The Death Beat

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  “Oh dear,” said Delilah. “I’m not sure what to do,” she confided to Poppy and Dot as they were all waiting for cabs. “Miles Spencer popped in before the show and asked if I would accompany him to a party on Long Island this evening. He wants me to meet some producers there. Apparently they’re casting soon for a moving picture that he thinks I’d be just perfect for.”

  “That’s wonderful, darling! But what’s the problem?” asked Dot.

  “I want to help you celebrate your return to the stage, Dot,” said the younger woman.

  Dot smiled and took Delilah’s hand. “You have already helped me, my dear, by suggesting me for the part. You go with Miles.”

  Miss King cleared her throat.

  “Yes, Gertrude?” Aunt Dot looked up at her companion.

  “Do you think it’s appropriate that Miss Marconi goes on her own to this party?”

  “Oh, but I won’t be alone!” chipped in Delilah. “I’ll be with Miles.”

  “Yes, but it might not be considered appropriate, considering the questions you were subjected to by that immigration officer…”

  Delilah was just about to pooh-pooh Miss King’s advice, when Rollo stepped in. “Delilah, I think Miss King is right. The Department of Immigration have already got a bee in their bonnet about you, so perhaps you shouldn’t give them any more ammunition.”

  Delilah looked crestfallen. “But this is my chance to meet those producers.”

  Rollo shrugged. “It’s up to you, but I think you might be stoking a fire here…”

  “What if I go with her?” suggested Poppy. “If we go together surely that will be all right. Won’t it?”

  Rollo and Miss King looked at each other. Miss King’s mouth tightened into a straight line.

  “Well, I think that’s a splendid idea!” said Dot. “You two youngsters go to the party and we’ll all go to Rollo’s. Where is it at, Delilah?”

  “Miles said they’re using Senator and Mrs Spencer’s holiday house for the evening.”

  Aunt Dot looked smug. “Well, there you go. A senator’s house. My niece as a chaperone. What could be more respectable than that?”

  Miss King let out a deep sigh and raised her hands. “I give up.”

  Delilah clapped hers. “Fantabuloso!” Her smile widened even further when Miles Spencer, dressed in a tuxedo and top hat, walked into the Astoria lobby.

  “I heard you on the wireless!” he declared. “Incredible! It’ll just be a matter of time now until they figure out how to put sound with pictures too. Then we’ll have talkies we can watch!”

  “Oh, I hope not,” whispered Aunt Dot to Poppy. “Then I’ll be out of a job again.”

  “I’m sure there’ll be room for both of them, Aunt Dot. And after what I heard tonight, you’ll be in work for a long time yet. Do you think they’ll be doing it in England too?”

  Aunt Dot nodded enthusiastically. “Delilah says they will. Her Uncle Elmo has some plans. I’m just not sure when that will be… perhaps I should stay here in New York!”

  “Perhaps you should,” said Poppy, but wondered whether her aunt would feel the same in the cold light of day. She would have to leave all her friends in London, and Grace would be getting out of prison sometime too…

  “Are you ready, Poppy?”

  It was Delilah, with Miles standing beside her.

  “We’ll just pop up to Rollo’s to pick up some glad rags, then we’ll be off. Miles said he would be delighted to have you with us. And…” she winked, “Toby is going to be there too.”

  “Oh!” said Poppy, and, despite her best efforts, blushed.

  CHAPTER 21

  An hour later and Poppy, Delilah, and Miles were zipping over the Queensboro Bridge to Long Island in the film director’s swanky new 1921 Lincoln Model L. It made the Globe’s Model T staff motor look like a child’s push-car. Poppy felt like a princess in the back of the luxury vehicle and was glad Delilah had insisted they stop off at Rollo’s to change clothes.

  Poppy was wearing her pale pink Charles Worth gown – with the Prince of Wales’s pearls – and Delilah, a new red flapper frock she’d bought earlier in the day at Macy’s, as well as a black feather boa. It had a matching red and black ostrich feather headband. It was just as well Delilah was short in stature, Poppy thought, or the feathers would have bent against the roof of the Lincoln.

