Authors: Dilly Court
She stopped in the middle of Bow Common bridge hoping to catch a breath of air, but the stench from the factories rose in a suffocating cloud of smoke and dust and the sky was tinged with sulphurous yellow. Below her the canal seemed to boil as it moved sluggishly, rippling with the bow waves of passing narrowboats. She could hear sounds of merriment emanating from the tavern and she was about to continue on her way when an ominous rumble of thunder made her change her plans. Her first instinct was to get home to comfort Georgie. He was terrified
by thunder and lightning and had been left with Dotty who might also be frightened by storms. Effie turned her barrow and set off for Albert Place.
The streets were strangely quiet now that the hordes of workers had gone their separate ways. Although there were several hours before darkness engulfed the city, there was an unnatural twilight and dark clouds of starlings swooped on tall buildings as if homing in to roost for the night. Their head-splitting chorus was both noisy and eerie. A wind had come up from nowhere, buffeting Effie, tugging at her hair and slapping her face with pieces of straw and detritus snatched up from the gutters. She put her head down and threw all her weight into pushing the cart with its heavy oak barrel. The mugs banged together and an even stronger gust almost tipped the barrel off the barrow causing the mugs to clatter in unison like chattering teeth. Then the rain came, falling from the cast-iron sky in steady torrents. It swept through the city turning streets into rivulets and causing blocked drains to overflow. Effie was close to home but she could barely stand and she was forced to take shelter in a chapel doorway.
She was already soaked to the skin but the wind and rain made it impossible to manoeuvre the cart. Any moment it might tip
onto the cobblestones and possibly smash into matchwood; she struggled to keep it upright. A flash of lightning was followed almost immediately by a loud crump of thunder. It rolled around the sky, echoing off the buildings and fading into the distance only to be followed by more lightning. Another crack of thunder made the ground shake beneath her feet. Effie huddled against the chapel door covering her ears with her hands. The barrel swayed ominously, caught by the strongest blast of wind yet. It tipped and would have fallen if a dark figure had not appeared and grabbed it with both hands. Lashed by the wind and rain, the man struggled to hold the barrel and Effie left the shelter of the doorway to help him.
His wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his brow and the howling wind made it impossible to speak as they battled against its mighty force. Effie had no idea who was helping her until a flash of lightning illuminated his scarred features.
‘Mr Westlake.’ She almost lost her grip on the barrel as the wet wood slipped through her hands.
‘It’s the day of judgement,’ Seymour said, baring his teeth in a grim smile. ‘An apocalypse, my dear Effie.’
Dashing the rain from her eyes, she stared
at him dumbfounded. ‘I don’t understand. What are you doing here, sir?’
‘Never mind that now. Let me help you get this contraption home. How far have you to go?’
Effie pointed in the direction of Albert Place. ‘Just a hundred yards or so, but I couldn’t push the cart against the wind.’
‘Don’t waste your breath talking,’ Seymour said, taking the handles in a firm grasp. ‘Lead on.’
Lashed by wind and rain and half blinded by the jagged flashes of lightning, they made their way slowly and with difficulty. Effie steadied the barrel but several of her tin mugs had gone flying off down the road as if flung by angry hands.
‘Leave them,’ Seymour ordered. ‘Keep the keg steady or you’ll lose it.’
Eventually, and with much effort, they reached the safety of Effie’s back yard. The wind ranted and raged overhead but the high brick walls protected them from the worst of the storm. Across the common Effie could see the wavering lights from the fairground. She could hear the slapping of the guy ropes and the shouts of the men as they dismantled the show tent. She hoped that her friends were safe in their caravans, but there was nothing that she or anyone could do in the face of
such wild weather. She entered the kitchen to find Tom and Agnes sitting at the table with Georgie, who was marching his toy animals into the wooden ark. The warmth of the fire and the soft candlelight illuminated a scene of pleasing domesticity in stark contrast to the turbulent force of nature outside.
‘Where is Dotty,’ Effie asked anxiously.
‘She was scared of the storm,’ Agnes said with a rueful smile. ‘We sent her home.’
Tom leapt to his feet, his eyes wide with astonishment as Seymour followed Effie into the kitchen. ‘What’s he doing here, Effie?’
