by Mary Gibson
‘Shut your cake hole, gel, you’ll be catching flies in it.’ Sugar broke into a crooked-toothed grin.
‘Just been checking the merchandise. It ain’t staying here for long. Sit down, Matty. Want a drink?’
Matty nodded, moving a black velvet box containing a string of pearls from the chair and sitting down at the shimmering table.
Sugar looked towards the scullery. ‘We got company!’ he yelled. ‘And she needs a drink!’
The scullery door opened to reveal one of the most handsome women Matty had ever seen. Her hair was a lustrous black, set in marcel waves, and her large blue eyes were accentuated by kohl and darkened lashes. She was all of six feet tall, big-boned, but perfectly proportioned. She wore a coffee-coloured cashmere two-piece, set off by several belcher gold chains. Glittering drop earrings hung from neat ears. Her large hand on the doorknob displayed a ring on every finger: plain gold, diamond-studded, ruby-lozenged, the rings were all massive and those hands looked powerful enough to pull the door off its hinges. Her long, silk-stockinged legs were shapely and her rather large feet, shod in expensive brown leather shoes, looked quite capable of kicking the front door in.
‘You ain’t met my Queenie, have you? This is my fiancée, Queenie Quex.’ And then in explanation to Queenie, ‘This is Tom’s Matty.’
‘I know who it is, you silly bleeder – it’s the Cockney Canary!’ Queenie said and walked over to plant a kiss on Matty’s cheek.
‘Fancy anything, love?’ She indicated the treasures on the table. ‘We’ll give you first dibs, you’re practically family! But you ain’t come for a social call. Tell Queenie all about it.’
And she gathered up a handful of enamelled gold powder compacts from another chair so that she could sit down at the kitchen table. ‘Get the gin out, darl’,’ she ordered Sugar, who meekly went to the corner cupboard and brought out a bottle and three cut-crystal glasses, worthy of Fonstone. But Matty could have been drinking from an old jam jar, she didn’t care. The shock of seeing Frank and her unthinking flight had begun to sink in and she felt her hands trembling again as she accepted the gin from Sugar. She gave an involuntary shiver as the fiery liquid burned in her throat.
‘It’s Frank Rossi.’ She looked up at Sugar. ‘He found me at the Blue Lotus. Asked me to go back with him.’
Sugar jumped up, suddenly not domestic at all. His fist was balled and held ready to punch someone. ‘I’ll have him.’
The fist he held to the ready was an odd dark colour compared to his florid complexion and Matty remembered Tom telling her he pickled his hands in brine, to harden them.
‘Hold up, Sugar,’ Queenie said, taking hold of one of the pickled fists and leaning forward eagerly to Matty. ‘If Rossi still loves you, there’s no problem, gel. You can use that against the bastard.’
But Matty shook her head. ‘He wasn’t really giving me a choice, and the only reason he wants me back is so he can use me in the sort of films he sells privately.’
Matty felt herself blushing and Sugar gave a low whistle. ‘Does Tom know?’ he asked.
‘Shut your row up.’ Queenie shot Sugar a stern look. ‘Not all women’s tough enough to stand up to bastards like that. I’d give him a right hander, but Matty’s not been drug up like me, have you, gel?’ She gave Matty’s hand the sort of squeeze that would have crushed it had it lasted a minute longer. ‘Do you want my Sugar to go an’ give him a tap on the head with a mallet? He wants to, don’t you, darl’?’
‘’Course I do, but Tom don’t want it handled like that.’
‘Tom? It ain’t what Tom wants. It’s what Matty wants.’
‘Thanks, Queenie, but I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. If I could just get him to leave me alone...’
‘But they don’t, his type, think they own you. I don’t go with anyone if I’m not the boss.’
Sugar raised his eyes. ‘She ain’t lying, she’s in charge,’ he said to Matty. ‘Anyway, best thing is you go with my Queenie. She’s got places all over the Elephant and Castle where she can hide you. Just while me and Tom work out what to do about your Italian.’
*
‘Here, love, put this round ya, it’ll keep you warmer than that thing you’ve got on.’ Queenie said, pulling out a plush velvet evening coat from a pile stacked on the sideboard.