  Below them the bobbing lights of the boats and barges of the East River illuminated their journey over the wrought iron cantilever construction. The span of the river was interrupted, briefly, by a sliver of land known as Blackwell’s Island. According to Miles it had once been the home of a lunatic asylum. Poppy squinted through the dark, trying to make out the shape of the buildings below her. It reminded her for a moment of Willow Park Asylum in Battersea, where she had first met Elizabeth Dorchester, the sister of Alfie.

  Poppy shivered at the renewed thought of Alfie Dorchester on the loose in New York City. She wondered how Rollo had got on at the police station and if he had found out anything more about the dead Liechtensteinian prince. They hadn’t had time to swap notes after the radio broadcast, as Rollo was too busy instructing his butler as to which liquor to bring up from the cellar for the party. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

  The powerful motorcar made short shrift of the distance between the Queensboro Bridge and Lake Ronkonkoma – where the Spencer house was situated – along the Long Island Motor Parkway. “In my old motor it would take around two hours to do the fifty miles,” Miles explained as he geared up to overtake a slower moving vehicle, “but this baby has a top speed of seventy!”

  “Isn’t there a speed limit on the road?” asked Poppy, her fingers clawing into the leather of the back seat.

  “Oh yes,” he replied. “It’s around fifty-five on the open road, but at this time of night, no one’s checking!”

  Delilah threw back her head and laughed. Poppy took hold of the strap over the passenger door and prayed.

  The Lincoln delivered its passengers to their destination just after ten o’clock, joining a long line of motor vehicles already parked on the driveway and extending to the grass verge for a good fifty yards or so in each direction.

  Light, laughter, and music spilled from the elegant three-storey building. Poppy had never seen such a large and beautiful house made of wood and wondered how durable it would be during one of Long Island’s famed hurricanes. But Miles assured her it had lasted thirty years so far and was stronger than it appeared. The wide porch roof was held up by red cedar pillars, each a complete trunk of felled tree, and the walls were made of three layers of two-inch-thick planks. To the right of the house Poppy could just make out the outline of a tennis court, and to the left was a line of stables and garages. Poppy sniffed. Yes, under the dominant scent of pine and spruce was a faint smell of horse manure. These horses would be for recreation only, of that Poppy was sure.

  A pristine lawn sloped down to the road, beyond which was a line of maple trees, and beyond that, Miles told her, was a private beach, jetty, and boat house. He would show the girls the sights in the morning, he promised.

  “The morning?” asked Poppy.

  “Oh yes,” he answered, helping first Poppy then Delilah out of the Lincoln. “The party has just begun!”

  As the threesome climbed the wide steps to the house, Poppy noticed two men in earnest conversation. One, his face illuminated by the porch light, was Toby; the other’s face was in shadow under his top hat, but by his body language he did not seem very happy. He turned on his heel and stormed past them, making a beeline for a Bentley on the drive below. He climbed in, revved up the motor, and drove off at speed.

  “What’s got his knickers in a twist?” asked Delilah of Toby as they stepped onto the porch. The young doctor ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

  “I was trying to get him to stay and talk to you. To clear up this confusion once and for all. But he’d have none of it. He said he was insulted and had no need to defend himself.”
<
br />   “He being…” probed Delilah.

  Toby looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t you see?”

  “No,” said Poppy, but she was beginning to suspect.

  “Otto von Riesling. When Miles telephoned ahead to tell me you were coming to the party with Delilah, I thought it would be a good opportunity to get you to sort it all out. It’s obviously a case of mistaken identity.”

  Or stolen identity, thought Poppy.

  “I didn’t know he was going to be here,” offered Miles, half apologetically.

  “Neither did I,” said Toby. “You know what he’s like though… got a nose for where the latest action is… heard through the grapevine… arrived around nine with a car-load of girls…”

  Just like Alfie, thought Poppy grimly.

  “How are the girls going to get home now?” asked Delilah.

