done up very fetchingly in a spring coat and an Easter bonnet.
‘May I ask, Mrs Hyams, if there’s friendship in the making between you and Mr Chambers?’ asked the paternalistic rabbi.
‘In the making?’ said Lilian.
‘One hears things, Mrs Hyams,’ said the rabbi gravely.
‘Oh, it’s gone past in the making,’ said Lilian blithely, ‘I’m on my way to his house now, in Rockingham Street. He doesn’t have to work after his morning round on Good Fridays, and so he’s invited me to lunch.’
‘Mrs Hyams, I sorrow to hear this.’
‘Sorrowing upsets the digestion,’ said Lilian. ‘Well, it upset mine when I was sorrowing for my late husband Jacob. But I’m long over that now, and can look forward to the lunch. A man who can cook could be an asset to a woman, don’t you think so?’
Rabbi Solomon lifted his hands in shock.
‘I am hearing such words from you about Mr Chambers?’ he said.
‘Such an entertaining man,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m to look at a piano in his house, to see if I’d like to have it in mine.’
‘A piano, Mrs Hyams?’
‘It’s surplus to his requirements,’ said Lilian, ‘he doesn’t play himself and I do. Should I upset a friend by not considering his offer of a piano? By the way, I think his intentions are honourable.’
‘Mrs Hyams,’ said Rabbi Solomon in new shock, ‘are we talking about marriage?’
‘Well, I am,’ said Lilian, ‘and I’ve an idea Mr Chambers has something similar on his mind. Of course, there are one or two little difficulties.’
‘Mrs Hyams, there are a hundred.’
‘My life, are there really?’ said Lilian. ‘Never mind, Rabbi, with your help I’m sure we can get over them.’
‘What has Mr Chambers said about them?’
‘About the little difficulties?’ said Lilian. ‘Not a word, actually. Well, he doesn’t know, you see.’
‘Doesn’t know what, Mrs Hyams?’
‘That I’m willing to consider a proposal of marriage as well as the offer of a piano,’ said Lilian.
‘Mrs Hyams, I’m sad and distressed.’
‘You want I should be his mistress?’ said Lilian.
‘God forbid,’ said Rabbi Solomon.
‘There, you’re a good man, Rabbi,’ smiled Lilian. ‘Marriage is the thing, isn’t it? Now I must be on my way, and perhaps come and have a talk with you later on.’
She resumed her walk, wondering what Sammy, Boots and Tommy would say if she told them she was thinking of compromising herself with her milkman unless he came right out with a proposal of marriage. Well, he was a fine-looking bloke with a dairy round and an annuity of two-pounds-two-shillings a week, and the kind of man who’d offer to make an honest woman of her. Of course, one of them would have to convert. She didn’t mind which one.
Sally said she hoped the ordeal suffered by Tommy and Vi wouldn’t stop them coming to the wedding. Horace said he’d understand if they didn’t appear. Jim and Rebecca Cooper said they’d understand too, but Ethel said she didn’t want any guests to miss seeing her as a bridesmaid. Horace said that if Tommy Adams and his wife Vi didn’t turn up, he’d ask other guests to look twice at her to make up for it. Ethel said you ought to stop having funny turns, Orrice, now you’re nearly married. Sally said she’d got quite fond of his funny turns, but that he wasn’t to have any at the wedding. Rebecca said that she and Jim would do everything possible to ensure Horace went through the day in a sane and sound frame of mind.
‘From start to finish, Mum?’ said Ethel. ‘Orrice? S
ome hopes,’
‘Horace, who’s goin’ to the stag party?’ asked Sally.
‘Me,’ said Horace.
‘I know that, silly. Who else?’
‘Freddy, Nick, Percy, Danny, Johnny Richards, a few others and Dad,’ said Horace.
‘Dad, you’re goin’?’ said Ethel.
‘I must,’ smiled Jim, ‘someone’s got to make sure that Horace and Freddy find their way home.’
* * *
Easter Saturday dawned with April in a frisky mood. The service at St John’s was to begin at twelve-thirty, and by twelve-ten the church was packed and there were crowds outside. The local paper, the South London Press, had sent a reporter and photographer.
Every guest who should be there was there, including Tommy and Vi. Members of the Adams and Somers families were present in force, and so were special guests like Lilian and Polly, and also Mrs Rachel Goodman, whom Sally knew well. As a director of Adams Fashions, Rachel had kept a warm and friendly eye on Sally, an Adams shop-assistant.
