The Death Beat

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  Aunt Dot opened her reticule and pulled out a silk-covered notebook. She slipped her pince nez onto her nose and read out loud: “Number twelve Chelsea Square. Just off Ninth Avenue. She said it was a ‘settlement house’.”

  The cab driver snorted. “Well, ma’am, that’ll explain it. Your friend a do-gooder by any chance?”

  “She certainly is,” answered Aunt Dot proudly, either ignoring or not noticing the sarcasm in the cab driver’s voice.

  “Well, here we are.”

  The yellow cab pulled up outside a three-storey house that had seen better days. On one side was a boarded-up property and on the other what looked like a warehouse. The front door of number twelve had not seen a lick of paint in years and was patched in places with odd bits of wood and nails. The cabby got out and unstrapped Aunt Dot’s wheelchair from the back of the motor while Poppy readied his fare.

  “Can you help us up the steps please?” she asked, adding an extra tip.

  The cabby doffed his cap with his thumb. “Sure thing, ma’am.”

  When Aunt Dot was safely in her chair, the cabby and Poppy lifted it together up the six steps while Aunt Dot declared: “Oh, I’m so sorry to put you to all this trouble! I’m such a bother!”

  “No bother at all, ma’am,” said the cabby, straightening his back and wincing. Poppy smiled her thanks at him, waited for him to retreat, then rapped on the door.

  After a few moments it opened to reveal a young girl in her early teens, wearing a blue and white gingham dress, black lace-up shoes, and white bobby socks. Her black hair was plaited in two pigtails, tied off with frayed scraps of blue cloth.

  “Hello?” she said in thickly accented English. “You Miz Liza’s friends?”

  “We’re here to see Miss Elizabeth Dorchester. Is she in?” said Aunt Dot.

  “Miz Liza! Yes! Come in!” The girl turned around and skipped down the hall, calling out, “Oh Miz Liza! Your friends come! They come!” Then at the bottom of the corridor, lined with a threadbare paisley patterned carpet, she turned around and gestured for Poppy and Aunt Dot to come in.

  Poppy smiled at the sheer exuberance of the girl and pushed the wheelchair over the threshold, shutting the door behind her. She didn’t know whether she should wait where she was, or follow the gay girl into the house. But before she could decide, a familiar figure emerged through a doorway, wiping her hands on a white apron. She had put on weight since the last time Poppy and Dot had seen her, her large physique handling it well. But the same thick auburn hair framed her square face and the same sadness shaded her grey eyes. “Thank you, Helena,” she said and pushed a strand of hair behind the giggling girl’s ear. Helena bobbed a little curtsey and skipped away.

  “Oh Elizabeth!” exclaimed Aunt Dot, her voice thick with unspent tears.

  CHAPTER 26

  The knife sliced through the mutton, releasing juices that pooled on the carving plate. Poppy inhaled the aroma of Sunday dinner: roast meat, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, boiled carrots, peas and cauliflower, mint sauce, and lashings and lashings of gravy. She shuddered with pleasure. The food she’d eaten this last week in New York had been tasty and tantalizingly new, but nothing could beat good old fashioned home cooking.

  “Enough?” asked Elizabeth, layering meat slices on Poppy’s plate.

  “Yes, thank you,” answered Poppy, lying but not wanting to appear greedy.

  “And a small glass of wine? It’s a lovely cabernet sauvignon from California,” she said to Dot. “They might have rivalled the French if given half a chance, but prohibition is killing the industry. Still, let’s enjoy it while we can.”

  Both Dot and Poppy said they would have some.

  Finally, Elizabeth sat down and asked Poppy to say grace.

  Poppy did. And in addition to thanking God for the food, she thanked him for friends, new and old, and for helping Elizabeth in her new life.

  When Poppy had finished there were tears in Dot’s eyes.

