The Jazz Files

by Fiona Veitch Smith

  “Good girl,” said Elizabeth, then instructed Vicky to go to another bus stop.

  “And where are we going?” asked Poppy.

  “That is on a need-to-know basis,” said Elizabeth.

  Poppy sighed.

  When the bus came, Elizabeth asked the bus driver for three tickets to the nearest Tube station, which turned out to be Liverpool Street. At Liverpool Street Elizabeth asked for three tickets to Paddington station. It was only then that Poppy realized where they were going.

  CHAPTER 33

  5 NOVEMBER 1913

  Elizabeth Dorchester ran. She ignored the cries of the engine driver behind her. She ignored the screams of the passengers who had got off the train to see why they had stopped so suddenly. She ignored the thought that she really should go and see if Gloria was still alive. And she ignored the snow that was turning to sleet and slicing at her face like a razor.

  She didn’t check to see if the shadow was still behind her as she ran into the maze of alleys between the locomotive sheds. It was only when Elizabeth’s foot caught on some loose cable and she fell face first into a pile of coal that she stopped to look. There was no one there. She felt something warm run down her temple. She reached up and felt the wetness, then licked her fingers to confirm that it was blood. Funny, she felt no pain. None at all.

  She could still hear the cries from the scene of the accident punctuated by the whizzes and bangs of the distant firework display. Each rocket that cascaded back to earth lit up the train yard. And while she was grateful for the light, she realized she too would be illuminated. People would start searching for her – if they weren’t already. The train people, the shadow, her father…

  Elizabeth picked herself up and retrieved her satchel from the coal stack. It felt lighter than it should, although she could still feel the shape of the cedarwood box through the canvas. Something else was missing. She waited for the next fireworks to go off and used the light to search the black mound. Something shiny caught her eye – yes, thank God, it was the gilded pages of her Bible. She picked it up and held it tightly to her chest.

  She prayed, as she had prayed every day since her incarceration. God had answered her prayers for freedom, but not in the way she had expected. He seemed to do that a lot. Give with one hand and take with another. How could he have let Gloria be killed? How could he? Her priest had once told her that God wept over each pain and heartache experienced by his children. Then why didn’t he stop it? Why?

  “Search the sheds!”

  They were on to her. She checked to see that the page she had torn from her father’s ledger was still in the lining of the Bible, stuffed it in her satchel and then removed the cedarwood box. She took the silk scarf from her neck and wrapped it tightly around the box. Then she tried a few shed doors. They were all locked. But then, just as she was about to put the box back in her satchel, she spotted a loose piece of corrugated iron around the back of one shed. She prised it open, not flinching as the rusty edge cut into her hands, and made a gap big enough to squeeze into. She pushed her satchel through first, then crawled after it. Inside were two locomotive engines, side by side like a pair of old pensioners. She made her way to the furthest corner of the shed and scuffed at the ground with her kid leather shoe. It was uncovered earth. She fell to her knees and started scratching a hole, tearing what was left of her fingernails. But it was slow going. Suddenly she heard the door of the shed rattle, then a gruff, male voice: “Locked.”

  She held her breath and waited to see if anyone would come in, but they didn’t. After a few minutes she got up and went to the cab of one of the engines. Just as she’d hoped, there was a coal shovel hanging beside the cold furnace. She unhooked the shovel and went back to her corner. With the shovel to aid her, she made quick work of it and soon had a hole deep enough to bury the box. She took a few more minutes to cover the hole, pat it down and scatter some loose coal over the area. Then she returned the shovel to the engine and slipped back out through the gap in the corrugated panels.

  She checked again to see that she had not been spotted, then headed as fast as she could to the fence at the back of the yard. She looked back and took her bearings. Two apple trees could be used as markers for when she returned to retrieve the box. Then, with her satchel slung over her shoulder, she climbed the fence and was off into the fields beyond, leaving the body of her dead friend to the mercy of strangers.

