by Dilly Court
‘Georgie is being well cared for by friends.’
Nellie’s mouth drooped and the light went out of her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you bring him with you? He’ll forget old Nellie if you keep him from me.’
‘Next time I come I promise I’ll bring him with me, but this is an emergency. I’ve come to speak urgently with the master. Jeffries tells me that he’s been working the farm.’
‘What’s up?’ Nellie demanded. ‘You can tell me.’
A wave of tiredness washed over Effie and she sat down at the table with a sigh. She had left Bow at daybreak and had not stopped to eat or drink. She was saddle-sore and weary. ‘It’s a long story.’
Nellie went to the range and picked up the kettle. ‘A cup of tea is what you need, and something to fill your belly. You’re as thin as a rake, Effie. You haven’t been looking after yourself properly.’
Tired as she was, Effie realised that she would have to tell Nellie everything before she was allowed out of the kitchen, and she resigned herself to drinking copious cups of tea and forcing down generous slices of seed cake. It was a good half an hour before she escaped from Nellie’s barrage of questions and made her way to the walled garden. The sun was brilliant now, shining from a sky which was the colour of a robin’s egg. The scent of freshly dug earth and warm grass enveloped her as she entered the walled garden.
She saw Seymour digging a patch at the far end. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his flowing robes had been discarded for more conventional breeches and boots. His hair had been cut short and it rioted around his head in dark glossy curls. He was so absorbed in his work that he did not appear to have heard her soft footsteps on the wet grass. ‘Mr Westlake? It’s me, Effie.’
He turned his head and his similarity to Toby struck her forcibly. He had abandoned his exotic apparel and was dressed in ordinary garments, which made the likeness more startling, even allowing for the terrible pockmarks that marred his otherwise handsome countenance. Seen in this light there could be no denying Toby’s paternity. She approached him cautiously, with memories of his former mental state uppermost in her mind. ‘Mr Westlake, I must talk to you urgently.’
He stuck his spade into the ground, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Effie. This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I’ll come straight to the point, sir. It’s Toby. He’s been sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.’
Seymour eyed her warily. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but what has it got to do with me.’
‘Everything, sir. Please don’t play games with me. I know that Toby is your son; it would be obvious to anyone with half an eye. I’m begging you to help him.’
‘What is he supposed to have done?’
She took a deep breath and once again went through the whole sorry tale. Seymour listened with an impassive look on his face. ‘Well now,’ he said slowly when she came to the end of her narrative. ‘It does sound as though the boy has been unfairly condemned, but I don’t see what I can do about it.’
‘Will you stand by and do nothing while your own flesh and blood rots in that dreadful place? I believe he is going to be transferred to Millbank which is even worse than the house of detention, and that is terrible. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’
‘You are in love with him.’ It was a statement rather than a question. Seymour’s gaze never wavered from her face.
Effie swallowed hard to prevent herself from bursting into tears. ‘Yes, I love him. He’s a good man.’
‘Then it’s unlikely that I’m his father,’ Seymour said with a harsh laugh. ‘I can’t help you, my dear. I have squandered my fortune and, as you see, I am reduced to working the soil like a common labourer.’
His attitude infuriated Effie. ‘There’s nothing wrong with honest work. I brew ale and sell it from a cart outside the factories in the East End. That’s how I support myself and my son. My young brother works long hours for very little pay in a market garden and you live in this beautiful house with all this land that belongs to you.’ She encompassed the estate with a wide sweep of her arms. ‘And you expect me to feel sorry for you?’
Seymour picked up his spade. ‘I expect nothing. Go away and leave me alone.’
‘But he’s your son,’ Effie cried in desperation. ‘I would give my life for my child. Why do you keep up this pretence?’
‘Every time I looked at the boy I saw a likeness to his mother; he had lived and she had died. I had lost the love of my life and yet I survived, a worthless soul, scarred on the inside as well as outwardly. I had no love left to give to my son, nor for myself. Now leave me. I have nothing further to say.’
