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

by Carol Rivers

  Lizzie glanced at Bert.

  'The old codger don't know what he's talking about,' Bert muttered under his breath.

  'Now let us move on,' said the coroner. 'We have statements from the police and the fire department and a report from the insurers of the property. Apparently the late Mrs Margaret Hobson had no living relatives other than a son. It appears we can't find any trace of him. Is that right, Mr Spencer?'

  Mr Spencer, the clerk, was a tall, thin man who nodded his head many times with an inscrutable expression. 'Yes, Dr Nolan. The police made enquiries as did our office, but no relative was found.'

  'Very sad,' said the coroner formally. 'In which case, we shall hear what the police have to say and let us all remember we are listening to evidence and other information gathered about the how and when of this incident at Ripon Street, Isle of Dogs.'

  Lizzie listened, her breath held as the same constable who met them at the fire, read out his notes. He spoke in a very laboured fashion, referring to “the deceased” many times over and describing the conflagration that had consumed the Ripon Street bakery.

  'And Miss Jenny Maguire's statement, I understand you have it?' said Dr Nolan.

  Jenny's short statement, that she remembered nothing after blacking out in the fire, was read aloud.

  The coroner examined another file of papers then looked at a small dumpy man sitting to the rear. 'The pathologist, I believe, has the results of the post mortem. I do have your notes, Doctor, but would be grateful if you'd read them out for the benefit of the assembled.'

  The pathologist made his way to the front. Lizzie listened intently, learning that Madge's remains had been identified by her one gold tooth, which Lizzie had described to the policeman. The test results showed the remains to be female and of middle age.

  'And the cause of death?' the coroner asked.

  'Failure of the heart,' said the pathologist and Lizzie gasped.

  'Therefore, this lady did not die as a result of burns or suffocation?'

  'Her lungs were not impaired, but the heart had suffered a sudden arrest.'

  'Can you enlarge on that?' enquired the coroner. 'Would the shock of the fire have caused her heart to fail?'

  'Possibly,' returned the pathologist. 'But in my opinion, the victim was suffering from the last stages of coronary artery disease. The heart showed an underlying and irreparable damage.'

  'Not caused by the fire?' the coroner repeated.

  'This person would already have been displaying symptoms of ill health in my opinion. Such as dizziness, fatigue, indigestion or pain in the chest, arms or shoulders.'

  Lizzie sat up with a start. Although Madge had never said she felt ill, she had often complained of her 'turns'. Could these be what the pathologist was referring to?

  'Mrs Flowers,' called the coroner. 'I have more questions for you. Please come to the front.'

  Lizzie made her way forward, passing the pathologist to stand by the desk where the coroner sat.

  'Mrs Flowers, did you know your employee suffered from a bad heart?'

  Lizzie shook her head.

  'She never complained of feeling ill?'

  Lizzie hesitated before answering, causing the man to frown at her.

  'Well?'

  'Madge sometimes had a dizzy spell. She would call it one of her 'turns'. But she never mentioned a bad heart.'

  'Did she visit a doctor?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'How often did she have these 'turns'?

  'I … I don't really know.'

  'Every week, every month, what would you say?'

  Lizzie felt confused. 'I only heard her complain three or four times.'

  'Then it was not a single occasion?'

  Lizzie shook her head.

  'Thank you. You may sit down now.'

  The coroner bent towards his clerk and soft muttering could be heard as Lizzie took her seat again.

  'What was all that about?' growled Bert.

  'I don't know, but I wish,' whispered Lizzie, 'that I hadn't taken Madge's turns so lightly.'

  The coroner addressed the pathologist once again. 'So you can confirm this lady did not die as a direct result of the fire?'

  'As I have said, sir, the shock may have contributed, but the victim would not have survived another year, in my opinion.'

  Lizzie felt numb. She couldn't take it all in. Madge had died from a bad heart, which no one had suspected.

  The next person called by Dr Nolan was a representative from the insurance company. He explained that they were no nearer drawing a conclusion as to how the fire had started. An engineer from the gas company spoke next who was just as vague.

  'Could the ovens be at fault?' the coroner asked. 'I understand they were there when Mrs Flowers took over the property from a Mr James?'

