“Last Monday. A week today. It was my first day at work. He fell from a balcony.”
“Dear God.” Sophie’s shaking hand covered her mouth, her eyes widened and filled with tears. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me?”
Poppy’s voice softened in pity. “I’m sorry. But no. I hadn’t realized you didn’t know. But there’s no reason you would. You weren’t next of kin and –”
“I was the closest thing to kin he ever had!”
CHAPTER 23
The letter lay spread between them. While Sophie was staring out of the window, gathering her thoughts, Poppy read the incriminating text again: “‘Dearest Bert, I’m sure it will come as a surprise that I am contacting you again after all these years … Why did you write this, Sophie?”
Sophie swivelled her head back to look at Poppy. Her eyes were red and puffy and some wisps of hair had come loose from her bun. It softened her face and made her look younger.
“Just what it says. I wanted Bert to look into the deal between the Radium Institute and Melvyn Dorchester.”
“You imply here that there is something underhand going on. Is there? My editor contacted Madame Curie and she said everything was above board.”
“No, she didn’t. She said she believed Dorchester had changed his views on women.”
“Do you believe he has?”
“No. And neither does Marie.”
“Then why did she take the money and give her endorsement to him receiving the X-ray contract?”
Sophie splayed her hands and flexed her fingers open and closed, as if examining their intricate workings. “Have you ever had an X-ray, Miss Denby?”
“Yes, I have. Although I was unconscious at the time. Just a few days ago, in fact, after my run-in with Alfie’s motorcar.”
“Then obviously it revealed that you had no broken bones.”
“Thankfully not.”
“But if you had – perhaps a hairline fracture that at first would not impair your mobility – and you had not had an X-ray, you could have been walking around with a time bomb in your body. The bone could have become infected; or a nearby nerve lacerated… X-rays save lives, Poppy, and” – she gestured towards the door – “so does the research into radioactive molecular science that we conduct here.”
Poppy was intrigued and wished she could have come under different circumstances and received a tour of the laboratory. Perhaps when this was over she could come back and do a feature article on the work here…
“Has anyone close to you died of the Spanish flu?” Sophie continued.
“Some people from my home town, yes.”
“Did you know that the latest estimates believe fifty million people have died around the world in only two years? That’s far, far more than were killed in the war, but is about the same as deaths by cancer. The thing is, flu comes and goes, and with quarantine measures and improved hygiene can be contained, but nothing can contain cancer. The cause is not out there but in here” – she patted her chest – “and nothing can quarantine you from that.”
Poppy cleared her throat and picked up the letter. “Miss Blackburn, if you don’t mind, can we –”
Sophie’s eyes flashed and she snatched the letter from Poppy. “I do mind! You asked me a question and I’m giving you an answer.”
Chastened, Poppy nodded an apology. “Please, continue.”
“The work we are doing here is saving lives. It will save millions of lives. Year after year after year. But we need money to keep it going. Melvyn Dorchester has money, and if turning a blind eye to his offensive views on women is the price we have to pay, then so be it. X-ray machines are soon going to be available in hospitals around the world. If he profits from it, that’s a pity, but in our eyes the end justifies the means.”
Poppy reached out and took hold of the letter. Sophie released it and allowed her to spread it out once again on the table before them.
“And yet you feel guilty about it.”
Sophie did not answer.
“You say here that you want Bert to expose Dorchester. But what is there to expose if the deal was above board?”
“Financially, yes, at least from his side –”
“But not from Madame Curie’s.”
Sophie’s eyes flashed again. “Marie is completely innocent in this. It was me. I am the one who – how shall we say? – arranged Dorchester’s donation.”
“And that could open you up to criminal prosecution.”
Sophie sighed. “Yes, it could. But I was hoping that Bert exposing Dorchester’s hypocrisy in his support for the sex disqualification bill would divert attention away from me. I’ve also written to Marjorie Reynolds, but I have yet to hear back from her.”
Poppy felt they were just scratching the surface. Why would Sophie be open to criminal prosecution? What was her crime? Unless… unless her arrangement had taken the form of blackmail. Yes, that would make sense. She had threatened to reveal she was on Dorchester’s payroll back when she was part of the Chelsea Six. Or perhaps it went further. Could it involve murder?
“They shouldn’t have died.”
They? Gloria and who else?
“We tried our best, we really did, but it was too late.”
Poppy wanted to interject, to ask for clarification, but she bit her tongue and waited.
“There were thirteen of them. All young men. Most of them were already dead – shot to bits – but a few of them were still alive, impaled on the wire. They hadn’t stood a chance. Anyone could see the Germans had the vantage point. We waved our white flags at their machine-gun nest on the knoll and they let us through with our van. But it was too late. Those that hadn’t died in the charge had bled to death overnight. Apart from two of them. Incredibly, I knew them both. One of them was just a lad. The son of the window cleaner from King’s Road. Is he still around? Thompson, I think his name is. Had a green wagon back then; don’t know if he still does…”
Poppy nodded, stunned at the direction the conversation was going in, but not wanting to disrupt Sophie’s flow.
