Eve of the Isle Read online

  Eve of

  the Isle

  By the same author

  Lizzie of Langley Street

  Rose of Ruby Street

  Connie of Kettle Street

  Bella of Bow Street

  Lily of Love Lane

  About the author

  Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the

  Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset.

  Eve of the Isle is her sixth novel.

  Visit www.carolrivers.com

  Carol

  Rivers

  Eve of

  the Isle

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster, 2009

  This edition first published by Pocket Books, 2009

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2009

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  Pocket Books & Design is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc

  The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of

  this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections

  77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  Simon & Schuster Australia

  Sydney

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-1-84739-361-6

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-84983-121-5

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

  either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance

  to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in Bembo by Ellipsis Books Limited, Glasgow

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire

  Eve is dedicated to the Columbia Road days

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank those kind people who have shared their intimate memories and colourful descriptions of the East End lascars with me. And again, thanks to the libraries who made the research of London’s first mobile police force and the poignant plight of the capital’s early twentieth-century flower-sellers such a rich and rewarding experience.

  Chapter One

  Isle of Dogs, East London.

  Friday 6th January 1928

  It was late at night and the cobbled streets of London’s East End were awash with rain. Eve listened to the swirling, gurgling and churning of the river close by and was reminded of the legend of Old Father Thames, the spirit god of England’s most noble river. Regarded as a genial and protective deity, capable of curing all kinds of ailments, the giant slumbered peacefully on the river bed. But if prematurely woken, he could rise up from his watery grave and tower menacingly over the city. The myths of her childhood, ones that she had passed down to her own twin sons, Samuel and Albert, now came back to mind as she huddled her boys close. Wet and shivering in the dark and threatening night, it seemed as though there might be substance to the old myths after all.

  Eve had never seen the like of it before, though it brought back to mind the events that had led to the Great Stink of the last century. It was said that Old Father Thames had been furious at the pollution of his beloved river by London’s antiquated sewerage system. In his disgust he had consulted his brother gods on the matter. As punishment, they had unleashed the dreaded water-borne disease cholera to teach humanity the error of its ways. Many a night as a child, Eve had gone to bed in terror of the stories embellished upon by each generation. Now as the Thames crashed and crackled over the wharf edges, clawing away at the cobbles, it was seven-year-old Samuel who spoke her thoughts.

  ‘It’s Old Father Thames, ain’t it, Mum? He’s wakin’ up.’

  Eve pulled the boy closer, attempting to shelter both her sons under the drenched wool of her old coat. But the eaves of the bargee’s wooden hut were no protection against wind and rain. Why had she insisted they go out tonight? Who would want posies of snowdrops in this weather?

  ‘He’s not woken, love. It’d take more than a bit of a winter’s blow to wake him up.’

  ‘He’s angry, ain’t he?’ This from Albert who, like his twin, knew every word of the old stories by heart. ‘’E’s gonna swallow us to def!’

  ‘He won’t do that, Albert,’ Eve tried to reassure, though there was no denying the elements were in unusual turmoil.

  ‘Looks like he will,’ Albert persisted, clutching her tightly as a great wave crashed against the broken pier that rattled and creaked on its mossy stilts. ‘Peg said ’er rheumatics was achin’, and that always means bad weather. She said we should’ve stayed in wiv her.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t,’ replied Eve dismissively, nevertheless recalling the warning Peg Riggs had given her only hours before the storm. For all the years they had lodged with Peg in her dilapidated cottage on Isle Street, she had never been far wrong when predicting the weather. Her aches and pains gained momentum when bad weather was brewing. Eve was also aware that Albert would exploit any opportunity to avoid helping her sell the flowers and watercress that was the family’s hard-earned living. ‘Now, best foot forward,’ urged Eve tugging him along.

