Gaslight in Page Street (35 page)

Nora was deep in thought as the trap rattled over the tramlines at the Elephant and Castle and turned into the New Kent Road. Geoff’s married woman friend had been forthcoming with her about their relationship and Nora could not help but feel apprehensive for the young people’s future. It was not difficult for her to understand why Geoffrey had been so secretive lately. Unlike his brother Frank, he was expected to conform to certain standards. His father had as good as forced him to go into the business and it had caused the young man more than a little unhappiness. He seemed to have come to terms with the idea of one day taking over the firm but now there was another problem looming. Knowing George the way she did, Nora was sure that he would expect his elder son to provide a male heir to carry on the family name. He would no doubt take a very destructive attitude towards Geoffrey’s relationship, she fretted, as the trap turned into Jamaica Road.

Chapter Twenty

Fred Bradley was very pleased with the way his custom was growing. In the six months since Carrie had come to work for him he had almost doubled his trade, and knew that a lot of his success was due to her. She had a pleasant personality, a ready smile, and all the regular customers called her by name. Carrie had had some ideas of her own regarding the business, and Fred was now supplying a more varied fare. He had been forced to take on help in the kitchen, and a helper for Carrie too during the rush periods of the day. The café owner had experienced a sudden change of fortune and had begun to see his assistant in a new light. He had been used to working long hours in the kitchen with only an elderly assistant for company, but now there was a pretty young woman working with him, long dormant feelings began to stir. He found himself looking at Carrie and studying her face as she went about her chores. Fred would hardly admit to himself that he was attracted to his young assistant but he knew deep down that she was responsible for his change of outlook. Now he shaved every morning without fail and put on a clean pressed shirt and fresh apron. Customers began to notice the change in him and one or two of the more perceptive among them started to talk.

‘I reckon our Fred’s set ’is cap on Carrie,’ one remarked.

‘See the way ’e keeps on lookin’ at ’er?’ another said. ‘I’ve never seen the bloke lookin’ so smart.’

Sharkey Morris had noticed the change in Fred, and feeling in a way responsible for Carrie’s well-being he made a point of speaking to the young girl when he got the chance. ‘Are yer all right, luv?’ he asked her one day with a pointed look of concern. ‘What I mean ter say is, nobody’s tryin’ ter take liberties, are they?’

Fred had been careful not to let Carrie see him watching her and she was oblivious to her employer’s growing interest in her. She was a little puzzled at Sharkey’s sudden curiosity. ‘They’re all friendly, an’ they don’t mind if they ’ave ter wait fer their grub,’ she replied.

He grinned at her innocence. ‘No, what I mean is, luv, nobody’s givin’ yer any ole lip or comin’ the ole soldier,’ he said by way of explanation.

Carrie was still unsure exactly what Sharkey was hinting at and shook her head. ‘Everyfing’s fine.’

‘If yer do get pestered, jus’ let yer ole mate Sharkey know an’ I’ll put ’em ter rights,’ he said firmly.

Sharkey Morris would have been more concerned had he known that Carrie had been making some discreet enquiries about a certain young man with a Romany appearance. He had only come into the dining rooms on a few occasions since the first time but always at a busy period, and Carrie had not been able to talk at length to him. Nevertheless, she had learned that he worked for a grain merchant and his job meant he had to shovel hot grain mash from the brewery into his cart and transport it to farms in the outskirts of London. She had been able to tell from Tommy Allen’s powerful build and muscular arms that the work was very hard, and the elderly carman who knew him explained to her that it was a job only for fit young men. Carrie found herself hoping Tommy would come into the dining rooms again.

It was one Friday morning that Tommy made one of his rare appearances, and on this particular day he picked a quiet period. Carrie tried to suppress a feeling of excitement as she brought over his tea and took his order for a cheese sandwich.

‘I’aven’t seen yer fer some time. I thought yer’d changed yer café,’ she said, surprised at her boldness.

He smiled. ‘I wasn’t in the area. I’ve bin wonderin’ ’ow yer bin. ’Ave yer missed me?’

Carrie’s cheeks glowed. ‘I bin too busy ter notice,’ she said quickly.

Tommy sipped his tea while she went for his order. When she returned and put the plate down in front of him, he looked into her eyes. ‘I’ve missed comin’ in ’ere, ter tell yer the trufe,’ he remarked, biting on the sandwich.

