The Glowing Hours

by Marina Oliver

  'That depends on what you want to know,' she replied firmly.

  'I'll ask you not to be impertinent, miss. My daughter has been seduced into this den of iniquity and I demand that she be returned to me at once.'

  Nell bristled. 'This is a perfectly repectable dancing school and no one has been seduced into it against their will!'

  'No dancing school, as you call it, can be respectable. All forms of dancing are the snares of the devil!'

  Nell was beginning to have horrid suspicions about the identity of her caller. Although he spoke with the normal upper class accent of the minor public schools, she could detect a slight Welsh intonation. She stole a glance at the woman and her suspicions hardened. She was well into her fifties and her hair was white, her face lined, but she had Gwyneth's nose and eyes.

  'Please, I want my daughter back,' the woman said. 'Is Gwyneth – Gwyneth Davis, that is, here?'

  Nell was about to reassure her that Gwyneth was well and happy, and successful, when Mr Davis intervened.

  'If she is she'll pack her bags and return to our protection at once! I am not having my daughter contaminated by further contact with sinners!'

  His tone made Nell change her mind. She might wish to reassure Gwyneth's mother, but she knew Gwyneth had written several times when she was safely far away from Birmingham and could post the letters without fear of discovery.

  'I cannot give information about our dancers without Mr Bliss's permission,' she said briskly. 'You must understand that we can have undesirable people making enquiries, people who believe all dancers are immoral whores, and against whom we have to protect our girls.'

  'All dancers are immoral whores!' he bellowed, his face growing red with fury.

  'If you believe that you must see why I cannot tell you where any of them are,' Nell went on calmly. She was beginning to enjoy herself. 'Men searching for whores usually have one purpose in mind, and whatever you may believe we do not run a bawdy house, nor do we supply girls just to satisfy the lusts of intemperate men. Now please leave. If you care to call again next week Mr Bliss will tell you the same. Goodbye.'

  She endured a good ten minutes while he ranted and bullied her, but eventually he gave in to the anxious persuasions of his wife. That, or he accepted that Nell was not going to be moved. Flinging fearful imprecations over his shoulder as he went, he at last stormed out of the door, Mrs Davis almost running to keep up with him.

  'Cor!' Patsy breathed. 'I thought 'e was going to hit yer, Miss Nell!'

  Nell laughed shakily. 'So did I! Patsy, let's have a pot of strong tea! I'll come down into the kitchen and have it with you.'

  'It seems like all the dads are coming after the daughters,' Patsy remarked a few minutes later. 'Why all of a sudden?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Didn't yer know? Miss Nell, yer own dad came a while back.'

  'No one told me! What did he want? Was anything wrong?'

  'No. Mr Bliss gave him a right flea in 'is ear! He didn't shut the door of the office, see, and I was dusting the hall. I couldn't help 'earing it, Miss.'

  'Of course not,' Nell said, too anxious to discover what her father had wanted to worry about Patsy eavesdropping.

  'Your dad wanted Mr Bliss ter give him yer wages,' Patsy said with a sniff. 'Cheek! Why, it's not as if yer live with him. I used ter give Mom my wages from my first job, and she gave me pocket money, but when I came here, livin' in, I just used ter send some home. How could I have managed else? But I wish I'd given her more when she was alive.'

  She sniffed again, and Nell smiled at her abstractedly. 'We all wish we'd been better after people die, Patsy. I'm sure you did as much as she wanted. What happened?'

  'Mr Bliss started ter ring fer police, and yer Pa went.'

  'And he hasn't been back?'

  'Don't suppose he'd dare.'

  No, Nell thought as she went back upstairs, her father would not want the police involved. But she was concerned. She didn't know what he could do, but being her Pa she knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd tried everything he could to get his own way, and if that at the moment meant he wanted her wages, she would have to take care.