At twelve-eleven precisely one bride, Cassie, was ready. She and her dad and her eldest sister Annie were now alone in the house, her bridesmaids having departed for the church. Down the stairs she came, floating in her wedding finery, Annie following.
‘Dad? Dad? You ready?’
The Gaffer, all done up in a new dark grey suit and grey tie, came out of the kitchen. He looked up at his descending youngest daughter. Her gown was pure white silk, designed by Lilian and paid for happily by the Gaffer, her shoes silvery, her veil up over a little circlet of artificial pink tea roses, made by the wife of the owner of the florist’s shop. Her bridal bouquet, also created at the shop at no charge, was of hothouse pink roses with lilies of the valley. Her brown eyes were swimming with light and excitement, and the Gaffer’s soft heart was well and truly touched.
‘Cassie, me pet, blowed if you don’t look a princess,’ he said. ‘Don’t she just, Annie?’
Annie, who had helped to perfect Cassie’s appearance, smiled.
‘Wait till Freddy sees her, Dad,’ she said. ‘Good luck, Cassie dear, you look lovely.’ She kissed her sister fondly. ‘I’m off now to go with Will and the children to the church.’ Will and the boys were waiting outside, at the gate. ‘Shouldn’t the car be here by now?’
‘It’s only a couple of minutes to the church, it’ll be here on time,’ said the Gaffer. ‘Afterwards, of course, it’s Mr Greenberg’s pony and cart that’ll be takin’ the brides and bridegrooms to the Institute.’
‘You mean horse and carriage, Dad,’ said Cassie, as Annie slipped out to join her family, who’d been told they weren’t going to see the bride until she came down the aisle. Annie’s departure left the Gaffer and Cassie waiting for the ordered car to turn up. ‘Yes, you do mean horse and carriage, Dad,’ admonished Cassie.
‘Well, so I do, Cassie, so I do,’ said the Gaffer. ‘Bless yer, me love, you always were one for dreamin’ about ’orse and carriages. And I’m glad yer fond of Freddy, he’s right for you, y’know.’
‘Dad, there’s never been anyone else except Freddy,’ said Cassie, and the Gaffer thought about the fact that from the moment she’d met Freddy as a young girl she’d never looked at another boy. Made for each other, those two were.
There was a knock on the door. The Gaffer opened it. Mr Greenberg, a beaming smile on his face, doffed a shining top-hat.
‘My pleasure, I presume, Mr Ford?’ he said.
The Gaffer stared. Not only was Mr Greenberg sporting a top-hat, he was dressed to the nines in black tails and striped grey and black trousers. His beaming smile seemed to touch his beard with benevolence.
‘Well, I’m blessed,’ said the Gaffer, ‘you’re done up a treat, Mr Greenberg.’
Cassie appeared then, looking surprised, her veil still up.
‘But, Mr Greenberg, we’re goin’ to the church by car,’ she said. ‘It’s the reception you’re takin’ me and Sally to, with Freddy and Horace.’
Mr Greenberg’s beam spread and widened as he beheld Freddy’s irresistible soulmate in virgin white.
‘Vell, vell,’ he said, ‘vhat a bride, ain’t she, Mr Ford? Vhat a picture, ain’t she? Vhy, Cassie, ain’t it my special pleasure to drive you and Sally to the church and then the reception as vell? Vasn’t I so commanded by Boots vith the permission of Freddy and young Mr Cooper? Vhy, so I vas, and here I am, all of us havin’ said a prayer that it vouldn’t rain.’
‘Boots and Freddy and Horace told you to—’ Cassie stopped and drew a breath. Street kids were outside, and no wonder. They were gawping at a carriage, a real carriage, an elegant four-seater canoe-landau, its twin hoods down. And there were two horses of such pure grey that they were white to Cassie. A carriage and two white horses? For her wedding, and Sally’s? ‘Oh, Mr Greenberg, you darling.’ Mr Greenberg blushed a little. ‘Are the carriage and the horses from Buckingham Palace?’
‘Vell, not exactly, Cassie,’ said Mr Greenberg. ‘Borrowed, you might say, borrowed.’ He meant hired from a Kensington establishment that specialized in the provision of such vehicles. The idea had emanated with Boots, who had a very soft spot for imaginative Cassie and a great liking for Sally. Sammy had backed the idea, and Freddy and Horace had given it unreserved support, while leaving the brides thinking an ordered car would pick them up for the short journey to the church.
