‘Not a chance,’ said Miss McNab. ‘Anything for a quiet life is Lorrison’s way. He’d never risk the wretched Champs being taken away because of a scandal. There are at least three other ballrooms in Glasgow just as fit to hold them, more so even, and Lorrison knows it.’
‘He’s lucky to have been chosen then,’ I said.
‘We make our own luck in this world,’ said Jeanne. ‘Or so my mother always told me. I often wonder where I went wrong.’ Once again, she gave the wry grin which seemed to be her favourite expression.
‘Was your mother Lady Stott’s sister?’ said Alec, showing a young man’s usual lack of recall for genealogy. Even our nine years of detecting had not changed that about him.
‘Good gracious no!’ said Jeanne. ‘Heavens above! Lady Stott’s sister and my mother have absolutely nothing in common whatsoever. My mother was a teacher and a Sunday school teacher too. She met my father, Lady Stott’s brother, when she took the children in her class to the baths for their swimming lesson. He ran a boys’ club in the East End, right in the slums. He went down amongst them, you understand? He needn’t have. He didn’t come from that world and didn’t belong there. He was a printer.’
Her pride was as unmistakable as it was unaccountable. A teacher and a printer, even if they did trouble themselves with good works for the poor of the East End, were nothing much to brag about when set against Balmoral and the rubber plantations that built it. Some of this must have shown on my face for Miss McNab continued.
‘Lady Stott was working at the Crown when she met Sir Percy,’ she said.
‘A pub?’ I said, unable to stop my voice rising.
‘A tea-room,’ admitted Jeanne. ‘Sir Percy went every day for his mutton chop and treacle pudding.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Well, a pretty waitress who brings you chops is quite appealing, I dare say.’
‘Lady Stott was never pretty,’ said Jeanne. ‘My father got all the good looks of the entire family and still he chose his wife for her fine mind and her Christian living.’
Now it made perfect sense. The teacher no doubt felt rather above the waitress and had passed her sense of superiority on to her daughter. That daughter, poignantly enough to onlookers, now sat in the sewing room of the waitress’s mansion, stitching her cousin’s frocks like an unpaid skivvy.
‘And what’s Lady Stott’s sister’s station in life?’ I asked. ‘Not a teacher anyway, you seemed to imply.’
Miss McNab opened her eyes very wide and closed her mouth very tight, until her unpainted lips all but disappeared.
‘A respectable widow living alone,’ she said when she had unpursed them. ‘What does that have to do with the threats?’
I surmised that while she might denigrate her relations I was not to allude to their shortcomings even in the most oblique way.
‘Nothing at all,’ said Alec. ‘You are quite right. Detecting does make one horribly inquisitive. The threats, then. What do you think it’s all about, you who have a ringside seat at the dance-hall?’
‘That’s what the Stotts would like and so that’s what Theresa and I tell them,’ Jeanne said. ‘But I’d be screaming with boredom if it were true. In fine weather I take pictures. I’m rather keen on photography, as a matter of fact. If it’s raining, I go to the art gallery some days, some days to the reading room on St Vincent Street and sometimes I look around the shops. Although, to be honest, that’s almost as dull as watching Theresa dancing.’
‘So you weren’t there on Monday?’ I said.
‘I wasn’t there for the dramatic moment,’ said Jeanne. ‘I arrived about ten minutes later and heard all about it from Beryl.’
‘Which makes it all the more remarkable that you got home on the tram so quickly after her,’ I said.
Jeanne bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement of my perspicacity. ‘Yes, I did take a taxi,’ she said. ‘I was worried about what Theresa might blurt out.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think you’ve got much to worry about on that score,’ said Alec. ‘Miss Stott managed her shock and fear without any loss of control.’
Jeanne laughed out loud at that and I could not help a smile, remembering how elegantly Tweetie had fainted and how neatly she recovered at the threat of a doctor. The additional thought occurred to me, however, that in lying so effortlessly to her aunt and even adding the detail about how smoky the tram had been and how she needed to change, Miss McNab had showed herself to be equally on top of things. Just as I had noticed the physical resemblance between the cousins, now I saw their mirrored characters too.