  *

  For two weeks nothing happened and Nell relaxed. They heard no more from Gwyneth's father and Nell hoped he had gone back to his Welsh valley. Then when one of Frank's best solo dancers broke her leg he swiftly moved Nell into her place, and once more she began touring and dancing with a troupe. After a month they were to go to Walsall, the first time Nell had appeared at that theatre since the collapse of Andrew's act.

  'I'm nervous,' she confessed to Edwina. 'It's superstition, I know, but it feels like my unlucky theatre.'

  'One of us will come and be there,' Edwina promised. 'If I can't come I'll make sure Frank does. He wants to see the troupe dance anyway.'

  To Nell's relief the first performance went well, and Frank came round to the dressing room afterwards to congratulate them.

  'Nell, I'll drive you back to Birmingham, there are things I need to discuss, some changes I'm thinking of making, and you are involved.'

  It was a freezing cold night, and the trains were badly heated. Nell thanked him gratefully and they sat for a while in the empty dressing room after the others had left, discussing the performance and what could be done to improve it. Then the stage manager poked in his head to say everyone else had gone and would they be away soon? Hastily they stood up and apologised for keeping him. He followed them to the stage door, wished them a cheery goodnight, and bolted it after them. They could hear his footsteps retreating as he went to lock up the other doors. Frank's car, another Austin Seven like Kitty's, was parked a little way from the theatre. They had to pass though a narrow alley from the stage door and then along a slightly wider one to get to the street. It was as they turned the corner into the second alley that the attack came. 'Pimp! I'll learn yer ter mess wi' my gel!'

  That was all he said but Nell recognised her father's voice. Before she could move, however, she was pushed violently aside and it seemed as though a whirlwind had attacked Frank. Mr Baxter, abstemious for months, had finally given in to the old temptation. Nell could smell the whisky on his breath as she fell, but she was dazed from hitting her head against the wall and unable to get to her feet.

  Frank attempted to dodge but Mr Baxter had cornered him where the two alley walls met, and was battering him mercilessly. Then Mr Baxter's foot skidded on a patch of ice and he almost went down. Frank seized the opportunity and slid past his opponent's outstretched hands, but then he stopped to help Nell to her feet.

  'Come on, run,' he gasped, but it was too late. Mr Baxter rushed towards them, kneed Frank in the groin, and as he doubled up in agony swung a powerful left hook which connected with Frank's chin.

  Nell heard the bones snap as Frank fell. With a sob she flung herself down beside him and touched his face. Then she shuddered as Frank's head, his neck broken, rolled helplessly away from her. By the time she absorbed this and looked up, she was alone with his body.

  ***

  Chapter 22

  'The show must go on. Frank always said that was the most important thing. We must keep on. He'd want it.'

  It was long after midnight. Nell wanted to scream, but she had to sit in the bare room and listen to Edwina's monotonous voice. After she'd run from the alley, distraught, and eventually found a policeman on The Bridge, the nightmare had continued. She had been taken to the police station in Goodall Street, Edwina had been fetched from Birmingham, and the theatre Manager roused from the bed of the magician's assistant.

  Frank's body had been removed, and Nell had explained how they had been set on as they left the theatre. At first they had listened to her with some suspicion, but the extent and severity of Frank's bruises, plus her own injuries, convinced them it was no lovers' quarrel. The only thing she didn't reveal was the identity of their assailant. 'A big man,' was all she could say, and shook her head when they asked if she could recall any other detail.r />
  She could not betray her father. However badly he had treated her and the rest of the family, he was her father. She could not endure the thought that she might send him to be hanged. He might deserve it, and his demands from Frank had been totally unreasonable, but she could not be responsible for putting the hangman's noose about his neck. After all, surely he couldn't have meant to kill Frank. It was the drink, making him unaware of what he did. She said as little as she could, and because she was so obviously shocked they did not press her.

  'You must do the show tonight,' Edwina suddenly said, and the Manager looked at Nell anxiously.

  'I couldn't!' she exclaimed, shuddering.

  'But without you the act is nothing, ordinary! And everyone will come to see you when the news gets round.'

