‘You want to get Annie and Duke back together?’
‘I’d give an arm and a leg to help. But Annie won’t listen. She says the law’s the law, and the law says she ain’t married to Pa no more!’
‘And you’ve given her a talking to?’ Dolly was sniffing and coming round from her outburst.
‘’Course I have. We all have. She won’t shift. And Pa agrees with her, bless him.’ Frances sat upright, her pale colouring highlighting her delicate features, her bobbed hair swept straight back from her high forehead.
‘But have you got her to think straight?’ Dolly became more secretive and urgent as she leaned across. ‘You know, about how her and Wiggin got together in the first place?’
Frances was puzzled. ‘How do you mean?’
Dolly stared back. ‘You mean, you don’t know? She ain’t told you?’ It had never occurred to her that the family didn’t know the full story, that Annie had kept it quiet.
‘Ain’t told me what, for God’s sake? What are you on about, Dolly?’ Frances was exasperated by the big eyes and exaggerated whispers. ‘Tell me straight, was there something fishy?’
‘Why not ask her?’ For once Dolly’s lips were sealed.
‘How can I if I don’t know what you’re on about?’ Frances battled to stay calm. The pub had filled up. Duke was behind the bar now, but as yet there was no sign of Annie.
‘We was sworn to secrecy,’ Dolly declared. ‘All them years ago. I ain’t saying another word.’ She gathered her dignity and stood up. ‘Like you said, Frances, it ain’t none of my business.’
‘Dolly!’ Frances sprang up to restrain her.
‘All right then.’ Swiftly Dolly changed her mind and whispered in Frances’s ear. ‘Annie was just a girl, mind. She weren’t a Southwark girl born and bred. Her family was over in Hoxton, I think. Anyhow, when she came to live in the court she was already hitched up with Wiggin. We never took to them, not at first. Things was said behind their backs and Wiggin treated her bad from the start.’
Frances sat Dolly down and forced herself to be patient. She was totally in the dark about this.
‘We took to Annie all right when he was away at sea. She kept things nice and clean and she never went on about her other half. She never told us nothing about herself neither; she was close on that score. Only, the story went around that Wiggin weren’t her first husband, that she’d been married before.’
Frances shook her head in disbelief. ‘How could she? She ain’t never said nothing to us.’
‘She wouldn’t.’ Dolly’s stare held secret significance.
‘Why not?’
‘’Cos the story was she’d been married to a man called Kearney. He married her when she was sixteen and he was no better than Wiggin turned out to be second time around. They lived like rats in a cellar in Hoxton, and he used to knock, her about and one day when he was short of money for a drink, he took Annie along to the market, met up with his old pal, Wiggin, and he sold her! They said Wiggin bought her for twenty-seven shillings, which was a tidy sum in them days.’
Frances gasped. ‘Oh my God, it ain’t true!’
‘Calm down, I ain’t said there’s been a murder or nothing.’ To Dolly, it was one of the things that went on in the old poverty-stricken days. A bargain would be struck, the second marriage would even be given the respectability of a forged certificate.
‘But why didn’t she tell us?’
‘It ain’t something to blow your horn over, is it?’
‘But don’t she see what it’d mean?’ Frances began to get over her shock.
Dolly shook her head. ‘No, she don’t. I ain’t that clear myself. All I know is, it went on, and a lot of women got trapped that way. It ain’t very nice, but there it is.’
‘And what happened to Kearney?’ Things could be even worse in one sense, if Dolly’s version of events was true.
‘I haven’t a clue. You’d better ask her that. Choose your time, Frances, and get her to tell it all. You’re the one can do it if anyone can. And you’re the one who can sort out this mess for her.’
Frances took a deep breath. ‘This needs thinking through.’
Dolly smoothed her skirt and bodice. ‘I’d do more than think about it if I was you. And don’t take too long about it,’ She gazed across at Duke’s sturdy figure; as much a fixture round here as the bar itself or the bevelled, fancy mirrors. ‘Let’s get Duke and Annie back together,’ she insisted. ‘It’d be a start at any rate.’
While Frances hesitated over how best to approach Annie on the delicate topic of her marriage to Wiggin, Sadie put in a brief appearance at the Duke.
