“More coffee?”
“Thank you, yes. Another thing they denied us. Got us too worked up, they said.”
Poppy smiled and poured the coffee.
“Delilah should be home soon. Later this morning, anyway. She said it was only a morning rehearsal.”
“She’s an actress?”
Poppy nodded.
“Just like her mother.”
“And my aunt.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth blew on the coffee to cool it, then sipped tentatively. “So, what then? When Delilah gets back.”
“I’m not sure. I need to see my editor. I can’t phone him, because I think your brother is tapping the telephones.”
“That sounds like him.”
“So I will need to go in person. I’m just not sure it will be safe for you to come with me. You’re a fugitive now. We need to find somewhere safe for you to hide.”
“Why not here?”
“Because a police officer we know, Inspector Easling, spotted Delilah and me this morning, lurking in the vicinity of Willow Park. I’m sure it won’t be long before they start coming around asking questions.”
Elizabeth stood up, her napkin falling to the floor. “Then we should go.”
“Probably, but I want to wait for Delilah. She shouldn’t be long.” There was a knock on the door. “Ah, that will be her now.”
She stood up and started towards the door, but Elizabeth caught her arm and whispered, “Why would Delilah be knocking on her own door?”
Poppy raised her eyebrows in alarm. Elizabeth was right. “Hide in the bathroom then,” she whispered in return.
She walked slowly to the door, giving the older woman time to retreat, then put the security chain on before answering. And just as well she did, as Alfie Dorchester was waiting on the other side.
“Ah, Miss Denby. Your aunt and her friend told me you would be here. Is Delilah in?”
“No, she’s at rehearsal. I’m staying here for a few days while my aunt and Mrs Wilson recover from the flu.”
“Yes, that’s what they said. Can I come in?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I’d like to see Delilah.”
“I’ve told you, she isn’t here.”
He peered over her head and into the flat. “There are two plates on the table…”
“Delilah ate earlier. I haven’t cleaned up yet.”
“I thought the two of you breakfasted at Battersea Park…”
So Easling had run to his master.
“No, just an early morning walk. Then Delilah dropped me here before going to rehearsal. You can catch her at the theatre if you really want to see her. Goodbye.”
She pushed the door to close it, but Alfie lodged his foot in the opening.
“Excuse me!”
“Come on, Poppy. Let’s stop beating around the bush. I can’t prove it – yet – but I know you’ve got something to do with it.”
“With what?”
“My sister disappearing from the asylum. They think she was kidnapped by a window cleaner.” Alfie threw back his head and laughed. “A window cleaner? Where did you get that idea?”
“I’ve no idea what you are talking about.”
“It’s just a matter of time before the police catch up with him. And then we’ll find out where he’s stashed my sister.” He peered over her head again and called, “Oh Lizzy, darling. Where are you?”
“You’ve lost your marbles,” said Poppy and tried ramming the door again. This time Alfie thrust out his arm and grabbed the front of her blouse, pulling her towards him. Her chin banged painfully against the door frame.
Poppy yelped.
“Is everything all right there?” A voice from across the hall.
“Ah yes, nothing to worry about,” said Alfie soothingly and released his hold on Poppy.
“I’ll be back,” he hissed.
Poppy shut the door and leaned back against it, shaking.
“Are you all right?” It was Elizabeth.
“Yes. But we’d better get out of here. You heard him; he’ll be back.”
After scribbling a quick note for Delilah, Poppy and Elizabeth didn’t waste any time scuttling down the fire escape and into the alley. Elizabeth took the lead, her years of experience in avoiding the police coming to the fore. She crouched behind bins, ducked into doorways and flattened herself against walls. Poppy followed suit. They gradually made their way to a bus stop a few streets away from King’s Road – out of fear it was being watched – and jumped on the first bus that came along. Eventually they made their way to Fleet Street.
Poppy suggested that Elizabeth wait for her in St Bride’s Church – also known as the Journalists’ Church – while she went to see Rollo. The note they had left for Delilah had told her to meet them there as soon as she could. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too long.
As she was leaving, the older woman turned to her and said, “It’s not just the flu that’s keeping us from Dot and Grace’s, is it?”
Poppy sighed and came and sat down beside her. “No, it isn’t. Frank Wilson showed me a letter from your father to my aunt suggesting that back in 1910 he was paying her for something.”
Elizabeth did not look surprised. “So your aunt’s the mole.”
“I don’t know that. That’s what the letter suggested, but it wasn’t that clear what the money was actually for. Perhaps she was blackmailing him.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Poppy. “I was hoping you would be able to shed some more light on it. You or whatever’s in that box…”
“I can’t tell you. Not yet.” Elizabeth looked around her suspiciously, vetting the few lonely worshippers in case they were eavesdropping. “Look, Poppy, I’m grateful you got me out of the asylum, but let me be honest – you haven’t filled me with the greatest confidence that you know what you’re doing or that you will be able to get the information in the box into the right hands.”
“Fair enough. But if I set up a meeting with my editor, will you give it to him?”
Elizabeth thought about this for a while, then nodded. “If I can get certain assurances from him in writing, yes.”
