Annie’s second child, Michael Harold Benton, was born in the early spring of 1913, a brother for Arthur Charles who had arrived almost exactly a year before.
“Easy as falling off a log,” Annie said with panache. “Now that I’ve started it’s like a penny-in-the-slot machine. You watch – I’m going to finish up like the Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe.”
In the year between the two births the divisions in the country had deepened. Strikes and lockouts had paralyzed not only the capital but the whole of the country. British soldiers had been used against British workers and seeds of bitterness had been sown that would not easily be rooted out. They had flowered in more strikes, in fire-raising, in riots and in sabotage. Women too, urged on by the WSPU, embraced a new militancy. They broke windows, set fire to buildings and to letter boxes, assaulted politicians and policemen, and when arrested promptly went on hunger strike. The means used forcibly to feed them revolted even those who agreed with neither their aims nor their methods. Yet stubbornly the banners were raised, stubbornly the stones were thrown, stubbornly the women got themselves arrested again.
A little while after Michael’s birth, in mid-March 1913, John Marsden died. It was not unexpected, his health had been failing for some time, yet still it saddened Molly painfully to know that she had lost such a friend. She knew the debt she owed the man, of help and encouragement. She attended his funeral in Southend, one of only half a dozen mourners, and afterwards was informed by John’s solicitor that the Venture Agency was now entirely hers.
She sat that evening in the train that clattered and rocked its way back to London, staring unseeing from the window, her mind’s eye a kaleidoscope of memories; above all she remembered that first day in John Marsden’s office, could almost feel the pinch of those awful shoes, see John’s craggy face as he glowered at this latest female to invade his privacy. As she walked from Stratford Station out into the bustling Broadway she realized suddenly that she could not face the thought of going straight back to The Larches. She needed a walk, someone to talk to, to shake off the oppression of the occasion. She turned her steps towards Danbury’s, and Jack.
She heard the commotion, saw the billowing, acrid smoke that rose into the pastel spring sky long before she reached the yard. Her footsteps quickened. A horse-drawn fire engine rattled past her, bell clanging with strident urgency. She began to run.
The street in which the yard was situated was cordoned off. Excited crowds were gathering, shepherded by policemen. Panic-stricken, Molly pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, ducked under the rope.
“’Ere, wait a minute, Miss. You can’t go down there—”
Danbury’s buildings were ablaze. The street was clogged with people, with firemen, with fear-crazed horses.
“Sorry, Miss.” The policeman’s hand was firm on her arm, “You can’t—”
“My name is Benton. Mrs Benton. My husband runs Danbury’s. Where is he? Jack Benton. Where is he?”
Nearby one of the great carthorses reared, massive forelegs flailing. Even in her distress she could not help but see that only very few of the horses were there. And none at all of the new vans and lorries.
‘Well – I’m not sure, Madam. Perhaps you’d better—”
Molly was gone, threading her way through the firefighting appliances that lined the road. She tripped over a hose. A fireman grabbed her arm and almost threw her out of the way. The hungry flames roared into the clear evening air that shimmered with the heat as the fire licked on ancient woodwork, crept around old, patched roofs and windows. A cloud of dense smoke, driven by a gust of wind, rolled into the street. Molly doubled up, coughing and choking, her eyes streaming. As they cleared she saw that a familiar figure sat on an upturned box not far from her, his head bent almost to his knees as he struggled for breath. She flew to him.
“George! George, where’s Jack? Where’s Jack?”
He lifted his head, could not speak. His eyes were red and running with water; his breath was coming in great, wheezing gasps. A big policeman bent to touch his shoulder. “The ambulance is here, Mr Danbury. I think you’d better come.”
“Where is Jack?” she screamed it against the vicious crackle of flame, the shouts and commotion around them.
“You Mrs Benton?” the policeman asked, sympathy in his eyes.
“Yes,” she shouted above the pandemonium. “Yes, I am.”
“I think you’d best come with us, Mrs Benton. Your husband’s already been taken to the hospital. He was trapped on the top floor, and had to jump. Hurt his legs—”
“Look out!” With a fearful crash the roof of the biggest warehouse caved in, sending a sheaf of flying sparks into the air and causing a red-hot blast to swirl around the street. Somewhere a horse was screaming, an awful, almost human sound that tore the nerves. The firemen had given up the unequal fight for the stables and warehouses. Their hoses were all turned on the dilapidated building that adjoined the stable block and had been Danbury’s offices, with storerooms beneath. Steadily the water played upon brick walls that were already scorched where the fire leapt hungrily from shattered windows and loading-doors, curling around the cracking brickwork, gay as red and yellow bunting in the evening sunshine.
It was some hours before she was allowed to see Jack for any length of time. Molly walked the waiting room floor, unable to rest. The others came in turn – Sarah, Annie, Nancy, Edward – but it was as if she could see no one, hear no one until that moment the doctor appeared in the waiting room door.
“Mrs Benton?”