‘But you do stop in at the Locarno first?’ said Alec. ‘Is that the drill? You drop Miss Stott off, go shopping or looking at statues or whatever, then pick her up again?’
‘That’s it,’ said Jeanne. ‘We’ve found that works nicely. And I often have sewing to give to Miss Thwaite or gowns to collect from her.’
‘Couldn’t Miss Stott take care of that?’ I asked.
‘Oh no,’ said Jeanne. ‘That would never do. She tells us what she wants and then she has nothing more to do with it until it’s time for the fittings. Theresa couldn’t bother herself with patterns and linings when she’s consumed with her art.’ She had almost finished applying another feather, but suddenly instead she wrenched it off the gown and looked down at the resulting tear without a glimmer of expression on her face. I tried to keep mine equally blank.
‘So you can’t actually help us with who went where and when,’ said Alec evenly. ‘Not to worry. You can still – I hope – tell us who you think might have a motive. Miss Bonnar is the obvious suspect.’
‘I shouldn’t think Beryl worries much about Theresa,’ said Jeanne. ‘If it were the other way – if Beryl was being threatened – that would be much less of a mystery.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Beryl is the Queen and Theresa is the young pretender?’
‘That sums it up quite neatly,’ said Jeanne. ‘Beryl’s position is unassailable. Everyone except Theresa seems to know that. It would be amusing if it weren’t so pitiful.’
‘And yet,’ said Alec, ‘Miss Stott’s picture is right there in the window just like Miss Bonnar’s, just as large.’
‘Oh, I’m not saying Theresa isn’t a good dancer,’ said Jeanne. ‘She’s an excellent dancer. But Beryl has something that she never will.’
She was coolly amused by her own cryptic words, which was rather annoying, and even more amused by the way Alec and I were scrutinising her, both of us frowning, trying to decipher them.
‘Miss Bonnar is certainly the more mature,’ said Alec. ‘Dressing so sensibly to rehearse, for instance. And using her own name even if it’s rather unmelodious, instead of dreaming up “Tweetie Bird”. What does the dance world make of that I wonder?’
‘Oh, no one can resist Tweetie Bird,’ said Jeanne. Then she cocked her head and held up one finger; Theresa’s very gesture from the day before.
When the door opened Theresa stood framed there, striking a pose just as dramatic as that she had chosen for her entrance the previous day, although where it had been bathed in pathos and suffering this was triumphant. Both her arms were above her head and one of her feet was thrust forward and pointed. She looked the personification of a great hurrah! and she was, from head to toe, glittering. Some unfortunately glamorous species of bird had clearly been hunted in dozens, chased through the jungles of its tropical home and plucked of its finery, all to turn Tweetie into the vision before us. The feathers were not green, nor were they blue, nor were they purple; instead they shimmered with all three colours and more and – if such a thing were possible – they twinkled.
Certainly, her headband twinkled, for as well as feathers the circlet had a fringe of amethyst droplets She had somehow managed to make her eyelids glitter too – dulling the blue of her pretty eyes with the harshness of paste sapphires above them; a memory of the way the sequins were glued to the little dead wren made me shudder.
Even her cheeks glittered. Georgian ladies
of questionable virtue used patches black as soot and shaped like hearts and clubs but Theresa’s – just to the side of each eye, were green diamond-shaped jewels making her appear as though she were crying emerald tears.
She twisted this way and that and the gems on her golden shoes winked and dazzled.
‘Mummy told me you were here,’ she said. ‘What do you think? And what do you think, Jeanne? Even you must admit it’s rather marvellous, isn’t it? I had given up all hope of these arriving in time. I tacked them on just to get an idea.’
‘You can’t seriously think you’ve got time to sew something that elaborate before Friday,’ said Jeanne.
‘Not me!’ Tweetie said. ‘Not me alone.’ She pouted. ‘But look at how beautiful I am. We’ve got to try. It’s not as if you’ve got anything else to do.’
I half expected Jeanne to fly at her and rip the glittering feathers from her back, but to my great astonishment she simply pressed her lips firmly together and gave a curt nod.
