The Best of Sisters (17 page)

‘Please, Dad.’ Eliza stepped in between them. She knew Ted well enough to sense that his temper was close to breaking point. Uncle Enoch was deliberately goading him.

‘You are an evil man, Enoch Bragg,’ Ted hissed through clenched teeth. ‘You’re a sanctimonious hypocrite.’

‘I’ll not stand for that.’ Enoch took a swing at Ted.

Eliza leapt out of the way, just managing to dodge his fist.

‘I’ll kill you, you bastard.’ Ted grabbed Enoch by the throat. ‘You’ve torn my family apart and you’ve broke poor Dolly’s heart. You’ll give us back Eliza or, so help me God, I’ll choke the life out of you.’

Enoch’s eyes bulged from their sockets and his face turned from a deep shade of purple to blue as Ted forced him down on his knees. A cheer rang out from the apprentices who were hanging through the opening to the sail loft, but neither Ted nor Enoch took any notice of them.

‘Stop, stop, you’re killing him,’ cried Eliza, tugging at Ted’s arm. ‘He’s not worth it, Dad. Please leave him be.’

‘You’re right, Eliza.’ With a hefty shove, Ted sent Enoch sprawling onto the ground. ‘I wouldn’t risk the gallows for a scurvy knave like you, Bragg.’

Enoch clutched his throat, rolling his eyes and coughing. ‘You’ll suffer for this, Ted Peck.’

‘I should have finished you off when I had the chance.’ Ted brushed off Eliza’s restraining hand. ‘Go home, Eliza. Go home and look after Dolly. She needs you.’

Above all she wanted to be free, but Eliza hesitated, watching Enoch warily as he got to his feet. He had it in his power to ruin Ted and the expression on his face terrified her. She opened her mouth to try to reason with him, but he pushed her aside.

‘You’re finished, Peck. Get out and take those hooligans with you.’

‘Make me.’

‘Stop it, both of you,’ Eliza cried, grabbing Ted’s sleeve.

He wrenched free from her grasp and took a swing at Enoch, catching him a blow on the jaw.

‘Bastard!’ Enoch’s face paled to an alarming shade of grey and he clutched his chest, doubling up as if in agony and falling to his knees.

‘Uncle!’ Eliza rushed to his side but he fell
backwards, writhing and kicking. Then he was still. There was a moment of shocked silence when even the apprentices were quiet. Eliza knelt by his side. Enoch’s eyes were open but staring in a glassy, fish-like fashion that terrified her more than his violent outburst of temper. She looked up at Ted, who was standing transfixed, breathing heavily and staring at the prostrate body. ‘I think he’s dead. We’ve killed him, Dad.’

‘Good riddance, I say,’ Davy shouted from above, followed by a muted cheer from Ginger and Carrots.

‘Hear, hear,’ added Dippy Dan, and was immediately elbowed in the ribs by Carrots.

Ted glanced up, frowning. ‘Get to work, boys. All of you that is except Davy; you’d best go for the doctor.’

Sliding down the ladder, Davy pushed his cap to the back of his head, staring at Enoch. ‘Looks to me like he needs the undertaker, guvner.’

‘Fetch the doctor and the undertaker,’ Ted said wearily. ‘And find a man with a cart so that we can take the body back to his house. We can’t leave him here on the floor.’

Ginger and Carrots were peering through the hatch, their faces alight with curiosity. ‘Is he dead, guv?’

Ted shook his fist at them. ‘I said, get back to
work.’ He helped Eliza to her feet. ‘Are you all right, ducks?’

‘He said he had a bad heart and I didn’t believe him. We killed him.’

‘His own badness killed him, love.’ Ted wrapped his arms around her in a comforting hug.

The soot-blackened graveyard of St Peter’s in Old Gravel Lane was cheerless even in midsummer. Eliza could hardly believe that there were so many people who claimed to have known Enoch, and who had come to pay their last respects at his funeral. Black-clad mourners, most of them unknown to her, had expressed their sorrow at the passing of a good, Christian man. As she stood between Ted and Davy, Eliza had nodded her head in acknowledgement of their sentiments, but had been unable to share them. She could not imagine what good Uncle Enoch had ever done for any one person, but he had certainly managed to convince these church-going folk that he was a worthy citizen and a kind benefactor.