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Effie said hastily. ‘Mr Westlake is soaked to the skin. There are clean towels in the cupboard, Tom.’
Seymour took off his hat and grimaced as it sent a shower of droplets onto the floor. ‘I’m sorry to cause you any bother, Effie. But see to yourself first. You are just as wet as I.’
Agnes rose from her chair, casting a sideways glance at Seymour’s scarred face and then looking away. ‘I’d best be on my way home.’
‘Not in this storm,’ Tom said firmly. He took two huckaback towels from the cupboard next to the chimney breast and gave one to Seymour, passing the other to his sister with a questioning look. ‘What’s going on?’
Agnes laid her hand on his arm. ‘Ask questions later, Tom. I’ll make a pot of tea.’
‘Thank you, Agnes,’ Effie said with a grateful smile. ‘And thank you both for looking after Georgie. I was really worried about him.’
‘No need,’ Tom said, grinning at Georgie as he pressed a giraffe into his hands. ‘I can remember being scared of thunder when I was a nipper.’
Satisfied that her son was happily oblivious to the storm that raged around outside, Effie turned to Seymour. Now that they were safely indoors she was bursting with curiosity. ‘May I ask what are you doing here, sir? I can’t believe that it was just a coincidence that you found me sheltering in the chapel doorway.’
‘Nellie told me that you knew the landlord of the Prince of Wales tavern. I wanted to find you and I thought it the best place to start.’
‘Ben knows when to keep his trap shut,’ Tom said, eyeing Seymour suspiciously. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘He is indeed and he took some convincing, but eventually I managed to coax your address out of him. I was on my way here when I saw you standing on the bridge, Effie. I called out to you but those damned birds were making such a din that you didn’t hear me, so I followed you.’
‘That explains a little,’ Effie said slowly. ‘But why did you want to see me?’
Seymour looked down at his sodden clothing with a wry grimace. ‘I’m soaked to the skin, my dear, as are you, and what I have to say can wait until morning. I think I’d better hurry back to the tavern where I’ve booked a room for the night.’
‘Yes, of course you must change out of your wet things as soon as possible, but you can’t leave me in suspense, Mr Westlake. I won’t sleep a wink unless you give me some idea why you’ve sought me out.’
He hesitated and a reluctant smile softened his stern features. ‘Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart. I’ve returned slowly and painfully to the real world and working the land has made me face certain truths.’
‘About Toby?’
‘Yes, about my son. Of course I knew that he was my child, but after Mirella died, instead of cherishing him and taking comfort from my own flesh and blood, I turned him out. I think I went a little mad with grief and the suffering caused by my disease. I hated myself and I loathed the world where people could be happy when all the joy had been taken from me.’
Agnes muffled a sob and Tom hooked his arm around her shoulders with a sympathetic murmur.
Effie found herself shivering violently. ‘I think I understand, but I could never abandon my child.’ She made a move to pick Georgie up but remembered her wet clothes in the nick of time. She ruffled his curls affectionately. ‘Georgie is my life,’ she said softly. ‘And Tom, of course, but I’m afraid I’ll never see Toby again.’
‘That’s why I’m here. I want to visit my son and I need to know where they have him imprisoned.’
‘In Millbank, I think. I’ve only seen him once when he was in the house of detention, and that was weeks ago.’
Seymour rammed his hat on his head. ‘We’ll discuss this tomorrow. I really must go now.’
Effie nodded reluctantly. She wanted to sit him down and spend the night talking about Toby, but she could see that Seymour was flagging and in desperate need of dry clothes, hot foot and above all a rest. As she saw him out of the house she could only marvel at his sudden change of heart. It seemed like a miracle that he had dragged himself from the brink of insanity and turned his life around. The serious man with a quiet voice and calm demeanour was quite unlike the half-crazed creature she had first come across in Marsh House.
She felt a tug at her skirt and looked down
into Georgie’s smiling face. ‘Mama,’ he said happily. ‘Come.’ His efforts to draw her back to the kitchen brought a smile to her lips and she knelt down beside him.
‘Mama got caught in the rain, darling. Go back to the kitchen and wait for me while I change out of my wet clothes. Then we’ll have supper and I’ll read you a story.’ She watched him toddle off to join Agnes and Tom in the kitchen, and despite her sodden garments she felt a warm glow rushing through her veins. She had her precious family around her and now she had Toby’s father on her side. She was no longer fighting the battle alone.