  And then the floodgates opened. “Oh Elizabeth, I’m so, so sorry. I know I said it in England, but I mean it – I really, really do. I should have tried harder during those years when you were locked up to visit you. I shouldn’t have believed what everyone was saying – that you’d lost your mind. I should have checked for myself. Like Poppy did. And thank God she did! Yes, Grace has suffered because of it, and so have I, but justice has finally been served. And it should have been served long ago. And I’m sorry that it wasn’t. And –”

  Elizabeth raised her hands to silence Dot. “It’s all right, Dorothy. I forgive you. And I’ve forgiven Grace. It’s taken me a while, but I have. I do sometimes still get angry about it. I’ve got to be truthful. It still hurts. But, as my priest says, we choose to forgive and keep on forgiving. It’s not a one-off thing. So today I forgive you again.”

  Elizabeth passed a napkin to Dot. “Here, dry your eyes; your food’s getting cold.”

  Poppy sniffed back her own tears as her aunt brought hers under control. “Th-thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to be able to settle things between us. A-are you happy here?”

  Elizabeth gestured around the kitchen. “In this house or in New York as a whole?”

  “Both. Either.”

  Elizabeth put a piece of meat in her mouth and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Dot and Poppy looked at one another across the table. If Elizabeth didn’t want to talk, she didn’t want to talk. And, she was right, the food was getting cold. Poppy and Dot picked up their cutlery and started their meals. However, after a while, Elizabeth did speak.

  “I arrived last August, after my father’s trial. I needed to see that he was safely behind bars before I left England.”

  “And your brother?” probed Poppy.

  Elizabeth looked at her sharply. “You know he’s on the run, don’t you?”

  Poppy nodded. “Yes.” She wondered whether she should mention that she’d seen him in New York. But no, she didn’t want to frighten Elizabeth. And Aunt Dot might just get hysterical. She didn’t want to have to deal with that. For now she would keep that bit of information to herself. “Last seen in Monte Carlo, I believe.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Let’s not talk about him!” declared Dot. “I want to hear what you’ve been up to here.”

  Elizabeth took a sip of her wine, savoured it for a moment, and then swallowed. “Well, prohibition is mad. It’s causing more problems than it’s solving. It’s not stopping the poor from drinking; it’s just making them into criminals for doing so. And it’s killing people too. There’s some foul stuff being brewed in bathtubs.”

  “Do you see much of it here, in this area?” asked Poppy.

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes. That and every other social ill you can imagine. The conditions some of these people live and work under are appalling.”

  “All of them?” asked Poppy.

  This time Elizabeth shook her head. “No, not all of them, if they are lucky enough to get a decent job. But for that they need to speak English. I’m running classes here. I also have a small library the community can use. It’s mainly the girls that come here. Like Helena, the Italian girl you met. I actually employ her now. There are eight children at home and her mother is pregnant again. Her father has tuberculosis and can’t work.”

  “So is that what settlement houses do?” Poppy asked.

  Elizabeth continued to eat and then answered at her own pace. “Some settlement houses are run as religious missions, teaching Christianity while helping the poor. Others aren’t.”

  “Who runs them?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “Some of them are under church control. Others are privately set up by people with financial means and a social conscience.” Elizabeth smiled coolly. “I inherited money when my mother died. Once I’d been declared legally sane I was able to access it again. I think she’d be happy knowing it was being put to good use.”

  Lady Maud Dorchester, Elizabeth’s mother, had died on
the Titanic. She had been a friend of Aunt Dot’s and the founder member of the Chelsea Six, the suffragette cell that Dot, Elizabeth, Grace, and Delilah’s mother, Gloria, had belonged to. “She’d be very proud of you, Lizzy,” said Dot quietly.

  “Thank you, Dot; I hope so. It’s a drop in the ocean, but at least I feel that I’m doing something.”

  “So what else do you do here?” asked Poppy. “Apart from English classes.”

  Elizabeth poured some more gravy over her roast potatoes before answering. “I help them fill in forms and apply for jobs. I help them understand rent agreements. In some cases I go to court with them if they’ve got into trouble.”

  “And do many of them get into trouble?” asked Dot.

  Elizabeth grimaced. “The prostitutes do, yes.”

  “Prostitutes? Oh my! You are in the thick of it here, aren’t you?” declared Dot, wringing her plump hands together.

