Authors: Dilly Court
This was not a conversation that Effie wanted to have. She knew she would be taking a risk by returning to the house on the marsh, but she realised that her choices were limited.
‘I have Georgie to consider,’ she said slowly. ‘He needs a proper home and a good education. I don’t want Owen’s son to grow up ignorant and without prospects. I want a better life for my boy.’
Betty nodded her head. ‘Every mother wishes the best for their nippers, and you are a good mother, Effie.’
‘And a good sister,’ Tom said sincerely. ‘I don’t want to let you down.’
Effie was close to tears but she hid them from Tom by rising hastily to wipe the jam from Georgie’s hands and face. She turned with a start as Seymour strode into the kitchen from the stable yard.
‘I thought I’d find you all in here. Betty’s kitchen is the heart of the pub and her food speaks for itself. I’ll be sorry to leave.’
‘Are you coming with us after all?’ Effie asked in surprise. She was certain he had said he intended to stay on for a day or two.
‘No. My plans are still the same, but Champion is harnessed to the dog cart and champing at the bit. It’s time for you to go.’
Effie eyed Tom anxiously. ‘I’m ready, but it’s up to you, Tom. Are you coming with us or are you going to accept Betty’s kind offer of lodgings? It’s your decision.’
‘
IT’S GOING TO
be a long winter,’ Nellie grumbled. ‘If the master don’t come back soon we’ll be chopping up what’s left of the furniture for fuel and living off apples.’
Effie had just come back from the orchard with a basket overflowing with ripe fruit. She took an apple and gave it to Georgie who was tugging at her skirts in an attempt to attract her attention. ‘What do you say?’ she said as he snatched it from her hand.
‘Ta, Mama.’ He scuttled off to sit on the tiny wooden stool that Jeffries had made for him.
Effie smiled indulgently. ‘Georgie wouldn’t mind eating nothing but apples, would you, darling?’
He grinned, his mouth too full of fruit to allow him to speak, and a dribble of juice ran down his chin.
‘Well, it’s all right for him,’ Nellie said darkly. ‘He’s got all his teeth. Me and Jeffries got nothing but our gums and the odd bit of broken peg. I need soft food and I want meat, even if I have to mince it up small.’
‘Tom gets plenty of rabbits and he’s a good fisherman.’ Effie tried to sound positive but she was well aware that a harsh winter would make life intolerable. They had managed so far by selling their surplus eggs, butter and cheese at market, and she planned to barter apples for flour at the mill, but they would still need coal, candles and paraffin.
‘There’s precious little left of value in the house,’ Nellie went on, ignoring Effie’s last remark. ‘I daresn’t sell the best dinner service without the master’s say-so. He’d wring me neck if he came back from foreign parts and found his ma’s precious Coalport had gone to the auction rooms. It’s the last thing he held on to even when he was desperate for opium or brandy.’
‘And it won’t be sold,’ Effie said firmly. ‘We’ll manage until he returns from Argentina.’
Nellie pulled a face. ‘Gallivanting off to South America like that. What was he thinking of?’
‘He hoped to get back some of the money that his friend Forster had invested for him. You know that very well, Nellie.’
‘A fool and his money are soon parted. That’s what my old ma used to say and she was right.’ Nellie moved a little nearer to the fire. ‘I could do with a drop of ale, Effie. Is there any left in the keg?’
Effie went into the pantry and filled a tankard. She gave it to Nellie, noting with some concern that the old woman’s hands appeared worse today; her knuckles were swollen and hot to the touch and her fingers gnarled like branches on the hawthorn bush outside the front door. ‘Here, drink this. Purely medicinal, as you used to tell me.’
‘Less of your lip, girl,’ Nellie growled, but there was no malice in her hooded eyes. ‘Those were the days when I could cure meself with a drop of Hollands. I’ve almost forgotten what it tastes like, and I’d give anything for a lump of sugar to sweeten me tea. Honey is all very well but it don’t taste the same.
‘Honey,’ Georgie said, swallowing a mouthful of apple. ‘Bread and honey, Mama.’