  “Oh, I’m sure lifts can be arranged. Or they can stay over. There’s plenty of room,” said Toby. “Anyway,” he said, changing his tone and turning to Poppy, “I’m delighted you’ve come. I didn’t have a chance to invite you at the hospital – Seaman Jones has stabilized, by the way – then I rang Rollo’s, but the butler told me you were out…”

  “At my radio broadcast!” said Delilah as she stepped over the threshold uninvited, clearly anxious to get into the party, and seemingly not sharing Poppy’s suspicions about the identity of the man who had just left.

  “I know. We all listened in!” said Toby. “The early birds anyway…” But Delilah was already gone, with Miles scampering after her.

  Toby laughed. Poppy, angry that she had missed a chance to confront Alfie again, and that no one – including Delilah – was taking her seriously, did not.

  Toby frowned. “I’m sorry, Poppy; I tried.”

  “Where is he staying?” she asked, looking in the direction the Bentley had gone.

  “I don’t know,” said Toby with a shrug. “There’s a good crop of hotels around the lake, or he could be staying with friends…”

  Poppy pursed her lips and folded her arms. Toby sighed. “Look, Poppy, there’s nothing we can do now. Your best bet is to contact his uncle…”

  “I can’t,” said Poppy. “He’s dead.”

  “He’s what?” Toby looked genuinely shocked. “Where? When?”

  “It will be in the evening edition. Or perhaps the morning. He died last night. He was found in his penthouse. How is unclear.”

  “Well I never! Von Riesling never said a word! I would have offered my condolences. No wonder he was so out of sorts…”

  It was Poppy’s turn to laugh, but there was no humour in it. “And yet here he was with his glad rags on, ready to kick up his heels.”

  Toby frowned at her. “Perhaps it just hasn’t sunk in properly yet.”

  He just doesn’t believe me. Poppy shook her head. There was no point flogging a dead horse. And there was nothing she could do now anyway… not until she had heard from Marjorie in London about her inquiries in Monte Carlo, or Rollo’s findings at the police station. On top of that, she was in the middle of nowhere with no independent transport. And Delilah didn’t seem interested in anything other than the party.

  “Yes, Toby, you’re right. Perhaps that’s all it is.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Does that mean you’re coming in?”

  Poppy smiled up at him, resolving to make the best of it… for now. “Well, I didn’t put this old sack on for nothing!” she said, doing her best impersonation of Aunt Dot.

  Toby smiled, relieved. He offered her his arm and led her into the house.

  Poppy thought Toby a little old to be having a party while his parents were away so was relieved to hear that The Lodge – as the twelve-bedroomed dwelling was quaintly referred to – was a holiday home shared by the whole extended Spencer family. Senator and Mrs Spencer had a residence in Washington D.C. when Theodore’s political work called for it, and their main residence in Riverhead, the county seat of Suffolk County, Long Island, just under an hour’s drive east. They only spent their vacation time at The Lodge and so Toby and Miles – and a gang of other cousins – were free to use it for weekend getaways and parties whenever they wanted to. Ah, thought Poppy, the privilege of wealth. Aunt Dot’s and Delilah’s London lifestyle has nothing on this. The whole of the ground floor was filled with partygoers. The entrance hall – bisected by a sweeping cedarwood staircase – was the main dance area. To the left of it was a bar, manned by two gents in white jackets and black ties, and to the right a six-piece jazz band. Poppy was slightly disappointed to see there was no champagne fountain. When she mentioned this to Toby he laughed and declared: “We couldn’t afford it! You wouldn’t believe the price of champagne on the black market since prohibition.”

  Ah yes, the black market. Poppy wondered what Senator Spencer thought of the borderline criminal activity taking place in his holiday home… But no one else appeared to be giving it a second thought, as flappers and fops, dandies and debutantes, and an assortment of fashionable New Yorkers danced and frolicked to the latest tunes. Poppy accepted a glass of champagne from Toby just before he was collared by a gaggle of guests wanting to hear all about his recent vacation to the “Old World”. He raised his glass apologetically to Poppy. She raised hers in return and smiled. “Don’t worry,” she shouted to make herself heard over the band. “I’ll just have a mosey around.”

