The Children from Gin Barrel Lane

by Lindsey Hutchinson

  ‘After all I’ve done for you!’ Ezra boomed out. Seeing the big man wince, he went on. ‘All right, fair enough. But know this, Frederick, you say one word about me or my business and you’ll wake up dead one day.’ Ezra’s voice was quiet now and tinged with menace.

  ‘I won’t say a word, Mr Morton, I promise.’ Frederick was familiar with the old Black Country saying – it was a thinly veiled threat to his life.

  ‘Good. Now get out.’ Ezra’s eyes returned to the papers he had been reading through.

  Frederick left, rather pleased with himself. It had gone better than he could have hoped, and he felt free for the first time in a long while.

  Now what he had to decide was whether or not to go cap in hand to Nellie Larkin. He was sure she would make good on her offer to employ him, but how would Ezra react when he found out, as he surely would? Then again, it was no longer Ezra’s business what Frederick did. Once he realised this, he felt much better about approaching Nellie, and there was no time like the present.

  Walking with his head held high, Frederick’s spirits lifted at the thought of good honest work, and by the time he arrived at The Crown Saloon, he sported a wide grin. Stepping inside he elbowed his way to the bar.

  Nellie spotted him standing there – it was hard not to, the size of him – and guessed what had happened. Tilting her head, she called him to the end of the bar.

  ‘Come on through,’ she said as she lifted the end of the counter and swung open the little gate.

  In the kitchen he was introduced to Nancy and Dolly.

  ‘I don’t work for Ezra no more, I jacked it in,’ Frederick said, his eyes lingering on Nancy.

  ‘Well, there’s a job here shifting barrels and kegs if’n you’ve a mind to do it,’ Nellie replied. ‘Small wage but bed and board in.’

  ‘Thanks, Nellie, I’ll go and get my stuff and tell my landlady I’m moving out.’ Frederick’s grin showed lovely even teeth and as he turned to leave, he leapt in the air and clicked his heels together, no mean feat for a man of his size.

  ‘I’ll get his room ready then, shall I?’ Nancy asked dryly.

  ‘Ta, Nance, I’ve a feeling Fred will be really useful around here. He’s like a big bear ain’t he?’ Nellie said with a laugh.

  ‘Oh ar, let’s just hope he doesn’t snore too loudly,’ Nancy murmured as she went to clean and air a spare room for their new staff member.

  As Nancy ascended the stairs, she wondered if it might be as well to sort out the other spare rooms too. The saloon had eight upstairs rooms, five of which were already taken; now Frederick would be moving in.

  Pushing up the sash window and wedging it open with a stick kept especially for the purpose, Nancy dragged the single flock mattress from the iron bedstead. Draping half of it over the window sill she picked up the trefoil shaped wicker paddle and began beating the dust from the flocking. Then, swapping the ends she began again, her apron held over her nose against the dust flying in all directions.

  Pulling the mattress back to the bed she then drew a rag from her apron pocket and dusted down the old furniture. A chest of drawers, tallboy and dressing table. Once she had swept the floor she went to a cupboard on the landing and took out fresh bedding and made up the bed.

  Happy with her efforts, she then did the same in the other two rooms but left the beds unmade. Another job which had badly needed doing was now complete.

  Returning to the kitchen, she made a start on the evening meal. Covering grey maple peas with seasoned water she set them to boil before adding bacon and leaving them to simmer. Taking the groats she had soaked overnight, she added them to stewing beef, onion, salt and pepper. Covering them with water, she put the large pan to boil too. Groaty pudding and grey peas in hand, Nancy made a pot of tea to go with freshly baked scones as a treat for everyone.

  Popping her head around the doorway she yelled, ‘Tea up!’

  Before she had returned to the table, Jack and Dolly rushed into the kitchen.

  ‘Scones there, jam and as a treat, some cream. Tea’s in the pot so, Jack, get it poured while I check this on the range.’ Nancy said.

  Ensuring the evening meal was not burning, she returned her attention to the two now enjoying their afternoon tea.

  Nancy smiled, she loved these kids more than she could say and felt very lucky to be loved in return.

  ‘Nell,’ she called out, ‘Get yer arse in ’ere and have a cuppa!’