  Nell looked at him in amazed disgust. How could he even think about his profits and want to use the death of someone connected to the theatre in order to boost them? To her astonishment Edwina supported him.

  'You must, Nell, for me. Frank would have wanted it. And now he is gone I have to manage everything alone. Besides, what else would you do but sit and brood?'

  Nell sighed. It was worse than they knew. She would never forget the glare of hatred and avarice in her Pa's eyes, the viciousness of his sudden attack. Perhaps it would be better to try and forget with work.

  'If you wish it,' she said. 'But I cannot bear to travel on the train with the others every night. They will ask endless questions. I'll find a room here for the week, when I've fetched some clothes.'

  'We will pay for a room at the George Hotel,' the Manager offered, generous in his relief.

  'Thank you, Nell. Now I suppose we must go home.'

  'What about the deceased's car?' They had forgotten the police sergeant sitting with them until this brutal reminder. 'It was parked near the theatre,' he went on stolidly. 'Can either of you ladies drive?'

  Edwina nodded. 'Yes, I can. Nell, you could have the car for the week if you preferred to stay at home. You learned to drive, didn't you?'

  Nell shuddered. Driving would be too painful a reminder of her happy days with Paul. Besides, she could think more clearly if she were in an impersonal room, decide what she should do about her father.

  'You may need it, there will be so much to do,' she told Edwina gently. 'But I'll drive it back to Birmingham now if you don't feel able to.'

  *

  The rest of that week passed in a blur. Nell was conscious of much fuller houses than was normal, but to her relief the other girls in the troupe did not press questions on her. Edwina must have spoken to them. And on Saturday evening Paul appeared, sending her flowers and a note that if she wished he would drive her home after the show.

  'Edwina thought it would help,' he explained when Nell, too weary to protest, accepted his offer. 'Do you have to get anything from the George?'

  'I have a case there, it was too heavy to carry all the way to the theatre and back to the station,' she said.

  Without a word he drove to The Bridge, drew up before the porticoed entrance of the hotel, and went in to collect her case. Then he drove round the statue of Sister Dora and towards the Birmingham Road. They did not speak more than a few words. Nell had forced herself to dance, to try and appear normal, although the horror of what her father had done had been even more overwhelming in the past few days than at the time. Now she felt in danger of collapsing, and Paul's medical intuition warned him that there was something more affecting her than just the horror of what had happened.

  'Will you be all right tomorrow?' he asked gently as they arrived outside her lodgings. 'Would you like me to come, or perhaps Marigold?'

  Nell tried to smile. 'You've already done more than I could expect. And I can't always be running to Marigold for help! I mean to spend the day with Edwina, there must be so much for her to do and perhaps I can help.'

  'You know where I am if you need me,' he said, and the moment her landlady opened the door he was gone.

  Nell stared after him for a long time, standing in the open doorway, then heaved a deep sigh and went inside.

  'Yer Pa's bin 'ere 'ev'ry day, wantin' ter know when yer'd be back,' her landlady said, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  Nell controlled her expression and tried to speak normally. 'Has he? What did you say?'

  'Told 'im ter come Sunday, o' course.'

  Nell resolved to be gone as early as possible the next morning. She could not face her father yet. All week she had vaccilated between her distaste at betraying him, and fury at his behaviour. Whatever she did, she felt, she would always regret.

  Edwina greeted her calmly. Patsy had a new uniform, Nell noticed, a dark blue woollen dress and a paler blue, lace-trimmed apron more like the ones hostesses wore for afternoon tea than a servant's practical apron. The office had been rearranged, a new rolltop desk placed at an angle to the window, and either side of a small table there were two armless but upholstered chairs.

  'Sit down, Pasty will bring coffee,' Edwina said, and took one of the chairs. She wasn't wearing black, although it normally suited her and she often wore a black gown for dancing exhibitions. Today she wore a pale green dress, one Nell had never seen before. Edwina noticed her glance and smiled thinly. 'I wear black when I'm on public display,' she said calmly, 'to satisfy the proprieties. Ours was mainly a business partnership, and as I don't mourn him it seems hypocritical to wear black in private.'

