The Jazz Files

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  She looked up and saw the clock tower in Battersea Park marking ten minutes to four. If she hurried, she could catch the four o’clock bus back to Fleet Street. She refolded the ledger page and slipped it into her satchel, then looked quickly to left and right before she crossed the road. There was a silver motorcar coming towards her from the direction of Willow Park, but she would easily make it to the other side in time. But suddenly, the motor sped up and swerved onto the wrong side of the road. Poppy sprinted to get out of the way, but it was too late: the vehicle rammed her from behind and hurtled her into the air. The last thing Poppy remembered was the crack of her skull as her head hit the cobbles.

  CHAPTER 15

  Poppy was swimming in the sea at Whitley Bay. Her brother was with her. The waves lifted them up and down, their legs kicking frantically under the water to keep them afloat. Their mother called to them from the shore: “Be careful! Don’t go too far out!” and their father waved to them, a pease-pudding and ham sandwich in hand. It was getting dark, and a light swept over them in a wide arc: it was coming from St Mary’s Lighthouse.

  Suddenly her brother cried out and disappeared under the waves. Poppy waited for him to pop back up or to grab her ankle and pull her down, pretending he was a shark. She waited. And she waited. The light from St Mary’s came faster and faster. She looked to shore, but could no longer see her parents. She thought she could still hear her mother’s voice, distantly calling: “Come back, Poppy; come back!” But she couldn’t leave without her brother. So she dived under the water to find him.

  As her eyes adjusted to the murk, she saw him below her, face down, his arms and legs splayed like a turtle in his red and white striped bathers. His blond hair was spread out like a halo. She dived down further and grabbed his collar and pulled him up. His body rotated until he faced her, his eyes and mouth wide and lifeless. The light above her was getting brighter. She dragged her brother towards it, but as she burst through the surface she lost her grip and he drifted away from her, back below the waves. She flipped herself over to dive again, but then someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upwards. She fought, she screamed and then she felt a sharp prick in her arm. The waves calmed, the light dimmed and she saw her brother smiling up at her. She turned on her back and floated away.

  Poppy was awake before her eyes opened. She could hear voices rising and falling on the waves of an argument. “He shouldn’t be here.” … “I have every right.” … “Family only.” … “Police business.” … “Call the doctor.” … “Is she awake?” … “Oh, thank God! She’s awake!”

  Poppy reluctantly opened her eyes. The first person she saw was Grace, leaning over her, her brown eyes fraught with worry. “She’s awake, Dorothy. She’s awake!”

  “Oh, thank you, God! Poppy! Darling!”

  Grace stepped back so Aunt Dot could lean in from her chair at the side of the bed. She reached out and touched Poppy’s face. “How are you feeling, darling?”

  How was she feeling? Her head throbbed like a giant thumb that had been whacked by a hammer. Her mouth was dry and her throat was struggling to hold back billows of nausea. Below her neck her right shoulder ached and below that she had a sharp twinge in her ribs if she moved even slightly to either side. And below that… below that she wasn’t sure what she could feel…

  “W-water.”

  “Water! Of course. Grace, pass the water.”

  A glass appeared and Aunt Dot held it to her niece’s lips while cupping her chin with her other hand. Poppy drank a little and spilled a little, but it was enough.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  “Excuse me, can I have some room?” A man in a white coat, accompanied by a woman in a winged nurse’s hat, appeared at her bedside. He asked her some questions, to which she seemed to give satisfactory answers, then he produced a torch and shone it in her eyes like the beam from St Mary’s Lighthouse. She flinched, which he declared “good, good”. He looked at her shoulder and poked at her ribs, announcing, “Nothing’s broken, just badly bruised”; then he moved down her body until he reached her toes.

  Again, Poppy noted there was very little feeling. She looked to Aunt Dot when she said this and the older lady gave her a reassuring look, but there was worry in her blue eyes.

  “Is everything all right, doctor?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine.”

  “But she says she can’t feel much…”

  “Everything is normal, Miss Denby. There appears to be full nerve and motor function. The subdued feeling is a result of the painkillers and muscle relaxing medication we gave to your niece. It will eventually wear off.”

  Then to Poppy: “You have had an X-ray, Miss Denby, and nothing appears to be broken or internally displaced. But you have severe bruising and a mild concussion, and will need to stay in the hospital for a few days.”

  Poppy nodded.

  “Do you remember what happened?” the doctor asked.

  “She was hit –” started Aunt Dot, but the doctor silenced her with a raised hand.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  Poppy closed her eyes to try to sort the clutter of images and memories: Whitley Bay … her brother … the lighthouse … the smell of jasmine … wrought-iron gates … gargoyles … a woman in a white gown … then the clock tower … it was ten to four … she wondered what time it was now …

  “Miss Denby? Miss Denby? I think she’s had enough for now. We’ll let her rest. I’ll tell the inspector to come back later.”

  “Tell the inspector to send someone else. I will not have that man near my niece. I will not!”

  “Shhhh, Dorothy. Poppy is going to sleep …”

  The next time Poppy opened her eyes it was nearly dark. Daniel and Rollo were talking quietly together near the window, Daniel leaning on the windowsill with both elbows so that he didn’t tower above the editor. She attempted a cough. They both turned.