  Dolly’s tea shot from her mouth as she laughed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she mopped up the mess with a teacloth.

  Nancy grinned, ‘It don’t matter, sweet’eart. Here, have another scone before smelly Nellie comes in.’

  Jack and Dolly howled as the woman in question walked in.

  ‘What’s so funny then?’ she asked.

  ‘Nuthin’ at all. Jack’s poured you a drink so get it down yer neck.’ Nancy replied.

  One by one the staff all enjoyed high tea before returning to their respective jobs.

  16

  Afternoon tea with Sylvia Chilton did not go exactly to plan for Arthur as the daughter was also in attendance. Elizabeth Murray had no intention of leaving her grieving mother alone. She was rather an outspoken young woman; in fact, some would describe her as bossy.

  On both of the occasions when Arthur had called previously, it was Elizabeth who had questioned him regarding his business. He had managed to think on his feet and divert her by saying he had a finger in a number of pies. He confessed to only having met Mr Chilton a few times and said he had been hoping to strike a business deal before the poor man’s demise.

  ‘I’m afraid I still don’t understand why you continue to visit my mother, Mr Short,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Elizabeth! Don’t be rude to our visitor,’ Sylvia remonstrated.

  ‘Oh, Mother! I simply asked what Mr Short hopes to gain—’

  ‘Nothing, Mrs Murray,’ Arthur intervened. ‘It was merely my intention to assure Sylvia she has a friend and if need be – a companion.’ Turning to the woman in question he added. ‘If you find yourself wishing to attend a function and not wanting to go alone, please feel free to call on me. I would be happy to escort you and deliver you home safely.’ He smiled at Sylvia as she nodded.

  ‘Mother won’t be attending any functions, Mr Short. She is, after all, still in mourning. I’m sure it will be twelve months or more before she is in a position to accept invitations of any kind,’ Elizabeth put in.

  ‘Elizabeth dear, please don’t try to organise my life, I’m not your child,’ Sylvia said quietly.

  Good on yer, girl, you tell her! Arthur thought as he fought to hide a smirk. Instead he cleared his throat.

  ‘See now, you’ve embarrassed Mr Short,’ Sylvia said.

  ‘Gabriel, please.’

  ‘Gabriel, please forgive my daughter. I know she only has my best interests at heart but—’ Sylvia began.

  ‘I’m here, Mother, in case you hadn’t noticed!’ Elizabeth snapped.

  ‘Yes dear, you are, when you should be at home taking care of your husband!’ Sylvia’s voice was sharp in her reply.

  ‘Ahem, Sylvia, maybe I should be leaving,’ Arthur said, getting to his feet.

  ‘Certainly not! Please sit, Gabriel.’ Sylvia smiled before going on. ‘This is my house and I will have as many callers as often as I wish.’

  Elizabeth harrumphed and dropped into an armchair.

  Sylvia turned to her daughter saying, ‘Elizabeth, I’m grateful you wish to be with me, but to be truthful – I don’t need you here. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself so I’d really rather you went home.’

  ‘Mother!’

  Arthur pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. ‘Oh my! If you’ll excuse me, I have a business appointment and it seems I’m already late.’

  Kissing Sylvia’s hand, he bowed to Elizabeth. ‘I will see myself out. Thank you for the tea. Good day, ladies.’

  ‘Gabriel, please call again soon,’ Sylvia cal
led as he walked from the room.

  Grabbing his hat and cane from the hall table he heard an argument begin to rage. With a smile, Arthur, alias Gabriel, was sure Sylvia Chilton’s daughter would not be there on his next visit.

  As he pulled the door closed behind him, he turned to look back at the house he had just left. Set on the corner of Bishop Street it commanded a lot of land but with no garden as such; Sylvia’s flowers grew in urns dotted around the yard. The front door was flanked by stone pillars and had two steps which led to a large foyer. There was a parlour and kitchen, which were the only two rooms Arthur had seen. He guessed there would be at least four bedrooms, a living room and scullery.

  The parlour was cluttered with expensive but mis-matched furniture and loaded with ornaments and trantlements. The rugs were of good quality but showing their age, and tea was always served in bone china cups and saucers.

  As he walked home, Arthur wondered if the widow Chilton was actually worth the effort. He decided to make one more call on the woman to see if she would succumb to his charms. If not, then he would move on rather than waste his time.

