Ironmonger's Daughter (51 page)

 

The proprietors of the Dolphin were having a serious discussion and Bill French was adamant.

‘I can’t ’elp it, Dora. I’ve bin fair wiv the lad, but enough’s enough. What ’appened last night could ’ave turned into a bloody riot. We’ve got the licence ter fink of. Once the law get called in it goes in the book, yer know that.’

‘I know all about that, Bill, but I still say that crowd started takin’ the piss. They’re the ones you should bar. They’re all Steve Barnett’s cronies, an’ I don’t go a lot on ’im neivver. Our Jennie’s besotted wiv ’im. I’ve tried talkin’ ter the girl. I’ve tried ter warn ’er but it’s like talkin’ ter meself.’

Bill shrugged his shoulders. ‘What can I do about it? That crowd ain’t given me no cause ter bar ’em, except fer takin’ the piss out of Billy Argrieves. Let’s face it, Dora, ’alf the pub takes it out o’ Billy.’

‘Yeah, be’ind ’is back,’ Dora reminded him. ‘They wouldn’t face ’im.’

‘That’s the ’ole trouble, Dora. Young Billy’s always bin a bit wild. Since ’e’s come ’ome the lad’s got worse. I mean look at last night. Much more o’ that an’ we won’t ’ave any regulars left. They’ll all be too scared ter drink in the pub.’

Dora prodded the table top with her forefinger. ‘I’m tellin’ yer now, if yer bar young Billy I’m gonna tell that ovver mob they’re no longer welcome in the pub, so there.’

Bill puffed hard and looked into his wife’s determined face. ‘All right, I’ll leave it this time, but if’e steps out o’ line once more ’e’s barred, an’ I mean it.’

The landlady of the Dolphin felt somewhat satisfied by her husband’s decision to give Billy Argrieves another chance, but she could see trouble ahead if the new crowd continued to drink in the pub. She was aware that Steve Barnett had invited them down to the Dolphin and, because Jennie served in the public bar, they all congregated there. Perhaps she should have a word with Bill about Jennie working in the saloon bar, she reflected. Although that wouldn’t be a very good idea. The crowd would just change bars. They would then most likely upset the saloon-bar customers with their mouthings and nothing would be achieved. Maybe she should take it on herself to make it clear to the crowd that they were not welcome. She had heard a few nasty stories about them, and in particular the dark-haired one who had provoked young Billy. Some of the regulars had identified him as a devious character who owned a wholesale provision business and they had told her he was involved in a lot of black-market dealings. There were some nasty stories circulating about his wild parties, too, and Dora was worried about Connie. She seemed to have become the object of his attentions and it spelt trouble, she felt sure. Dora decided that she would have a word with Connie and put her on her guard, though she knew it wouldn’t be easy. The girl had become even more withdrawn lately, and her drinking was giving the family cause for concern. She was now drinking heavily and she kept a bottle of whisky in her room, according to Jennie, who was more than a little worried about her friend’s wellbeing. Dora sighed to herself. She shouldn’t be saddled with all these problems at her time of life. Maybe it was about time she and Bill sold the business and moved into a little country pub.

Bill French was feeling very much the same as Dora. He was not very happy about the new clientele. Derek Angelo had been pressing him to take a batch of his under-the-counter cigarettes and tobacco which was marked up ‘HM Forces Issue’. He had also been asked to handle a couple of cases of Scotch whisky, a deal he had declined, realising the problems it would pose with the brewers, as well as with Dora. Then there was the worry of Jennie, who had gotten herself attached to Steve Barnett and would not hear a word said against the man. Bill pondered his problems as he went over to the pub doors to open up for trade.

It was Saturday evening, and the first customer to walk through the door of the pub was Mrs Argrieves, who ordered a milk stout. ‘You was a bit ’asty last night, wasn’t yer?’ she said quickly as the drink was placed in front of her.

‘What d’yer mean, girl?’

‘Bannin’ our Billy, that’s what I mean.’

Bill leaned forward on the counter, ‘Look. I ain’t barred the lad. What I did say was fer ’im ter watch ’imself. I can’t afford ter keep a disorderly pub, now can I?’

‘Well I wasn’t in ’ere last night,’ Florence began, ‘but I ’eard all about what went on. Strikes me yer should be ’avin’ a word or two wiv that flash load o’ monkeys ’oo started it all. It’s comin’ ter somefink when yer can’t ’ave a quiet drink in the pub any more.’

