Lizzie Flowers and the Family Firm: The long-awaited third book in the gritty Lizzie Flowers East End saga series.

by Carol Rivers

  Frank looked affronted. 'I ain't seen a pony's backside in six months. I meant I'm only not here when I take Polly out.'

  'But you only drive her up West and back again, Frank. It don't take all day.'

  'True, but I take care not to rush our outings. You know how much she means to me.'

  'Frank, don't use Polly as an excuse,' Lizzie berated. 'I'm glad you spend time with her, but you've also got a business to run. I've provided you with the wherewithal to engage muscle, so where are they?'

  Frank lifted his shoulders in a shrug. 'Good men aren't easy to find.'

  'Neither it seems are cleaners.' Lizzie indicated the grime-ridden surfaces and cobweb-strewn corners of the public house. And behind the bar, the brass pumps looked tarnished against the faded and peeling emerald green paint of the walls. 'Strip out this snug, Frank,' she said on a heavy sigh. 'Scrub the tables till they shine. I want to see my face in their polished surfaces when I visit next. Bring in more spittoons so the old boys can cough their lungs up without ruining my floors. And, most importantly of all, at the first hint of trade being done in this snug, have the chancers thrown out. Hang a sign outside; "The management of the Mill Wall now runs a clean house. No illicit trade." Or words to that effect.'

  Frank was nodding his agreement, glancing anxiously at Bert who was stood behind his sister with arms folded across his barrel chest. 'Next time you call, you won't recognise the place,' Frank assured her.

  'I'm leaving Elmo and Fowler to help you, so there will be no excuse to be slapdash.'

  'I won't let you down again. I'll keep a lookout for those buggers. Next time they won't be so lucky.'

  'Have you heard the name Salvo Vella?' she asked.

  He looked blank. 'No. Who is he?'

  'A man in a mask who thinks he has the right to work his women here. He carries a knife and wears outlandish clothes for effect – like you.'

  'A smooth sort, then?' Frank said respectfully as he pulled back his shoulders.

  If Lizzie hadn't been so annoyed, she would have found this remark amusing. But Frank was Frank. He could be relied upon to trip over his vanity so frequently that he didn't spot an insult when he heard one.

  Chapter 14

  Bert was muttering under his breath as he drove them back to Ebondale Street. 'Leaving our best blokes to nursemaid Frank don't sit well in me stomach.'

  Lizzie nodded her agreement. She sighed as her brother turned on the powerful headlights of the car to illuminate the dark and foggy streets ahead.

  'After today we'll be prepared. I'll send Whippet to Deptford tomorrow to find Murphy.'

  'He'll charge an arm and leg to hire his soldiers!'

  'He has his price, Bert. But in view of the circumstances, I am prepared to pay it.'

  Doubtless Murphy would take pleasure in reminding her that he had warned against taking on the pub. But she had insisted; the brewery deal was too tempting to turn down. The Mill Wall was ailing, a rough house going to seed. But she had argued that with the right management the upper floors could be let out as lodgings, the stables made fit for horses. Nevertheless, Murphy had strongly opposed the idea. Like Flo, he mistrusted Frank.

  "Left to you, Lizzie Flowers, I have no doubt you would put the tavern on its feet in under a month. But install the lily-livered wastrel you are supposing will harvest you this goldmine – ha! Frank Flowers will bring you more fecking problems than riches."

  As the evening closed around them, Lizzie felt the bite of winter approaching. No matter what others thought or said, she was determined to make a success of her new enterprise. Once she had mastered the trade, nothing else would seem as hard again. Though Frank was a liability in some people's eyes, he was also Polly's father.

  And in her book, that was what counted.

  Chapter 15

  It wasn't until early in December that Whippet arrived breathless at the shop. Lizzie always thought his baby soft skin made him look no more than ten. His curly fair hair escaped from under his cloth cap and dangled over his big blue eyes. It was a cold, crisp winter morning with a seasonal flavour but the boy was sweating in the navy-blue jacket and working trousers that Lizzie had supplied him with.