  Strolling beneath the viaduct bridge he turned his mind to Dolly. He had still not found a way to get to her. The Crown Saloon was like a fortress – locked up tightly at night, and the girl was surrounded by others during the day.

  Throwing open the back door to his house, he slammed his cane onto the kitchen table. Today had gained him nothing and Arthur was very frustrated.

  Going upstairs and changing into his old clothes, he decided a little thievery would ease his tension. He was going to chance his arm in the market again; having other people’s money in his pocket would make him feel so much better.

  It had been a busy evening over at The Crown Saloon and midnight saw the last customer thrown out and the doors securely bolted. Then Nellie joined the others in the kitchen.

  Accepting the much needed cup of tea from Nancy, she said, ‘Frederick Dell starts work here tomorrow shifting barrels and sorting out any fights that flare up. He used to work for Ezra Morton but he quit today.’

  ‘We need the help,’ Jack put in.

  ‘We do, lad. Now, speaking of Ezra – he’s got his eye on you, Poppy.’ Nellie continued.

  ‘Me?!’

  ‘Yes. The fancy-dressed bloke you saw t’other day.’

  ‘Oh, the handsome one,’ Poppy said with a blush.

  ‘Handsome! If I was a bloke, he’d have a face like a squashed tomato!’ Nancy put in.

  Nellie ignored her friend and went on, ‘Listen to me, Poppy, he’s out to win you away from here and it’s Dolly’s contention he will try to blackmail me into sacking you.’ Nellie didn’t try to gild the lily for the girl as she needed to understand exactly what Morton was like.

  ‘How? Why?’ Poppy asked.

  Nellie related what she’d learned from Frederick earlier in the day and added, ‘So you have to be aware of what’s going on. He’s after anything to use as a lever to blackmail me with – which brings me to you, Jack.’

  ‘Me? What have I done?’ Jack asked as he glanced around.

  ‘Nothing, but there’s something you need to know and it needs to come from me before Ezra finds out.’ Nellie was afraid, for she had no idea how the boy would react.

  ‘I need to speak with you – just us two,’ Nellie said as she got to her feet. Leading her son to the little used living room, Nellie lit the gas lamp and sat down.

  Jack took a seat, he was worried about what his mother had to tell him. Then the quiet became too much for him and he asked, ‘What is it, Mum?’

  ‘That’s the thing, Jack – I ain’t your mum.’ There, she’d told him at last and, as Nellie waited, she felt a lump in her throat.

  After a short silence Jack muttered, ‘I don’t understand.’ Then, as the shock of the revelation began to slowly abate, he asked, ‘Tell me, explain how it is I ain’t your boy.’

  ‘When you were a baby, somebody left you on my doorstep. Nancy and I took you in and we decided that I would raise you as my own,’ Nellie confided.

  ‘So, who is my real mother? Where is she? Why did she give me up?’ The questions poured from Jack’s lips as tears rolled down his young face.

  He didn’t wait for answers but ran from the room back to the kitchen, looking to Nancy for further explanation.

  Nellie followed, feeling wretched. A tilt of the head from Nancy told her the others had heard and Nellie nodded. At least she wouldn’t have to explain to them as well.

  It was Dolly who went to comfort Jack. Wrapping an arm around his shoulder she said quietly. ‘To all intents and purposes, Nellie is your mum, Jack. As for your birth mother, she must have had a very good reason for ‘giving you up’ as you put it. Also, she left you where she knew you’d be found and taken care of. At least she didn’t take you to the orphanage.’

  ‘It’s all right for you – you knew your mother!’ Jack spat.

  No one said a word but they all saw the hurt in Dolly’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Dolly went on bravely, ‘but I lost her and now I have a new mum too in Nancy; Nellie is like my auntie and Poppy my big sister. You, Jack, are like the brother I never had. So, like the phoenix which rises from the ashes I have a wonderful new family around me – something you’ve had all along.’

  Sniffs sounded in the quiet kitchen at the heartfelt little speech.

  ‘But – I don’t know who I am now!’ Jack said in utter frustration.

  ‘You are Jack Larkin. Why would you want to be anyone else? If in the future anything can be discovered about your real parents, I’m sure Nellie wouldn’t mind.’ Dolly paused to glance at the woman who nodded affirmation.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Jack asked accusingly.