  'They was old,' said the gas engineer, 'been there donkey's years when there was rooms rented out. But there was nothing to say they was faulty.'

  'Could there have been a leak from the mains?'

  'We cannot be certain, sir,' said the man; a short, thin man with a permanent frown. 'The fire damage was extensive.'

  Dr Nolan sighed a deep sigh. 'In that case, I cannot come to a satisfactory conclusion about the circumstances that caused such a sudden and unexplained death. I have interviewed everyone concerned bar one.' He looked accusingly at Lizzie. 'Unless the police wish to take matters further, I believe I can do no more. Do I have an opinion on this?' he demanded of the constable who jumped to his feet and shook his head firmly.

  'No sir. We have concluded the investigation.'

  'Very well, I am recording an open verdict,' decided the coroner. 'The body may now be released for burial. Good day to you all.' He stood up and waved his clerk before him, striding out of the room, followed by his grey-suited and grey-faced officials.

  Lizzie sat in silence, watching the people file out. She gazed at Bert who sat open-mouthed. 'Well we ain't none the wiser, are we?'

  'Strikes me, he'd like to put the blame on Elsie.'

  'But it wasn't her.'

  'You and me know that, but I reckon he would have got her in a right tangle just to get a result.'

  'It's hard to believe that Madge was dying of a bad heart.'

  Bert pulled on his cap. 'She couldn't have known herself or else she'd have told someone.'

  'At least we can bury her now. We'll stop at the undertakers on the way home.'

  'Will it be the full works, horses and all?'

  'Madge didn't want to be buried with fuss,' Lizzie answered. 'Though she did say she'd like a party and no tears.'

  'I like the idea of that.'

  As they left the building Lizzie thought about all that happened since Madge's death. The investigations by police and insurers had turned up nothing new. Nobody was any the wiser after the inquest. If Salvo Vella, or one of his gang was the cause of the fire, they had certainly fooled the authorities.

  Chapter 48

  The strains of The Day Thou Gavest Lord Has Ended soared up to the vaulted ceilings of the Church of Our Lady of Grace. The robust voices of the small gathering echoed throughout the Roman Catholic Church and onto the street outside where passers-by were mopping their foreheads in the sultry June weather. However, it was cooler inside the church. The congregation sat quietly listening to the parish priest and tried to decipher the Latin that they were unfamiliar with.

  Lizzie was wearing a black, two-piece costume and black lace mantilla over her drawn back hair. Bert sat to her left dressed in his best, and only, dark suit. Polly on her right, wore a deep green summer dress, black patent shoes and white ankle socks.

  Those who had come to pay their last respects at the Requiem Mass were mostly Lizzie's family as Madge, it appeared, had very few friends. But a handful of customers and residents from Ripon Street had arrived at the last minute to swell the numbers.

  Lizzie had seen to it that the coffin had been carried into the church the evening before when she had attended the Ben
ediction. Her one regret was that Ted, Madge's son had not been found. Despite the funeral arrangement notice she had posted in the local newspapers, Ted remained absent.

  Mindful of Madge's wishes, there was to be no gathering at the graveside. There were, however, a handful of floral tributes on the wooden casket; marigolds, white chrysanthemums, cream-coloured lilies, purple, sweet-smelling violets and a spray of summer flowers.

  There were very few dry eyes in church that day. As the organ began to play Abide With Me. Lizzie listened to Polly's sweet voice as she sang from the hymn book. Bert boomed out the loudest, his towering form dwarfing the rest of the mourners.

  The priest, Father Bergen, had not known Madge as she had been a lapsed Catholic. But after the hymns and much ringing of altar bells, he stood in the pulpit and spoke of Madge's hard life and industrious spirit. He also gave an account, provided by Lizzie, of the welcome and safety that she found at the bakery on Ripon Street.

  'I didn't know Mrs Hobson personally, but I understand she was a kind and caring soul,' said the young priest in his soft voice. 'She suffered, I have been told, from a weak heart. Despite her ill health, she made a very fine cook. She was beloved by all and enjoyed a rare sense of humour. Let us pray that she finds peace in the Life beyond, where we shall all travel one day and where our creator holds each one of us in the palm of His hand.'