Carrie turned away in embarrassment and he grinned as she got on with stacking the clean mugs. Customers were starting to come in and suddenly Tommy was at the counter.

‘I’ve gotta get goin’,’ he said. ‘Would yer fancy comin’ ter see a show at the South London Music ’All on Saturday evenin’?’

Carrie felt her heart leap but stifled her excitement. ‘I dunno,’ she replied, wishing she had said yes.

Tommy was not to be put off. ‘Look, it’s a good show. I’ll come knockin’ if yer like. Tell me where yer live an’ I’ll call round about six o’clock.’

‘Go on, Carrie, tell ’im where yer live,’ one of the carmen joked.

‘Can’t yer see the young man’s waitin’?’ his friend said, laughing.

Carrie felt her cheeks growing hot. ‘Twenty-four Page Street. Next door ter the stable,’ she rattled off.

Tommy grinned widely. ‘See yer at six,’ he said as he walked out of the dining rooms.

The conversation had been overheard by Fred and he felt suddenly angry with himself. He had wanted to ask Carrie out for some time but had not been able to muster enough courage to approach her. Now it looked as though he had left it too late. He had begun to think that Carrie was showing a little interest in him. She had seemed to get over her initial shyness and chat to him a little more whenever there was a quiet spell. She had told him she was very happy in the job and once or twice she had actually commented favourably about his appearance. Maybe he was too old for her anyway, he told himself. She was only twenty-one and he was in his mid-thirties. Why should she be interested in him? She hadn’t noticed how much he had smartened himself up, or if she had noticed she hadn’t mentioned it to him. Fred carried on with the cooking, feeling depressed.

It had been a few weeks now since the theft of the watch and Jack Oxford was biding his time. He had denied ever bringing anyone back into the yard and when William had confronted him about the planking being loosened from the inside Jack merely shrugged his shoulders and hoped the yard foreman would let the matter rest, but it was not to be.

‘As long as I don’t know I couldn’t care a sod if yer decide ter kip in the yard,’ William told him, ‘but when fings go missin’ I do care. I’m responsible fer the place an’ I’m not gonna stan’ by an’ let yer drop me in the shite. If yer know who nicked that watch, I suggest yer get it back off ’im.’

Jack had thought hard about which one of his friends could have taken the watch. He had known them for some time and had never had reason to suspect that any of them might take advantage of a good turn. Charlie was the only one he did not know prior to that night. He would be the most likely one to have filched the watch, Jack reasoned.

Working on that assumption he had visited the arches on a few occasions, pretending that he was just turning up for a chat, but Charlie was never there. Harold, Moishie and the eccentric Bernie did not seem to be hiding anything, and when Jack asked after Charlie on his last visit he was rewarded with a shrug of the shoulders.

‘We ain’t seen ’air nor ’ide of ’im since that night we all went ter the stables,’ Harold told him. ‘Funny bloke ’e was. ’E Jus’ showed up ’ere one cold night an’ asked if ’e could ’ave a warm by the fire. ’E told us ’e’d bin chucked out by ’is missus a few years ago an’ ’e was livin’ rough. ’E ain’t a Londoner by all accounts. I fink ’e told me ’e come from Manchester, or was it Newcastle? Somewhere like that anyway.’

‘Cornwall,’ Bernie piped in. ‘Charlie come from Bodmin in Cornwall.’

‘Oh, well, I knew it was somewhere like that,’ Harold said.

Moishie poked at the flaring brazier. ‘I never trusted the bloke meself,’ he said. ‘I woke up one night an’ saw ’im rummagin’ frew ’Arold’s bundle. ’E said ’e was lookin’ fer a match ter get the fire goin’ agin.’

Jack came away from the arches that night convinced that Charlie was his man and determined that he would find him eventually.

On Friday evening Florrie Axford took her old friends to the Kings Arms for a drink. As they sat chatting amiably in the snug bar, Florrie was in a happy frame of mind. She had ‘come into a few bob’ as she put it, and her friends were more than a little surprised at her attitude.

‘Yer could ’ave knocked me down wiv a feavver,’ she was saying. ‘I was up ter me eyes in washin’ an’ this bloke knocks at me door wiv the news. Five guineas ’e give me. Apparently it was a policy in my name an’ ’e told me I’d bin payin’ it in wiv the insurance. It was only fourpence a week but it’d bin paid in fer years. I couldn’t work it out fer a moment, then I suddenly tumbled it. It was from that second ’usband o’ mine. The ole goat took ’is policies when ’e walked out on me an’ I didn’t fink any more of it. From what I can gavver ’e was livin’ wiv ’is married sister when ’e pegged it. Choked on a chicken bone by all accounts.’