  'Didn't you love him at all?' Nell asked.

  'I don't think I ever did. At first I was dazzled. He seemed so far superior to me, yet he wanted me. He promised me fine gowns and jewels and luxury. I was a lowly kitchen maid when we met,' she explained. 'I soon realised it was my ability to dance that he wanted, and someone who would adore him and always be ready to tell him how wonderful he was. Oh, I had the gowns and the luxury, but nothing else. I had such dreams of love, too, but I suppose that is how life will always be.'

  'I'm – sorry.' It seemed inadequate, but then, how many marriages were happy? Her parents had not been happy. And Edwina's dreams of a wonderful life with a man who'd been far above her showed how unsuitable such marriages were. She thrust aside the tempting thought that Paul would be different. In so many ways she wasn't fit to be his wife, even less so now than when they had first met. As well as everything else she was now the daughter of a murderer. She dragged her thoughts back to what Edwina was saying.

  'I don't want to keep on just the same as we were. I've some ideas, but I need help, someone to discuss them with, talk over the possibilities and problems.'

  Nell began to forget her worries. She needed hard work to distract her, and the past week had shown her that dancing, though physically tiring, did not prevent her mind from endless speculation. This might be something she could do, which would occupy her brain.

  'Will you keep on the ballroom?' she asked. 'You'll have to take over doing the bookings, so will you be able to manage all the classes at both places?'

  'That's one main worry. I don't think I could deal with all the people in the theatres. I may have to employ someone, but who could I trust?'

  Nell's thoughts were racing. 'I wonder? It might work! One of the original Beauties, Kathy, was planning to marry another dancer she met. He was with his sister but she wanted to leave and I think he and Kathy thought they could team up, but then he broke his leg. He won't be able to dance again, but he knows the theatre people, he'd been his own manager for several years.'

  'She's not good enough except in a line. That would be ideal! Kathy can ask him to come and see me. Then I can carry on teaching from here, but I don't know what to do about the ballroom.'

  Nell was becoming enthusiastic. 'Edwina, I don't know how much money you have, but could you reorganise the school completely? It isn't satisfactory using the hotel ballroom only when it's free, and making do in these small rooms at other times. Would it be possible to build a special hall, where we might have several classes at once, and big enough for social dances as well as performan
ces? Then we could put on shows whenever we wanted to, not just when the ballroom was free? We could have tea-dances too.'

  Edwina nodded slowly. 'I have all Frank put by. He was very careful with money, and he charged high fees. Fair, but high. And I own this house. I could sell it and raise more money that way, since I wouldn't need a big house if I had a hall. But we might be competing with the shows Marigold puts on.'

  'We could do those too, and she wouldn't mind, she'd encourage you. In fact she could probably help with advice, she founded and ran Endersby's hotels by herself, while Richard was away in the war.'

  'It sounds possible. Oh, Nell, if you help me I know we can do it!'

  'How about some classes for acting and elocution? We both know how important it is to speak well. And with our own premises people will be able to find us easily, as all the classes would be there rather than in two places.'

  'That sounds exciting!'

  'We could try training larger troupes too, more like the ones at the Folies-Bergère. We could call them the Edwina Girls.' They discussed ideas all day, and Nell's head was full of plans as she walked back to her room. She let herself in and stopped short. Pa was sitting on the bed, his head sunk into his hands.

  *

  'I didn't mean ter clobber 'im so 'ard! Nell, you didn't tell 'em it were me?' He was pleading, his eyes bloodshot and terrified, his lips slack. Nell had never before seen her father afraid, and the sight sickened her.

  'You killed him,' she accused. 'He'd done nothing to you, and because of your greed for my wages, mine, which I've earned and I'm entitled to,' she went on, her voice rising and becoming passionate, 'you killed him!'

  'I needs the money,' he complained. 'That dratted Florence 'as threatened ter kick me out, wants the room fer 'er bleedin' kid, an' the brat's not six months old!'