  The next morning she was found lying in a ditch, nearly frozen to death, clutching her Bible to her chest. When she woke in hospital three days later she denied any knowledge of a stolen box and a dead woman called Gloria Marconi. When questioned further she started rocking backwards and forwards, giving furtive looks towards the window. When asked what she was afraid of, she answered, “The shadow, of course. Isn’t everyone?”

  14 JULY 1920

  Melvyn Dorchester rapped his cane against his desk as his son stuttered through his report. The younger man stood in his father’s study like a schoolboy before the headmaster. Alfie’s feet ached after traipsing over half of London looking for the wretched Denby girl and his sister. He longed to sink into one of the soft leather armchairs facing his father’s desk, but knew better than to do so without his permission.

  “So the window cleaner hasn’t been found then,” stated his father in summary.

  “No. But Easling’s seen his wife and put the fear of God into her. She confirmed that the Denby girl and Rolandson put her man up to it.”

  “Any sign of Lizzy?”

  “No, Father, I’m sorry. But Easling’s now got grounds for a warrant for Denby and Rolandson.”

  “Good. The more we can keep this above board the easier it will be to clean up afterwards.”

  The telephone rang. “Lord Dorchester… yes, yes… he’s just told me… And then?… Bloody Yankee dwarf! And the girl?… Ah! That’s better. Keep on it.”

  He put the phone down and held his hands together down the centre line of his face, squinting his steel-grey eyes along his fingertips like the sights of a gun. “That was Easling. The dwarf’s off the hook. Seems like he was in a meeting with his solicitor at the time Lizzy disappeared. Perfect alibi, so the warrant’s been dropped.”

  “And Poppy?”

  “She got away.”

  “Damn!” Alfie forgot himself in frustration and dropped into a chair, draping one long leg over the side.

  Melvyn’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t comment on his offspring’s impudence. Instead, and to Alfie’s immense surprise, he smiled.

  “What is it?” asked Alfie, straightening up.

  “Easling’s managed to get a tail on the Denby girl. Seems like she, Lizzy and your Delilah went to see the window cleaner. Easling has an informant on the street. And he’s following them now.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “They’ve just arrived at Paddington station.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Poppy, Elizabeth and Delilah emerged from the Tube tunnel into the hustle and bustle of Paddington station. Since arriving in London a month ago, Poppy had only travelled by Tube a few times, far preferring to be above ground in the warm summer air. Perhaps she might change her mind in winter and burrow underground like other Londoners, but for now she was grateful to be out of the tunnels. The train from Liverpool Street to Paddington had taken just under an hour. Poppy looked up at the station clock and noted that it was four o’clock in the afternoon – time for tea. She suggested this to the other women and they agreed.

  “We should probably check first though when the next train to Slough is leaving,” observed Poppy.

  “Why do you think we’re going to Slough?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Well, aren’t we?”

  “You surprise me, Miss Denby.”

  “In a good way, I hope.”

  “Indeed.”

  Delilah didn’t say a word. On the train journey from Liverpool Street to here she had been uncharacteristically quiet. As Elizabeth headed over to the ticket o
ffice Poppy lagged behind and put her arm around Delilah.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I suspected we were going to Slough, but I wasn’t sure. I haven’t been there since Mama died. Papa and I went together to see where it happened. I couldn’t get out of the motor. Why do you think she wants to go? To retrieve the box?”

  “Possibly. Or just to relive it. I’m not sure how stable she really is, Delilah. I think we need to be careful…”

  “You mean she –”

  “Shhhh,” warned Poppy as Elizabeth rejoined them.

  “We’ve got forty minutes before the next train. Time for a cup of tea.” Elizabeth scanned the concourse back and forth, back and forth.

  “There’s a tea shop over there beside the Post Office,” said Poppy.

  “I know. Just checking that the coast’s clear.”

  Poppy looked at the crowd of commuters criss-crossing the station, each of them intent on their own agenda. What was Elizabeth looking for? Would she be able to tell if someone was not what they seemed to be?