Matty had no idea of the time, but as they left the house she saw that the moon had moved across the sky and all the lingering night sounds from pubs turning out and late-night traffic had died down. Queenie led her back down Hickman’s Folly to Dockhead, where she stopped at a car that Matty recognized as the blue coupé Sugar had driven in Winchester. Queenie surprised her by unlocking the car and getting into the driver’s seat.
‘Hop in, love.’
Matty got in beside her. ‘Won’t Sugar need the car himself?’ she asked.
‘It’s mine, not his!’ Queenie said, putting her foot to the pedal, so that the roar split the silent dockland streets as they sped towards the Elephant and Castle.
On the way it became apparent to Matty that Queenie hadn’t exaggerated when she’d called herself ‘the boss’. She was, it seemed, one of the brains behind the most notorious girl gang in London. Once, she told Matty, they’d been known as the Forty Thieves, but some wag had rechristened them the Forty Elephants because their home turf was the Elephant and Castle and the girls usually emerged from a shoplifting spree twice the size they went in, with stolen goods packed into concealed pockets under their clothes.
Tonight, Queenie said, Matty had found her and Sugar sorting through a single day’s haul. Matty could scarcely believe it as it seemed to her the accumulation of a lifetime’s crime.
‘Me and the girls did a raid up the West End, went in mob-handed. Twenty of us piled in, half of us lifted everything we could from the jewellery department, the rest did evening wear. Well, we was in and out in fifteen minutes. Them dozy shop assistants didn’t know their arses from their elbows. By the time they works out what’s going on we’re halfway up Regent Street and the gear’s in the back of three vans all going in different directions. The hardest bit’s getting rid of it, to tell you the truth. But Sugar’s got his contacts for that.’
Queenie drove very fast, with one hand on the wheel while the other held a cigarette in a holder. It seemed only a matter of minutes before they were pulling up in a side street near the Elephant.
‘You’ll be safe as houses here, love.’
Matty got out, her legs shaking with fatigue. She eyed the building in front of them, which certainly seemed more respectable than Sugar’s from the outside. It had an ecclesiastical air to it and looked a bit like a convent, with steps up to an impressive pointed arched door beneath the porch.
‘Welcome to the C of E mission hostel for respectable single girls.’
Matty looked shocked and Queenie gave a booming laugh. ‘Only kidding. I try to keep my girls out of the nick, so you could call us respectable, or you could say we’re just bleedin’ clever!’
Queenie explained the place used to be a vicarage, but the church had fallen into disrepair and the vicar long departed. Matty didn’t care if it was a nunnery or a prison. She was so tired she was sure she’d sleep anywhere and as Queenie let herself into the building Matty followed, almost asleep on her feet. Queenie showed her to a small, cell-like bedroom.
‘What better place to hide a load o’ tea leaves than somewhere that looks like a Christian hostel!’ She chuckled. ‘We try not to keep stuff on the premises. That’s all farmed out. Me girls love it here. I don’t get no complaints from any of ’em – apart from the prayers at teatime.’ Again she gave her low, hooting laugh.
‘You get some kip, love.’ She put a heavy arm across Matty’s shoulders. ‘While you’re here, you’re under my protection and no bastard touches one o’ mine, understand?’
Matty smiled. For all the woman’s tough veneer, Matty heard a definite maternal concern in her voice. ‘Thanks, Queenie, I really appreciate it.’
> She gave Matty a squeeze. ‘Sleep tight, love, no bugs to bite you in this gaff.’
And laughing, she left Matty to fall on to the narrow single bed, where she slipped between clean white sheets and soft blankets, falling immediately into a deep sleep. During the night she woke with a start, hearing the front door opening, but the muffled voices were undeniably female, girlish, high-pitched, excited and so full of expletives Matty doubted they would last five minutes in a respectable hostel for young Christian ladies. After that her sleep was fitful, plagued by thoughts of Frank’s next move and worries about Tom. Why had his flat been empty? Why hadn’t he come home last night?