Bill looked the irate woman squarely in the eye. ‘Your Billy threatened ter knock a customer’s ’ead off ’is shoulders an’ we’ad ter get ’im outside quick, luv.’

Florence returned the stare, ‘An’ what started it? I’ll tell yer what started it. This flash ‘Arry took my Billy fer some ole plum, that’s what. There was a bit o’ piss-takin’ an’ then this bloke knocked my Billy’s arm, on purpose I was told. There was beer all down ’is suit, an’ when they all started laughin’ at’im ’e lost ’is temper. What’s ’e s’posed ter do, walk away?’

The landlord opened another bottle of milk stout and put it beside the angry woman. ‘’Ere, Florrie. ’Ave this on me. Billy’s welcome ’ere as far as I’m concerned an’ I promise yer I’ll keep me eye open fer trouble. I won’t let that crowd get at’im again, okay?’

Florence poured out the drink with a look of satisfaction. ‘I ain’t one ter complain, Bill, an’ if my lad knew I was talkin’ ter yer ’e’d go mad. Trouble is, yer see, ’e ain’t prop’ly better yet. When ’e first come ’ome I couldn’t get the bleeder ter wash or shave, yer know that. ’E slept in ’is clothes an’ every night ’e’d scream out in ’is sleep. Gawd knows what ’e was goin’ frew. It’s bin ’ard, but the boy’s beginnin’ ter pull ’imself tergevver. Yer must ’ave seen the difference in ’im lately. I’ve got ’im ter wash an’ shave, an’ a lot of it is down ter young Connie. Our Billy’s took a shine ter the girl. She’s about the only one ’e feels comf’table wiv. ’E’s always talkin’ about ’er.’

Bill nodded. ‘I know, Florrie. She’s a good kid. It ain’t bin easy fer ’er neivver, what wiv losin’ ’er chap, an’ all ’er family. I’ll ’ave a word wiv Connie. She’ll keep ’er eye on ’im.’

Customers had started to arrive and it was not long before Steve Barnett’s friends began to congregate in their usual spot at the end of the counter.

 

Joe Cooper sat in his parlour deep in thought. Beside him on the table was the latest letter from Dennis Foreman, and it was causing him considerable anguish. Much had happened since the escapee had left Bermondsey concealed in the back of a lorry laden with a consignment of foodstuffs from the London docks. Dennis had been put down on the outskirts of Norwich, and soon he had been safely reunited with his cousin. Money had changed hands and a forged identity card had been provided. He now wore a moustache and parted his hair down the middle. A pair of thick spectacles completed the disguise and, as Joe studied the photograph sent with the letter, he had to admit that Dennis looked nothing like his former self.

There had been repeated visits from the police during the past few months. They had made it clear to him that he was known to be a friend of Dennis Foreman and any attempt to aid or to assist the escaped prisoner would render him liable to a long term of imprisonment, especially as he himself had previous convictions. For a time there had been a policeman lurking in the street. Strange faces in civilian clothes also seemed to be hanging around now and again and Joe began to spot the waiting detectives when he went for his morning paper or came out from the factory in the evenings. As time passed the watchers slowly seemed to disappear. There had been regular sightings of the escapee from as far north as Scotland and from various south-coast towns. One report in a Sunday newspaper suggested that Dennis Foreman had been killed in an air raid on Liverpool and another, more bizarre tale, told of his suicide by drowning. Credence was given to the story by the discovery of a torso which had been washed up on the beach at Skegness. The mangled remains had most likely fouled a ship’s propeller and identification had been rendered impossible, the correspondent concluded.

Dennis had taken comfort from the varying stories of his demise and in his latest letter to Joe he indicated that it was about time he returned to his old haunts. Joe was not so confident. It had been quiet lately but any stranger in the area might well arouse curiosity. There was another part of the letter which caused Joe to worry. Dennis, now using the pseudonym William Smithers, had suggested that the Toomeys might like to take in a lodger. It would be a safe haven, Marie’s Uncle Bert had told him, when the two had met to conclude their transaction. Joe thought otherwise. Marie was shrewd enough to keep Dennis’s identity a secret and she would see to it that Toby kept his mouth shut, but Joe felt that Lillian was another proposition. It was common knowledge that she was very partial to members of the opposite sex, and the fact that she was at present seeing a lot of a certain foreign serviceman would not make the slightest difference to her roving appetites.