  Suddenly a policeman strolled towards them. The three women froze. But he nodded politely and walked on by.

  “Now,” said Elizabeth when his back was turned, and strode briskly towards the tea shop. Delilah and Poppy had no choice but to follow.

  There was a telephone booth outside the Post Office and Poppy considered calling The Globe. She wasn’t sure how this phone tapping thing worked. Could Alfie have monitored every line into The Globe or was it just Aunt Dot and Grace’s phone? That, after all, was where she had made the call to Rollo and they’d agreed that she was going to Paris. And it was to his house, not The Globe. Mavis had given her the number. So surely the “tap”, if there was one, was linked to 137 King’s Road. Would it be safe to call from here? She wasn’t sure. But for now there was nothing she could do, as the booth was occupied by a man. He looked at the three women curiously as they walked past him into the tea shop. Oh dear. Had she been staring?

  Inside the tea shop the women ordered a pot of Earl Grey and a selection of sandwiches. Poppy was famished – it seemed a long time since breakfast. But Delilah just picked at her crusts, while Elizabeth checked each sandwich from multiple angles before taking a bite.

  As they ate, Poppy shared her musings about the phone tapping and asked her companions’ opinion.

  “Well, telephones weren’t as common in my day as they are now, you know. And it was only the wealthiest households that had one. My father did, of course, but I don’t think your aunt did, Poppy. Not back then. If she had, it might have made things much easier to contact her when Gloria and I got out of Holloway.”

  Delilah was pulling at a loose thread on the tablecloth. She looked up, and Poppy saw that she was near to tears.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Delilah? Elizabeth and I can go without you, can’t we?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “No. I need to go. I need to know what happened. Do you know what happened, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth sighed, a flicker of sympathy for the younger woman registering on her face. “It’s a bit of a blur, to be honest. I’m hoping that when I’m there – and I’m not starving or half frozen – I will be able to piece it together.”

  “So you’re not really sure where the box is, then.”

  “No, on that I’m a bit clearer. I think I remember where it is.”

  “You think?” asked Poppy.

  “It’s the best I can do, all right?” Elizabeth snapped.

  “Sorry.”

  The three women slipped into their own thoughts. Poppy noticed that the telephone booth was now vacant. Delilah had noticed too.

  “My Uncle Elmo would know. About the telephone tapping. He’s got some telephone exchanges as part of his business.”

  “Can you ring him?”

  “Not sure exactly where he is. Somewhere in New York. But I could call his secretary. She might be able to help us. I doubt Alfie would have tapped her line. And if he had, they have engineers who can check that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Poppy.

  Elizabeth shrugged.

  “Just don’t tell her exactly where we are, or where we’re going – just in case,” advised Poppy

  Poppy and Elizabeth remained at the table while Delilah went to the telephone booth. A few minutes later she returned, looking pale.

  “What is it?”

  “We need to buy a newspaper. Mrs Stemple says we’ve made the early evening edition. Apparently there’s a manhunt for us all over London!”

  “Did you ask her about the phone tapping?”

  “I did. But she wasn’t sure. She’s going to get hold of Uncle Elmo and my father. And their solicitors. But in the meantime she suggests we keep a low profile.”

  “Did you tell her where we were going?”

  “No. I wasn’t sure about the tapping thing.”

  “Good.”

  “But if they are listening in,” Delilah continued, “they’ll know that Marconi Industries is putting its full might behind us. Dorchester isn’t the only man with power in this town.” Delilah set her pretty mouth in a grim line.

  Elizabeth finished her last sandwich and folded her napkin neatly on her plate. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Delilah.

  “If Marconi Industries had done something to help us back in 1913 – or got me out of the asylum anytime since then – we wouldn’t be in this position now.”

  “There was no way we could have known! Both my father and I believed my mother had committed suicide. And in fact, for all we know, she might have. We only have your word that she didn’t – for what that’s worth!”