‘You’ve said enough,’ Effie said gently. ‘You’ve admitted that you are Toby’s father. I will go, but I leave the rest to your conscience. Toby might die in that dreadful place and then you will have lost your last link with Mirella. I can understand your love for her because that is what I feel for Toby. I am truly sorry for you, sir.’
She did not wait for a response – turning on her heel, she walked slowly from the walled garden, closing the gate behind her. She did not return immediately to the kitchen, but made her way to the orchard where the first signs of tight pink-tipped blossoms were budding on the apple trees. Standing by Jacob’s grave, she bowed her head. ‘If only you could speak, Pa-in-law,’ she murmured. ‘You alone know the truth about the fire on board the Margaret.’ She closed her eyes, listening to the spring chorus of birdsong and the rustling of the breeze in the branches above her head. Was it her imagination, or did she hear a whispered answer to her question? It seemed to repeat over and over again, ‘Salter knows, Salter knows.’
The words were so clear that she opened her eyes with a start, looking about her to see if there was someone hiding behind the gnarled trunks of the trees, but she was totally alone. She walked slowly back towards the house. Of course Salter knew, as did his hateful wife, but the chances of their admitting perjury before a magistrate were so slim as to be negligible. On the other hand, Seymour had refused to help and she was desperate. Salter would have his price. All she had to do was to discover what he wanted in return for an admission in court that he had been mistaken. It seemed no less impossible than persuading Toby’s father to do the right thing by his son. Her heart felt like a lead weight inside her chest. She had come with high hopes, but Seymour’s point-blank refusal had brought them crashing down around her head. What sort of man would allow his only son to rot in jail?
Chapter Twenty
EFFIE STAYED LONG enough to share Nellie’s midday meal of soup and bread, and she rode back to Bow late in the afternoon. She delivered the tired horse back to Ben’s stable, but she had not the heart to call in at the kitchen and tell Betty her depressing news. She arrived home just in time to relieve Tom of the chore of pushing the barrow through the streets to stand outside the Imperial Tar Works, where as usual she sold every last drop of the ale. She was exhausted both mentally and physically, but too numbed to feel her aching limbs and weary bones.
Having collected Georgie from Phoebe Street, Effie gave him a ride home perched on top of the empty barrel, and on the way she bought fish and chips for their supper. Tom had built up the fire in the range and in between mouthfuls of food Effie told him of Mr Westlake’s refusal to help.
‘What will you do?’ Tom asked, taking a chip and feeding it to Georgie. ‘We haven’t got anything that would tempt Salter to admit that he was lying. Don’t forget that he tried to drag you into it. He’s a stink-pot, Effie.’
‘I don’t know what we’ve done to make him hate us,’ Effie said sadly. ‘But maybe Sal has a better side to her nature if only I could dig deep enough to find it.’
‘She can’t testify against her old man. I heard that somewhere and I think it’s true.’
‘Then I must find some other way, but I’m not giving up and I won’t rest until Toby is a free man.’ Effie pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. ‘You can
finish this if you want. I’m going to get another brew going. Money talks and if all else fails I might be able to bribe Salter to tell the truth.’
Effie worked ceaselessly. She became a familiar sight pushing her barrow through the streets in all weathers. No matter how tired she was or if she was soaked to the skin by the pouring rain, she waited outside the factory gates for the flood of thirsty men eager to sup a pint or two of ale. She saved every penny she could spare after taking out their day to day living expenses, and at the end of the first month she redeemed the gold watch from the pawnbroker. She had intended to hide it in the house, but with the theft of her money still fresh in her mind, she decided it was too valuable an item to be kept at home. She took it to the bank and deposited it to be kept in a strong box until Georgie was twenty-one and old enough to claim his inheritance. She stowed the remainder of her profits in a leather pouch and hid it beneath a loose floorboard in her bedroom.