She was on her feet in a moment. “Yes.”
“Your husband has recovered consciousness, Mrs Benton. He’s still in some pain, of course, but that should ease soon. We’ve given him something for it. If you’d like to see him for a very few minutes—?”
“Is he going to be all right?”
The doctor patted her shoulder. “Yes, Mrs Benton, he is. Though the left leg is broken in two places and the right in one. We have removed some splinters of bone. I have to say that, in the circumstances, he’s come off comparatively lightly. He’ll be off his feet for some considerable time, of course. Some considerable time.”
“And Mr Danbury?” she asked, quietly.
The doctor hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Very bad, I’m afraid. His chest was weak to start with – I fear he will be an invalid for the rest of his life.”
“I see.” She followed him along the antiseptic-smelling, cream-tiled corridor and into the ward where Jack lay, his thick hair singed and frizzed, an ugly burn bright against his cheekbone, crossing the old scar. One of his hands, resting on the white cover, was bandaged.
“Well,” Molly said taking his free hand with her own, “here’s a mess.”
His usually bright eyes were blurred with pain and medication. “How’s George?” he whispered.
She hesitated. “Not so good, I’m afraid.”
He turned his head on the pillow. She squeezed his hand. “This is quite like old times. Last time you lay in a hospital bed you asked me to marry you, remember?”
He smiled.
“Jack, how did it happen? How did the fire start?”
He shook his head, tiredly. “I’ve no idea, lass. Have you been to see how much is left?”
“No.”
“Not much, I guess. Christ, I never saw anything go up so quickly. Was anyone badly hurt?”
She shook her head. “Only you and George.”
“And the animals?”
She looked down at their clasped hands. “They saved some. But most are gone, I’m afraid. The firemen were too busy trying to get you out to save the horses.”
“What about the new lorries? They’d been put away for the night in the empty stables—”
“Yes.”
“All gone?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes. “All gone,” he said, his tone of voice different.
“No!”
The blue eyes opened and she thought she saw the faintest quirk of a smile at the vehement word, but soon it died. He drew a long, sighing breath. “We have to face it, lass. With no lorries, no horses and no buildings there’s no Danbury’s. Not even you can conjure something from a pile of ashes.”
“What about the insurance?”
“We don’t have any.”
“What?” She stared at him, appalled.
“Not enough to make any difference, anyway. A few hundred. That’ll have to go to George. We can’t leave him destitute.”
“I have absolutely no intention,” she said, trying to keep the sharpness from her voice, “of leaving anyone destitute. Least of all us. Why weren’t we adequately insured?”
His eyelids closed wearily again. “I didn’t think we could afford it yet—”
She bit back the obvious reply. Behind her a nurse hovered. “I really think we ought to be getting some rest, Mr Benton.”
Molly stood up. “Well, it could be worse.” Her voice was bright. “The doctor says you’ll be all right. Just get yourself well. Concentrate on that. We’ll get Danbury’s on its feet again before you are, you see if we don’t. One way or another—”
Those words of bravado seemed doubly empty the next day as she stood with Annie surveying the still-smoking wreck of Danbury’s yard. The sodden heaps of ash smelled horribly, the skeletal buildings mocked any hope of repair. Only one small hut remained unscathed, and one of the smaller store houses whose roof was damaged but whose walls still stood. The two women stood for a long time in glum silence, which Annie broke with an optimistic but misguided, “Perhaps you could sell the land?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Molly turned from her impatiently. “What good would that do anybody? It looks as if George Danbury will never work again. He needs an income. He won’t get that if we let the firm fold. What’s he going to live on if we give up? And Jack – Jack needs this place. He was beginning to make a success of it. Selling the land won’t give Jack the incentive he needs to get his legs working again, will it? No. What we need is to turn this shambles to at least some advantage. What we need is money. Even with the improvements that Jack had managed to make the yard was outdated, the buildings were falling down, the whole set-up was uneconomic. If we could just lay our hands on enough money we could start again – new equipment, new buildings—” She stopped. Annie was regarding her sardonically, head on one side.
“You got that kind of spare cash?”
Molly shook her head. Every spare penny she had had already gone into Danbury’s.
“Then you got a fairy godmother stacked somewhere?”
“There are such things as banks you know,” Molly said a little acidly, “And they’re there to lend money.”
“They are?” Annie rolled her eyes. “You could have fooled me, love.”
Jack put the same sentiment a little differently. “No chance,” he said, shifting in his hospital bed, “no chance at all. I tried them before, Moll, when we were hoping to expand. We’re already up to our eyes in debt – you of all people know that – and they wouldn’t even consider lending us more. It’s no good, Molly, you’re going to have to face it. Danbury’s is finished. We’ll be lucky to get out of it with a whole skin.” He looked drawn and dispirited.
Molly appeared not to have heard him. “If I could get the money,” she said, slowly, “if I could just get enough to rebuild and get the transport we need – the place could be just about ready for when you’re on your feet again.”