23
The Forty Elephants
May–June 1932
When Matty awoke the next morning she felt safe, for an instant, and then she remembered Frank. His presence in the country changed everything. Wherever her thoughts stretched his malevolent intent seemed to have got there first. If she thought of Tom and why he hadn’t come home last night, she worried that Frank had somehow got to him. When she thought of the health department films, she heard Frank’s threats to expose her part in films she’d rather stay hidden. If she thought of Will, she remembered the insidious power of Professor Dubbs, who had followed through on his promise to ferret out her secrets and alerted Frank to her whereabouts. There was nowhere she could rest her thoughts and so she got up.
Although it felt foolish in the dull light of day, she was forced to dress in her evening gown, throwing Esme’s day jacket over it. Thinking Queenie would want the velvet evening coat back, she folded it over her arm and padded down the corridor till she found a kitchen. Queenie was seated round a large table with half a dozen other women; they’d obviously just finished breakfast and some were leaning back smoking cigarettes.
‘Ah, here’s our escaped little bird! Come in, darlin’, meet the family,’ Queenie said.
She was introduced to the girls, who all greeted her warmly except one. She wore her hair in a severe black bob and stared, unblinking, at Matty with kohl-rimmed eyes.
‘Say hello, Dolly, don’t be bloody rude to me guest. She’s a friend of Tom Roberts,’ Queenie said.
The girl slid her gaze away from Matty to Queenie. ‘I know who she bloody well is and why she’s here, and I don’t think it’s too clever of you, Queenie, taking her in. She’ll bring the Sabinis sniffing around, and what if they want some of what we’ve got?’ Dolly stood up, pushing the kitchen chair back so hard it toppled over. But with a speed that surprised Matty, Queenie lunged across the table, shot out her big-boned hand and grabbed Dolly by the neck. The girl’s kohl-rimmed eyes widened with fear as she was almost lifted off her feet.
‘I’m doing my Sugar’s friend a favour and if you don’t like it you can sod off!’ She let go of Dolly, who put a hand to her throat.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Dolly said, tossing her plate of toast into the sink so that it shattered, before brushing past Matty out of the kitchen.
A girl who’d introduced herself as Ruby got up to clear the sink, as if such incidents were a common occurrence, and asked Matty, ‘Want some tea and toast, love? Never mind Dolly dark-eyes. She’s just jealous, used to go out with Tom when he was one of the boys, didn’t she, Queenie?’
But Queenie waved her hand in dismissal. ‘Tom was another class. He wasn’t interested in Dolly.’
But Matty wasn’t sure she believed her.
A younger girl with platinum hair and a tinkling high-pitched voice said, ‘Hope we didn’t wake you up coming in. We’d been havin’ a bit of a celebration.’ Matty recognized the voice from last night. ‘We had a lovely day’s shopping up the West End!’
‘Show her how it’s done, girls,’ Queenie ordered, sitting back with an indulgent smile upon her face.
Ruby put Matty’s breakfast on the table, then walked out into the centre of the room and lifted her skirt to reveal the most voluminous pair of bloomers Matty had ever seen. Like a stage magician, she plucked the edge of a piece of black velvet cloth from a concealed pocket in the knickers. And as more and more velvet appeared, it soon became clear it was Queenie’s evening coat.
Matty, who hadn’t seen the coat disappear from the back of her chair and certainly hadn’t seen Ruby stuff it into her knickers, laughed with delight, clapping her hands, for a moment forgetting that this wasn’t a stage act, but well-practised thievery.
‘How did you get that great thing inside those?’ Matty laughed, pointing to the bloomers.
‘Our Ruby can get anything in them knickers of hers – size no object!’ Maisie, the platinum blonde, said to roars of laughter from the other girls.
‘Show her another one,’ Queenie said, proud of her girls’ accomplishments.
An older woman with grey-streaked hair, who looked like a typical housewife in her sensible frock and cardigan, stood up and brought the black velvet coat to Matty.
‘Hello, darlin’, I’m Esther.’ She gave Matty a warm smile. ‘I loved that film of yours. We all did, didn’t we, girls?’
The others, nodding enthusiastically, turned smiling faces towards Matty, and it was only when they all burst into laughter that she noticed Esther pulling Matty’s own necklace from a deep pocket inside the black velvet coat.
‘How did that get there?’
‘Must’ve fallen inside – accidentally,’ Esther said, while dipping down into another deep pocket in the coat’s lining. ‘Same time as these!’