  Poppy’s ears pricked at the word “prostitute”. She thought of the Jewish girl, Mimi. Perhaps Elizabeth might be able to help find her. So Poppy went on to tell the other two women what had happened at The Lodge the previous day, carefully omitting any mention of Alfie from her account.

  Dot was horrified. She put down her knife and fork, unable to continue. “Poppy! Why didn’t you tell me this before!”

  Poppy lowered her eyes, chastened. She knew why she hadn’t told Dot – she hadn’t wanted to worry her – but perhaps announcing it at a luncheon arranged to reconcile two old friends was not the best way of doing it. “I’m sorry. Rollo knows all about it. He’s helping me investigate. So it’s not as if I’m out there on my own.”

  Dot took a series of calming breaths. “And Rollo is a good man to have on your side. I know I shouldn’t patronize you. You know I think women should be allowed to do anything men do, but oh, my darling, I worry! If anything were to happen to you…”

  Elizabeth slammed down her fork. “Good heavens, Dorothy! Have you forgotten what this young woman did back in London? What dangers she faced, single-handedly?”

  “Well, it wasn’t quite single-handed…” Poppy started, but faltered when she saw the fury in Elizabeth’s eyes.

  Dot cleared her throat. “You’re right, Lizzy. I’m sorry, Poppy. I trust you will make wise decisions, as you have always done. But do be careful.”

  Poppy reached out and patted her aunt’s hand. “I will, Aunt Dot. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up like this – it’s been a bit of an emotional ambush for you – but, well, now that I have I… well, I was wondering if Elizabeth could help me.” She turned to the older woman, who was pouring herself a second glass of wine. “Can you?”

  “In what way?” asked Elizabeth, gesturing with the bottle that a top-up was available. Poppy declined; Dot accepted.

  “Well,” said Poppy thoughtfully, “I was wondering if you might know of women who are here illegally and working as prostitutes. Perhaps they know where Mimi is.”

  Elizabeth took a sip of wine and pondered the question. “Most people who live in this community are legal. There isn’t a big problem with illegal immigrants in New York – most people are admitted or turned away at Ellis Island. And they’re quite efficient about it. But… money talks and some slip in. So yes, I do know a few. But I don’t think they’d talk to you, Poppy. They don’t trust anyone. They’re terrified they’ll be turned in to Immigration.”

  Poppy folded her napkin and put it beside her plate. “Do they trust you?”

  Elizabeth twirled the stem of her glass between thumb and forefinger. “Some do. I’m working on it.”

  “Do you think you could make some inquiries for me?”

  Elizabeth held Poppy in a fierce stare. “Not so it can get into the newspaper and they’d be exposed, no.”

  “Of course not, no. I can do it in such a way as to protect their identities. And, if there is no way to do that, I won’t write the article at all. I just want to help this girl.”

  Elizabeth assessed the younger woman with guarded grey eyes. “All right,” she nodded, “I’ll see what I can do. I’m doing the rounds of the garment factories tomorrow. Again, most of them are legal, but there are one or two places that are not all above board. I’ve heard rumours of some of them keeping girls locked in.”

  “That is shocking!” declared Dot.

  Poppy thought of Mimi’s bruised face. She wondered if she was locked up somewhere now. Oh please God, help me find her.

  Elizabeth continued: “There’s a place I know where a few girls work by day but earn extra at night, if you know what I mean. I’ll let you know if I find anything out.”

  “Thank you,” said Poppy. “I appreciate it.”

  “So do, I Lizzy. I –”

  But before Dot could finish her sentence Elizabeth stood up and declared: “Right, who’s for bread and butter pudding?”

  Both Poppy and Dot said they would love some. Poppy cleared the table as Elizabeth opened the oven and took out a steaming dish of baked bread, milk, honey, and raisins, topped with toasted almonds.

  Aunt Dot smiled broadly. “My, my, Lizzy, I never knew you were such a good cook.”

  Elizabeth winked mischievously, giving Poppy a glimpse for a moment of a younger woman, not worn down by tragedy.

  “I have hidden depths, Dorothy. Now, custard or cream?”

  “Oooooh, custard please.”

  “Same for me,” said Poppy.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Helena’s cheeky face popped around. “That man he is here, Miz Liza.”