  But just as they rounded the corner, another spray gusted against them. Eve could hardly believe the conditions could have deteriorated so swiftly. Not half an hour ago, they had been forced to halt on their journey from Aldgate to the Isle of Dogs and abandon the flower basket; in the driving wind and rain it had become a heavy burden. It was only just possible to manage the lamp and when Eve had been forced to leave her profits behind, she’d had her first misgivings at ignoring Peg’s warning.

  As they hurried on the river continued its relentless battle with the land. If Old Father Thames had really woken, then Mother Nature was providing a full orchestra for his watery resurrection, thought Eve as she pulled a reluctant Albert alongside her.

  ‘The river’s gonna drown us! The monster’s coming up!’ he puffed, slowing their progress.

  ‘There’s no monster, Albert, only the river.’

  ‘He’s got all that ’air made of seaweed and a long, drippy beard. I don’t want him to get me.’

  ‘Stop it, now, love,’ Eve spluttered, ‘no one’s going to get you. The faster we run, the sooner we’ll be home.’

  Albert halted and stamped his foot. ‘Can’t! Me legs ache from all that walkin’ and standin’ we done up Aldgate.’

  Just then an icy spray drenched them and Albert began to wail. Eve clutched the two little bodies against her. ‘Listen, we’ll go another way,’ she decided, grateful at least for the lamp strung over her arm, miraculously still alight. ‘And take the lane, away from the river.’

  Eve thought longingly of the dock cottage they shared with Peg and her other lodger, Jimmy Jones, a young runner for the paint factory. Despite its worm-eaten timbers and crumbling walls, home now seemed like heaven. She promised herself that never again would she risk putting her boys into such discomfort and danger. Not that Isle Street was too distant now. But in January, when the recent falls of snow had left the streets wet and icy, the return journey from Aldgate had seemed endless.

  Eve raised the Tilley and they hurried on once more. But when eerie shadows cast themselves across the unlit streets, her heart sank. The gas lamps were all extinguished! Now they were at the night’s mercy with only the glow of the lam
p to guide them.

  Albert screamed, terrified of the dark, forcing Eve to halt. ‘Hush there now, boy. Climb on my back and I’ll give you a ride.’ She passed the lamp to Samuel.

  ‘Can you manage this for me, son?’

  He nodded and slipped the loop over his arm. ‘It ain’t far now, Albert,’ he encouraged his brother. ‘And Peg’ll be waitin’ for us.’

  Eve smiled gratefully at Samuel. For an instant she saw her dead husband, Raj, reflected in Samuel’s rain-soaked face. There were his sparkling dark eyes and ebony skin illuminated perfectly in the light. Despite being twins, the boys were not identical. Albert had inherited her deep brown curls and rounded proportions whilst Samuel’s hair grew straight and black, his long, slender limbs a mirror to his father’s. For a moment Eve felt a deep longing for her dead husband. If only he were here now to help them! He would have lifted his sons easily in his arms and carried them home safely.

  Resolutely, Eve pushed back her wet hair flattened against the delicate curve of her face and set off again. With the extra weight she carried, her steps were slower. Every now and then she would halt beside Samuel, and pat him encouragingly on the back.

  As they went, they saw men erecting barriers at front doors and windows. Eve could hear panic in their voices. What force of nature had caused the river to rise so threateningly?

  But when Samuel fell, it was with a dreadful shattering. Eve rushed to his aid. ‘Samuel, did you hurt yourself?’

  He climbed shakily to his feet. ‘No,’ he replied bravely. ‘But the Tilley’s broke!’

  Eve drew him to her. ‘Never mind, love, we’ll manage.’

  ‘There’s a gap through the houses somewhere round here,’ he said as they peered into the darkness. ‘Me and Albert found it once.’

  ‘Where does it lead to?’

  ‘Down by the dock wall.’

  Eve didn’t reply that she disliked her sons to play anywhere near the high walls of the docks. On one side of them were deep basins of water traversed by a lifting bridge. The ships passed under when entering and it was a busy thoroughfare.