  “Poppy?” Rollo walked over to the bed and peered intently into her face. “You know how to make a statement, Miz Denby, you really do.” He chuckled, but there was a note of worry in his voice.

  Daniel leaned in towards her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been run over by a bus,” she whispered.

  “Funny you should say that… do you remember what happened? Your aunt said you didn’t answer when the doctor asked before.”

  “Aunt Dot?”

  “She and Mrs Wilson have gone to the café for a cup of tea. They asked us to keep an eye on you until they get back,” Rollo said.

  “So do you, Poppy? Do you remember?” asked Daniel, scouring her face as if he could find the information there.

  “I – I think I was run down. By a motor. A silver motorcar. Outside the asylum. It swerved – on purpose – and hit me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it was on purpose, Miss Denby.”

  Poppy, Rollo and Daniel looked up and saw the silhouette of a man in a bowler hat standing in the doorway.

  “Is that –”

  “Detective Chief Inspector Richard Easling. We met briefly outside Mr Rolandson’s office yesterday. I don’t know if you remember.”

  “I remember,” whispered Poppy. And she also remembered the ledger page. She looked around, trying to spot her satchel.

  Easling continued. “A witness says you weren’t looking where you were going and you stepped out right in front of it. The poor driver didn’t have a chance to avoid you.”

  “What witness?” asked Daniel, his voice filled with scorn. “Alfie Dorchester? Don’t you think he’s a little biased, Inspector?”

  “No. Another witness. A vegetable vendor who has corroborated Viscount Dorchester’s version of events. I don’t know if you know yet, Miss Denby, but you owe your life to the viscount. After you stepped in front of his motor –”

  “I didn’t step in front of his motor. He deliberately –”

  “After you stepped in front of his motorcar,” Easling repeated more forcefully, “he immed
iately administered first aid. As an army captain, who has won the Victoria Cross, he has experience of such things.”

  Rollo gave a derisive snort.

  Easling glared at him. “And then he picked you up and brought you here in his Bentley. If it hadn’t been for his quick thinking –”

  “Quick thinking? He deliberately ran me down!” Poppy’s voice was getting stronger.

  “Hear that?” said Daniel. “He deliberately tried to run her down. I demand that you arrest him.”

  Easling sucked in his cheeks and then puffed them out like a blacksmith’s bellows. “You demand? You have no authority to demand anything. Rolandson, keep your man in order.”

  Daniel launched himself at Easling and grabbed him by the lapels.

  “Unhand me, sir, or you will be arrested!”

  “Cool it, Danny; cool it.” Rollo wheedled his way between the two men, put a hand on each of their bellies, and pushed them apart. Daniel continued to hold on to Easling’s lapels until a whimpered “Please, Daniel” from Poppy convinced him to let go.

  “Can you all please go?” asked Poppy, sounding as if she was about to start crying. The men looked at each other, daring the other to go first. “Not you, Rollo. I need to speak to you. But Daniel, can you come back later please? And Inspector, can this wait until the morning? I’ve had a dreadful shock.”

  Easling grunted, but then nodded his assent. “All right. But Rolandson, talk to this young buck or he’ll be taking photographs inside a prison cell.”

  Daniel looked as if he was about to retort, but didn’t. Easling gave a sniff of victory then turned and left. He stopped in the doorway: “I’ll take your statement in the morning, Miss Denby.”

  “I suggest, Inspector, you make sure Miz Denby’s aunt isn’t here when you do. I don’t mind stopping Danny boy here from decking you, but I wouldn’t dream of denying a lady the opportunity.” He grinned and winked at Poppy.

  Easling’s eyes narrowed and he pointed a quivering finger at Rollo, saying, “You’re on borrowed time, Rolandson.” Then he left.

  Daniel flopped down in a chair and swore. “Sorry, Poppy.”

  “It’s all right, Daniel. Thank you for defending me. But I really need to speak to Rollo alone.”

  Daniel looked offended.

  “Go on, Dan,” said Rollo, tossing his shaggy red head towards the door.

  “All right. I’ll see if your aunt and Mrs Wilson need anything.”

  “That’s a fella.”

  Poppy waited until Daniel had left the room before saying to the editor, “Do you know where my satchel is, Rollo?”

  Rollo looked quizzically at Poppy. “Hang on, I’ll look for it.” He had a scout around the room, opened a cupboard or two and returned with Poppy’s satchel.

  “Look inside,” she said. “There should be a folded piece of paper. It’s a page that’s been torn out of a ledger.”

  Rollo had a dig around inside the bag but shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Rollo emptied the contents of the satchel onto the bed and sorted through them so that Poppy could see. “Nothing. What is it? What are you looking for?”

  “Elizabeth Dorchester gave it to me. It’s a page from a ledger.” She then went on to tell Rollo what had happened when she went to visit Elizabeth and the deal she had made with the woman to try to get her out. “So do you think you can still do it? Even without the ledger page?”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Poppy, yes. And I’ll speak to our legal team about overturning the sectioning order. But I don’t imagine it will be easy. You say there’s a box of evidence somewhere.”

