Bright Young Dead

by Jessica Fellowes

  Then one of the doors to the pub opened and a woman stepped in, pausing on the threshold, as if waiting while the pub muted its chatter. She remained there a fraction of a minute longer, as the hubbub started up again though more quietly than before. Dulcie elbowed Louisa in the ribs.

  ‘That’s Alice Diamond,’ she whispered with reverence. ‘I hoped she’d show tonight but you can’t always be sure.’

  Alice Diamond was as tall as a man, wearing a thick brocade coat and on each finger gleamed a large ring set with the obvious stones. Her hair was short and waved, the same shade as the mahogany counter at the bar, but her face lacked colour, the features pushed in like coins in dough, with a dimple in her chin and the silvery line of a scar beneath her left eye. She was followed by three women in formation a few steps behind, chosen courtiers with their monarch.

  ‘Who is she?’ Louisa whispered back.

  ‘She’s the queen,’ said Dulcie, daring to talk more loudly now that the noise had resumed its earlier level. ‘She’s the one who runs things around here.’

  Louisa stared as Alice sat down in a chair by a table in the corner that had remained curiously free as the rest of the pub filled up. Now Louisa knew why: it was Alice’s domain. Two of the women sat beside her while the third went to the bar, brandishing a pound note. One woman was stout and plain with an unfriendly look; the other had an undeniably pretty face with long, dark eyelashes and a delicate nose. Dulcie followed Louisa’s sightline and leant over again.

  ‘That’s Babyface, her lieutenant if you like. Don’t be fooled by her looks. She’s the most dangerous one of all. Been inside for razoring another woman.’

  When the drinks were set down in front of the three women by a young bar waitress, the tray trembling in her hands, they were downed fast, gulped in the gaps between roars of laughter. At this cue, Louisa could almost feel every person in the room unclench their jaws with relief. Today had been a good day for Alice Diamond and she was in the mood for celebrating. That meant everyone could join in.

  ‘What exactly is she queen of?’

  ‘The Forty Thieves,’ said Dulcie, and wiped the froth of the beer off her top lip. ‘That’s the women. Then there’s the Elephants, which is all men. Two separate gangs but … not, if you see what I mean. Everyone lives within half a mile of here.’

  Louisa nodded at this. The names rang a bell but she also wanted Dulcie to think that she was comfortable with this information, familiar even. She didn’t want to appear fazed or naive.

  ‘I’ve heard of the Forty,’ said Louisa, giving in to the temptation to make more of her past. An odd kind of bragging. ‘When my uncle and I used to work the railway stations, we knew to stay away from the shops on Oxford Street.’

  Dulcie grinned. ‘That’s it, though they’ve had to move out of London lately. It’s been her masterstroke, taking the Forty out to the provinces. Birmingham and Nottingham, Liverpool, that sort of thing. I didn’t fancy those places…’ She stopped and gave Louisa a sidelong look.

  ‘You…?’

  Dulcie nodded. ‘Not any more though.’ She took a gulp. ‘Another?’

  Louisa nodded and while Dulcie was at the bar, she took in the room again. It was as if Alice’s arrival had put a lens on it – everything seemed sharper, brighter. Louisa saw now that although Alice may have been the ruler of all she surveyed, her subjects – all women – benefited from her status too. Though some of them had coats with worn elbows and boots that needed new soles, most looked fashionable enough to pass for ordinary, well-heeled customers in the big shops. One or two even looked as if they would pass muster in the fur department at Harrods. More than that, there was something in their demeanour that suggested they wore these clothes because they enjoyed them. Hadn’t Louisa pressed one or two of Nancy’s dresses to her own figure, in a lone moment by the mirror when she was scooping them up from the chair, to take them for mending and cleaning? Once, she’d held a dress at her shoulders, and pinched it by the waist with her arm, twirling her leg out. In a silk dress, no one would ever know she was a servant. But she’d heard Mrs Windsor coming down the hall and hurriedly slung it over her arm, hoping the sweep of red on her cheeks would have faded by the time she made it down the stairs to the laundry room.

  Dulcie put their drinks on the table. ‘Penny for them?’