  Just then Eve felt Albert shudder violently. ‘Not far to go now, Albert,’ she threw over her shoulder, the guilt assailing her once more. If only she had allowed them to remain with Peg! But she quickly shrugged off the emotion. The traders with whom she dealt were a hard bunch, and Albert and Samuel would grow up in their midst, having to fight if necessary, for survival. Things might have been different if their father had survived and their dreams of travelling across the sea to the golden Indian sands of Raj’s homeland had matured. But now, after the passing of five long years, Eve had only the memories of those dreams to console her.

  ‘Here’s the gap, Mum! I’ve found it!’ Samuel’s small hand closed tightly over hers as he urged her to follow him. ‘Step careful like over the bricks and slide down.’

  Eve dropped to her knees. ‘Albert, you go first.’

  ‘Can’t,’ refused Albert stubbornly.

  ‘Come on, I’ll catch you,’ shouted Samuel already through.

  ‘Can’t,’ protested Albert again. ‘Me legs won’t work.’

  Eve’s answer this time came less gently. ‘Son, if you choose to come this way to the dock walls, knowing full well I frown on that little adventure, then you can manage the effort now with my full consent. And I can tell you this, Albert Kumar, my patience is wearing thin!’

  There was no hesitation now as he scrambled through and stood beside Samuel. Eve joined them and grasping hands, all three set off again.

  At last they arrived at the top of Isle Street. Number three stood by itself in a deep dip. It was one of eight remaining dock cottages of an original ten; two had been reduced to rubble over the years, crumbling into the soft, unstable earth beneath. Their damp and decay was fed by a trickle of a stream that ran under their foundations, nuzzling its way to the docks beyond. Here it was occasionally blocked by a stone and then would turn in on itself and penetrate the cottage floors. To solve this problem, the leaking quarry tiles were covered in permanent layers of duckboards. It was rumoured that a big river flood would wash away Isle Street entirely – certainly number three, Peg’s cottage, that nestled in its own little valley.

  Lamps bobbed in the darkness. There were voices, and Eve recognized one of them. As they hurried down the slope, there came the heart-warming cussing of Peg. Eve was not surprised to feel Albert break free of her grasp and run towards the familiar echo.

  ‘Lordy, just look at the state of you! Get yerselves in!’ commanded Peg, clad in her ancient fisherman’s cape and rope threaded hood. Hoisting a lamp above their heads, she peered closely at their wet faces. ‘I’ve been marching up and down the isle for the past three hours looking for you. A palace guard ain’t had as much exercise as I’ve had t’night.’

  ‘Sorry Peg, but the river’s up,’ Eve gasped as they hurried towards the cottage. ‘I’m surprised it ain’t followed us home.’

  Peg put her shoulder to the wooden front door. ‘I’d send it back with a slap if it did!’ She pushed them inside.

  Albert clung to her in the dim passage. ‘Old Father Thames was gonna gobble us up.’

  She cackled loudly. ‘He’d spit you out, chic. The likes of you is too small to fill his plate.’

  Samuel looked hopeful at the mention of food.

  ‘What’s to eat, Peg?’

  ‘First, get them wet clothes off, lads. The stove won’t light as the coke got rained on in the yard. But I put a nice bread and cheese supper upstairs for you.’

  Eve began to strip off the boys’ wet clothes, leaving them in only their pants and vests.

  They couldn’t wait to find their food.

  ‘Go on you two, get up them stairs and under the bedclothes to warm yourselves.’ Peg’s bush of frizzy grey hair sprang forth as she removed her hood and two gnarled brown fingers cuffed a drip from her long, crooked nose.

  The boys ran up the stairs and Peg nodded to Eve. ‘Go on, you too, my girl. Hope to Gawd yer don’t get pneumonia. I knew you should have stayed with me t’night. Me rheumatics were playing me up terrible.’