“All right. But we don’t have much time. Alfie already suspects I was involved in your kidnapping, and if the police think the same, there’ll be a warrant out for my arrest. If they get me, I won’t be able to help you. Believe me, Miss Dorchester, I want the truth just as much as you do. I want to expose whoever was responsible for my aunt’s accident. I want to find out what really happened to Delilah’s mother. And to my colleague, Bert Isaacs. This is not just a story, Miss Dorchester; it’s my life.”
Elizabeth gauged her, assessing her sincerity. “Those are noble ideals, Poppy, but noble ideals are what got me into trouble in the first place. That and trusting some people who should never have been trusted. So you’ll forgive me if I want hard evidence that your newspaper will do what you say it will do. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Poppy.
Poppy waited for a gap in the traffic and skipped across Fleet Street. It was half past eleven and the editorial staff would be gearing up for the noon briefing. She hoped to catch Rollo before he went in. Mavis Bradshaw was at the reception desk sorting through some mail.
“Poppy! Everyone’s been looking for you.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“Rollo, Daniel…” She gave Poppy a maternal look. “What’s happened with you two?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was so excited that you were coming back from Leamington Spa yesterday. He even asked my advice on which restaurant he should take you to. But then – well, I don’t know – you tell me…”
“There’s nothing to tell, Mavis. I’m not interested and that’s that. I –”
Suddenly there was a wail of sirens. Mavis and Poppy looked up and saw a Black Mariah pull up outside the building and Richard Easling and a pair of uniformed officers get out. Poppy fell to th
e floor and crawled around behind the reception desk.
“Whatever are you doing, Poppy?”
“I think they’re after me. Please, hide me. I’ll explain later.”
Poppy heard the door to the foyer being flung open and the clatter of boots on the mosaic floor. She crawled as far as she could under Mavis’s desk and surreptitiously pulled down the receptionist’s jacket from a chair to partially cover her.
“I’m looking for Poppy Denby!” shouted Easling. “And Rollo Rolandson. I have a warrant for their arrest.”
“Whatever for?” asked Mavis, positioning herself over Poppy like a mother hen.
“Conspiracy to commit abduction and perverting the course of justice.”
“I – well… they’re both upstairs at an editorial meeting. I’ll just ring up and let them know you’re –”
“Don’t bother. We’re going up. Take the stairs – don’t let them come down,” he instructed his officers. “You’re looking for a blonde girl and a dwarf.”
The boots clattered off, then the lift bell clanged, suggesting Easling was covering the other avenue to the upper floors. After a minute or two, Mavis whispered to Poppy, “Get out of here, quickly! Go through the basement.”
“What about Rollo?” asked Poppy as she scrambled to her feet.
“Don’t worry. He can look after himself. Go!”
“All right. Tell him I’ve got Elizabeth Dorchester at St Bride’s; but it won’t be safe for us to stay there long. Tell him I’m going to move her now. He needs to come and meet her. I’ll send word of where and when. If he’s not in prison…”
There was a shout and sounds of an altercation from above. Ivan’s booming voice echoed around the atrium. “Vat do you vant here? Get out, you peegs!”
“Go!”
Poppy did not wait for further instructions. She ran as fast as she could down the stairs to the basement.
CHAPTER 32
Poppy ran through the basement without explanation for the second time in a week. The printers didn’t blink an eyelid. Apparently journalists on the run from someone or other were par for the course at The Globe.
Outside she walked briskly down the alley and into Fleet Street, checking to see if there were any police officers in the Black Mariah. There was one, but he was busy picking something out of his teeth and didn’t notice her as she slipped between parked cars and crossed the road. She slowed down her pace as she approached the walkway to St Bride’s Church, hoping not to draw any attention in case the police decided to question the locals about the whereabouts of a blonde girl with a warrant out for her arrest.
Inside the church she was relieved to see the auburn hair of Elizabeth Dorchester and the black bob of Delilah Marconi.
“You made it,” she said to her friend.
“Yes, I got your note. Good heavens, Poppy, I think the police might be after you. They came and questioned me at the theatre.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That I hadn’t seen you since I dropped you off at the flat after our ‘breakfast walk’ this morning.”
“Good. That’s what I told Alfie.”
“Elizabeth told me he’d been round.” Delilah used a string of expletives to describe her feelings for her former suitor, which raised a disapproving look from a nearby worshipper.
“Sorry,” said Delilah, crossing herself in repentance, not realizing that wasn’t the done thing in an Anglican church.
“Where’s your editor?” asked Elizabeth.
“On the run from the police.” Poppy explained what had happened in the Globe building. “But don’t worry, he’s resourceful. If they do take him in, his solicitors will get him out – freedom of the press, etcetera, etcetera. Besides, he honestly didn’t ‘conspire to kidnap’ you. That was all my idea – he knew nothing about it.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Elizabeth.
“What now?” asked Delilah.
“Now,” said Poppy, rising to her feet, “we need to get somewhere safe until we can set up the meeting with Rollo and Miss Dorchester. This is too close to The Globe for comfort.”