  Madge was indeed a brave soul, Lizzie reflected. She would always be considered of as one of the family.

  Father Bergen began to distribute the Holy Communion. Lizzie thought again of Ted Hobson, the missing son. Madge had once said that the drink had been responsible for his violence. But if only he could be here now to bid goodbye to his mother.

  Slowly, heads bowed, the communicants returned to their pews with a quiet shuffling on the polished boards of the floor. The aroma of incense filled the church.

  When the organ struck up, it was to play the first bars of Rachmaninov's Ave Maria. A young female voice from the choir loft began to sing. The notes were so pure and true that many handkerchiefs were dabbed under eyes and noses blown.

  The pall bearers stepped forward and took hold of the oak casket's gleaming handles. Syd and Frank, at Lizzie's request, had agreed a truce for the day and supported the rear. Bert and one of the funeral parlour's own staff lifted the front. Lizzie held Polly's hand and followed the small procession. Outside, in the sunshine, the casket was slipped into the rear of the hearse.

  Slowly, people took their leave.

  'I know we ain't invited to the grave,' Gertie said, adjusting her black beret. 'But there's beer and sandwiches at our place. Frank's driving us back, so come when you've done your bit.'

  Lizzie watched Frank's car leave the church grounds, closely followed by Doug's little Morris in which was squeezed Lil, Flo, Syd and Ethel.

  At last Lizzie stood alone with Polly in the church grounds.

  'Is Madge happy now?' Polly asked in a dignified manner.

  Lizzie smiled. 'Yes, I'm sure she is.'

  'Then why do people cry?'

  'Because they miss seeing that person.'

  Polly frowned. 'Uncle Frank said he almost died once. But he don't think people cried about him.'

  Lizzie looked into Polly's big brown eyes. 'You care a lot for your Uncle Frank, don't you, Pol?'

  'He makes me laugh and he don't tick me off. I wish I had a dad like Uncle Frank.'

  Lizzie knew this was the moment. 'Pol, what would you say if he could be your dad?'

  'You mean, he's not my uncle?' replied Polly, looking alarmed.

  'Would it matter if he wasn't?'

  A pair of small shoulders lifted. 'Dunno, really. But if my mum is me mum and Uncle Frank is me dad, why didn't they get married?'

  'Not everyone gets married,' Lizzie explained. 'Your mum and Uncle Frank were close friends.'

  'But she went away.'

  Lizzie bent down. 'When people are friends, that's what matters.'

  'Like you and Uncle Danny?'

  Lizzie nodded.

  'Do I have to leave you and live at the pub if Uncle Frank is me dad?'

  Lizzie gave a firm shake of her head. 'Not if you don't want to. Nothing will change, except what you call him.'

  Polly traced the toe of her shoe in the grass they were standing on, then looked at Lizzie with a mischievous smile. 'You know what Uncle Frank told me?'

  'What?'

  'He showed me these little white pills and said they stop people from jawing in his head. He said, they rabbit on so much, he can't get a word in edgewise. He ain't barmy is he?'

  Lizzie chuckled. 'No Pol, he's not.'

  'He said he's on the wagon.'

  'Do you know what that means?'

  'He said if he falls off it, you might never speak to him again. And he don't want that. Neither do I. Cos I love you both.'

  Lizzie held back her tears. This little girl was such a joy. She had her own way of reasoning out her life and so it seemed, had her father.

  'Polly, you are a very grown-up young lady. I didn't think we would be talking about your father today.'

  'You ain't gonna get all upset are you?'

  'No. I'm very happy.'

  It now seemed to Lizzie that Frank had already found a place in his daughter's heart and Polly had accepted the facts that Lizzie had been afraid to disclose.

  'Look, Auntie Lizzie, look who's over there!' cried Polly suddenly.

  Two figures approached. Lizzie wondered … could it possibly be? Was she dreaming? The cheeky-faced boy was a little older than Polly. The tall, broad-shouldered man wore a dark suit. His thick, fair hair deepened to gold in the rays of the sunshine. Strangely, it seemed a lifetime since she had last seen Danny. Yet somehow, it felt like yesterday.