Tweetie fluttered over, kissed Jeanne on both cheeks and then floated away.
10
She did not go to the Locarno in the entire get-up, since apart from anything else she needed to relinquish the frock to have it properly stitched, but she kept the extraordinary face-paint on and took the shoes to give an impression.
‘There would be no need for you anyway, Jeanne,’ she said blithely, ‘since I have Mrs Gilver and Mr Osborne to look after me. Make sure it’s all very securely fastened.’
Jeanne said nothing, merely nodded.
As the three of us trooped away from the sewing room, I took the chance to set matters straight with Theresa.
‘We might not be with you the whole time, Miss Stott. If we need to take off after a lead then you’ll be alone there.’
‘What lead?’ said Theresa. ‘Surely if one of you sits in the cloakroom and one of you sits at the side of the floor then no harm can come to me?’
‘We’re not nursemaids,’ said Alec.
We were crossing the main landing, and a little creature on her knees polishing the edges of the stair risers looked delighted to have overheard the young mistress being spoken to that way. I imagined her in the servants’ hall at dinnertime regaling the rest of the staff and so I gave her a little more material.
‘Nor are we watchmen,’ I said. ‘I am not prepared to sit in the cloakroom simply so that your coat can be stowed on its usual peg. Miss Thwaite can keep an eye on your things and Mr Osborne and I will do as we think best to fulfil our agreement with your parents.’
The maid sat back on her heels and beamed. Luckily, Theresa did not see the look of delight upon her face.
‘How do you know Miss Thwaite?’ she said. ‘And what makes you think you can trust her?’
She had reached her bedroom door and she stood half behind it, clutching it and looking like a siren.
‘We interviewed her along with everyone else yesterday,’ I said. ‘And of course it wasn’t her who hid those things among your belongings.’
‘What?’ said Theresa, coming back around the door.
‘I think the others would have mentioned it if Miss Thwaite had stopped playing and disappeared, don’t you?’ said Alec.
‘You went to the Locarno?’ Theresa’s eyes, already made to look enormous with the paint and lash black she had applied, seemed now to grow even larger. ‘If you’ve spoiled things for me, I shall never forgive Mummy and Daddy. If Lorrison bars me or Roly sacks me or if Big Beryl flexes her muscles and gets rid of me, I shall never forgive any of you!’ She turned smartly on her heel and stalked into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
‘For two pins,’ I said. Alec did not understand the phrase, which was just as well since it was a saying of Nanny Palmer’s concerning the putting of little girls over her knee for a spanking and one does not wish to be thought of as a brute. Brutal or not, however, it had worked wonders on me when I was a child and I could not help thinking that Theresa Stott had been ill-served by not having a Nanny Palmer of her own.
She kept up her grumbling all the way to Sauchiehall Street, sitting in the back seat of my motorcar, inspecting her painted face in her compact mirror and berating us and her parents.
‘One week,’ she said. ‘Just one more week and then I’ll be a good dutiful daughter and a good dutiful wife for the rest of my life.’
‘But surely our being there will rather help you get through this one last crucial week,’ said Alec.
‘Mr Lorrison doesn’t like trouble,’ said Theresa. ‘If I cause it I’ll be out on my ear and if I lose my place at the Locarno, I shan’t be a professional and I shan’t be eligible for the Champs. Do you see?’
‘We’ve no intention of causing trouble,’ I said. ‘Rather of preventing it, as Mr Osborne just told you.’
‘Detectives!’ said Theresa. ‘Even just having detectives there is like saying there’s something wrong.’
‘But there is,’ said Alec. ‘What’s happening to you is unmistakably wrong. I really can’t understand you.’
‘Oh, Mr Lorrison wouldn’t care about that,’ said Theresa. ‘As long as Beryl’s happy.’
This did chime with what the man had said, placating Miss Bonnar but brushing off Theresa’s troubles. Perhaps Miss Bonnar was the big draw; she was certainly friendlier than Theresa, and if she taught private lessons presumably she was of more use to the Locarno financially too. It was all faintly depressing and suddenly my appetite for any of it was gone. When we arrived, I held Alec back as Theresa stepped down.