Jack smiled something like his old smile. “You never give up, do you?”
She shook her head. “I never have yet. And I won’t now.”
“You won’t get it, lass. I’m telling you.”
“I might,” she insisted stubbornly. “And I certainly won’t if I don’t try. I know some people – quite a lot of people – through the agency. At least let me try.” She tilted her chin cheerfully. “I’m not giving up on the money I lent you without a fight, Jack Benton! I didn’t come down with the last shower of rain. I’ll make the bank see what a good proposition it is. You see if I don’t.”
He laughed, tiredly. “No harm in trying.”
She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You just concentrate on getting better. Don’t fret. Everything will come right, you see.”
She kept her head high and her step brisk until she was out of the ward.
A week later Jack had a second operation. The doctor was very satisfied; the prognosis was good. “There’s no reason to believe, Mrs Benton, that your husband won’t make a complete recovery. But it’s going to take some time, I’m afraid. Rest is what he needs, rest and care. And we must stop him fretting if we can. It does him no good at all.”
Molly smiled. “Don’t worry, doctor, I think I have some news that will do him as much good as medicine. I’ll stop him fretting.”
Her news did more than that. Jack, and Annie, who was sitting on the other side of the bed, stared at her in total disbelief.
“How much?” Jack asked.
Molly grinned.
“Molly – oh, you’re an absolute wonder!” Annie cried in admiration, then lowered her voice as she drew a reproving “Ssh” from the Sister who sat at the desk at the end of the ward. “How on earth—”
“Not all in one go, of course,” Molly said a little hurriedly. “But it’s a start. We can invest in a couple of lorries and a couple of smaller vans and get back into business. We can use the undamaged warehouse. The hut will do for an office just for now. And once we get the rebuilding started, there won’t be a better-equipped or more up-to-date outfit in the area than Danbury’s. It’s an ill wind that blows no good at all. What we have to do is to make certain that we don’t lose too many customers and find ourselves having to start back at the beginning—”
“And who’s going to do that?” Jack asked.
“Why, I am, of course. Nancy’s offered to take over the agency for me, just while you’re off your feet. We can’t let the clients go, Jack, you must see that? We’d never get them back, bank loan or no bank loan. Now, what do you think about horses? Is there any point in—?”
“How did you get the loan?” asked Jack quietly.
“I went to the bank.”
“So did I”
Silence stretched a little awkwardly. Annie looked from one to the other.
“I – well, as a matter of fact I didn’t go to our usual bank. I went to a bank manager whom I knew, someone who’d used the agency in the past. It seemed more sensible. He was very sympathetic. He—”
“Sympathetic? A bank manager?” Jack’s tone was frankly disbelieving.
“Oh, for God’s sake, they are human, you know. What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be pleased—” Molly let irritation show clearly in her tone. Across the bed Annie quirked her eyebrows.
Jack reached for her hand. “I’m sorry, lass. I was surprised, that’s all.”
On the way home in the bus Annie looked at her intently. Molly pretended to be absorbed in the scene outside the window. Annie dug her in the ribs, none too gently.
“All right, then, come on.”
“Come on what?” Molly was defensive.
“How did you do it? You don’t fool me with your wide Irish eyes, love. Where did you get the money?”
“From the bank, as I said.”
“And?”
Molly turned on her in a quick flash of anger, held the sympathetic green eyes for a moment and then looked away. “I put up the agency.”
“What!”
“I borrowed the money on the agency. It was the only thing I could do. The bank wouldn’t think of lending it to Danbury’s without collateral. The agency was all I had to offer. They’ve made it a – a transferable company loan, or something. It means that they’ve lent the money to me – to the agency, if you like – and I lend it to Danbury’s.”
“And if Danbury’s fails?”
“It won’t.”
“But if it does?”
Molly looked back through the window. ‘Then the agency goes too, I suppose. But it won’t, Annie. I’ll see that it won’t. If I have to work twenty-five hours a day I won’t see it fail. I’ve done it before, and I will again. I’ll talk every damned firm from Silvertown to Wanstead into using us, see if I don’t!”
Annie shook her head. “Jack won’t like knowing that you borrowed the money on the agency.”
“He isn’t going to know!” Molly was fierce. “Not from me, and not from you either. And neither is anyone else. Nancy knows, and so does William Baxter, our chief clerk – he had to, for he handles the books. But as far as the rest of the world is concerned I’ve borrowed the money on Danbury’s, and that’s that. And if I want to work like a lunatic to get the place going again, it’s maybe because I am a lunatic. No one will be surprised at that. Don’t dare to say anything, Annie. I’ll never forgive you.”
“I won’t,” Annie said peaceably, and then after a short silence added, “You’re right about one thing, though. You are a lunatic.” She turned a laughing face to Molly. “But then aren’t we all, one way or another? I can talk.”
“Something in particular?” Molly asked, interested.
Annie grinned. “Something very particular. I’m pregnant again.”