  Eve accepted the gentle rebuke for she knew it was warranted. It had been foolhardy to take the boys with her, but she had only meant to walk as far as Aldgate. A shower of rain was nothing to a flower-seller. It was her streak of stubborn determination that made her blind to the dangers and in losing her basket and nearly drowning her children she had paid a heavy price for not listening.

  At the top of the stairs, Eve stood in the glow of the two Tilley lamps that Peg had lit, listening to the beat of the rain on the leaking roof. She could hear but not see the many drips that bounced mysteriously from the worm-eaten architraves to the bare boards below.

  ‘Hurry up, you two and into bed,’ she called as she passed the first room to her left, and entered the second.

  ‘Jimmy ain’t home, I tried his door,’ said Samuel, his teeth chattering as he hurried to pull on the cut downs, second-hand men’s combinations, he wore as pyjamas.

  ‘He might be sheltering from the storm. Them deliveries he makes for the paint factory take him all over the city.’ Eve knew how fond the boys were of Jimmy. He was a brother to them, with no family of his own, a waif from the streets. He regarded Peg as dearly as he would a mother for without her and the shelter and love she had given him over the years, he would, he maintained, have come to no good.

  ‘I’m going to buy meself a bicycle like Jimmy’s one day,’ Samuel grinned as he rolled back the warm woollen sleeves that overlapped his arms. ‘Ride it all the way up to the North Pole and back again.’

  ‘You’ll need a stronger pair of legs first, my lad,’ Eve smiled. ‘And a smart bicycle like Jimmy’s, needs saving up for.’

  ‘It’s cold at the North Pole,’ commented Albert dourly, securing the baggy cloth at his waist with a large button and frowning at his brother. ‘Wish I could sit by the stove. It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘You heard Peg, s
on,’ replied his mother. ‘The stove’s out.’

  ‘I bet it’ll be hot still, though.’

  She patted his round bottom. ‘You’ll be just as warm in bed.’

  Eve tucked her sons beneath the worn and welldarned bedclothes draped over the two small horsehair mattresses positioned side by side on the floor. A long chintz curtain divided the room. In the second space was Eve’s own brass bed. Its austerity was softened by a blanket embroidered with rainbow coloured silks. Next to this was a chest on which stood a white china jug and bowl. Four shelves overhead were filled with bottles; Eve’s own homemade remedies for ills and agues. A black framed photograph of Eve’s parents, a tall young man and dark haired girl, hung on the wall, illuminated in the lamp’s light.

  ‘Peg said I ain’t gonna die from being gobbled up,’ Albert chattered, drawing his eiderdown up to his nose. ‘I’m gonna die from nomonia instead. I just ’ope that sort of dying ain’t as horrible as it would’ve been drownin’.’

  ‘You’re not about to die of anything.’ Eve hid a rueful smile at her son’s unintended humour. ‘Unless it’s the complaints-ague. And even then, it won’t kill you, though you could be in mortal danger of getting jaw-ache.’

  Samuel burst into laughter. Eve began to laugh too, and Albert finally joined in, pleased to be the centre of attention.

  ‘Can we eat our suppers now?’ Both boys eyed the two enamel plates overflowing with bread and cheese.

  ‘Yes, but chew slowly and don’t get crumbs in your beds.’

  As they ate, Eve untied the tassel of the curtain, drawing it across the width of the room affording her a modicum of privacy. She was soaked to the skin and beginning to shiver uncontrollably. The noise of the rain on the roof was loud and threatening. How long would the storm last?

  Taking a set of clean smalls from the bottom drawer of the chest, a warm jumper and skirt, she dried herself and dressed quickly. Her boots were ruined and wouldn’t be wearable for days. Slipping her feet into her only other pair, ones that were held together by a length of coarse string, she was suddenly filled with exhaustion. From early light this morning she had been collecting and preparing the winter flowers she bought from market. The early snowdrops sold well at the picture houses and theatres alike. But she had lost all her stock tonight! It was a calamity and she cringed to think of the loss.