‘Eat up your apple, and you shall have bread and honey for dinner,’ Effie said, hoping that there was enough honeycomb left for their midday meal, as Tom was partial to sweet things and she could not begrudge him a treat every now and then. She would not have blamed him had he chosen to stay in Bow, but it would have been difficult to manage without him. He had worked hard all summer, toiling in the walled garden and in the field where Seymour had planted vegetables. They had lived off the crops as they came into season, and Nellie had shown Effie how to
preserve food for the long winter months. They had podded peas and left them to dry in the sun. String beans had been sliced and packed in crocks between layers of salt, and root vegetables were stored beneath straw in the cellar. Onions and herbs hung from the beams in the kitchen and anything left over was fed to the animals. Nothing went to waste. The goats ate almost anything and the chickens had roamed freely in summer, but would need grain to keep them going in the winter.
‘We need sugar and spices if we’re going to make chutney and jam,’ Nellie muttered, sipping her ale. ‘We can’t let the apples and berries go to waste. In the old days this kitchen was busier at this time of year than any other. You could smell the boiling fruit and vinegar all through the house, and we used to make wine from blackberries and elderberries. The master used to complain about the smell, but he was pleased enough to have pickles and chutneys with his game pie and redcurrant jelly with roast lamb or pheasant. And he wasn’t too proud to enjoy a glass or two of home-made wine. Those were the days. We’ll never see their like again.’
Effie went to the range and took the lid off the saucepan to taste the rabbit stew for seasoning. They were running low on salt as
well as sugar and something needed to be done. With September almost over and nights drawing in, autumn was already upon them, and very soon the first frosts would arrive, turning the sedge and reeds into a white wonderland. It might look pretty, but unless she could think of a way to earn money they would be on the verge of starvation before winter gave way to spring.
Nellie supped her ale in silence and Georgie was too busy munching his apple to seek his mother’s attention. Effie stirred the stew, taking the brief respite to think. Toby had still not responded to her letters, even though she now wrote to him at least twice a week, and it was three months since Seymour had set sail for South America. They had managed so far, but only because Tom had put the knowledge he had gained in the market garden into providing food for them all. She knew what it had cost him to make the choice, but every Sunday he took Champion and rode to Bow to see Agnes. Once or twice, taking advantage of the long summer days, he had brought her back to Marsh House, and she had been wide-eyed with astonishment to think that one man owned such a large house and grounds. Effie had accompanied Tom to Bow on a couple of occasions and had enjoyed her brief visits. She missed Betty and her large boisterous family,
but she did not miss the grime and the filth of the city streets, or the suffocating stench and clouds of flies that made warm weather unbearable.
The East End was expanding at an alarming rate, but Marsh House was protected to some extent by the River Lea to the west and the marsh to the east, although builders were cashing in on the expansion of the railway system. New estates were being constructed so rapidly that the city was encroaching on the countryside day by day; almost minute by minute it seemed to Effie when she took their produce to market. Workers who thronged to the city offices had to live somewhere and as the transport system improved new suburbs were being created.
Thoughts had been whirring around in Effie’s head like the bees in the hive, and she paused with the wooden spoon poised above the bubbling pan of stew. ‘Nellie, I’ve got an idea.’
‘It had better be a good one, ducks,’ Nellie said, draining the last drops from her mug of ale. ‘Give us a refill and tell me all about it.’
‘I’ve done it before and it was a great success,’ Effie said, placing the lid back on the pan. ‘If only I’d known about licences I would probably still be selling beer to the factory workers in Bow.’
‘What are you suggesting? If you’re thinking of turning Marsh House into a pub, you’d best forget it. The master would have forty fits.’
‘I wasn’t, but that’s a possibility.’ Effie pulled up a chair to sit beside Nellie.
Georgie climbed onto her knee, tugging at a loose strand of hair that had escaped from the knot at the nape of her neck. ‘I hungry, Mama.’
‘I’ll get your dinner in a minute, darling. I need to speak to Nellie first.’
‘Well go on then,’ Nellie said eagerly. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’
‘We’ve got three barrels of ale in the cellar, all ready for drinking. Just a couple of miles away in Homerton and Clapton there are whole streets of houses under construction. Where there’s hard work there’ll be thirsty men. I’m not saying we could make a fortune, but at least we could earn enough to feed us and keep us warm in the winter.’
Nellie’s wrinkled brow knotted into lines of worry. ‘But what would the master say?’
‘Mr Westlake is thousands of miles away. We haven’t heard from him since he sailed for South America and quite honestly, Nellie, I don’t care what he thinks. There’s no knowing when he’ll return and I’m not going to let my child starve.’
‘What will you do?’ Nellie seemed to shrink
into her clothes like a small tortoise drawing its head in when threatened by danger.