‘We shall join you in just a minute, Miss Stott,’ I said.
When she was out of earshot, I tried to explain. ‘We’re making something out of nothing. Why don’t we do what Theresa wants us to: just chaperone her through the Championship, keep our eyes peeled, then deliver her back to her parents and dear Julian.’
‘And let whoever it is just get away with it?’
‘Yes, frankly.’
Alec took his pipe from his mouth and knocked it out against the window frame of the motorcar. I bit my lip. I had asked him many times not to, but I did not want to annoy him just then and have him disagree with me for the sake of it.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said. ‘Very well.’
We both got out and I was pleased to see the same two small children strolling towards us again.
‘Mind your car, missus?’ said the boy.
‘Sixpence each, wasn’t it?’ I said. ‘But you must sit on the ground because I can’t throw in a daily blanket.’ It was milder today and the sun was hitting the car broadside on so they had no need for it anyway.
Upstairs on the dance floor Beryl and Bert were in full flight. It was a waltz, I rather thought, but so much faster and with so much more spinning than any waltz I had ever seen that I could not be sure. I watched for a long moment, listening to the click and thump of their dancing shoes on the boards and not noticing what was missing until Theresa came up and stood beside me.
‘All right for some,’ she said. ‘Beryl and her party piece.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked her.
‘Lorrison has sacked Miss Thwaite. So there’s no accompaniment until we track down a gramophone.’
‘Sacked her?’ I said. ‘Why?’
‘He won’t tell me,’ said Theresa. ‘But this is the last straw. Roly and I are going back to practise in the ballroom at home and if Daddy doesn’t like it he can throw us both out. Come on, Roly! We can catch a cab. It would be the one day I don’t drive myself.’ She gave me a sour look, as though my driving her about the city was some kind of mean trick, and then swept out, with Mr Wentworth trailing after her.
Alec and I mounted the stage and headed for the little door which led to Lorrison’s office, pausing to look down on Beryl and Bert as they twirled on and on, covering the whole of the floor in dizzying circles.
‘It is rather remarkable that they can dance in perfect time to silence,’ I said. ‘Poor Miss Thwaite.’
&n
bsp; Lorrison did not share even a scrap of our sympathy. He was sitting behind his desk looking more unkempt than ever, if that were possible, his eyes hooded and dark and his cheeks pale as though from sleeplessness.
‘Mr Lorrison,’ I said, ‘I hear Miss Thwaite has left you.’
‘She’s only got herself to blame,’ Lorrison said. He shook a cigarette out of a packet, placed it between his lips and lit it with trembling fingers.
He was either hungover or suffering from some kind of shock, I thought. Either way, it was not an attractive sight, all that twitching and sniffing.
‘Was it anything to do with us?’ I asked innocently.
‘I’m not discussing it,’ Lorrison said. ‘I want no more trouble.’
‘But surely sacking your accompanist days before the competition is going to put your dancers at a severe disadvantage,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to help them all in their final preparations?’
‘Beryl and Bert don’t need a wee woman at the keys,’ said Lorrison.
‘But what about the others?’
‘Tweetie and “Roly”?’ said Lorrison with a sneer that showed the entire top row of his ill-fitting teeth.
‘And young Jamesie and Alicia,’ I said.
‘Oh well,’ said Alec, in a voice which might have sounded casual to one who did not know him, but which rang all sorts of alarm bells with me, ‘we shan’t press you if you don’t care to dwell on it.’ Then he put a firm hand under my elbow and drew me away, back into the corridor.
‘Mayne,’ he whispered when the door was closed. ‘I know how to find him.’ Then he went on in his usual voice: ‘We’re free, are we not, since Theresa has gone home to her family?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said, as we emerged back into the ballroom, ‘although if the Stotts ask us what we’re up to while they’re paying us a daily retainer, I’m not sure what I would say.’
‘You’ve missed Tweetie,’ said Beryl. She and Bert had come to a stop in the middle of the floor. ‘She’s away.’
Dandy Gilver and the Unpleasantness in the Ballroom Page 8