She chose a time when she knew Rob would be absent, preferring to avoid him, but anxious to call in to see how Duke, Hettie and Ernie were bearing up. First she spoke to Hettie on the phone. ‘Will Pa want to see me?’ she asked. ‘’Cos I can stay away if he’d rather. I don’t want to cause no more trouble.’
‘Pa ain’t mad at you, Sadie,’ Hettie assured her. ‘He just wishes you and Rob could make things up.’
‘Well, we can’t, Ett. Not after what he did to Richie.’ This was a firm new principle in Sadie’s life, that she wouldn’t talk to Rob again so long as he refused to apologize for what he’d done.
‘Come over anyway. Rob’s out seeing someone. Pa’s resting.’ It was the Monday of the week of the court case, and stalemate. They waited and worried in a kind of limbo. ‘Come and help cheer him up,’ Hettie said.
Sadie arrived looking as neat and pretty as ever. There was colour in her cheeks and a liveliness about her as she embraced Hettie and Ernie at the top of the stairs, then went into the living-room to see Duke.
‘Surprise, Pa!’ She stepped forward, holding out her arms, still half afraid of a lukewarm reception.
Duke held her for a second or two before he let go, then he looked her up and down. ‘My, but you’re like your ma,’ he said quietly. ‘Didn’t I always say you was like Pattie? Now, Ett, put the kettle on while Sadie makes herself at home. Sit down here and put your feet up and tell me all your news.’
Sadie felt swamped by a rush of emotions. Where she thought she’d feel defensive over Richie and angry with Rob, keeping a distance from her old life because of it, she found now that she was overwhelmed with homesickness. She’d settled in with Richie in his Mile End tenement, and she was deeply in love with him, but she saw now what it was to have her heart pulled in more than one direction. Duke was old, she realized. He put on a brave front, but he was old and hurting badly. He was tired and sad, and she wanted to help. ‘How are you coping, Pa?’ She took a cup of tea from Hettie and set it down in the hearth.
‘Bearing up.’ He eased himself back into his chair.
‘And have you got any plans?’
‘Not yet. Let’s see what happens on Friday first.’
Hettie explained that if the magistrates ruled against them, they would be given a short time to make other arrangements.
‘But does it mean you’ll have to move away from Duke Street?’ Sadie glanced at the familiar objects; the clock on the mantelpiece, a pair of matching Chinese vases with a blue design.
‘Let’s wait and see,’ Duke insisted. ‘Listen, girl, I ain’t gonna think about it till Friday, and that’s that. Just tell us how you’re getting along. How’s work? How’s your young man?’
‘I’m fine, Pa. Work’s the same.’ She blushed. ‘Richie’s fine too. He looks after me, so no need to worry on that score.’ The young lovers were still in the honeymoon period of fulfilling one another’s wishes, being there when needed, bringing home little presents of cufflinks and brooches. Their two rooms now looked bright and cheerful. Sadie had imprinted her presence in the shape of new white curtains, proper plates and cups, a pole across the bedroom alcove to hang her clothes. Richie looked on with bemusement at this advancing domestication, but he let her proceed, knowing it pleased her.
Duke listened and nodded. ‘He’s good to you, then?’
�
�He is, Pa.’ Sadie’s face broke into a radiant smile. You have to know him to see how good. He ain’t one for talking, and he don’t have much yet in the way of belongings, but he loves me, I know he does.’
‘Well then, we’ll see.’
‘Thanks, Pa.’ Sadie sprang from her chair and hugged him once more.
‘What for, girl?’ He smiled as he patted her shoulder.
‘For not staying mad at me. For letting me come home to visit.’
Duke sighed. ‘Ah, Sadie, don’t you know I miss my little girl? It’s lovely to see you looking happy, ain’t it, Ett? It’s one less thing for us to worry about.’
They settled down to talk in the old, easy way, almost forgetting their pressing troubles as Ernie finished his chores and joined them, and Annie came up the court with fresh scones and strawberry jam.
Sadie was long gone, back to her new home in Mile End, when Rob returned home. The summer evening had turned to soft drizzle as he trod his well-worn path from the depot up Duke Street, but he was oblivious to it. There was something lifeless in his walk, a bleakness in his gaze, an overall impression of defeat in the way he reached the pub and climbed the stairs.