  'Lizzie,' Danny murmured softly and took her hand in his. 'It's good to see you.' He grinned at Polly. 'My word, Pol, you've grown!'

  'Uncle Danny! Tom!' Polly cried. 'Why haven't you come to see us?'

  'Ah,' he said glancing at Lizzie. 'That's a long story, Pol.'

  'Grown-ups always tell long stories,' Polly answered matter-of-factly. 'I'm quite used to having to listen to them.'

  'Well I ain't,' Tom disagreed matter-of-factly. 'They bore me stiff. Aunt April is always saying that children should be seen and not heard.'

  Lizzie looked at Danny who remained silent.

  'You should have come to Mass, Tom,' Polly continued in her authoritative manner. 'There's lots of candles you can light and make a wish. And one of me wishes came true, almost the minute I'd wished it.'

  'What was that?' asked Tom.

  Polly looked at Lizzie, her brown eyes sparkling. 'Me and Auntie Lizzie know. But I can't tell you yet.'

  'Can I light a candle and make me wish, Dad?' Tom said eagerly.

  'Well, I'm not sure … ' Danny hesitated.

  'The church is still open.' Lizzie smiled at the two youngsters. 'Don't drip wax on your nice clean clothes.'

  Tom and Polly ran off and Lizzie returned her gaze to Danny. She wanted to ask why he was here. The day had been full of emotion; first bidding goodbye to Madge and then came the moment when, as if it was by Madge's own hand, Lizzie had found the moment to tell Polly about her father.

  And now there was Danny. Standing before her, unchanged and just as she remembered. When he eventually spoke, he chose his words carefully. 'I was very sorry to hear about the bakery,' he murmured quietly. 'And the sad loss of Madge's life.'

  Lizzie nodded, digging deep to make her reply. 'Thank you. Madge was very special. We miss her.'

  'How are you, Lizzie? It's been a long time.'

  'I thought we would see you and Tom at Christmas.' She tried to keep her voice steady, for seeing him again so suddenly was bringing back old memories.

  He hung his head, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets. Lizzie thought how immaculate he looked, a man of distinction in his dark suit, white shirt and plain dark tie. How different he was to the person she once knew, at his happiest when c
overed in oil and grease. 'I'm sorry, Lizzie, truly sorry. It was … ' he stopped, frowning as he lifted his sad blue eyes to hers, 'another long story.'

  Lizzie had thought their friendship meant more to him than belated apologies. 'Christmas wasn't the same for Polly without Tom.'

  'No, nor for him – or me,' he answered. 'I should have made more of an effort.'

  Lizzie wondered what was going through his mind as he tugged the cuffs of his jacket. Gold cufflinks sparkled in the sunshine and the breeze lifted his hair gently. Raising his fingers to the scar just below his hairline, he asked, 'How are Dad and Gertie?'

  'Ask them yourself,' she invited quietly. 'I'm going there after I've been to the graveyard.'

  'Would I be welcome?'

  'You know better than to ask that.'

  He paused. 'Can I drive you?'

  Lizzie shook her head. 'But you can take Polly.'

  'Lizzie, we need to talk about Murphy. I've been to see him and I think you should know what we discussed.'

  Lizzie didn't ask more as the children came running towards them. But whatever it was had brought Danny here and must be of great importance.

  Chapter 49

  It was now late afternoon and a cooler breeze blew across East London Cemetery. Lizzie's thoughts were still with Danny as she stood at the graveside. Father Bergen, dressed in his cassock and surplice, sprinkled the lowered casket with holy water from the aspergillum.

  Lizzie's hoped Madge would be happy with her resting place under the shady branches of a small hazel tree. The patch was not far from Lizzie's mother's grave, where almost fifteen years before, Kate Allen had been laid to rest. It consoled Lizzie to think that Madge and Kate might be together on another plane, smiling as they watched today's proceedings. The priest, though, was solemn-faced and accompanied only by the gravedigger. The blessing and prayers were short, the final offering made by Father Bergen in a quiet, respectful tone.

  'For dust thou art and unto dust thou return … ' Father Bergen's words joined the song of the sparrows, nestled in the tree's branches above. Lizzie bowed her head as she looked into the void below where Madge's mortal remains now rested.