‘Cat’s-meat indeed,’ Broomhead said with distaste, as he closed the stable door and walked to the Horseshoe public house to drink to his horse’s happy retirement.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Red Ellie Roffey had been unsuccessful in her attempt to get a seat on the Bermondsey Borough Council but she was still very active in campaigning for the maligned and hard done by in the riverside community. Everyone knew her, or of her, and Ellie’s fame and infamy grew. Tales abounded, and her exploits became topics of conversation in the pubs and around family dinner tables and firesides. Ellie had seven children, someone reported. Ellie had been in and out of Holloway Prison in her younger days, another storyteller related. The woman had known Peter the Painter and was one of the plotters who escaped from Sidney Street during the siege, yet another far-fetched tale would have it. In fact, Ellie Roffey was much more maligned than she deserved, and it served to affect the progress of her campaigning. Some folk simply saw her as evil, a wicked woman whose sole aim was to bring down the government and send the workers out on to the streets in an orgy of terror and destruction.
In reality Ellie was the mother of two grown-up children whose father had died when the youngest was born. Ellie had scrubbed floors, worked on stalls in the markets around Bermondsey and slaved in factories to provide for her children. She had drifted into the Communist Party after listening to a series of speeches in Hyde Park one summer which condemned the ruling classes and urged the workers to take their rightful place in modern society. To Ellie it seemed a sensible argument, although she could not agree with the more outrageous calls for violent confrontation between the classes. Ellie was a warm-hearted woman beneath her abrasive front and she had made good friends amongst the women in Page Street. Her efforts in getting repairs done to the houses in the riverside turning had not been forgotten, and when next Florrie and her friends asked Ellie to mediate on their behalf no one could have possibly forecast what would happen, while for Ellie the outcome was something she would remember vividly for the rest of her life.
In the spring of ’35 things had come to a head between the rag sorters in Page Street and the families who lived in the turning. During the mild April rats were seen coming from the sorters’ yard, and one or two of them found their way into the little houses. Florrie killed one with her broom in her back yard and Sadie’s husband Daniel killed another in the street outside his house. The council sent ratcatchers and poison was spread about the sorters’ yard but still the rats remained. Maudie Mycroft was reduced to a nervous wreck and Florrie Axford raved that she was going to get the rag sorters’ premises burned down if nothing was done to get rid of the rodents.
When one of the children in Page Street was taken to hospital with a fever Florrie called a meeting. ‘All right, I’m not sayin’ that the rats caused the poor little mite’s illness, but yer never can be too careful where children are concerned,’ she declared.
Sadie Sullivan was vociferous. ‘If any o’ my Billy’s kids get ill I’m gonna burn the place down meself,’ she told the gathering in no uncertain terms.
‘Well, I fink we should get somefing done about this, gels,’ Florrie said, taking out her snuffbox and tapping the lid.
‘What can we do?’ someone asked.
‘There don’t seem a lot we can do,’ another woman said, stroking her chin.
‘Oh yes there is,’ Florrie told her. ‘I reckon we should get Red Ellie ter see if she can stop it. After all she did get that ole goat Galloway ter do somefing about our ’ouses.’
There was a silence while Florrie went through her ritual, and after she had sneezed loudly Maisie Dougall leaned her forearms on the parlour table. ‘We can’t keep expectin’ Red Ellie ter fight our battles, Flo,’ she said. ‘I reckon we ought ter go over an’ see the guv’nor again. All of us tergevver.’
‘What’s the good o’ that, Mais?’ Florrie replied. ‘Me an’ you went over there a few weeks ago, an’ what ’appened? We got a lot o’ promises an’ nuffink’s bin done. Mrs Allen saw a rat comin’ out the yard the ovver mornin’ when she was goin’ ter work an’ ole Marie What’s-’er-name reckoned she saw a line of ’em in the kerb outside ’er ’ouse. Mind yer, though, yer can’t always take what Marie ses as gospel. She is inclined ter put a bit on it.’
Maudie was sitting huddled up at Florrie’s table, her eyes darting around the room as though she expected an army of rats to march in at any minute. ‘I’m scared ter death of ’em,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’d die if one of ’em came inter my place, I know I would.’