Joe leaned back in his chair and thought about how he would reply to the letter. Dennis had asked about Connie Morgan and said that he would like to meet her now that she was a grown woman. His desire to see her worried Joe. Connie had suffered enough as it was. One loose word might be enough to arouse her suspicions, for she was a smart kid. The shock of discovering the identity of her father after all this time could be too great. He would need to make this clear in his reply and would also need to remind Dennis of the promise he had made all those years ago: the promise the three of them had made together. Kate Morgan might not be alive, but her wishes should still be honoured, for Connie’s sake if nothing else.

 

The crowd had gathered and the drinks were flowing fast. Bill French was helping Dora in the saloon bar but he frequently popped his head into the public bar as the evening wore on. There had been no air raids for the past two weeks and the Dolphin was becoming a very busy pub. Connie was disappointed that Billy had not put in an appearance, but Derek Angelo had been eager to cultivate the pretty young barmaid and he was being particularly attentive. She had been plied with drinks and already her head was beginning to buzz and she could feel the familiar comfortable warm glow spreading around her insides. Connie studied the crowd and could not see the brassy woman who had been with Derek Angelo the previous evening. Derek had asked her to accompany him to a party after the pub shut and at first she had declined. But as the drink took hold her defences crumbled and the dark-haired young man had been very persuasive. So finally she agreed. What did it matter? she reasoned. He was friendly and generous, and there would surely be plenty to drink. What did it matter if she had to fight him off? She could drink herself into a sublime state and forget everything for a few hours. She could shut out the pain and sink finally into a dreamless sleep.

At closing time Dora voiced her worries about the assignation but Connie laughed them off.

‘I’ll be all right. The party’s only a few streets away. Don’t wait up, Dora. I’ve got me key.’

Across the road from the Dolphin Billy slouched in a doorway. He had been standing there for the past hour and the cold night air made him shiver. He had made several attempts to cross the street and enter the pub, but each time he had stopped at the kerb and then slipped back into the shadows. He wanted to see the pretty blond barmaid and talk to her again, but he felt ashamed. He had tried to ignore the taunts and the jests the previous evening. He had tried hard to remain cool and detached but the anger had welled up until he was looking down a dark, narrow tunnel. All he could see was the face of the man who was taunting him and his rage had exploded. She would think him crazy he thought, and tears rose into his eyes.

‘Why can’t they leave me alone?’ he muttered through his gritted teeth. ‘Why should they treat me like an idiot?’

He fought the anger and desperation which twisted up his stomach as he waited in the shadows, and then he saw her. She was leaving with the dark-haired man who had taunted him the night before. She was laughing and she tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder as the man slipped his arm around her waist.

Billy watched as they left the turning, then he stepped out from the shadows into the pale moonlight and walked slowly home.

The first light of day filtered through the drawn curtains and Connie blinked as she slowly came to. She could see that the bedroom was well furnished and the ceiling was high, unlike her attic room at the pub. Her hands went down to the silk counterpane and suddenly she sat up with a start, pulling the bedclothes up around her nude body. Her head pounded and a feeling of nausea swept over her. The space beside her was dishevelled and she realised that someone had shared her bed. She glanced around the room as she fought her sickness and saw that her clothes were draped over a chair beside the bed. She slipped out of the sheets and felt the soft carpet beneath her bare feet as she stole a furtive glance at the door. She dressed quickly and then went to the window. The street was deserted except for a lone figure who walked by carrying the Sunday papers under his arm. Connie slumped down on the bed and put her hands to her head. It was still hazy but she remembered leaving the party with Derek Angelo and walking across the street. The rest was a blur.

The sound of a key in the lock startled her and she jumped up from the bed in alarm.

He came breezily into the bedroom, surprise showing on his dark features. ‘Yer awake then,’ Derek said, breaking into a grin. ‘Phew! That was some party last night. ’Ow’s yer ’ead?’

Connie sat down heavily on the chair. ‘It’s bangin’,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember much.’ She looked towards the bed. ‘Did yer stay ’ere last night?’ she asked hesitantly.

He laughed aloud. ‘Yer mean yer can’t remember?’