  ‘Oh.’ Louisa shook her head. ‘Nothing. I—’

  She was interrupted by a woman coming up to Dulcie and slamming a meaty hand on her shoulder, pushing her down onto the stool. She had thick black hair that looked more like a helmet than a bob, and a shadow around her jawline that could have been stubble. She made a sound that was perhaps meant to be a laugh but came out more like a bark.

  ‘Who’s this?’ She pointed her chin at Louisa, who flinched. ‘We don’t allow strangers in here.’

  ‘She’s one of us,’ said Dulcie. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  Louisa wasn’t sure how she felt about this answer.

  The woman squinted. ‘New recruit? I don’t remember hearing about that.’

  ‘No,’ said Dulcie, ‘but she’s in the game, too. She won’t go squealing.’

  ‘Huh.’ The woman seemed appeased, or perhaps she wasn’t in the mood for a fight. It was still early. ‘See that she doesn’t. We’re keeping an eye on you.’

  ‘I know.’ Dulcie squeezed out a small smile. ‘I’ve come as promised and shown my face, ain’t I? I’ve not run off anywhere.’

  The lump on two legs nodded then marched off and resumed her position of watchdog, back to the bar, elbows propping her up, swigging her beer as she watched carefully.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Dulcie. ‘It’s not always as bad as that but I’m under a bit of a cosh, you see.’

  ‘Why?’ Louisa was agog.

  ‘I want to leave. My sister’s married out and they’re worried that if I go too, we’ll grass them up. So I’ve tried to do a deal with them.’

  ‘What sort of a deal?’ Louisa sat up straighter.

  ‘I’ve got to pay them off. It’ll be the last thing I’ll ever do for them and then I’m out. In fact, I was wondering…’ She gave a shy look.

  Louisa said nothing. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what was coming next. Her mind told her no, but her heart was hammering in her chest and the excitement inside was better than anything she’d felt in a very long time.

  ‘I hoped you might be able to help me.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Less than a month later the invitations to Pamela’s birthday had been sent out to Nancy’s bright young friends and the RSVPs returned. Mrs Windsor, the housekeeper, had hired extra servants for the night and Mrs Stobie, the cook, had spent days ordering ahead and preparing the dinner, as well as the breakfast to be served at the end of the party. Pam had been most interested in this part of the arrangements, sneaking into the kitchen and pleading to be allowed to stir a pot or taught how to roll out pastry.

  Louisa and Nanny Blor had had their hands full doing their best to shield the excitement of the party from the younger sisters who would otherwise demand to come down and look at the guests arriving, as they were usually able to do. Not tonight. Lord Redesdale had made an unbidden appearance in the nursery to instruct Nanny that his daughters must not clap eyes on Nancy’s ‘appalling’ friends. ‘If an artie appears with a comb in his top pocket, Farve’s in danger of a fit,’ said Nancy with glee, when Louisa told her what he’d said. The youngest children – Debo at five, Unity, seven, and Jessica, nine – were easily distracted by promises of hot chocolate before bed but Diana, at nearly fifteen, was outraged. Tom, thankfully, was still at Eton and not due home for Christmas hols for another two weeks.

  Tonight there was a crackle of anticipation in the air as the logs burned fiercely in the two grates at either end of the hall. The stern oil portraits had been decorated with paper streamers and there were plenty of candles lit, adding to an early festive atmosphere. Advent was not far off, after all. Louisa had been roped in and stood with two o
ther maids holding trays of filled champagne glasses. Lord Redesdale paced impatiently near the front door, while his wife let out tiny exasperated noises as she fiddled with the buttons on Pamela’s dress. Nancy had persuaded her parents to hold a costume party for Pamela’s coming out dance, and though Pamela had gone along with the idea, now that she was wearing a large, white flouncy dress that made her look – and feel – like a wedding cake, with a wig of ringleted curls, uncomfortably hot and too—

  ‘Enough!’ admonished Lady Redesdale. ‘You’ll have a lovely party if you stop thinking about what you look like.’