‘Shut up, fer Gawdsake,’ Florrie said contemptuously.
‘Well, it’s all right fer you, Flo, you can kill ’em. I can’t,’ Maudie moaned.
Sadie Sullivan banged her fist down on the table sharply. ‘I say we get Ellie Roffey in ter see what she can do.’
Florrie tapped her silver snuffbox again. ‘Right, gels, leave it ter me,’ she said. ‘I’ll give ’em a message at the fruit stall. Ellie said I could always leave a message there.’
It was late summer when Carrie heard news of Joe. She had just finished going over the wages with Jamie Robins when the phone rang. The woman’s voice on the other end of the line sounded hesitant. ‘Am I speaking to Mrs Carrie Bradley?’
‘This is Mrs Bradley.’
‘This is the almoner speaking, Poplar Hospital. I’m phoning about a Mr Maitland. He was admitted this morning.’
‘What ’appened? What’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Carrie asked, her heart racing.
‘I’m afraid he collapsed in the street,’ the woman answered. ‘Mr Maitland had just checked out of his lodgings. We found your name and address in his belongings.’
‘What’s wrong wiv ’im?’ Carrie asked again, fearing the worst.
‘The doctor’s seeing him this afternoon,’ the almoner replied. ‘Mr Maitland is comfortable, that’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.’
Carrie put the phone down and bit on her knuckles as she stared at the desk.
Jamie looked up from his work, concern showing on his face. ‘Is anything wrong, Mrs Bradley?’ he asked.
‘It’s a friend o’ mine,’ Carrie told him. ‘’E’s bin taken ill.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said, looking down at the ledger again.
Early that evening Carrie left the yard with her father’s words ringing in her ears. ‘Be prepared, luv. Yer might not like what yer see.’
She boarded the number 42 bus and stared distractedly out of the window at the quiet wharves and factories. The river looked peaceful and the dockside cranes seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun. She saw seagulls wheeling and diving, and up ahead were the white stone walls of the Tower of London. At the Minories she got off and boarded a trolley bus to Poplar, thoughts beginning to crowd in on her mind as she neared the hospital. She began to fear that her father might be right. Perhaps Joe had changed more than she could imagine. Was she acting sensibly in going to see him, she wondered, or should she just remember him for the good times that they had together? Well, it was too late to turn back now, she told herself. Better she should face him rather than spend the rest of her life in regret.
The man at the reception desk seemed to take an eternity as he pored over the entries in the large book, then he looked up, his face blank. ‘I’m afraid Mr Maitland discharged himself this afternoon,’ he said.
In the late summer the rag sorters’ premises in Page Street burned down. Maudie Mycroft saw the smoke coming from the yard as she returned from a mothers’ meeting at the church. It was nearing six o’clock, and by the time her husband had run to the Kings Arms to raise the alarm the yard was ablaze. The following morning Red Ellie Roffey was arrested and charged with arson. Word spread fast and that afternoon the ageing Florrie Axford sat down in her parlour with Maisie and Sadie to discuss the affair.
‘They wouldn’t let me see ’er,’ she told her friends. ‘The copper told me they’re tryin’ ter raise bail.’
‘Who is?’ Mais
ie asked.
‘Ellie’s party people, o’ course,’ Florrie said sharply, feeling tired after her trek to and from the Tower Bridge police station.
‘What a silly cow. Fancy ’er burnin’ the place down,’ Maisie remarked.
‘We don’t know if she did do it,’ Sadie replied angrily, giving Maisie a hard look.
‘Well, we all ’eard ’er threaten that ole goat when ’e told us all ter get out of ’is yard,’ Maisie said.
Florrie stared into the empty grate. It was true, she couldn’t deny it. The owner of the yard had not exactly been very helpful from the start, and when Ellie asked him what he was doing to get rid of the rats he had become abusive and told her to stop pestering him and mind her own business. Ellie had held her temper though, until he called her a Bolshie cow. That always seemed to enrage her. That was when she had threatened to burn the place down herself.
Sadie had been quiet for some time. ‘Was there anybody there apart from the guv’nor when Ellie threatened ’im?’ she asked.