“He was the only one still conscious. And he told me what had happened. His captain had told them to storm the nest. They’d told him they wouldn’t stand a chance, but he’d been adamant, threatening to charge the lot of them with insubordination and cowardice in the face of the enemy. So they did what they were told, and, as predicted, they were mown down.” Sophie’s eyes were far away, as if viewing that Belgian battlefield again.
Poppy reached out her hand and touched the older woman’s forearm. “I’m sorry. That must have been a terrible thing to see.”
Sophie shrugged. “I was used to it by then. Death, that is. But not cowardice.”
“What do you mean?”
“We found the thirteenth member of the group back in the trench. He had a bullet wound to his shoulder, but by the angle of it, and the evidence of the revolver lying beside him, Marie and I came to the conclusion that he had shot himself. If we had seen the bullet after it was extracted from him, we could have confirmed it. As it turned out, a friend of mine operated on him when we returned him to the field hospital. Unfortunately, my friend was killed a few weeks later, but before he died he gave something to me.”
She got up and went to a filing cabinet, pulled out a drawer, and extracted a fat envelope. Returning to the desk she opened the envelope and slid out a wad of fabric, which, when unfolded, revealed a bullet. She placed it on top of the letter.
“Is that…?” asked Poppy, picking up the small metal object between thumb and forefinger.
Sophie nodded. “The bullet extracted from Alfie Dorchester. You’ll find, under analysis, that it is British issue, not German, and that it matches Alfie’s gun. The coward shot himself after he realized he’d sent his men to their death. Then he came up with the cock-and-bull story about trying to save them – and won himself the Victoria Cross.”
“But surely witnesses could have come forward…”
“Who? All the tro
ops died – including the Thompson lad. The Huns didn’t care one way or the other, and as I said, the doctor who extracted the bullet was also killed soon after.”
“But you knew…”
Sophie sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again they were filled with something Poppy could not quite decipher. Was it remorse? Guilt?
“It was just one of many, many death scenes we came across. And I only found out about the VC a couple of years ago. When I did, I thought of going forward, but” – she splayed her hands again – “I decided to use the information to my, to our, advantage.”
“And you blackmailed him.”
“Yes. I sent a letter to Melvyn Dorchester telling him what we knew about his son and that we would go to the press unless he contributed to the coffers of the Radium Institute. Don’t look at me like that, Miss Denby. There was nothing I could do to save the lives of those poor young men, but there was a lot I – and Dorchester’s money – could do to save the lives of others.”
“But you’re turning him in anyway.”
“The money’s spent. And Marie has made some contacts in America who are likely to open up a whole new funding stream.” Sophie’s shoulders sagged and she slumped further in her chair. “But I didn’t expect it to cost Bert his life.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come, Miss Denby, don’t tell me you think Bert’s death was an accident.”
“No, I don’t. I believe he was pushed because he was getting too close to the truth. But I’m afraid, Miss Blackburn, he wasn’t looking in the direction you’d hoped. He was going back to 1913 to the secret the two of you shared… the secret witnessed by Elizabeth Dorchester.”
“Whatever are you talking about? What has Elizabeth to do with this? Oh, surely you don’t mean… She couldn’t! She never knew anything about it. She was in Holloway at the time. It was just a few mad weeks and –”
Poppy shook her head. What was this woman talking about? She held up her hand. “Can we please just have some straight talk here? You said in your letter that you were deeply ashamed about something and that Bert knew about it and had kept your secret all these years. You also said it had something to do with Melvyn Dorchester.”
“It has! Have you not been listening? It’s this business about his son.”
“And Bert knew about that?”
“No, no.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Bert and I were in love. We were hoping to get married, but he was just waiting for the right time to tell his mother. He was Jewish; I’m not. His mother had wanted him to marry a Jewess. She died soon afterwards, actually. He was an only child and his father was already dead. If only I’d waited… But I didn’t. I got impatient, insisting he just tell his mother to like it or lump it. He wouldn’t. So weeks turned to months and I got frustrated. In the meantime, Frank and Grace were going through a rough patch and Frank confided in me. Before we knew it we were having an affair. I didn’t love him and I don’t think he loved me. We were just two lonely, frustrated people finding comfort where we could. But Bert found out, and… well, we broke up. Not that we were officially engaged in the first place, and no one even knew about us, other than Frank, but we ended it.”
“And the secret?”
“My affair with Frank.”
“Grace never knew?”
“She suspected, but no, she never had any proof.”
“But she and Frank separated anyway.”
“Yes, it was inevitable. Grace was obsessed with your aunt –”
Poppy was appalled at the insinuation and held up both hands. “I beg your pardon, Miss Blackburn. I hope you’re not implying –”
“That Grace is in love with Dot? Yes, I am. Surely you can see that for yourself; you live with them, after all…”
“They are nothing but good friends!”
Sophie smiled pitifully. “Oh, Poppy dear, you are so very young.”
Poppy smarted at the insult, but brought herself back under control. There was a lot more she needed to find out and getting distracted like this was not going to help. She took in a deep breath and continued her questioning.
“Have you ever heard it suggested that there was a mole in the Chelsea Six?”