  “Yes, but she won’t tell us where until we get her out.”

  “Understandable. The problem is, Alfie is now likely to know about it. If he’s got the ledger page he’ll be showing his father. It’s just a matter of time until Elizabeth is silenced.”

  “Silenced?” asked Poppy, not wanting to consider what lengths the male Dorchesters would go to to keep Elizabeth quiet. They’d kept her locked away for seven years, but now that was no longer enough.

  “We’ve got to get her out, Rollo.”

  “I know. I’ll do my best. But don’t worry about it now, Poppy. You need to get better.” He took her hand and patted it with paternal warmth. “I should never have let you go there on your own. What was I thinking? You could have been…”

  Poppy squeezed his hand. “Stop, Rollo. It was my choice, and I’m glad I went – even if it does mean I’m stuck here for a few days.”

  He grinned, and Poppy couldn’t help thinking he looked like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. And come to think of it, she felt a bit like Alice after she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

  “Promise me you’ll get better, Poppy.”

  She smiled gently. “I’ll do my best, Rollo.”

  “Good. Because my office isn’t going to clean itself!”

  They both laughed until Poppy winced from the effort.

  Rollo frowned in sympathy. “Do me a favour. Don’t tell anyone else about the ledger page.”

  “No one?”

  “No one. I think we might have a mole at The Globe. There’s the missing Jazz File – and of course Bert’s ‘accident’ – but beyond that, someone seems to be one step ahead of us. How did Dorchester know you were going to be there?”

  “Maybe it was just a coincidence.”

  “Maybe. But just to be on the safe side, keep this between us.”

  “And Daniel.”

  “No, not Daniel. I don’t like saying this, but no one is above suspicion. Not yet. And even if he is, he’s a bit too – how should we say? – emotionally involved with you to not do something stupid. We need clear heads on this, Poppy. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” said Poppy and yawned.

  Later, after Rollo had left and Poppy drifted off to sleep, her thoughts were not about Alfie or Elizabeth Dorchester, nor even of Bert Isaacs or Richard Easling, but of Daniel Rokeby. Emotionally involved? Really? Now that was a nice thought.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Oh, you look better!”

  Aunt Dot wheeled into Poppy’s hospital room, followed by Grace. It was late morning and Poppy had already had one visitor: DCI Richard Easling. True to his word he had been there first thing, and after a brief consultation with the doctor, he had taken her statement. Poppy outlined exactly what had happened outside the asylum and her belief that Alfie had deliberately swerved to the wrong side of the road to hit her. Easling dutifully wrote down what she said, but Poppy doubted the statement would ever see the inside of a courtroom. Then he asked her why she had been to see Elizabeth Dorchester. Rollo had prepared her for this and she followed his script to the letter: she had been following up a lead on a story, the details of which fell under press privilege.

  Easling pursed his lips under his pencil-thin moustache, not hiding his frustration. “I can get a court order, Miss Denby…”

  “You do that, Inspector. And if there is nothing else, I would like to eat my breakfast in peace. Nurse, can you show the inspector out please?”

  The nurse, already perturbed that Easling had muscled his way in outside of normal visiting hours, was only too happy to oblige.

  By the time Aunt Dot and Grace came to visit her she had eaten her breakfast, been examined by the doctor – who declared her to be pleasingly on the mend – and had received a bed bath. A bouquet of flowers had also been delivered. The card said: “My dearest Miss Denby. Please be more careful. You are too pretty to be lost to the world. Wishing you a speedy recovery. Alfie Dorchester.”

  “Please be more careful? Oh, the cheek of it! Shall I get rid of them for you?”

  “Yes please, Aunt Dot. Perhaps you can give them – without the card – to another patient who needs cheering up.”

  “Good idea, darling. You are always so very thoughtful. Even at times like this.”

  “How are you feeling?” asked Grace, pulling up a chair to the bedside
.

  “I’ve been better,” said Poppy, gingerly fingering a throbbing lump on her head. “But the doctor said there’s no permanent damage and I can leave in a few days.”

  “Oh, that’s such a relief,” declared Dot. “And the feeling in your legs? Has it come back?”

  “It has. Just like the doctor said.”

  “You had one of those new-fangled X-rays, didn’t you? I wonder if I’d had one they would have been able to save my legs…”

  Grace laid a hand on Dot’s knee. “I don’t think so, Dorothy. An X-ray can only take a picture of what’s already there, not reverse any damage. Isn’t that right, Poppy?”

  “That’s right,” agreed Poppy, “but it might have helped doctors see where the damage was so they could treat it more effectively.”

  Aunt Dot sighed and shook out her curls: “What’s done is done. No one can undo the past, can they, girls?”

  Grace agreed that they couldn’t, but Poppy wondered whether it would be possible to at least reverse some of the damage. If not physically, then emotionally. She thought again of Elizabeth Dorchester and the secrets she carried, and wondered what the two women in front of her knew. She had promised Rollo not to tell anyone about the ledger page, but surely Grace and Aunt Dot would have put two and two together and realized where she had just come from when Alfie knocked her down.

  “Do you know where I was yesterday when I had the accident?”