‘I’m taking the eggs to market tomorrow. I’ll find out how to get a beer licence and we’ll go on from there.’
‘What’s all this?’ Tom demanded as he sauntered into the kitchen. ‘Did I hear you right, Effie?’
She turned to him with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘You did. I’m going to get a proper licence and start selling beer again. We’ve got plenty made and I can soon brew more.’
Tom selected an apple from the basket on the table and he bit into it. ‘Pity you can’t make cider as well. We’ve got tons of fruit that will be fit for nothing but pig food if we leave them lying on the ground.’
‘One thing at a time,’ Effie said smiling. ‘What do you think of my idea, Tom?’
‘I think it’s a good ’un. Just make sure you get the licence this time.’
Getting a licence to brew ale was easier than Effie had expected. She suspected that living in Marsh House, the ancestral home of the Westlake family, might have swayed the balance in her favour, but whatever the reason she snatched the licence and took it home with a feeling of triumph and high expectations. It was getting dark as she drove homewards and
frost sparkled on the rutted track, dancing and gleaming in the light from the lamps hanging on either side of the dog cart. Stars shone down from a clear sky and a large yellow moon hung suspended like a glass bauble on a Christmas tree. Effie breathed the cold air and felt it spike in her lungs. ‘Giddy-up, Champion,’ she said through chattering teeth. The horse pricked up his ears and obligingly increased his pace.
In the stable yard Effie was met by Tom and Jeffries, both of them grinning up at her as if they could barely wait to give her good news. Her heart gave an erratic bump against her ribs, and for a wild moment she thought that a letter had come from Toby, or that Seymour had returned with a sackful of gold and silver.
‘What on earth is it?’ she demanded as Tom helped her down from the driver’s seat.
‘Did you get it?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘Yes, I did. We’re back in the brewing business.’
‘That’s good, missis,’ Jeffries said, grinning and exposing his single tooth. ‘That’s the ticket.’
‘What is all this?’ Effie looked from one to the other. ‘What’s going on?’
Tom grabbed her by the hand. ‘Come with me, Effie. You won’t believe this. Lead on, gaffer,’ he added, nodding his head to Jeffries
who loped on ahead carrying a lighted lantern. Following the flickering beam, Tom led Effie out of the stable yard to a set of outbuildings which included the washhouse and the dairy. These were in a reasonable state of repair but the old coach house was almost derelict, with ivy-covered walls and bats zooming in and out of the glassless upper windows.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ Effie demanded. ‘Is this a joke, Tom? Because if it is I shan’t be amused. I’m cold and hungry and I don’t want to look at rusty old farm implements.’
Jeffries stepped forward to heave the double doors open. He held the lantern up high, flooding the interior with light. ‘Go inside, missis. Take a look at the room out back.’
‘Yes, come on, Effie.’ Tom’s voice throbbed with suppressed excitement. ‘I’d no notion this was here until Jeffries showed me.’
Her curiosity aroused, Effie followed them into a large back room, partially open to the sky where the tiles had blown off the roof. At first she could not make head or tail of the contents. To her it looked like a jumble of rusty farm implements and a huge, circular stone trough with a mill wheel half protruding from a pile of straw. ‘What on earth is it?’
‘Don’t you see, Effie?’ Tom chortled. ‘It’s a
cider press. There’s everything we need to turn the apples into cider.’
‘Aye,’ Jeffries said, nodding his head. ‘That’s what the old master planted the trees for. In days gone by we made the finest cider in the whole of Hackney. Folks used to come from miles around at harvest time just for a taste of it.’
‘And you’ve got a brewing licence,’ Tom said, giving Effie a hug. ‘We’re going to make a fortune.’
It was not as easy as Tom had hoped. Effie came up against strong opposition from the foremen on building sites. She had chosen the midday break when the men were allowed a brief respite to eat and drink, but she found all too quickly that strong ale was forbidden. They did not want inebriated construction workers, the gaffers told her when she arrived with a cart laden with barrels of ale, and she was forced to return to Marsh House with not a pint sold. She revised her strategy and next day went out with barrels of small beer, a much weaker ale which was drunk by children as well as adults. This proved acceptable and popular but was cheaper and therefore less profitable. Undaunted, she went out a second time each day with Tom at her side, and this time they had barrels of strong ale
loaded on the cart. Waiting a respectable distance from the actual building sites, they peddled their brew to the men who had just knocked off work.