It was now Sophie’s turn to look surprised. “Why ever are you asking that?”
“Well, have you?”
“Well, if you must know, and I’m not sure why you need to –”
“Please answer the question, Miss Blackburn. If you want me to help you expose Melvyn and Alfie Dorchester while keeping yourself out of prison for blackmail, then you need to give me something in return.”
Sophie straightened up and looked Poppy directly in the eye. “Hmm, a bit of backbone after all. Well, Poppy, for Bert’s sake, and his only, I will tell you as much as I know. Yes, I had suspected there was a mole. Too often we planned things and the police were already there ahead of us.”
“And were you the mole?”
If Poppy had expected Sophie to stand up in protest, she was disappointed.
“No, I wasn’t. But I was approached.”
“You were? By whom?”
“Richard Easling.”
“He asked you to inform on your friends?”
“Not in so many words, but it was implied. So I implied what he could do with his offer.”
“Do you think he approached someone else then? On Dorchester’s behalf?”
“I do.”
“And who was that?”
“Gloria Marconi.”
Gloria Marconi? Poppy was stunned.
There was a knock on the door and Henri stuck his head around, asking if they wanted more coffee. Sophie looked at Poppy, who nodded wordlessly. She needed something with a kick after that bit of information. After Henri left, she resumed her questioning.
“What evidence do you have?”
“None really; it was just a suspicion. But why else would she suddenly be released from Holloway on the same day as Elizabeth? And why else would she be killed?”
Henri returned with a tray and placed it on the table. Sophie poured for both of them.
“So you also believe Gloria was murdered.”
Sophie paused, milk jug in hand. “Also?”
“Yes, that’s what Elizabeth believes too. She said she saw a shadow push Gloria under the train.”
“A shadow? Nothing more specific than that?”
“No. And unfortunately, if you have no more evidence than a hunch, there is no more than that.”
Sophie sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “So that’s really why you’re here. You thought the terrible secret I was keeping – and that Bert knew about – was that I had killed Gloria.”
“Well, the thought had crossed my mind.”
“If I was a killer, Miss Denby, your life would be in danger right now.”
Poppy swallowed slowly, the fear that had dissipated now returning. “Indeed that would be correct, Miss Blackburn. However, my editor knows where I am and –”
Sophie raised her hand and laughed. “Oh Poppy, my dear little Poppy, I may be a blackmailer and an adulteress, but I am not a murderer. Frank will attest that he and I were… well, we were otherwise occupied at the time of Gloria’s death. And your aunt, although she doesn’t realize it, almost walked in on us.” She laughed, coldly. “Well, not walked, of course. She’d just got back from the hairdresser’s and we heard her in the hall and quickly got dressed. Just as well we did. Grace came back soon after.”
“Came back?”
“From dropping Gloria at the train station.”
Ah yes, this was familiar territory. This and the box. “Well, Miss Blackburn, you have certainly filled in a few gaps here. But there’s just one more thing: did Gloria mention a box to you on the day she died?”
Sophie looked thoughtful, trying to remember. “No. I don’t believe she did. But she could have. She wasn’t well and I tried to get her to agree to go to the hospital. There was a lot of confusion and a lot was said, but I d
on’t honestly remember a box. Why?”
She couldn’t “honestly remember”? Poppy doubted that Sophie could be trusted to be completely honest about anything, but her story about being with Frank at the time of Gloria’s death seemed completely plausible. As did her story about Alfie. And she did have the bullet…
“I can’t tell you, I’m afraid. It was part of Bert’s investigation. If something comes of it, you’ll read all about it in the paper.”
“And will I read all about my arrest for blackmail?”
Poppy smiled. “As you have pointed out, Miss Blackburn, I have a lot to learn, but I do know that journalists are supposed to protect the identity of their sources, and unlike you, I am a woman who sticks to her word. My editor Mr Rolandson will be in touch to discuss the finer details of our arrangement.”
Feeling very much the grown-up career woman, Poppy retrieved the letter, stood up and walked to the door.
“Good day to you, Miss Blackburn, and thank you for your time. You have been most helpful.”
Sophie appraised her, smiled, and then played her final card: “I do hope you get back to your hotel safely, Miss Denby. I believe the Hôtel du Congrès is rather full this time of year.”
“How did you know –”
“I didn’t. But Alfie Dorchester did. He also knew you were coming to see me before you left England. You don’t think it was an accident he was on the ferry at exactly the same time as you, do you? Oh, Miss Denby, you do have a lot to learn.”
CHAPTER 24
Poppy sat in the same pew of L’église de la Madeleine as she had done the previous day. A young priest nodded a greeting and pointed towards a pile of postcards near the door, then left her to her prayers or contemplation of the architecture; he did not know which and didn’t seem to care.
She was too distracted to pray, but tried to focus on a window depicting the fall of man in Eden. Once she’d got to grips with the medieval style of depiction, she began to identify different elements: a woman, a serpent, a heart being crushed by the serpent… The door creaked. Poppy looked up anxiously. It was only an old lady in black. The woman dabbed her finger into the holy water, mumbled something, then shuffled off.
The Jazz Files Page 18