  “For what that’s worth? Now let me tell you something, girl –”

  “Shush! Stop it. We’ve got to stick together. If Delilah’s uncle’s secretary is right, then we don’t have much time. I say we have two choices: one, we can make our way to Marconi Industries’ offices, wherever they are –”

  “The Strand.”

  “– or we can carry on on our own to Slough, where, Miss Dorchester, you will give us this box, if it exists –”

  “I’ve told you, I will only give it to your editor.”

  “Oh, do belt up about that! He isn’t here, all right?”

  “I sent him a note with the Thompson girl. I told him where we were going and that he should meet us there.”

  “But we have no idea if he has got the note, do we?”

  Elizabeth glared at her.

  “No, we don’t,” Poppy finished for her. “So, if you are not going to give me the box, then I suggest we go back to central London and seek refuge with the Marconis.”

  “And if I am?”

  “Well, then I suggest we carry on with our plan and go to Slough.” Poppy looked out of the window across the station concourse. “I don’t see any evidence of a mass manhunt yet. Do you?”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, then appeared to change her mind. Poppy took this as compliance. She turned to her friend. “What do you say, Delilah? Strand or Slough?”

  The young woman again looked on the brink of tears, but she held them back and took both Elizabeth’s and Poppy’s hands. “I think it’s time we faced the truth. Don’t you? Whatever happens?”

  Poppy and Elizabeth looked at each other across the table.

  Elizabeth squeezed Delilah’s hand. “I agree. What say you, Poppy?”

  “So will you give me the box?”

  “I will. And I’ll tell you everything I know about it too.”

  “Then yes, I agree.”

  As the three women got up and paid their bill, they didn’t notice a man in the corner lower his newspaper and watch them go. As they headed to catch their train he slipped into the phone booth and made a call to his paymaster.

  CHAPTER 35

  The train yard hadn’t changed in the seven years since Elizabeth had last been there, t
hough now it was a clear summer’s evening instead of a snowy winter’s night. The clock read quarter to six by the time the three women made their way from the commuter station to the train yard. They decided to walk down a nearby road rather than take the more direct route down the tracks, as inevitably – at this time of day – they would have been stopped by railway workers. As they approached the yard they made a point of turning their backs on the gates and looking out over the open fields. Poppy took out her notebook and began to sketch the scenery, as if they were three ladies on a walking jaunt.

  At six o’clock they heard the gates behind them clatter shut and a group of men bade each other goodnight, raised their caps to the ladies and headed off in different directions. The women also pretended to move on.

  When the coast was clear, Poppy called them into a huddle. “I think perhaps it’s best if we don’t go through the gate. There might be a night watchman. Do you agree?”

  “Suppose so,” said Elizabeth.

  “Makes sense,” said Delilah. “But how are we going to get in?”

  Poppy reached into her satchel and pulled out some bolt cutters.

  “Where on earth did you get those?” Delilah exclaimed.

  “I forgot to give them back to Mr Thompson after we left the asylum.”

  “Oh, you clever girl! Do you know how to use them?”

  “I had a bit of practice earlier,” grinned Poppy, and made her way to a part of the railway yard fence that was partially obscured by a line of poplars. After a few aborted attempts she managed to cut a hole in the chain fence big enough for them all to crawl through.

  Once inside, she turned to Elizabeth and asked: “Where now?”

  Elizabeth looked around, trying to find her bearings. The locomotive sheds were to their left, the gatehouse to their right and – beyond an assortment of smaller sheds housing equipment, cables and tools – was the line from Paddington to Slough. They had passed through the yard on their journey from Paddington, and as they passed, Elizabeth had looked to see whether or not her markers were still there: a pair of crab-apple trees. Elizabeth thought she had glimpsed them from the train, but wasn’t sure. She looked again from her vantage point near the fence and finally saw them, in full bloom, about a hundred yards to the left.