  “Which man?”

  “The one he come last week. The one sleep the night.”

  Elizabeth, whose face was usually so impassive, went pale. She jumped up. “Excuse me. I’ve got to sort this,” she said, and ushered Helena out of the room.

  “I wonder what that’s about?” asked Dot.

  “No idea,” said Poppy, scooping a spoonful of steaming pudding towards her mouth.

  Dot giggled. “The man who ‘sleep the night’. Do you think Elizabeth has a beau?”

  Poppy looked at her aunt and smiled. “Well, if she does, I hope he brings her some happiness.”

  Dot raised her glass to Poppy. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  A few minutes later Elizabeth returned, without explanation. Poppy did not feel it would be polite to ask. Dot, who usually didn’t worry about such niceties, also held her tongue – much to Poppy’s surprise.

  The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. After coffee Elizabeth offered to call a cab.

  When Dot was safely lifted into the back seat, Elizabeth turned to Poppy. “Thank you for bringing her, Poppy. And I’m glad you came too. I would not have this new life if you hadn’t helped me back in London. So I’ll do what I can to help this other young woman. I’ll contact you at Rollo’s as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth,” said Poppy, and stepped forward to embrace the older woman.

  But Elizabeth stepped back, her face impassive, the old barriers once again firmly in place.

  CHAPTER 27

  Monday morning – another day in the office. But for the first time since she started work at the paper, Poppy had a spring in her step. She was doing what she loved: following down leads on a story that would hopefully bring the bad fellas to justice and right a fair few wrongs. The only problem was, she wasn’t supposed to be doing it.

  Fortunately, Paul Saunders had been seconded to the crime department to cover for the reporter who was off sick, so at least she didn’t have him leering at her across his typewriter. Poppy shuddered at the thought of it.

  Her first job for the day was, as usual, to read the morning edition. The lead was about New York dock workers objecting to a pay cut and threatening to close down the ports in strike action. So, it was happening this side of the Atlantic too… Then there was a report from Paris where German representatives of the Weimar Republic had apparently balked at the $32 billion reparation demands of the Allied powers. There was talk too of it leading to unre
st and even revolution, once again threatening the peace of Europe. Dear God, we’ve just got out of one war; let’s not start another. There was an intriguing story from Chicago about a young woman called Marie Vance who was part of a love triangle. She died suddenly of apparently natural causes but her body was later exhumed and an autopsy revealed she might have been poisoned with nicotine. The coroner in Chicago was urging the police to open a murder inquiry.

  However, here in New York there were no further updates on Prince Hans von Hassler. So the coroner’s findings had not yet been released into the public domain. Rollo would be checking the copy for the next edition; hopefully it would be in there. They had agreed to meet up at lunchtime to swap notes.

  Her next job was to check the crime report to see if there had been any overnight deaths of public figures: none. There was, however, mention of the body of a young woman that had been found in a tenement house in the Garment District. The police were still trying to identify the body, as none of the neighbours seemed to know her name. She had died of “natural causes” – whatever that meant. The poor girl. Anonymous in life. Anonymous in death. It was further noted that she was believed to be a prostitute. Poppy doubted it had anything to do with her case but she would ask Elizabeth about it when she next spoke to her.

  Poppy spent the next two hours going through the long list of “about-to-turn-seventy” public figures and wrote up three draft obituaries.

  At twelve o’clock she closed the file and checked to see if any of the other journalists were watching her. There was only the young telegram operator and an older man who was dictating a telegram to him.

  “Anyone mind if I use the telephone?” she asked. “I need to fill in some gaps in an obit.”

  The journalist waved her away, seemingly annoyed that she had interrupted him. The telegram operator ignored her. She shrugged, taking the non-response as permission, and made her way to the office telephone.

  She sat down at the telephone desk with her notebook and pencil, gingerly moving a cup with cigarette butts festering in dregs of coffee onto the windowsill behind her. Then she picked up the earpiece and spoke into the receiver. She lowered her voice so the other journos wouldn’t hear what she was saying, but spoke loud enough for the operator to understand her: “Carter Shipping office, please, New York City.”