  Nancy took a glass from Louisa’s tray and gave her a wink. She was dressed like a Spanish countess from the eighteenth century, with a tall jewelled mantilla, her bob rather awkwardly splaying out beneath. She had on a sleeveless satin top, an enormous brooch rather daringly set in her décolletage and a skirt that had wide, straight sides coming out of the hips, making her top half rather like the decorated spire on a church roof. Lord Redesdale was fit and lean still, despite his white hair and the lines engraved on his forehead. He wore his shooting tweeds as a costume; Nancy said he would never have been so comfortable at a party. Lady Redesdale looked much older than her husband, not helped by a bright yellow wig that made her complexion seem all the more bare and an ill-fitting medieval dress that Louisa suspected had been pulled out of the bottom of the dressing-up box used for charades at Christmas. It was likely, with so much to organise, that she had forgotten to think about her outfit until that afternoon.

  A minute later Nancy seemed to remember whose birthday it actually was and took a second glass from the tray, handing it to Pamela. The younger sister hesitated when Lord Redesdale looked up sharply.

  ‘Stand down, Farve,’ said Nancy, ‘it will calm her nerves.’

  Farve huffed and poked at the fire. Just as Louisa thought her arms might give out and drop the tray, they heard a car draw up outside, then the scrabble of feet on gravel and voices calling out. Mrs Windsor, who acted as butler because Lady Redesdale would employ no male servants, pulled open the door letting in a sharp draught of cold air and the first guest.

  On cue, Lady Redesdale and Nancy surged forward and Louisa saw that those arriving were some of those she had seen at the Curtis party. They were most likely early because they were staying as a house party with the Watneys next door, where they had also been hosted for the pre-dance dinner, Lord Redesdale having refused to countenance any of Nancy’s friends to their own. Nancy pushed Pamela towards Oliver Watney, the son. There had been plots to pair the two of them off but Louisa couldn’t understand why when Pamela was hale and hearty and he so pale and insipid with a permanent cough from childhood tuberculosis. His stern face was not enhanced by his Mad Hatter costume, complete with patchwork tailcoat, and Louisa suppressed a giggle rising in her throat as she walked over with her tray.

  ‘Your friends are perfectly ludicrous,’ he said as he took a glass.

  ‘They’re not really my friends,’ protested Pamela, who was no good at divided loyalties.

  ‘I should hope not,’ Oliver continued. ‘Especially Adrian Curtis. Ghastly man. Thinks everyone is at his beck and call. I swear to goodness, if he comes near me…’ Louisa didn’t hear the end as he walked off with his glass, Pamela nervously trailing behind him.

  Sebastian Atlas had arrived as part of the group and now grabbed two glasses from Louisa, his gold head bobbing as he gulped down first one, then the other before putting them back and walking off with a third without so much as a nod to acknowledge her. He appeared to be dressed as a pirate, albeit with no hat or parrot but baggy trousers, a dark waistcoat over a white shirt that gaped loosely revealing a hairless chest, and a red spotted scarf knotted around his neck. Seb approached Clara Fischer, who was hovering a little in the doorway, and put his arm around her waist, but Louisa detected a flinch at his touch.

  Briefly, Louisa stepped into the passageway that led to the kitchen and placed more filled glasses on her tray from a table that had been temporarily set up there, before returning to the hall. Another two or three cars must have pulled up in the meantime because the room felt fuller and was noisy with shouts of greetings and exclamations over costumes. Two of Pamela’s own friends were beside her, looking rather overawed by the crowd, and Louisa was pleased to see that she appeared determined to show that she was having a good time, though she kept pulling at her dress.

  Clara came up, dressed as Tinkerbell, with silvery diaphanous layers that seemed to be almost lit from beneath by her translucent skin. Her big eyes and pretty mouth gave her the look of Mary Pickford and Louisa could believe the rumour that she had travelled to London to get work on the stage. Clara took a champagne glass and hovered beside Louisa for a minute or two.

  ‘Quite the party, isn’t it?’ she said in a low voice, her New York accent softer than before, and it took Louisa a moment to realise Clara was talking to her.

  ‘Yes. We’ve been getting it ready for days.’