The sun was high in the sky, the heat was stifling and many of the tightly corseted women in the congregation appeared to be close to fainting in their black-bombazine mourning clothes; the men in their starched white collars and green-tinged black frock coats were hardly
faring better. Holding their top hats respectfully in one hand, many of them surreptitiously took out their handkerchiefs and mopped their brows as sweat trickled down their faces. There was a loud clump of wood on wood as the pall-bearers lowered the coffin into the grave and it came to rest abruptly on the top of another interment, just a few feet beneath the ground. The stench of corrupting flesh was almost unbearable, and the air in the overcrowded graveyard was thick with buzzing flies. Due to lack of space, the departed were piled in graves one on top of the other, and after a particularly heavy rainstorm, newly planted coffins would often pop up like corks from ginger beer bottles and float on the surface.

The vicar gabbled a few words and, covering their noses with their hands, the congregation filed quickly past the grave, tossing handfuls of soil on top of the coffin that was so near the surface as to be level with the ground.

For a moment, Eliza felt that she was going to be sick, but Ted had taken her by the hand.

‘Come along, ducks. We’ve laid the old scoundrel to rest. Let’s go home.’

Even as they moved away, the gravediggers had begun piling earth on top of the coffin and the vicar had disappeared into the relative cool of the church.

‘Buried that close to the surface, I wouldn’t
trust the old bugger not to climb out of his coffin and walk home,’ Davy whispered in Eliza’s ear.

She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle, and received several reproachful glances from the mourners who had clustered in the street to chat. She had to curb a sudden and childish desire to stick her tongue out at them and run away. It was an effort to walk sedately beside Ted, but she managed it somehow. He stopped at the corner of the street, turning to Davy. ‘Take her home, there’s a good lad.’

Eliza shook her head. ‘No, ta. I need to know where I stand and I’m going to see Uncle Enoch’s solicitor at Worboys, Worboys and Grimstone in Sun Tavern Fields. It’s only a short walk away.’

Ted looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure, Eliza? It’s been a hard time for you.’

‘Quite sure.’

‘I should go with you, but I’ve got to get back to the sail loft or God knows what them boys will get up to on their own.’

‘If you’ll let him, Dad, Davy can come with me. If I’m to run the chandlery until Bart gets back, then I need to know it’s all legal and proper.’

‘Now, Liza, my dear. You’re just a girl – you can’t hope to run a business on your own.’

‘I’m fourteen next month and I’ve spent half
my life in the chandlery. I can do it, I know I can.’

It had taken all Eliza’s powers of persuasion to make the solicitor’s clerk take her seriously. At first he had tried to send her on her way, advising her to come again and bring her father with her next time. Then he had said Mr Grimstone was occupied with a client and could not see anyone. Finally, after Eliza and Davy had sat in the office for over an hour, refusing to leave, the clerk had reluctantly gone into the inner sanctum to speak to the elusive Mr Grimstone. When he had reappeared, he had somewhat grudgingly admitted that his employer would see them now.

‘Well then,’ Mr Grimstone said, sitting back in his chair and eyeing Eliza with a curious stare. ‘So you are Enoch Bragg’s niece.’

Folding her hands in front of her, Eliza nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you are?’ Mr Grimstone turned to Davy.

‘Davy is my friend, sir,’ Eliza said quickly, before Davy had a chance to answer for himself. ‘We’ve just come from my uncle’s funeral and I need to know who owns the chandlery and the house in Bird Street.’

‘Ah, you’re direct, I like that,’ Mr Grimstone said, with a nod of approval. ‘I drew up the legal documents after your father’s untimely demise,
when Enoch became your guardian. That was a good few years ago now.’

‘If you please, sir,’ Eliza said, refusing to be deflected from her purpose. ‘I just need to know if Uncle left a will.’

‘She needs to know, mister.’ Davy leaned across the desk, scowling at the solicitor.

‘Sit down, young man, and you too, Miss Eliza. As it happens, your uncle changed his will a week ago leaving everything to the church, but the document remained unsigned and therefore is not legal.’ Mr Grimstone opened a drawer in his desk and rifled through some papers. ‘Ah, I have it.’ He pulled out a scroll of parchment and laid it on the desk in front of him. ‘This is definitely the last will and testament of Enoch James Bragg.’ He lit a cheroot, and with it clamped between his teeth he untied the red tape.