‘My earrings!’ These she absolutely knew she’d left on the bedside table in her room.
‘Esther’s the best.’ Queenie nodded approvingly. ‘Looks so innocent, like everyone’s mum. You see, Matty, you’ve got to trick their brains as well as their eyes!’
‘Well, you certainly tricked both with me,’ Matty said.
Esther handed her the jewellery. ‘Don’t worry, love, we don’t take from our own,’ she said. ‘Best be getting off to work – I got forty elephants to feed!’ And she looked affectionately at the girls sitting round the table.
Queenie got up, the game over, changing from mother to boss in an instant. ‘You lot, don’t sit there on your arses all day neither,’ she said, and the girls obeyed, some clearing up breakfast things, others leaving the kitchen to get on with their day’s shopping up the West End, Matty supposed.
‘Come on, Matty, let’s get you something to wear. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bleedin’ hedge backwards in that get-up.’
Matty looked down at herself, shocked at the effects of her late-night escape on her dress, which was ripped from hip to toe where her long legs had broken through its constriction. The hem was filthy and her shoes scuffed. Esme’s jacket had fared better and Matty made a mental note to keep a tight hold on it, as it was certainly good enough quality to appeal to one of the Forty Elephants.
Queenie took her to her own bedroom, a large, double-windowed corner room on the first floor. Matty recognized the hand of the same interior designer as in Sugar’s home: the furniture was obviously all brand new. Looking like the entrance to an Egyptian temple, a heavy bedstead dominated the room. Carved and gilded stylized wings spread out across the headboard, while a frieze of angular figures marched across the footboard and a gold satin quilt billowed around it, all very different from Matty’s nun-like room.
Queenie threw open the double wardrobe. ‘Anything’d look good on you.’ She glanced over her shoulder, assessing Matty’s size. ‘It’ll need to be something that’s a bit tight on me, though!’
She picked out a light wool skirt and paired it with a loose, knitted silk V-neck top and cardigan.
‘Very elegant, very respectable.’
Matty noticed Queenie often used the word respectable, her tone almost regretful, perhaps aware respectability was something she’d never possess. Matty looked for the label before slipping the skirt on. It looked very good quality.
‘It’s a Jaeger,’ Queenie said, ‘but you won’t find no label. We take ’em off soon as they come in
. We have our little sewing-circle evenings – all sit round the table, picking the labels off the day’s takings, gives us a chance to have a nice chat. I quite enjoy it.’ She stood back to assess the outfit on Matty. ‘Ohhh, don’t you look lovely in that. See, I knew you could wear anything, looks better than it ever did on me.’
Matty was surprised at how natural it felt to be having a girly exchange with this hardened criminal, while feeling totally comfortable in what was undoubtedly stolen clothing. She wondered what Tom would say, and felt a pang of anxiety.
‘Do you think Sugar will get hold of Tom this morning? He should be at the town hall.’
‘Sugar won’t hang about, him and Tom have been planning what to do if Rossi turned up. Tell you the truth, the Clerkenwell mob have been getting a bit too big for their boots anyway, coming over our side, muscling in. The Elephant Boys have been looking for a way to teach ’em a lesson and your Italian might just have handed it to them on a plate.’
‘Queenie, I don’t want Tom getting involved with the Elephant Boys again, not over me. I’d never forgive myself if he got dragged back in – he’s not made for it.’
Queenie looked at her pityingly. ‘Your constitution don’t matter, love. If they can find a use for you, they will. But I’ll have a word with my Sugar, make sure he looks after Tom. Which he will anyway, ’cause he thinks the world of him.’
She was holding up a cashmere three-quarter length coat against Matty. ‘Very kind to him, your Tom was, when they was nippers. Tom used to take him home for tea, even when his own mum and dad didn’t have a pot to piss in. ’Cause you know, my Sugar didn’t get no upbringing. His mother got her money hitchin’ up her skirts under the arches at Waterloo. Don’t tell him I told you. But she used to send him out on the streets to shift for himself all day.’ Queenie shook her head sadly. ‘Your Tom had a heart of gold as a littl’un and Sugar don’t forget that.’