  Before Toby felt he should extricate himself from his guests, she slipped away to reconnoitre the ground floor of the house. A series of rooms led off from the hall: a living room, dining room, bustling kitchen, and what looked like a trophy room. Poppy shuddered at the dead animals on the walls, but smiled as she contemplated the large glass-fronted cabinet filled with photographs, cups, and shields celebrating the achievements of various Spencer family members. There was canoeing, tennis, debating, and librarianship. Librarianship? More seriously were photographs of Senator Spencer with a who’s who of world leaders, from Theodore Roosevelt to David Lloyd George. And Mrs Spencer was not to be outdone either. There was Amelia with Marie Curie. And again with Emmeline Pankhurst and – a photograph she had seen before – Prince Hans von Hassler of Liechtenstein at the opening of the Eugenics Society of New York. Yes, tomorrow I’ll follow this up. In fact I might give Rollo a ring now to make sure we can connect…

  Poppy looked for a telephone and couldn’t find one. She inquired of a couple of guests, smoking and chatting on a cluster of leather armchairs, and was directed to the library, which, apparently, was vaguely that way.

  That way was back through the entrance-cum-dance hall, past the band and kitchen, and to a room off the dining room. A long leather sofa lay in front of the door. She thought for a moment this could mean Toby and Miles wanted to keep people out. She considered going back and asking Toby’s permission, but he had not been in the hall as she passed through and she was no longer sure where he was. Surely he won’t mind. I’ll explain when I see him, she thought.

  She slipped behind the sofa, pushed open the door, and, as directed, entered the library. And there on a desk near the window was the telephone she needed. However, the room was not empty. Seated, erect and silent, were four young women, all stunning in their fashionable dresses.

  “Oh hello,” said Poppy. “I’ve come to use the telephone. Sorry to interrupt. Do you mind?”

  None of the girls said anything. But four pairs of eyes followed the young journalist as she made her way towards the window.

  “Don’t mind me,” said Poppy. “Do carry on.”

  Silence.

  This was getting awkward. “All right; I’ll be as quick as I can.” She picked up the receiver and dialled for the operator. She gave Rollo’s number and waited to be connected.

  After a few moments, Rollo’s booming voice came down the line. “Hallo? Who’s there?”

  “It’s Poppy.” She raised her voice to be heard over the raucous sound of laughter and music from Rollo’s end of the line. “You sound like you’re having a fabulous p
arty!”

  “We are!” shouted Rollo back. “How are things there?”

  Poppy looked at the four silent young women, then thought of Count Otto von Riesling, aka Alfie Dorchester, who had left the house in such a hurry. “Interesting,” said Poppy. “Listen, Rollo, there’s been a… development. Can’t say too much now, but just wanted to make sure we can meet up tomorrow. I need to hear what you found out this afternoon.”

  “Righto!” said Rollo. “Over there, behind the ice bucket!”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not you, Poppy, sorry. It’s a little mad here. Can we talk tomorrow? When will you get back?”

  “I’m not sure. That’s up to Miles. But as soon as I can. Will you be in?”

  “That’s it! Pour me a glass, will ya? What’s that, Poppy?”

  “Will – you – be – in?”

  “Yes!” shouted Rollo in reply. “And if not, I’ll leave word where you can find me. Have fun!”

  “You too!” shouted Poppy and then Rollo hung up. Poppy looked at the four women and smiled. “Sorry about that. Seems like everyone’s having a party. I’m Poppy. Poppy Denby? Are you enjoying yourselves?”

  Silence.

  Then the door opened. Four pairs of eyes looked towards it.

  Four flushed, merrily drunk gents spilled into the room. “Luv-er-ly!” said the first one as he eyed the seated women. “Can I go first?”

  “First come, first served!” said the second gent – an older man with mutton chop sideburns and a red wine stain down the front of his shirt.

  “Ahem! I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Poppy. “Just using the phone.”

  The four men flicked their heads towards the window.

  “Who are you?” asked the mutton-chopped fellow.

  “I’m – I’m –”