  She was gratified to see that he had, at least, taken the trouble to wash the grime from his face. At fourteen, Whippet was blessed with nine lives, Lizzie often thought. He was small for his age and greyhound-quick, hence his name. The homeless boy was noted for his fast running in the opposite direction to the law. He lived rough by his own choosing and somehow escaped detection.

  Lizzie knew full well that it was only his recent employ into her services that kept him out of trouble. She'd provided him with a barrow for the market and filled it with fruit and veg, enough to encourage his business acumen. But it was clear to one and all that he loved his running the best.

  'I found your man over Deptford,' he boasted. 'Bit of bovver he's had, with the contenders for his turf. But he's up for a meet.'

  'How soon?' Lizzie enquired as she paid him the agreed two shillings.

  'Murphy ain't the type to keep a diary,' Whippet retorted cheekily. He examined the silver closely. 'Strikes me he'll let you know when he's ready.'

  'What kind of answer is that?' Bert demanded as he lugged a sack of potatoes from the storeroom to deposit them in a cloud of dust at the boy's feet. 'You was supposed to make proper arrangements.'

  'If you ain't satisfied mister, you can run over the river yerself,' Whippet retorted. 'Though the lump you're carrying round yer waist would put you at a clear disadvantage.'

  'Oy, none of your lip, smart Alec!' Bert exclaimed fiercely. 'You'd have something to crow about if your size matched the drivel that comes out of your gob.'

  Lizzie stepped between her brother and the messenger. 'Be quiet, the pair of you. Whippet, I want you to run to Langley Street.'

  'Blimey, you're working me to the bone, missus,' Whippet complained as he slipped the coins into his trouser pocket. 'Who am I looking for this time? Another dodgy geezer?'

  'No, a friend of mine by the name of Lil Sharpe. She lives in Langley Street next door to my sister Flo, who you took a message to last week.'

  'The one with a little kid and a mug on it like Fatty Arbuckle?'

  Lizzie grinned for it was true; her sister's first child Nelson Stanley, had been a ten-pounder at birth last year and had trebled in size since. His face was as round as the moon and his rosy cheeks grew pinker by the day.

  Though Lizzie adored her nephew, she knew she had been remiss in not visiting her sister lately, so she had sent an apology by way of Whippet. If the truth be known, she was hoping that distance would make the heart grow fonder. Her brother-in-law Sydney Miller had cold-shouldered her after a small disagreement. They had known each other for many years and had never had a cross word until he'd fallen into his notorious family's clutches. He'd previously been a fish porter but Lizzie knew that Syd had been lured away from his honest but lowly job. And it wasn't until the day of Nelson's birth that a fragile peace had been restored. Since then, Lizzie had visited Flo mostly when Syd was at work in the scrapyard belonging to his brothers.

  'Make sure you give this note to Lil,' she impressed on Whippet, and passed him a scrap of paper. 'I'll be driving Ethel home tomorrow and will call in to see my sister then.'

  Whippet stuck the note in his pocket along with the silver and looked greedily at a box of shiny red apples. 'S'pose I could 'tend to it immediately, though I ain't had me dinner yet and am in danger of fainting away.'

  'Help yourself,' Lizzie offered. 'And on the way back from Langley Street, call at the bakery. Tell Jenny I sent you for a pie.'

  The messenger smiled gratefully at Lizzie. He deliberately made a face at Bert before snatching an apple and bolting.

  'The cheeky little sod,' Bert complained, lifting his huge fist at the departing figure. 'I'll give him a lump round me waist!'

  'He's just a kid,' Lizzie replied with a shrug. 'Remember he's likely to go one way or the oth
er, just like our Vinnie did.'

  Bert mumbled under his breath, then looked Lizzie in the eye. 'Do you reckon that Vin doing time, has sorted him out?'

  'I'd like to hope so, Bert.'

  'Don't even know which jug he's in,' sighed Bert. 'He got three years in '32 for GBH. With good behaviour he could be out soon. But turning on us, his own family, still sticks in me craw.'

  Lizzie didn't like to think of the path that Vinnie had chosen in life. But perhaps being in prison had reformed him? It upset her to think of her brother's determination to become a criminal. Pa would turn in his grave if he knew that.

  'When are we going to have the pleasure of Jenny's company?' Lizzie asked, eager to change the subject.