  ‘I bet. Looks super,’ said Clara, sipping slowly. She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, there’s Ted.’ She gave an apologetic smile. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better plunge in. Bye!’

  ‘Bye,’ said Louisa uncertainly, though Clara had already disappeared as the guests were ushered through to the Cloisters, the outside walkway to the ballroom. Farve hadn’t lit oil lamps this time, as he had for Nancy’s party three years ago, which made it darker and chillier, but at least no one was choking from the smoky fumes.

  Louisa was picking up a few glasses that had been put down on the tables in the hall when the front door was opened and Adrian Curtis rushed in, followed by his sister Charlotte. Louisa started at this reminder of her promise to Dulcie. Not that it had been too far from her mind the entire day. He was brooding, his eyebrows cross-hatched, while his sister was talking to him in a raised voice, her dark eyes fixed on him. Adrian was dressed as a country vicar in half-moon glasses, with a wide white collar and an old-fashioned black straw hat; it made him look serene and, Louisa guessed, infuriatingly supercilious to his sister. Charlotte, a rather half-hearted Queen Victoria, was clearly unamused. They suddenly saw Louisa and Charlotte stopped, mid-sentence.

  Adrian flapped his hand towards Louisa without looking at her. ‘Well, my dear sister. Do you wish to go on? Pray, do.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Queen Victoria.

  The three of them stood awkwardly in the room.

  ‘Everyone has gone through to the ballroom,’ said Louisa, as if she had neither heard nor seen anything. ‘Shall I show you the way?’

  She started walking and they followed, a few steps behind. Charlotte did, indeed, go on and though she was not shouting, Louisa could hear her. Louisa knew a good servant never listened but sometimes it was impossible not to waggle one’s ears. She and Ada used to giggle over snatched bits of conversation that had not been intended for them. She missed those moments, few and far between these days, but she might be able to do the same with Dulcie. Not tonight though.

  ‘You’ve got to tell Mother the debt you’re in,’ Charlotte was saying. ‘She’s got no idea and it’s almost Christmas.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Adrian hissed back.

  Louisa couldn’t see as the two were behind her but she pictured Charlotte’s white shoulders rising with her hackles.

  They had reached the ballroom now and Louisa stepped to one side at the door to let them pass by. Neither gave her a second glance.

  Inside, the throng was in full sway. While Charlotte and Adrian had come in through the front door by mistake, distracted by their argument, others had been rolling up the drive and disgorging themselves directly to the ballroom, more usually called the library. For the party, the sofa had been temporarily removed and there were a number of chairs along the walls for the chaperones. There were only three or four of these at present, mothers happy to see inside the Mitford house and catch up on gossip with friends. Louisa had discovered that in the upper-class world people acted
as if they knew each other and referred to each other as friends or friendly acquaintances even if they had never met. They worked on a system of introductions: like becoming members of a club, you were introduced and seconded by two insiders and then you were in. There may have been no bricks and mortar but there was certainly a membership and club rules to be adhered to if you didn’t want to be thrown out and banished from ever re-entering.

  Some of these rules were changing, much to the horror of the ‘’rents’, as Nancy’s friends referred to the older generation. Divorce had once meant permanent exclusion from society, at least for the women, but since the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough had had their marriage annulled after the war with each invited to as many parties as before, others had been quietly allowed to remain too. ‘If Muv and Farve divorced it would spice things up no end,’ Nancy had said mock-sadly, ‘but I don’t suppose they ever will.’

  Some rules were etched in steel, however, and given equal ranking: no illegitimate babies, no brown shoes in town, no cut flowers given to a hostess. Nor was knowing these enough. Louisa knew that even if she mimicked the accent perfectly and borrowed the dress and the pearls, she’d be thrown out as a commoner by anyone cut from the upper-class cloth. For all the spoken rules they teased about, there were a million unwritten ones. You only needed to slip up once – to wear the wrongly weighted tweed on a shoot, or ask for a napkin instead of using your handkerchief for cake crumbs on your lip – and the game would be up. At best your so-called friends would giggle behind their hands at your social slips, at worst the door would slam shut and no amount of knocking or money or pleading would get it open again.