In the evenings when Georgie was tucked up in bed and Tom had gone out walking with Agnes, Effie sat down to write long letters to Toby. She posted them in the hope of receiving a reply but none came. She had no way of knowing whether he received the correspondence, but she comforted herself with the hope that he had, and that her words made his life a little easier. She was painfully aware that loss of freedom to a man who valued it so highly must be a constant torture. He would be like a wild linnet trapped and kept in a cage through no fault of its own. She longed to see him and to feel his arms around her. There was so much left unsaid between them, and there was the unfinished business between father and son that must be rectified if either of them were to live in peace.
Effie had received only a basic education in the workhouse, but she poured her heart and soul into her writing. If her spelling was a little erratic and her grammar less than perfect, she made up for her lack of literary expertise with words that expressed her hopes, her desires and above all the love for Toby that had grown slowly but surely like a tender green plant in springtime.
Even allowing for the gaping hole in her heart, Effie found some consolation in work and the friendship of the Crooke family. There was always a stream of visitors to the small house in Albert Place. Betty called in when she could snatch a free moment from working at the pub or caring for her large family, and she was always ready to lend a sympathetic ear. Ben visited as often as he dared without incurring the wrath of his wife, and he kept Effie supplied with oak barrels that had reached the end of their usefulness to the brewery. Whereas another publican might have resented Effie’s success in selling ale, Ben actively encouraged her, and he was always on hand to offer advice when needed.
The lure of a good pint of beer might have had something to do with Effie’s popularity with the male Crookes who came regularly to spend an evening by her fireside, and the girls were always eager to look after Georgie when she went out on her rounds. With her small son well cared for, Effie had taken to going out at midday as well as in the evenings, and that meant more beer had to be brewed. The front room was packed with barrels of beer in all stages of fermentation, and the copper in the washhouse was constantly heating water in order to mash the malted barley. Effie had become adept at brewing and could have gone through the process in her sleep. She had grown accustomed to the smell of malt, yeast and hops that permeated the house and clung to her hair and clothes. She taught Tom the rudiments of the craft, but although he did his best to help her it was obvious to Effie that his real interests lay elsewhere. He toiled for long hours in the market garden and seemed to thrive on hard labour and the outdoor life. Effie was unsure whether his commitment to his job was due to the fact that he worked alongside Agnes each day, or whether the call of the land had stirred in his blood when he had helped Jeffries resurrect the vegetable garden during their time at Marsh House. Whatever the source of his newfound enthusiasm she was happy to see him growing into a strong and healthy young man with a purpose in life and the ambition to do well. He might be her brother, but she felt more like a mother to him, and it was a mother’s heart that swelled with love and pride to see the childish attachment between Tom and Agnes gradually maturing into something that might one day blossom into a lasting relationship. That, of course, was a long way off but Effie was determined to give her small family all the love and security that had been denied to them in the past, and a future free from poverty and the terrifying shadow of the workhouse.
The harsh winter had melted into a capricious spring, and with the passing of May summer arrived at long last. Effie had finished her chores for the day. She had taken three shillings and fourpence that morning and another three and four during her evening round of the factories. There was enough money in the rusty toffee tin to pay the rent and keep them in food, candles and coal for the next week at least, and her savings in the leather pouch were growing by the day, although, being realistic, Effie knew that it would take many months and possibly years to save enough to pay the fees of a good solicitor. She had stowed the coins in her secret cache beneath the floorboards and she was enjoying a cup of tea while Georgie played outside in the yard. She was standing by the window, watching him as he chased the red rubber ball she had bought from a market stall, when Tom arrived home bursting with the news that the fair had arrived on Bow Common. His eyes shone with excitement as he described the stalls and attractions like the merry-go-round and the swingboats. Effie was amused by his enthusiasm but she was suddenly nervous. She had put the past firmly behind her and that included Frank. The thought of seeing him again was unsettling.
Tom gobbled his supper, earning a stern rebuke from Effie. He washed the bread and cheese down with a draught of small beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘I’m going to call for Agnes and take her to the fair. Why don’t you come, Effie? You could do with a night out.’