  Bert, who rarely showed any emotion, blushed to the roots of his hair. 'Dunno what you mean.'

  'Jenny's a lovely girl.'

  'I've got enough on my plate without all that nonsense,' Bert dismissed, tipping a generous portion of spuds into the big brass weighing scales.

  'There's always time for a little romancing.'

  Lizzie only heard a grunt in reply. Her matchmaking efforts always fell on deaf ears where her brother was concerned. But she was certain that Bert was attracted to Jenny. Lately he found any excuse to visit the bakery!

  Chapter 16

  April Williams didn't consider herself house-proud, but she liked to see everything in its right place. Which was why she had refused Tom's request for a Christmas tree. The expense was unnecessary. She worked hard to keep a clean and orderly home; it was in her nature. And why add to her chores, with a moulting tree that would only be discarded after the holiday?

  At thirty-six years of age, April had observed lifelong rules. Cleanliness was next to Godliness – as her Chapel father had drummed into her. She had taken that same understanding into her first marriage to the late George Williams and intended to continue the same throughout her second to Daniel Flowers.

  George had enjoyed an outdoor life at the weekends, but he'd always had a pair of slippers waiting for him by the front door. Living in her parents' Poplar house after they had both died, had brought April respectability. She had married sensibly to a clerk to the borough; an older man who had been both churchgoing and hardworking. In his youth, a game of football had been his one passion, though later, in his middle years, as the illness had claimed him and his lungs ceased to function, he'd spent most of his free time as a spectator.

  Tucking the ends of her light brown hair into the neat bun on her neck, she glanced into the oval-bevelled mirror. Her slender face and deep-set eyes were nothing out of the ordinary. But made the most of what she had. She kept a slim figure, wore sensible shoes and enjoyed keeping the garden up to scratch. They were lucky to have even the small patch of garden with a square yard of grass, as most of the terraced houses had backyards. Her father had installed a privy by the high back gate. It was quite private. But there was a lot left to be desired. The rats were becoming a problem in Poplar. So, too, were the neighbours on one side; a newly moved-in rowdy family, often using course language, which was no good for Tom to hear.

  She looked at the mantel clock, decorated with a single sprig of holly. Tom would soon be arriving home. She had many reservations about the Ebondale Street School. It was overcrowded and promised to be even more so as time went on. East End families bred like rabbits.

  Leaving here will not be at all disappointing, April thought, as she saw in her mind's eye, the Euston villa that she and Daniel had viewed last week. While not detached, it was one of a short row of eight, with black iron railings, tall windows, white front steps and each with a garden at least three times the size of this one. There were good schools in the neighbourhood and the tube station close by. The city was at hand for shopping. And, Daniel's showroom just a ten-minute walk away.

  April smiled to herself. Yes, with a few tweaks here and there, she could make a fine marriage with Daniel Flowers. It was not surprising he still had a few rough edges. Living on that uncouth continent on the other side of the world for a decade had left its marks. So too, had his dubious acquaintance with Lizzie Flowers. April vowed to make certain, as soon as the ring was on her finger, that both she and Daniel would be distanced from this unpleasant flaw.

  And of course there was Tom!

  Her intention was to send Tom to a school for boarders. He was a strong-willed child, but she had won his trust. At times, it was difficult to ignore the references he insisted on making to his past; to his costermonger Auntie Lizzie and her troubled, adopted child Polly. To that wretched shop on Ebondale Street that seemed the hub of so much disorder. But once he was separated from his peers and established at a new school, he would soon straighten out.

  Just then, she heard the noise of an engine outside. April's heart beat a little faster as she went to greet Daniel. He was certainly no replica of her fine and upstanding George. But there was potential there. And opening the door wide, April smiled her welcome at the man she intended to make her own. Intimacy would not last forever, she assured herself. After a few years, when Daniel realized it was unlikely that she would conceive, they would sleep separately.

  Bearing children had never been an attraction to her. George had contented himself with a grown son with his late first wife. In many respects, April felt she had enjoyed the perfect arrangement. Until of course, George had invested unwisely and lost all their money …

  'Welcome home,' April murmured sweetly, 'I've missed you.'

  Which was, for April, both truth and lie. For as a widow, she had long since enjoyed her own company.