Poppy, Elizabeth and Delilah got off the bus in Wapping at the bottom of Mr Thompson’s street. Adam apparently had been questioned about why his vehicle had been seen in the vicinity of the scene of a kidnapping and he had point-blank refused to give the keys to Delilah.
“Oh dear. Is it over between you two?” asked Poppy.
“Of course not. He’ll get over it. But in the meantime, it’s public transport for us.”
Elizabeth, who had not been on the roads of London in over seven years, commented on how many motor vehicles there were compared to her day and how newfangled they all looked. But as they walked into Wapping, it was as if they were going back in time. Horses and carts and push barrows were the standard fare, and the roads were rutted and full of potholes. They walked to the end of the terrace and saw a group of women gathering up laundry strewn across the road. Mrs Thompson was in the midst of them. She started when she saw the three well-to-do women.
“Get away. You’ve caused enough trouble!” Her eye was swollen and her lip split and bloodied.
“Mrs Thompson! What happened?”
“Tricky Ricky Easling. He was round looking for our Bill. I told him he wasn’t here. He didn’t believe me and gave me this for me trouble. Then he trashed the place looking for – for her!” She pointed an accusing finger at Elizabeth. “It’s her, isn’t it? The one this is all about.”
“Yes, this is Elizabeth Dorchester. But as I explained last night –”
“I don’t care what you said. This has gone too far. Easling’s after my Bill.”
“Is he –”
“He’s on the run, that’s what he is. Him and his old horse. We didn’t ask for this trouble. Now get out of ’ere before I tell them where to find ya.”
“What have you told them?”
“I told them it was you and your editor’s fault. I told them you was from The Globe.”
So that’s why there had been the raid on the Globe office… Staying here was no longer an option. She turned to Delilah. “Is there anyone in your family who can help us?”
“I’m not sure. Papa is in Malta. Uncle Elmo is in New York at a conference…”
“I know somewhere,” said Elizabeth.
“Where?”
Elizabeth looked at Mrs Thompson’s battered face and the curious gazes of the neighbours. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
The three women returned to the bus stop and waited for the next bus. Both Poppy and Delilah tried to ask Elizabeth where they were going, but the older woman looked around furtively, put her finger to her lips and said, “Walls have ears.”
Poppy wondered if she was quite as sane as she thought. Years in an asylum must have rubbed off on her a bit.
They were getting curious stares from the locals: three middle- to upper-class ladies in a working-class neighbourhood waiting at a bus stop would always attract attention. Poppy wished the bus would hurry up.
Suddenly, a young woman ran around the corner and nearly hurtled into them. She pulled herself up, gasping an apology, and held a hand to her side. “Oh, I’ve caught you! Mum said you’d been.”
“Vicky?” asked Poppy, not sure whether she’d correctly remembered the Thompson girl’s name.
“That’s right, miss. Miss Denby. Miss Marconi and – ah, you must be Captain Dorchester’s sister.”
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Because Miss Denby told us last night she was going to rescue you and that you would be able to put your brother away for what he’d done to our Billy.”
Elizabeth looked at Poppy. “What’s she talking about?”
Poppy realized she hadn’t yet told Elizabeth about the Victoria Cross angle to the investigation.
When she’d finished, Elizabeth nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me in the least. He was always a coward.” Then to Vicky: “I’m very sorry abo
ut your brother. But I’m not sure what I can do…”
“Well, as soon as you give us the box and it turns out to provide the evidence we need against your father and Easling, then we will produce Sophie Blackburn’s evidence about the VC and the true reason for Melvyn’s support of the Radium Institute,” offered Poppy.
“So that’s your plan, is it?”
“It’s my editor’s plan, yes.”
“I think I need to speak to your editor.”
Poppy exhaled sharply. This was going round in circles. “I’m doing my best, Miss Dorchester. I can’t produce him out of a hat. So if you just give me the box I will –”
Elizabeth raised her hand to silence Poppy. “I’ll make you a deal. I will give your editor until six o’clock this evening to turn up. If he doesn’t, I will give you the box, but then I’ll disappear and you won’t be able to use me as evidence. If I’m caught I will claim coercion. It will weaken your story, but it’s the best I am prepared to offer.”
“But we can’t go back to The Globe. It’ll be watched.”
“I know that.” Elizabeth turned to Vicky. “Did the policeman who hit your mother see you? Or any of the men who were with him?”
“No. I wasn’t there when it happened. Me mum just told me now.”
“Good. Poppy, do you have a notebook and pencil in that satchel?”
“I do.”
“Excellent. Give it here.”
Elizabeth wrote swiftly, filling one side of a page, then she folded it neatly and wrote Att of: Rollo Rolandson and/or the Globe solicitors. She then instructed Vicky to deliver it to Rollo in person. If he was not available then she was to ask to be directed to the Globe solicitors. Under no circumstances was she to give the note to anyone other than Rollo or a solicitor. If she was unable to do so, she was to destroy the note and come home and not say a word to anyone.
Vicky nodded vigorously as she received her instructions. “I won’t let you down, miss. I promise!”
The Jazz Files Page 24