Maisie shook her head. ‘What a way ter go.’

Florrie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Least ’e was eatin’. Could ’ave bin worse. ’E could ’ave starved ter death.’

‘Don’t be wicked, Flo,’ Nellie said, stifling a chuckle.

Florrie sipped her milk stout. ‘Why should I be upset over ’is passin’? ’E left me in the lurch years ago an’ I ain’t laid eyes on ’im since. I ain’t losin’ no sleep over ’im.’

‘Still ’e was yer ’usband, fer better or fer worse,’ Aggie piped in.

‘It was all worse where ’e was concerned,’ Florrie retorted. ‘I’ve got more money orf the bleeder since ’e’s bin gorn than I ever did when ’e was alive.’

Grace Crossley was leaning on the counter and her wide ruddy face split into a grin. ‘Yer wanna be careful talking like that o’ the dead, Florrie. Yer ole man might come back an’ ’aunt yer,’ she said.

‘I don’t fink so,’ Florrie replied, downing the last of her drink. ‘’E never spent much time in our ’ouse when ’e was livin’. I don’t s’pose ’e’d be too anxious ter pay me a visit now ’e’s dead.’

Aggie was getting a little frightened by the way the conversation was going. She got up and leaned on the bar counter. ‘Give us all the same again, Grace,’ she said, fishing in her leather purse. ‘Talkin’ o’ ghosts ’as made me come over all shivery.’

The buxom landlady laughed aloud as she poured the drinks. ‘Yer don’t believe in them sort o’ fings, do yer, Aggie?’ she asked in a mocking tone of voice.

The slim woman pulled the fur trim of her coat down over her wrists and leaned forward over the counter. ‘My ’Arold reckons ’e see a ghost one night when ’e was lightin’ the lamps. It floated across the street large as life,’ she whispered. ‘My ole man said it frightened the life out of ’im. Come out of one o’ the ’ouses in Cotton Lane it did.’

Grace frowned in disbelief. ‘It must ’ave bin a bit o’ fog swirlin’ around,’ she replied as she put the drinks down on the counter.

Aggie shook her head vigorously. ‘No, it was a clear night, so my ’Arold said. This fing floated over the cobbles and then it jus’ evaporated. That wasn’t the end of it neivver. A couple o’ weeks later ’Arold was lightin’ the lamps in the street an’ this ole man come up to ’im an’ asked ’im if ’e ’ad change of a tanner. ’E said ’e wanted some coppers fer the gas meter an’ when ’Arold give ’im the change, the ole man went in the ’ouse where the ghost come out of. Anyway, a couple o’ nights later the gas board dug the turnin’ up outside the same ’ouse an’ my ole man got talkin’ ter the night-watchman. ’E told ’im that they was mendin’ a gas leak an’ they was puttin’ new pipes inter the ’ouse at the same time. When my ’Arold told ’im about the bloke askin’ ’im fer change fer the gas the watchman laughed at ’im. ’E good as called ’im a liar. Apparently the place ’ad been empty fer years an’ the gas ’ad been cut off fer ages.’

Grace pulled a face and hurried away to serve in the public bar, leaving Florrie grinning over the counter.

‘I’ve ’eard ’Arold tell that story a dozen times,’ she whispered to Maisie and Nellie. ‘Each time it’s a different street.’

As the women friends settled down to enjoy fresh drinks in the tiny snug bar, the conversation turned to more mundane topics.

‘’Ow’s your Carrie gettin’ on at that dinin’ rooms, Nell?’ Maisie asked.

‘She’s doin’ fine,’ Nellie replied. ‘She likes it better than the factory. Mind yer, she’s kept on the go most o’ the day. Still, the gel’s ’appy there, which is more than I can say fer the boys. James is fed up at the sawmills an’ ’e’s tryin’ ter get anuvver job. Young Danny’s workin’ in the shop now. I’m glad ’e don’t ’ave ter run around on the errand bike but ’e don’t like it. ’E said ’e’d like ter go on the barges. Trouble is it’s ’ard ter get a job on the river. It’s all farvvers an’ sons. The only one who’s ’appy is young Charlie. ’E’s doin’ well in that office. They’ve give ’im a rise an’ ’e’s in charge o’ the mail by all accounts.’