‘And Boots and Freddy and Horace arranged it with you?’ said the enraptured Cassie.
‘For you and Sally, Cassie, and ain’t it my happiest pleasure?’ smiled Mr Greenberg, with the Gaffer still blinking at the impressive sight of the standing carriage and pair. ‘Now, vill you lower your veil, and take your place vith your respected father, and then let us drive to pick up Sally? Vhile time ain’t money today, it von’t stand still.’
The street kids gawped some more as the Gaffer and Cassie left the house, and neighbours came off their doorsteps to witness the picturesque scene in the April sunshine.
‘Cor, Cassie, don’t yer look swell?’ said a round-eyed boy.
Cassie boarded the landau, the hem of her bright shimmering gown dancing to her movements. The Gaffer followed on, seating himself beside her. Mr Greenberg, up on the high driving seat, took hold of the reins, drew the whip, gently flicked it, and away the carriage went to the resounding cheers of the kids. Cassie thought she was dreaming as the elegant vehicle proceeded on its way to Sally’s home, with people staring in admiration and delight. Good luck wishes followed her throughout the gentle ride, and Cassie was so touched with emotion that the misty look was back in her eyes. The Gaffer patted her hand.
‘It’s right for yer, me pet, it’s right for any princess,’ he said.
‘But I still can’t believe it,’ she breathed.
‘Well, Cassie love,’ said the proud Gaffer, ‘it strikes me that there’s people around that’s specially fond of you and Sally. I reckon Sally ain’t goin’ to believe what’s comin’ her way, either.’
Sally indeed lost her breath when the dazzling carriage and pair arrived outside her home. She looked quite superb as she came out accompanied by her dad, her gown as pure white as Cassie’s. She lifted her veil in order to convince herself that what stood waiting was not a car but a horse-drawn landau of perfect Victorian elegance. Like the Gaffer had, Mr Brown blinked in disbelief.
‘Well, bust me new braces,’ he said.
‘Cassie!’ exclaimed Sally, with street kids gawping as much as others had outside Cassie’s home.
‘Bit of a turn-up for the book, eh, old-timer?’ said Mr Brown to the Gaffer.
‘I ain’t complainin’,’ smiled the Gaffer, ‘nor is Cassie.’
‘This is really for us, Cassie?’ breathed Sally.
‘Vhy, that it is,’ said Mr Greenberg, down from his seat and top-hat doffed, ‘and vhat a handsome cart and nags, ain’t it?’
‘Carriage and pair, Mr Greenberg, if you please,’ said Cassie, ‘and all arranged by Boots and Freddy and Horace, Sally.’
�
�Oh, I could kiss them all for ever,’ said Sally.
Mr Greenberg, somewhat overcome by the radiance of both brides, dug for his handkerchief and blew his nose. Sally seemed to float up into the landau in her gown. She took her seat opposite the Gaffer, and Mr Brown, following, sat opposite Cassie.
A crowd of fascinated onlookers had gathered by the time the landau moved off. Sally was still breathless, Cassie in sheer delight. Mr Greenberg drove to Browning Street, heading for the Walworth Road and the turn into Larcom Street.
In the Walworth Road, they stopped the traffic and were cheered to the echo. Cassie fluttered her hand in royal acknowledgement of public acclaim, and Sally, coming to, waved at an entranced tram conductor. The Gaffer and Mr Brown exchanged smiles. On the landau went in regal style, carrying the brides to the church, where Freddy and Horace awaited them.
‘Vhat a happy occasion, ain’t it, my beauties?’ said Mr Greenberg to the carriage horses.
The graceful pair nodded, and the carriage turned into Larcom Street, the site of the church and its vicarage. Within the church and among the people who had ceremonial duties to perform, only one was suffering worries. That was Horace’s best man, Percy Ricketts.
Percy was still not sure if he ought to include a saucy story in his speech.
THE END
About the Author
Mary Jane Staples was born, bred and educated in Walworth, and is the author of many bestselling novels, including the ever-popular cockney sagas featuring the Adams family.
Also by Mary Jane Staples:
The Adams Books
Down Lambeth Way
Our Emily
King of Camberwell
On Mother Brown’s Doorstep
A Family Affair
Missing Person
Pride of Walworth
Echoes of Yesterday
The Young Ones
The Last Summer
The Family at War
Fire Over London
Churchill’s People
Bright Day, Dark Night
Tomorrow is Another Day
The Way Ahead
The Camberwell Raid Page 26