That night Effie slept more soundly than she had for weeks. Next morning she waited anxiously for Seymour’s arrival, rushing to the window in the front parlour every few minutes to peer out along the street. The storm had passed over during the night leaving the streets scoured clean of debris. The early morning sunshine glistened on wet pavements and there was a fresh feeling in the air as if the old city had been washed clean by the savagery of the elements. A cursory glance at the common first thing had revealed an empty space where the fair had been, and Effie felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. Frank had gone away and she hoped never to see him
again, but she wished that she had had more time with Leah and the others.
When Seymour’s tall figure came striding into view Effie could not get to the door fast enough. He was all courtesy and smiles as he followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the table, but Effie was suddenly nervous. Seymour Westlake was an educated man who had been born into a privileged class. She was a penniless widow and the mores of society were harsh. She was not of the same social standing and it was no use pretending that the barriers did not exist. She eyed him cautiously. ‘What is it you wanted to say to me, sir?’
‘I think you know me well enough drop the formalities, my dear. I am Seymour to my friends and I owe you much.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘When we last met I must confess that your words hurt me, but they sank into my thick skull gradually and I realised that what you said was true. I’ve wasted years by denying my son, and now I’m determined to make amends. I’m going to Millbank prison today and demand to see him.’
‘Do you think they will allow it?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m going to try. I’m also going to visit an old friend who works in the City. He handled my affairs until I was foolish
enough to take the bulk of them over, thinking in my arrogance that I knew better than he. I’m hoping he can find some assets left in the ruins of my former fortune. If that succeeds I’ll hire the services of the best lawyer in town to put in an appeal on Toby’s behalf.’
‘That’s wonderful, sir – I mean, Seymour. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’
He reached across the table to lay his hand on hers. ‘And you can help by telling me exactly what happened, how the fire started in the narrowboat and, if you can bear to talk about it, how your father-in-law died.’
‘I can do better than that,’ Effie said eagerly. ‘I have two witnesses who overheard Salter admitting that he had lied to the police.’
‘Excellent.’ Seymour’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘Tell me more.’
Effie hesitated; it was not going to be easy to tell Toby’s father of her previous involvement with Frank, or of the terms he had demanded in order to secure his witness statement. She cleared her throat nervously.
‘I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Why, at the beginning, my dear. I’m a man of the world, Effie. You can tell me anything.’
Seymour left the house intent on his mission and primed with the information that Effie had given him. She watched him striding
purposefully down the street and she found it hard to believe how much he had changed since their first encounter. The drug-ridden eccentric who barely knew his own name had been replaced by a man of sharp intelligence and undeniable authority. It was obvious that he was still painfully aware of the scars that marred an otherwise handsome countenance, and she could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to venture out into the wider world after years of hiding away in Marsh House. She wished that she could accompany him on his visit to Toby, but there was only the slimmest of chances that he would gain admission to the prison. He had promised to return later in the day, and until then she would have to be patient and stick to her normal routine.
Having taken Georgie to Phoebe Street where he would spend the morning playing with the younger children under Bella’s watchful eye, Effie returned home to start another brew. She was in the washhouse waiting for the water to reach the correct temperature when she heard hammering on the front door. She picked up her skirts and raced through the house, hoping that it would be Seymour bearing good news.
She opened the door and was faced with two official-looking men wearing bowler hats and stern expressions.
‘Mrs Grey?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been reported for brewing ale without a licence. We’re here to issue a summons and to close you down.’
THE WHOLE STREET
gathered to watch as the bailiffs loaded Effie’s precious barrels onto a dray. Distraught and shocked, Effie could only stand and stare as her living was taken away from her. A flick of a whip and a sharp command from the driver to the shire horse and the dray lurched forward. The sun beat down mercilessly on Effie’s bare head but she felt cold and numb inside. She could only guess that it had been the Salters or maybe Frank who had pointed the finger at her, acting out of pure malice and the wish to see her livelihood destroyed. Well, she thought bitterly, they had succeeded. The ale had been confiscated and she had been served with a summons to appear at the magistrates’ court on a charge of brewing ale without a licence in contravention of the 1830 Beer Act.