Eliza sat still, hardly daring to breathe, while he scanned through the document with his lips moving silently, and smoke from the small, black cigar spiralling into the air above his head. After what seemed like an age, Mr Grimstone took the cheroot from his mouth and balanced it on the edge of his desk. Eliza couldn’t help noticing burn marks all along the edge of the desk. It was a wonder, she thought, that he hadn’t burnt the place to the ground.

He cleared his throat. ‘If you wish, I’ll make it simple, Miss Eliza.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘The long and the short of it is, and cutting out the legal jargon, everything now belongs to your brother, Bartholomew Bragg.’

‘I see,’ Eliza said slowly, barely surprised that Uncle Enoch had not thought to include her in his will. He had told her often enough that she was a mere female and not much use for anything except menial tasks and childbearing. She looked Mr Grimstone in the eyes, and found to her surprise that he was smiling at her quite sympathetically. ‘My brother is—’ Eliza stopped short. She could hardly admit to a man of the law that Bart was on the run from the police.

‘Quite so.’ He nodded his head and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Say no more on that subject. I am well acquainted with Mr Bartholomew’s urgent desire to see the world.’

She could no longer keep up the pretence of being disinterested. ‘So what happens now? What happens to the chandlery and to me?’

‘Well now, if there are no other male relatives who could run the business until Mr Bragg returns, then I see no reason why you, as next of kin, should not be in locum tenens.’

‘I don’t quite understand, sir.’

‘It means, in common parlance, Miss Eliza …’ Mr Grimstone picked up his cheroot and finding that it had gone out he struck a vesta and puffed
at it until the end of the cigar glowed red. He exhaled with a contented sigh, sending smoke rings up to the ceiling. ‘It means, my dear, that at a very tender age, you’ve been left holding the baby.’

Immediately after her meeting with the solicitor, Eliza went to the sail loft to find Ted. As she suspected, he had returned to work rather than go home. She knew that he still loved Dolly, but in a moment of extreme stress, he had admitted that the person who now inhabited the body of his dear wife was almost a stranger to him. Dolly’s increasing dependence on her medication, her frequent lapses of memory and her obsession with illness were causing him much distress. The saddest part was that no one seemed able to help. Ted had called in the doctor, but he had shaken his head, prescribed laudanum and charged a large fee for his advice. Eliza did what she could, but she had seen Ted age visibly; his business had suffered and money worries only added to his burden. She said little to Davy on the walk back to Old Gravel Lane. In her mind she was rehearsing what she would say to persuade Ted to let her manage the store.

At first he was doubtful about her ability to run the chandlery, but she pointed out that he would be there to help and advise her. She was perfectly
capable of ordering stock and serving customers, and she would hire a man to do the heavy work. After all, she had practically grown up in the chandlery and she was well versed in the day-today running of the business. In the end, after a great deal of persuasion, Ted agreed that she should have a chance to prove herself. Eliza set to work there and then, fired by the will to succeed. She was doing this for all of them, but it was mainly for Bart. When he came home he would find a thriving business and he would be proud of her.

The shop had been closed until after the funeral, both out of necessity and as a mark of respect, but now Eliza wanted to reopen as soon as possible. First and foremost there was the matter of obtaining credit from the suppliers. She would not be able to trade unless they agreed to extend the arrangements they had made with Enoch. Without a reliable guarantor, she knew she would have difficulty in gaining their trust, but Ted was well respected in and around the London docks. With a great deal of trepidation she asked him and, to her surprise, Ted agreed to accompany her when she paid courtesy calls on the wholesalers.

Four days after her meeting with Mr Grimstone, Eliza reopened the chandlery. The odd thing was that no one seemed to notice any difference. It was almost as if Enoch was still
around: she kept looking over her shoulder, half expecting to see him hunched over his ledgers. She served in the shop all day, staying on late each evening to take stock and to go through the accounts. She would have been quite content to work alone, but Davy insisted on staying with her, helping where he could and walking her home after dark. At the end of her first week of trading, Eliza had balanced the books and made out orders for their usual suppliers. For the first time, she was grateful to Uncle Enoch for having forced her to learn every aspect of the business. On Saturday evening, she closed the ledger with a satisfied sigh and went to fetch her shawl from the back room. She found Davy fast asleep, squatting against a row of shelves with his head in his arms. He woke up with a start as she took her bonnet and shawl off a wooden peg.