‘And who will look after my boy?’ she demanded, reaching over to wipe dribbles of milk from Georgie’s chin. He could feed himself now, but the result was usually messy.
‘Bring him too,’ Tom said, rising from the table. ‘Don’t be a misery. You won’t help Toby by turning into a nun.’ He strolled over to the mantelshelf and studied his reflection in the fly-blown mirror.
Effie said nothing as she watched Tom preening himself like a young peacock, attempting to smooth his unruly hair into submission with his hands, and scowling at his reflection when the curls bounced back like watch springs. She was hurt by his thoughtless words but she knew that they were not meant unkindly. He abandoned his attempts to tame his locks and snatched up the jacket that he had thrown carelessly over the back of his chair. ‘I won’t be late back,’ he said, heading for the door. ‘I can’t wait to see all those folks you told me about and I bet they’d like to see you again too. You will come, won’t you, Effie? Say you will.’
His persistence made her smile. ‘I’ll think about it. Go on and have a good time with Agnes.’
He grinned and blew her a kiss. ‘I’ll see you there. No excuses, Effie. Toby wouldn’t want to think of you pining away and working yourself to the bone.’
After he had gone and the dishes were washed and stacked away in the cupboard, Effie put Georgie to bed. She sat down at the table with a sheet of paper in front of her and a pen clasped between her fingers, but she could hear strains of music from the fairground filtering through the open window. She could smell hot toffee and potatoes roasted over glowing embers in a brazier. The scent of woodsmoke from camp fires was in the air, and Effie felt the indefinable hint of excitement that seemed to travel with the fair, luring punters in to spend their hard-earned money. The summer evening was balmy and Effie was restless. She could think of nothing to write, and although her feelings for Toby were unchanged she was suddenly desperate for company. She went upstairs to her bedroom where Georgie slept like a rosy-cheeked angel. She covered him with a thin blanket and dropped a kiss on his tumbled curls. Closing the door softly behind her, she went downstairs and out into the street.
Her neighbour, a hard-
working widow who took in washing in order to raise her six children, was standing on the doorstep chatting to a friend. She glanced at Effie with a nod and a smile. ‘Evening, Effie. Got any ale to spare?’
‘I hear as how you’re doing the brewery out of business,’ the other woman said with a toothless grin.
Effie shrugged her shoulders and smiled. ‘Not quite, but I might be able to spare a pint or two if your eldest could keep an eye on my boy for an hour, Mary.’
‘I’ll send her round right away. She’s just put the youngest to bed and I’m sure she’ll be happy to oblige.’
Effie went back into the house, filled a quart jug with ale and locked the front parlour door just in case any of the Smith brood decided to help themselves. Minutes later, when young Dotty Smith was settled in the kitchen with a slice of cake and a glass of lemonade, Effie put on her bonnet and shawl and set off for the fairground.
It was all so familiar and yet it seemed strange to be back amongst the people who had taken her in just a year ago. In some ways it was as if she had never left, and yet she felt like a total stranger. There were some new faces behind the stalls and there were others that she recognised instantly: Myrtle with her tray of glistening toffee apples, Johann, the knife-thrower and husband of Margery the midget, and Dr Destiny who had already set up his stall and was proclaiming the benefits of his new miracle cure to a fascinated audience. Effie made her way to the fairings stall and was greeted by a loud bellow from Leah, who abandoned her post to give Effie a hug that very nearly winded her.
‘Where did you spring from, Effie?’ Leah boomed. ‘More to the point, why did you leave us in the first place?’ She turned round to beckon to Zilla, who was about to enter the tent marked in bold print SEE THE BEARDED LADY, one penny. ‘Come here, old girl. Look who it is.’
Zilla ambled over to them and kissed Effie on both cheeks. Her beard scratched Effie’s skin but she was too pleased to see her old friends to complain. ‘It’s good to see you both again.’