He’d set off that afternoon with Maurice to see the brewers, their hopes high. Maurice had arranged everything; they arrived at four on the dot and were shown into a room whose oak-panelled walls were lined with hunting prints, its leather chairs and polished tables lending an atmosphere of a gentlemen’s club. Rob was dressed up smart, according to his brother-in-law’s advice, hoping to impress the brewery boss as a likely candidate to take on the problematic tenancy at the Duke. They had to wait ten minutes for the manager called Wakeley to arrive.
He was a tall, thickset man, built in the mould of one of the grey drayhorses that pulled the beer along the cobbled streets. He wore a good tweed suit with a high-buttoning waistcoat. His handshake was firm, his eyes wary.
Maurice opened up the conversation. He spoke well, reminding Mr Wakeley of the good service Duke had done for the brewery over many years. He told him that Duke was well liked and respected in the community, predicting a fall-off in trade if he were to be ousted.
Wakeley listened and nodded. ‘But,’ he said frankly, ‘Mr Parsons seems to have overstepped the mark on this occasion. With the police involved, there isn’t much we can do, I’m afraid.’
Maurice leaned across the table. ‘We know that, Mr Wakely. And we can see the hole you’re in.’
Wakeley nodded. ‘It brings us into disrepute, you see. The case will come up in the local paper. It don’t look good for the brewery to have its landlords seen to be flouting the law.’
‘Right!’ Maurice seized his chance. ‘So we’ve come with a proposal that’ll help to avoid all that.’
The manager inclined his head. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes. Say Duke were to give up the pub without the fuss of going to court? That gets you out of any bad publicity, see. But say then, Duke goes. What happens to trade? It plummets. You lose in the long run.’
Wakeley frowned. ‘I don’t see where this is leading, Mr Leigh.’
‘You see, the Duke of Wellington public house without Duke ain’t the answer.’ Maurice felt Rob shift uneasily beside him and pushed on. ‘So we came up with an alternative.’
Wakeley leaned on the table and pressed his fingertips together. ‘Which is?’
‘Which is that you hand on the tenancy to someone who keeps the trade rolling in. Someone connected to Duke.’ Maurice turned to Rob. ‘That’s why Robert here came along with me. We talked it over, and Rob would like to take on the tenancy. That way, Duke don’t get turfed out, you keep your trade, and everyone’s happy!’
The manager seemed to consider the proposal. ‘Keep it in the family, eh?’ He turned to scrutinize Rob. ‘You’re fit enough to take on the job?’ he inquired.
Rob nodded. ‘If you mean the leg, it ain’t stopped me so far.’
‘And what is your present business, Mr Parsons?’
Rob couldn’t tell from the manager’s unsmiling face how things were going. He described the taxi firm he’d set up with Walter Davidson. He pointed out how much time he’d put into the pub over the years, organizing the cellar with George Mann, serving behind the bar.
Wakeley listened. ‘It might work,’ he admitted. He offered them both cigars from a fancy silver box. They refused, but he took one for himself and rolled it between his fingers. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t bring it forward sooner.’
Robert’s heart sank. ‘How’s that?’
‘Well, the fact is, Mr Leigh, Mr Parsons, I wanted a chance to meet you in any case. The brewery has its own ideas on Friday’s court business, naturally, and we had intended to approach Wilf Parsons to ask him to step down on a voluntary basis.’ He was brisk, matter-of-fact.
Maurice leaped in. ‘Let us talk to him, then. Rob and me can get him to listen. I think we can get him to step down as long as Rob can take over.’
‘Ah!’ Wakeley sat back. ‘There’s the rub.’
‘What? Ain’t I good enough?’ Rob showed his exasperation.
‘Of course. It’s not that. Only, our proposal that Mr Parsons should step down of his own accord is based on a different outcome.’
‘What’s he on about, Maurice?’ Rob got to his feet and walked the length of the room. ‘Come clean, Mr Wakeley. What is it you’re saying?’
Wakeley looked him straight in the eye. ‘The fact is, Mr Parsons, we have someone else in mind.’
Maurice tapped the edge of the table with his fingertips. ‘A different landlord?’