  All the same, she had not forgotten how to reel in a man.

  Chapter 17

  Lil sighed with satisfaction as she inspected her kitchen. It was a week to Christmas and the smell of Sunlight soap from the clothes she had washed and pegged on the line was still in the air, adding pleasantly to the aroma of plum pudding steaming in the pan on the stove. Doug had lit a fire in the hearth to take the chill off the place. And, Ethel's room upstairs was now furnished with a wooden crib. Doug had also installed a battered but sturdy chest of drawers from the market and painted it a nice blue colour. The shade matched the woollen pram suits, ribbon-trimmed bonnets and bootees that Lil had knitted for the baby.

  The house was cleared of clutter and shone like a new pin. Even so, Lil felt nervous. Were there any last-minute improvements she could make?

  The Christmas decorations had been made by Rosie and Timothy when they were knee-high. It pleased her to see them around the house. She'd left some of their drawings of Father Christmas and his reindeers beside Ethel's bed. They were no more than chalked straight lines and circles in red and green, but Lil treasured them. She hoped Ethel would find comfort in them, too.

  Wedged around the mirrors and picture frames were sprigs of shiny, prickly holly. In a silver frame below there was a photograph of Rosie and Timothy when they were four and five, with Ethel beside them looking like the beautiful girl she had once been.

  Lil had placed this picture strategically in the centre of the mantelpiece; she wanted plenty of reminders of her grandchildren about her and for Ethel to see as well. She would not give them up to Cora without a fight, despite what the rest of the world might think!

  Lil savoured the moments before Ethel arrived. Today was a big event in her calendar. Her daughter and third grandchild were coming home. They were set free at last from that Hades in Lewisham! And not a minute too soon in her opinion. For it was Cora Ryde who was solely responsible for Ethel's depressed state of mind. Someone should remind Rosie and Timothy what a fine mother they had in Ethel.

  Richard had not been a natural father. He was still a boy after fifteen years of marriage. She wasn't about to speak ill of the dead but her son-in-law had been what her mother would have called, a namby-pamby. Even the Blackheath house that Richard had boasted was his own had turned out to be his mother's. He had kept his family impoverished; on the breadline. Though Ethel had never complained, Lil knew that
if it wasn't for her daughter's job at the local haberdashers, the kids would have gone short in every respect. Richard had hoarded his money, while her Ethel had worked like a navvy for years. She'd not enjoyed one word of praise from her husband. In fact, he'd resented her independence. He hated most things that made up Ethel's small world. Top of his list were his in-laws. Lil had sussed this out from the start of the marriage but she had swallowed on it for the sake of her grandchildren.

  Grinding out the stub of her cigarette, she slipped the brown-stained saucer out of sight. Then she opened the kitchen window, wafting the smoke away with her hands. She steadied her nerves by taking a last look in the rectangular mirror above the sink. Licking the tip of her little finger, she smoothed it carefully over her black-pencilled eyebrows. Her make-up was decent enough, but the crows' feet around her eyes were beginning to annoy her. They were sly little perishers and turned overnight from laughter lines into ditches. Adding one more coat of lipstick, she smiled at her reflection.

  Today marked a second chance for her family. The opportunity was even more precious after loosing the boys. Her two dead sons were unreachable; even their remains lay buried on foreign soil. But she still had Ethel and Callum. She had loved the little boy from the off. He was a gift from heaven in her view. It was unfortunate that it had taken the breaking of Ethel's marriage vows to bring his existence about. But you couldn't have everything. And right this minute she had enough – except Rosie and Timothy, of course. In time they would see the error of their ways. And she and Doug would be ready to welcome them with open arms.

  Resolving not to waste a moment's more thought on Cora plum-in-the-mouth Ryde, she hurried to answer the knock at the front door.

  'Well now, you two are a sight for sore eyes,' Lil gushed as she narrowed her dark eyes at her daughter and the baby in her arms. It was a struggle at first to keep the smile on her face. For Ethel looked – what were the words she was looking for? Defeated. Detached. Not of this world. And it scared Lil half to death. She had imagined that, at the prospect of returning to Langley Street, Ethel would miraculously spring to life.