‘We were all there,’ Maudie cut in.
Florrie and Sadie exchanged exasperated glances. ‘Apart from us,’ Sadie said irritably.
Florrie stroked her chin with her thumb and forefinger. ‘Not as far as I can remember. Wait a minute though. There was that bloke what looked in the office wiv some papers in ’is ’and. The ole goat went out ’an spoke wiv ’im fer a few minutes, don’t yer remember?’
Sadie nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. I remember now. ’E might ’ave ’eard what Ellie said. Mind yer, it’s not enough fer the police ter nick ’er for. Yer threatened ter burn the place down yerself, Flo, an’ they ain’t nicked you.’
‘They must ’ave got the evidence,’ Maudie chipped in. ‘They must ’ave found fingerprints an’ suchlike.’
‘Listen ter Mrs Sherlock Holmes,’ Sadie scoffed.
‘She’s right,’ Florrie said quietly. ‘They must ’ave somefing on ’er.’
More tea was passed around and the Page Street women sat deliberating the fate of their friend and ally. ‘Arson’s a serious charge,’ Sadie said. ‘She could go away for a long time.’
‘Can’t we do anyfing?’ Maisie asked. ‘I feel so ’elpless sittin’ ’ere. Poor Ellie come up trumps fer us an’ we ain’t doin’ anyfing for ’er.’
‘I tell yer what I will do,’ Florrie said suddenly. ‘Termorrer I’ll go round ter that place where Ellie used to ’old ’er meetin’s. I’ll find out if there’s anyfing we can do fer ’er. They might want a petition got up or somefing.’
‘Good idea, Flo. I’ll come wiv yer,’ Maisie said.
In the Tanner household another problem predominated as the family sat around in the parlour talking together. ‘Well, I can’t see that it’s much ter worry about,’ Nellie was saying. ‘If ’e was fit enough ter walk out o’ the ’orspital there can’t be much wrong wiv ’im.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Will said, reaching for his pipe. ‘A man don’t collapse in the street fer nuffink.’
Danny was paying his family a visit and he glanced at Carrie with concern in his eyes, aware of the feelings she had for Joe Maitland. ‘It could ’ave bin ’e needed a good meal inside ’im,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve felt like faintin’ more than once when I’ve gone out wivout a breakfast inside me.’
‘Yer gotta eat a breakfast, son,’ Nellie cut in. ‘’Specially workin’ on those barges. If yer fell in the water it’d be all over.’
Danny wished he had not made the remark in front of his mother and he fidgeted in the armchair. ‘Ain’t there no clues as ter where Joe could be?’ he asked.
Rachel was sitting on her haunches near the fireplace. ‘We could go over Poplar and look fer ’im,’ she said. ‘Somebody must know ’im. We could go ter the market in Poplar where Joe worked.’
‘Joe left that market ages ago,’ Carrie told her. ‘’E said ter me jus’ before ’e left that ’e was workin’ in a market in North London. It could be anywhere.’
‘Well, it seems ter me that if Joe was lodgin’ in Poplar ’e’d be workin’ in the area,’ Rachel persisted.
Carrie smiled at her daughter. ‘Look, luv,’ she said kindly, ‘Joe ’ad ’is suitcase wiv ’im when ’e collapsed. We don’t know ’ow far ’e’d travelled before it ’appended. Goin’ lookin’ fer ’im would be like lookin’ fer a needle in an ’aystack.’
‘I’ll ask about,’ Danny said, stroking Rachel’s hair fondly. ‘Some o’ my mates live over the water. Yer never know. Joe was well known to a lot o’ people.’
Danny’s remark made Carrie’s insides grow suddenly cold. Joe was well known, it was true. He had made enemies too, how could she ever forget, and there were people who might want to harm him.
Will was puffing on his pipe. ‘I could take a ride over the water if the weavver’s all right termorrer,’ he volunteered. ‘I could ask around.’
‘Oh no yer don’t,’ Nellie said quickly. ‘Not wiv that chest o’ yours, an’ those legs. I don’t want the police knockin’ ’ere an’ tellin’ me you’ve collapsed.’