  ‘You were too little to understand at first, and then – I just couldn’t find the right time,’ Nellie said on a breath.

  ‘Now it makes sense why you wouldn’t talk about my dad – cos I ain’t got one!’ Jack snapped.

  ‘I never married, Jack. When my parents died they left me the pub and I built it up into this place – with Nancy’s help,’ Nellie explained.

  ‘But you said I had a dad who died of fever!’ Jack wailed.

  ‘I had to tell you something until I could find the right moment to explain it all.’ Nellie’s eyes flooded with salty liquid as she spoke.

  Jack nodded, trying his best to understand. ‘So, what do I call you now I know you ain’t my real mum?’ he asked scathingly.

  Nellie closed her eyes but hot tears squeezed from between her lids. This was why she had not wanted to tell him. In an instant she had felt the change in him; the shift in their relationship and suspected he had too. He didn’t know how to deal with it, so, like the child he was, his questions were blunt and seemingly harsh.

  ‘Why should anything change? Nellie is still the same person – she’s still your mum,’ Dolly said.

  ‘I s’pose,’ Jack said as he looked at the woman who had taken him in, as she had with Poppy, then Dolly. ‘I’m going to bed – I have a lot to think about,’ he added as he ran from the kitchen.

  ‘Dolly, you’re a bloody marvel!’ Nancy said.

  Nellie nodded and then she added, ‘That could have gone so much worse, but thanks to you, Jack took it better than I had expected.’

  ‘He’s very upset, Nellie,’ Poppy ventured.

  ‘I know, but he didn’t run off into the night or—’ Nellie began, but it was Nancy who finished her sentence.

  ‘Or bounce anythin’ off yer head!’

  ‘Besides teaching me academics, my mum told me to look at situations from all angles. There is always a bright side if you look for it,’ Dolly said with a smile.

  ‘So, Jack being upset at Nellie not being his mum was turned around and made better by her taking him in!’ Nancy said in a Eureka moment.

  ‘Exactly,’ Dolly confirmed. ‘Nellie, I expect Jack might be a little off, shall we say, for a few days. He has a lot for his m
ind to process but once he gets to grips with it, I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

  With a hug for them all, Dolly retired to bed.

  ‘Now we turn to you, Poppy,’ Nellie said, still sniffing away her tears. ‘You know as much as we do regarding Ezra Morton. Yes, he’s a handsome bugger, charming, well off and powerful – but, think on it, gel. He would use you and throw you away like an old dish cloth. I’m only telling you like it is, sweetheart, cos I couldn’t bear to see you out on the street, barefoot and pregnant.’

  ‘Oh, Nellie, it wouldn’t come to that even if—’ Poppy tried to explain.

  ‘Tell her about old man Pickles!’ Nancy interrupted.

  Nellie sighed and then began. ‘An old fella by the name of Pickles who lived in a shack at the back of the railway borrowed some money from Ezra.’

  ‘For his daughter’s wedding,’ Nancy piped up.

  ‘Well, he was in his eighties and gathered wood—’ Nellie continued.

  ‘Sold it in bundles,’ Nancy said eagerly.

  ‘Do you want to tell her or shall I?’ Nellie asked, exasperated by Nancy’s interruptions.

  ‘Sorry, Nell.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Nellie took up again, ‘he was paying back a penny a week, until he got ill that is. Unable to sell his bundles meant he couldn’t pay his debt.’

  ‘What about his daughter, didn’t she help?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘She couldn’t…’ Nancy put in, unable to stop herself.

  With a glare at her friend, Nellie continued.

  ‘No, she’d moved away with her new husband, something to do with his work I believe. After a couple of weeks, it’s said Ezra went to visit Mr Pickles to collect his money. When the old man told him he had nothing to give, Ezra…’ Nellie paused to take a deep breath. ‘… snipped off Mr Pickles’ little fingertip with his cigar cutter!’

  ‘Or so the story went,’ Nancy added with a sheepish grin.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Poppy exclaimed.

  ‘It’s also said he left the old man to bleed to death, but a heart attack from the shock got him first,’ Nellie concluded her tale with a sad shake of the head.