‘Who? Who the bleeding hell can you put in Pa’s place?’ Rob’s control snapped. So much for dressing up and playing the part. ‘They got another plan in mind all along,’ he said to Maurice in disgust.
‘Now, I can’t tell you that, Mr Parsons. You wouldn’t expect me to. But we want a fresh start; move with the times, that sort of thing.’ Wakeley stood up. He clipped the end of his cigar then turned to Maurice. ‘No, the best thing you can do, Mr Leigh, is to go back to your father-in-law, explain the brewery’s point of view, and advise him to go without a fuss. Before Friday, if possible.’ He stood firm behind clouds of blue cigar smoke.
Rob took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said to Maurice. He felt stifled. ‘Ain’t no point hanging round.’
Maurice conceded defeat. They went out of the office, pointedly refusing to shake Wakeley’s hand or make any promises on their part.
‘We was set up!’ Rob said angrily as they found their way out of the nearest exit, through the stables lined with heavy tack. ‘If they want us to do their dirty work, they can think again.’
Two great shire horses stirred restlessly inside their bays. Maurice shook his head. They crossed a wide yard towards the iron gates overlooking a railway siding. ‘I gotta go back and tell Jess,’ he said, not relishing the task. ‘What you gonna do?’
Rob sagged forwards, hands in pockets, shoulders stooped. ‘I’ll go and tell Pa to expect the worst. There ain’t no way he can win now.’
‘We done our best.’ Maurice turned his starter-handle. The car fired. ‘We can say that.’
‘And it ain’t good enough.’ Rob climbed into his taxi.
The two cars slid into the crowd of bicycles and pedestrians filing out of the brewery gates to the sound of the hooter that signalled the end of the working day.
Chapter Twelve
The bad news filtered down Paradise Court that the brewery didn’t intend to stick up for Duke when he went to court.
Charlie Ogden met Katie O’Hagan on the market and told her that it was all up; Duke had seen the writing on the wall. He’d admitted defeat. Charlie had got the news from Walter Davidson, who’d got it straight from Rob Parsons.
‘He ain’t gonna fight?’ Katie was devastated. She was a fiery slip of a girl, with a green tinge to her eyes and her father’s wide, Irish mouth. Undersized, but making up for her lack of height with non-stop activit
y and determination, she regarded the Parsons set-up as the ideal home she’d never had. Duke was a rock in the neighbourhood. He ran the pub like clockwork, never took sides in petty quarrels and looked on his family with affectionate pride. And in Katie’s eyes, Hettie was an angel of mercy, a saint. ‘Does that mean he’ll have to pack up and go?’
‘Duke’s finished,’ Charlie told her. ‘Ain’t nothing he can do.’
She passed on the news to her ma and pa. Joe cursed Wiggin. ‘Who they gonna get to fill Duke’s shoes? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘. . . a new broom?’ Dolly Ogden listened to Mary’s account with rising scorn. ‘Who they trying to kid? Listen, they got the best landlord there is in Duke Parsons.’ It was almost unheard of for her not to be first on the scene when a new development occurred. ‘And you say Duke ain’t gonna fight no more?’ she shouted at Mary, as if it were her fault.
‘That’s according to Katie.’ Mary was on her way to deliver a calico sack of clean table linen to Henshaws’ when she bumped into Dolly. ‘She says they tried talking to the brewery, but they didn’t want to know. They got someone else in mind.’
Dolly mouthed Mary’s last words to herself, then exploded aloud once more. ‘Who the bleeding hell can they get in Duke’s place?’ she demanded. Then she stormed up to the market to have her say among her women friends. ‘The brewery’s dropped Duke in it,’ she reported. ‘They’re kicking him out after all these years. It’s a bleeding disgrace!’ Dolly overlooked the little matter of serving after hours. Who could blame Duke for giving people what they wanted?
Next day, the Thursday, Frances came across to Duke Street to talk things over with Hettie. She still hadn’t felt able to broach the important subject with Annie, finding the problem over the licence enough to deal with at any given time. The sisters sat in the living-room together while the business of the pub went on below.
‘Is he thinking straight?’ Frances asked. They talked in hushed tones, their eyes dark with worry. ‘Has he thought what he’s gonna do after tomorrow?’
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