When the supper was over Danny got up to go, clutching the small parcel of food Carrie had prepared for him. ‘I’ll let yer know as soon as I ’ear anyfing, Sis,’ he said smiling.
Carrie walked across the yard with him. Above, the night sky was filled with stars and a full moon lit up the few scurrying clouds. The air was sweet with the smell of hay and they could hear the sounds of the horses moving in their stalls.
‘D’yer know, Danny, I’ve always loved the smell o’ stables. It reminds me o’ when I used ter go wiv Dad ter the stable in Page Street,’ Carrie said, taking her brother’s arm.
Danny smiled. ‘Yer love Joe, don’t yer, Sis?’ he said suddenly.
They had reached the gate and Carrie nodded. ‘’E’s the only one fer me, Bruv,’ she replied, squeezing his arm.
‘You’ll find ’im, Carrie. It’ll turn out all right in the end, you’ll see,’ he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.
When she had bolted the wicket-gate Carrie stood for a few moments looking up at the velvet sky. ‘God, where are yer, Joe?’ she said aloud, tears clouding her eyes.
Ellie Roffey was brought before Tower Bridge Magistrates’ Court and remanded on bail for trial at the Bermondsey Crown Court in November. On advice Ellie stayed away from the Page Street area, and until her trial she went to lodge with her married daughter in Kent. During her absence from the riverside community the fire at the rag sorters was a main topic of discussion in the pubs. Many people were convinced that Ellie had started it and when Florrie walked into the snug bar of the Kings Arms one evening with her jug and ordered a pint of mild and bitter she became embroiled in an argument.
‘She’s as guilty as the day’s long,’ a big woman was saying to her friend in the adjoining bar. ‘They’re all the same those Bolsheviks. ’E was a Bolshevik, that there Peter the Painter, an’ look what ’e got up to.’
‘Yer talkin’ out o’ yer arse,’ Florrie told her in a loud voice, leaning on the counter and peering around the partition.
‘I’m not talkin’ ter you,’ the woman said, glaring at Florrie.
‘Well, I’m talkin’ ter you, yer silly big mare,’ she replied, clutching her purse tightly and jutting out her chin.
‘Who’s chucked ’er a bun?’ the big woman asked her friend.
‘You mind I don’t come round there an’ smack yer in the gob,’ Florrie told her.
‘You an’ whose army?’ the woman growled.
Alec Crossley came over and raised his hands in the air. ‘Now look, I’m fed up wiv ’earin’ about the fire an’ who done it,’ he shouted. ‘Now drink yer beer an’ shut yer trap, Polly. And as fer you, Florrie Axford, if yer don’t stop threatenin’ my customers I’m gonna bar yer. Yer gettin’ as bad as Sadie Sullivan. I nearly ’ad ter bar ’er once.’
Grace Crossley had filled Florrie’s jug and she put it down on the counter by her elbow.
‘Good job ’e only nearly barred
’er,’ Florrie said to the landlady. ‘Sadie would ’ave pulled the bloody place down.’
Grace had known Florrie for many years and she had grown very fond of her. ‘Mind ’ow yer go ’ome, luv,’ she said kindly. ‘Ellie’s gonna be all right, yer’ll see, an’ if it’s any consolation ter yer, I don’t fink she did it.’
Frank Galloway locked the wicket-gate and walked along Wilson Street. His mind was troubled. Bella had been acting strangely of late and he sensed that something was going on. She had been very attentive to his everyday needs, and that was not like her. He was aware that the last time she had shown any decent amount of consideration for him was when she had that little toad Hubert in tow. Frank had been duped for a while, until he saw her kissing Hubert by the taxi cab when the two of them arrived home from a show and she thought he would be fast asleep. He had pretended to be sleeping when she came in and Bella had been unaware that he knew what was going on, until the little toad showed his face at the flat. Frank had shown him what was what then and since that time Bella had behaved herself, it seemed, apart from her spasmodic forays to the dress shops where she usually ran up a considerable bill. Caroline was becoming secretive too now and it seemed as though he was being played for a fool. It had been a mistake allowing Bella to talk him into sending the child to that exclusive school. Caroline was becoming more like her mother by the day.
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 48